Short story: My child's book

The storm raged, and the wind grew stronger. Rainwater streamed down the makeshift house's pillars incessantly; every five steps, you'd find a huge basin lying at your feet. The already small house was now leaking so badly that Mrs. Sau couldn't sleep. She sat up, turned on the light, and checked if her grandson was asleep. He was probably at a growing age, sleeping soundly, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his navel. Fearing he might get cold and fall ill, she quickly covered him with a blanket. Unable to sleep and with nothing else to do, Mrs. Sau went to the altar, lit three incense sticks, and mumbled a prayer:
- May our ancestors and grandparents, with their sacred spirits, pray for the health and well-being of their descendants.
After saying that, she neatly placed the incense sticks in the incense burner. The rain outside showed no sign of stopping. It's unclear if the sound of the rain drowned out the prayers of this gentle Mrs. Sau, but for all these years, she seemed to have never found peace.
It's been so long that no one remembers when a slender woman with two children, a boy and a girl, arrived in this land. They only know that she was the sixth child in a large family, and because she came here to make a living, they called her "Mrs. Six." People here are also peculiar; they attach a name to someone's birth order and then associate it with their occupation, creating a new name, such as "Mrs. Four selling meat," "Mr. Two selling lottery tickets," etc.
Suddenly, Tinh, her grandson, who was lying in bed, stirred and sat up, probably startled by a raindrop falling on his face. He saw his grandmother was still awake and asked, bewildered:
Why aren't you asleep yet, Grandma?
- Grandma saw that it was raining heavily and was worried that my schoolbag would get wet, so she put it aside.
Hearing this, it didn't ask any more questions. It lay down, grabbed the blanket, wrapped itself up like a cocoon, and didn't forget to say:
- Once you're done, go to sleep with the baby!
The old fluorescent light bulb on the ceiling cast a weak, flickering light, making it difficult to see if any raindrops had splashed into Mrs. Sau's eyes, so she quickly wiped them with her sleeve. Her eyes were no longer as clear as before; they were now clouded by time and by the amount of tears she had shed.
Mrs. Sau's husband passed away, leaving behind two young children. Living in a poor rural area, how could she possibly raise them? Besides, her family and relatives weren't well-off enough to send them to for help. Mrs. Sau reluctantly packed her belongings and moved elsewhere to start a new life. She took her son and daughter with her, determined to give them a proper education, because she herself had suffered so much, she wanted to ensure her children had a decent profession. Back then, Mrs. Sau sold fish, and perhaps by some divine intervention, she earned a decent income – not much, but enough to live on. Hai Men, the eldest son, knew his mother struggled to raise the two siblings. He thought that as the eldest and healthier, he could stop studying after the 9th grade and use all his money to support his younger siblings. When Hai Men tried to reason with her, Mrs. Sau refused, threatening to spank him. But he was grown up and no longer afraid of his mother. He insisted on selling fish with her, and there was one time he said something that Mrs. Sau still remembers vividly:
- Seeing Mom raising us all by herself like this, I… I can't bear it.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she hugged her eldest son. It was heartbreaking to see such young children already understanding the ways of the world. Then, single-handedly, she arranged marriages for her two children. Night after night, she prayed to the heavens, hoping for enough food and resources for her family, wishing for nothing more than to renovate the house and provide her children with money for books and school supplies.
Her daughter married someone far away in the Sam Mountains and rarely visited, so it was as if she had lost her child. As for her son, Hai Mến, he was already married. Tình was one year old, and fate decreed that he would suffer. Just a few months after birth, Tình fell ill, sometimes feverish, sometimes chilly, crying loudly every half hour. So, all of Mrs. Sáu's savings and accumulated wealth were spent on treatment for her grandson in the big city. Her dream of building a house had to be put on hold. When Tình was six, his parents worked as hired farmhands, earning just enough to feed them. Mrs. Sáu worried that her grandson wouldn't have books to study, so she ran from one end of the village to the other, asking if anyone had leftover textbooks or old comic books that they could ask for or buy. Each time she brought them home, Tình was overjoyed, his eyes crinkling with happiness. Mrs. Sáu's heart also rejoiced.
Hai Mến heard that if you hit the jackpot fishing at sea, you can get rich quickly. He wanted to have a little more money so he could have a decent house.
- Mom, I'm going on this trip and then I won't go again, so don't worry.
