The Golden Dog sat down beside him, wagging its tail frantically.

Mrs. Ngu leisurely used a plastic shovel to scoop up dirt and pile it on her legs. When she reached her knees, she stopped, put the shovel aside, gave the plastic cup to Vang, and asked him to help scoop water.

The dog understood its owner's intention, obediently grabbed it and ran towards the waves, dipped its face in it and ran back. The woman happily took it and poured it on the sand dune. The dog shook itself a few times, water splashed everywhere, the woman scolded it, I'm all wet!

The Golden Child buried its head in her body, wagged its ears, and stuck out its black-spotted tongue to lick all over her face and hands.

A few joggers passed by, a young couple playing in the waves. Another group was laughing and talking. Each person had a bucket, a long-handled shovel with an iron blade, a face mask and a hat. They worked hard to dig small holes, just big enough for a bed, then slowly filled in their bodies, leaving only their heads. Long rows of holes, mounds, layer upon layer.

Hearing someone say that burying oneself in the sand can cure all diseases, the whole village, no, the whole district, or even more, did not know. Mrs. Ngu did not know where they came from. Long lines of cars and motorbikes filled the beaches. Her hometown's beach was long, wide and open. People came very early, laboriously digging small holes to bury themselves. They lay there until the sun was shining brightly before leisurely returning. At that time, her son's boat had just reached the shore, so even though the fish were still in the net, they still gathered to buy. The fresh fish were jumping, slippery, glistening with green and yellow scales, pleasing to the eye.

She went to the sea early as a habit of the fishermen, from when the sun was still a rosy pink, until the clouds parted to shine the first rays of sunlight. Standing in front of the sea, listening to the roaring waves, listening to each ray of sunlight dancing on the skin, listening to the sand rustling under the feet, the feeling was extremely pleasant and comfortable. Thanks to that sunshine, the surging waves and the smooth sandy shore, for generations, the people of the coastal area have been bare-chested, healthy, and strong. There is nothing better than the feeling of being able to indulge in nature, breathing in each salty breath of seaweed, feeling the lungs full of life.

The feeling of having someone waiting for you when you come home from somewhere is so happy. She accidentally heard those words when her son was drinking with his friends. That's right, more than a night drifting at sea, the morning just hoping to reach shore. It seemed like it was just a life of struggle, but life is becoming more and more unpredictable, even those who are reckless in the sea and sky will eventually have to withdraw their will to take care of their family. No one knows for sure what tomorrow will bring, but they know that each day must be lived to the fullest.

Looking up at the incense bowls without portraits, tears suddenly welled up in her eyes. Thinking of the two words “Waiting” made her miss her father, miss her mother, and remember the weary waiting of nearly 70 years ago. She had heard her mother tell her that her father was a revolutionary against the French, and that time was extremely difficult, and being a revolutionary in any time was difficult.

Not long after getting married, my father was hunted down. The moment of separation was already waiting for the moment of death, at that time my mother was pregnant with my sister. My father escaped to Saigon to work, not knowing whether he would live or die. My mother alone gave birth to her child, silently lived and waited. One windy winter night, the door shook slightly, a soft voice came through the crack, my mother was startled, her hand clutched her chest, her hand cautiously opened the latch. People and wind rushed into the small room. There was no time to say all the waiting, no time to say all the longing, there were only tears and kisses. Leaving behind a bundle of fabric as a gift for his wife and young child, my father jumped off the mountain to continue his career.

War is a monster, a terrifying machine that devours many people. Young men and women have spent their youth on fierce battlefields. After a windy winter night, my mother had my grandmother. The hardships of making a living are nothing to those on the front lines, they just live like they have to. Live to wait. Only the path of life has hope for the day they meet again. Every time she is sad, my grandmother thinks of my mother. In her life, there were not many happy days, but she still lived. Happiness or sadness is fate, whether or not one can live depends on each person, my mother said.

