The night was cold, over 12 degrees Celsius, the wind was blowing, it was almost 12 midnight, the mist was flying in the space outside the door, the house next door still had people talking, footsteps, the sound of motorbikes rushing up, the bright lights spreading out to the gardens. Tonight, tomorrow is the winter solstice, the month of marriage, the day of digging and building graves according to the custom passed down from ancient times until now.

The village is still the same, change is like the wind blowing through the village, rushing through, erasing things as if there are no traces left, the young people now have many things to care about, the elderly regretfully sigh because today’s life, the pace of time makes it impossible for the elderly to keep up.

I don’t know since when, something has been ringing in my heart, evoking these cold, numbing days. I left everything behind to return to the village to watch, counting the drops of time passing by according to the slow rhythm of life, and in my heart arose the question… yesterday, today, tomorrow, what will life be like?

And now I sit here in the cold night, listening to the cold wind outside the door, my heart is filled with sadness as I write a few lines about the things that are weighing me down.

So please, readers, please wait patiently for the next part of the story of the mute girl’s life to change. Let me tell you about what is running along the sidelines of the mute girl’s story… today’s day, the day of digging up the graves of deceased relatives in the countryside, about the living people and the deceased people of yesterday.

The Story of Sick Mr. Kien

In the morning, when the night dew had not yet melted on the sparse grass that clung to the gate, I sat on the steps of the yard looking out the gate, someone’s shadow was faintly walking in. The old lady was the most talkative person in this village. I heard her say… miserable, miserable, young man.

What did she say, who is suffering?

Oh, Mr. Kien’s house was so cold last night that he had to call a car to go to the hospital.

Why is that, ma’am?

Oh, it’s your son-in-law.

I don’t understand what’s going on, why is it the son-in-law’s fault, grandma…your story is so long and winding, opening and closing over time…yesterday and today, and then it finally reaches the end, which is the argument between Mr. Kien, his daughter, and the son-in-law. So angry, so resentful, he couldn’t bear it, fell down in the middle of the house and had a stroke.

How miserable, today in my village is the day children and grandchildren gather to dig the graves of the previous generations, grandparents and parents. They said they would build a new house for their parents to show their gratitude for giving birth to them. As for Mr. Kien, his children have not shown their gratitude yet. Listening to Mrs. Nhuan’s story, I only feel resentment rising up because of what people say, tears flowing down… but they cannot stop the pain in their hearts.

Mr. Kien is 75 years old, he has worked hard all his life, saved up a lot of money, he only has one first daughter who failed several times… feeling sorry for his lonely daughter, a few decades ago he asked for another adopted child so his daughter would have a sister and a younger sibling.

The older woman is fair, beautiful, and gentle…don’t know what kind of person she ate, what kind of bait…she loves…or is eager for impulsive love…married to a crazy, eccentric man, talkative, thinks all over the world, has no career, speaks like a music tape, talks nonstop, deaf ears, eyes darting around…don’t care about her biological parents…only cares about the fields and gardens of her father-in-law

The guy with thin lips was like a fish’s lips. I don’t know when he started thinking about it, but he sweetly whispered to his wife’s parents that a few years ago, Mr. Kien transferred all the land and fields to the couple. The adopted daughter grew up, got married and worked as a hired hand in many places, wandering for many years but still couldn’t find a stable house.

Mr. Kien and his wife are sick today and tomorrow… need money for medicine… land fever ran through the village, wanting to sell the land on the street to get money for medical expenses.

I don’t understand what medicine Thieu gave his wife for leg pain, but she’s getting more and more confused. She’s so absent-minded that she doesn’t even think about taking care of her parents. Thieu and his wife told him that they ‘re old , why waste money on hospital care. If they’re sick, just make a pot of leaves and steam and they’ll be cured.

The house, land, and fields were given to them and now they are theirs. If you want them back, you have to pay to redeem them. No one will sign the sale papers anymore.

Around noon, my nephew and I drove to the hospital to visit him. We only heard him mumble a few words… “Dear Tu”, I’m sure he won’t make it this time. Why is his life so full of misfortunes…

The wind outside is rustling… the dry banana leaves flap in the wind blowing in the middle of the winter night… life is so full of teasing… yesterday’s story, today’s story, why are there so many worries, human nature… and compassion

I stop writing here, preparing to follow the footsteps of my dear neighbors to the fields..tonight is the winter solstice night…I miss the winter solstice night of the mute aunt and the sweet aunt so much in the past..I wonder if anyone still wants to continue listening to the story..

then speak up