- My mother was uneducated from a young age, so she doesn't want her children to end up like her. She wants them to study and read books so they won't have to suffer, but even now, their studies aren't going very well... it makes her so sad.
Knowing his mother was upset because of him, Hai Mến actually loved going to school. When he was in fourth grade, he joined the school's storytelling team about President Ho Chi Minh. He enthusiastically read books and looked at pictures related to him, and his hard work paid off; he won second prize. He still remembers that feeling, but because he loves his mother and younger sibling, he had to leave it unfinished. Now, his only goal is to take care of his son, Tình, and continue fulfilling his mother's and his own dreams.
He said, his voice trembling:
- I know you want us to be successful, Mom, but I've already fallen short in my career. Right now, we should focus more on taking care of Tinh, okay Mom?
Looking into her son's teary eyes, she remembered those eyes from years ago when Hai Mến lost the book she had bought for him to read in his free time. Hai Mến had carelessly misplaced it, and he was filled with remorse. Looking at his hardworking mother, his heart ached. A mother's compassion isn't about regretting the loss of her child; she only fears that her son will pick up wasteful habits and become corrupted and lose his morals.
Mrs. Sau clicked her tongue and agreed to let her daughter go. That day, as Hai Men left home, Tinh innocently asked her grandmother:
Grandma, when will my dad be home?
- Just a few weeks, son, your father will come home and buy you some cakes to eat.
- So, Grandma, could you buy me a storybook?
- Okay.
Tình is twelve years old this year, living alone with his grandmother. Every day, if Tình goes to school, his grandmother cooks the meals, while he just comes home to eat, wash the dishes, and then study. For the past six years, despite the family's poverty, Tình hasn't tried to keep up with his friends when he sees them with new books and expensive notebooks. He's probably like his late father. Mrs. Sáu still sits on the wooden bench, her eyes fixed on the ancestral altar, next to which is a small framed picture and a separate incense burner. She moves her lips, her voice a whisper like the wind blowing through the curtain:
- Hai, try your best to help your child study hard and become a good person.
It seemed that Mrs. Sau's life was always intertwined with rain, each rain bringing pain to this small, kind woman. That day, the wind and rain were very strong, foretelling a storm that would cause rough seas. She trudged home, carrying the storybook that Tinh had asked his father to buy, but he hadn't returned yet. Then, a thunderclap echoed through the storm, shaking everything. That was also when she received the news that her son would never return, his life's struggle for survival seized by the sea. Sometimes nature is truly selfish for taking away something precious from a family. Mrs. Sau dropped the book, ran out into the street, still in the rain, and wept loudly:
- Oh God… give my child back to me… come back to Mother Hai!
The book got wet, the ink smudged and blurred the writing, as if the book itself felt sorrow. Tình's mother cared for her for a while before remarrying, occasionally visiting to provide support. Tình has lived with Mrs. Sáu ever since. Many people thought that Mrs. Sáu, having gone through so much suffering and having almost no children left except her grandson, would be mentally unstable, but Mrs. Sáu still smiled.
Once, Mrs. Sau asked Tinh:
- What kind of job do you want to do in the future?
After thinking for a while, Tình replied:
Yes, I work as a storm forecaster, and I recently read a story about this profession in a book.
Seeing her grandmother's surprised expression, Tinh quickly ran to the bookshelf and took out many books with covers depicting clouds, rain, the ocean, etc., especially with the dominant color being blue. She excitedly showed them off:
- Look, Grandma, I borrowed this from the school library to read.
- There are many other professions, son.
- Yes, because… I don't want anyone else to lose their father… like I did.
Waiting until Tình put the books back in the cupboard, Mrs. Sáu looked up at the altar, where the incense still burned brightly. She believed Tình would succeed. She believed that no matter how much suffering she endured, as long as she persevered, she could overcome it. Sometimes, challenges from heaven are meant to temper a person's will. She was happy that Tình didn't feel sorry for herself as an orphan; she was pleased that Tình knew how to plan for the future, how to turn to books for learning, and how to rise above her circumstances.
I remember once, when she was busy, Mrs. Sau jokingly said to her grandchild while he was sitting and reading attentively:
- If you read too many books, you'll become someone important later on and forget about me, okay?
- No, not at all. I love Grandma like I love books because Grandma is the most precious book to me.
No matter how long the rainy night lasts or how relentlessly the wind blows, tomorrow the sun will shine, the rain will stop, and the warm sunshine will return, bringing with it much hope and illuminating my grandchild's path to school.