Her youth was also full of enthusiasm, seeing her friends go to the war zone, she wanted to follow but her mother was sad and told her to wait for her father to come back. Waiting and waiting, until she was 20 years old and knew her father could not come back anymore. She followed her friends to join the militia, the station was set up on the mountain, quite far from home but very excited. The heavy baskets of rice and goods did not make the young girl's shoulders droop, because there were so many people waiting ahead. Hey An, hey Thao, hey Keo... her whole neighborhood had more than ten friends, including her boyfriend.

The lover was gone for 2 years, then the paper came back to replace him. The whole village mourned for the men...

***

Her daughter-in-law was busy selling, the children were each holding their phones, not bothering to remember that home still had a grandmother. Many times, feeling sad, she hugged Vang and whispered. The animal was so clever, always clinging to her leg. When she was tired and couldn't go to the beach, it couldn't pull her away, so it curled up right at the foot of the bed waiting for her to wake up. Many times, she wanted to get sick but couldn't get sick with it.

In her free time, the television was like a second close friend, after Vang. Accidentally watching a dialogue between young people, she felt uneasy. She was unfamiliar with the words, she was confused with many speeches. What should a child do when living in a period of media crisis and indiscriminately imported civilization? So many questions were raised, so many loud discourses and even some prefaces, that we cannot just let go and watch the young generation fall into dark swamps with purely foreign labels. Red and green hair, ghostly tattoos, and ridiculously torn pants… She sighed helplessly. The whole society was struggling with the problem of integration but had no solution, what could an old woman like her do?

The pandemic was so cruel, but from that, the family had a lot of interaction, ate together, chatted happily together, they called it slow living. But also from those online classes, from the oldest to the youngest, everyone was equipped with a phone. This kind of online culture is said to be very effective, but it is effective for people who are very busy with many things, but like the children in her neighborhood, each of them had to wear a pair of thick glasses, their faces always looking up. No matter what was said, they were bewildered for a long time before they understood, passive. Her son spoke like the dairy cows on the farm!

Now the urban lifestyle has flooded every alley, killing the children's games. In this neighborhood, no one has been doing this job for a long time. She looked at the coconut rope making machine lying around behind the shed and felt sorry for the situation, remembering the time of struggling with hunger. If only this job still existed now, it would be so much fun. The children would not be buried in tiny phones and screaming hysterically because of bloody killing games. Besides social networks, what else can the children play with, their parents confessed to each other, helplessly watching their children plunge into new and risky trends.

Her village is located on a large strip of land. Thanks to the alluvial deposits of the river and the influence of salt water at high tide, this place is full of coconut trees. The village is surrounded by coconut trees, protecting it from storms, providing shade, and feeding many people.

She still remembers the time when the whole village made coconut ropes. The work was easy enough for the elderly and even children during their summer vacation. As long as they diligently helped to tear the ropes, the money for pens and notebooks would no longer be a big pressure every time they went to school.

The burdens of coconut husks were buried deep in the mud, and it took half a year to be carried out to dry, to shred, and then spun. The porch was widened, and stories followed stories. The voices of people teasing each other were cheerful, their hands were as dry as coconut husks but their smiles were always sparkling.

People have gone to Mars, Mom, now you want to spin yarn, how backward! The daughter-in-law said. She didn't know if there was anything interesting on Mars, a windy beach with crab holes and rolling grass, peaceful mornings listening to the murmuring waves carrying boats far out to sea to the mainland carrying the children of the sea with plenty of fish and shrimp, or stormy afternoons with the wind whipping the coconut trees and the sand swirling so fast it was suffocating?

Is Mars peaceful? There were epidemics that took away thousands of unjust lives, there were bloody struggles that caused tearful separations, ancient resentments, and thousands of years later, history books will still be busy with unjust convictions.

No matter where she is, she still loves this green globe so much. Every morning, she and her son Vang go to the edge of the waves, bury their feet in the sand, listening to the mother earth caressing them, watching the dawn lift the mist, waiting for the silhouettes of boats bobbing up and down the waves bringing fish and shrimp back. The children frolic on the sandy shore, and the traditional games are taught by adults and preserved for future generations. This is a mock battle, this is a year and ten, this is a ghost on a long stretch of sand. Oh, life only needs to be peaceful like that.

HO LOAN

Source: https://baobariavungtau.com.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202504/nhung-binh-minh-qua-1039474/