Short stories

My mother in law

NGUYEN SY DOAN December 21, 2024 10:00

Two years passed, the fake became real, he and I lived together. A miracle happened to my family. At 43 years old, I became pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy for my mother-in-law to hold.

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Thao and I are from the same village, he is three years older than me. We have been close since we were children. So our love came naturally.

Both families knew about this relationship and were devoted to it. Thao’s family was quite poor, with only two sisters. His father died early during the French colonial period. The older sister taught and made a living in the Northwest. I often went back and forth between the two families. Sometimes I gave her a bowl of crab soup with Malabar spinach, sometimes a potato or a corn cob.

The two families promised to get married after Thao graduated from university and had a stable job.

But man proposes, God disposes. In 1971, the Southern battlefield needed many talented people and resources, so as soon as he entered his third year of university, he volunteered to join the army.

Since then, I have been taking care of her more often. Since my parents moved to the province to live with their eldest son, I have moved in with my future mother-in-law for convenience. I have loved my mother like a daughter. The villagers also consider me their daughter-in-law.

One winter afternoon in 1972, the commune committee reported that Thao had died. Mother held the death notice and looked at it for a long time as if imagining the face of her only son. Mother quietly put the paper down on the table and went outside. It was pouring rain, the north wind was blowing, cutting the skin and flesh. I quickly followed Mother to comfort her, just worried that she was thinking of something stupid.

I comforted my mother and also encouraged myself: “Mom, come back. This news may not be accurate. Many people have reported death but still returned healthy.”

I wanted to pass on my fragile faith to my mother. My mother and I clung to that faith to get through the stormy days. Many nights I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid. I was afraid that one day I would have to admit that Thao’s sacrifice was true. After all, I was just a weak girl.

Five years, ten years, then twenty years passed. Those who could return did. But my Thao was still nowhere to be seen.

Since receiving Thao’s death notice, Mom has been coming and going like a shadow, eating irregularly, and her health has been deteriorating. Sometimes she was unconscious, sometimes she was awake, and then she became absent-minded. She was like a child. Many nights, she called out her son’s name in her sleep. Once I heard her mumble: “Why are you taking so long, Thao?” Another time, she got angry: “Then I don’t want to wait anymore. You can go whenever you want.”

Hearing my mother lament, my heart ached. I understood what it meant to swallow back tears. People say time is a miracle cure to soothe all pain. But for my mother, it seems like the longing only gets worse. Now I am no longer young, the dream of getting married once lies dormant in my memory. I spend a lot of time worrying about my mother. Every time I go to work, I always have to lock the gate, afraid that my mother will wander off and get lost. I know it is dangerous, but there is no other way. Every year, based on the date on the death certificate, I quietly hold a memorial service for Thao without daring to tell my mother.

This afternoon, a rainstorm came right at the end of the workday. I don’t know why I tried to cycle to the repair shop of Hai, a 1/4 disabled veteran. Hai pushed a chair in front of me and gently scolded: “This season often has sudden rains, if you go out, you should bring a raincoat.”

Sitting waiting for the rain to stop, watching Hai's nimble hands working, I let out a soft sigh. Hai used to have a warm, happy family. In 1971, he joined the army. At the end of 1972, an American bomb fell on Hai's house while the whole family was gathered around the dinner table. On the day of victory, Hai returned without any relatives. Hai himself also left a part of his body on the battlefield.

I remember the first time I met Hai. One sunny summer afternoon, my bicycle was out of power. Since I had no money in my pocket, I trudged past many roadside repair shops. The heat from the asphalt was stifling, and sweat was pouring down my back. I was worried that my mother-in-law must be hungry by now. Suddenly, a voice called out: “Hey, what’s wrong with your bike? Come in here, I’ll fix it.”

I was startled. It was the voice of a mechanic who had lost both legs. I had seen him a few times when I had passed by. He sat on a low chair and said, “Move your car closer so I can take a look.” I was confused but still pulled my bike close to him: “Yes, my rear tire is flat. But I don’t have any money.” He smiled and said, “A patch is not worth much.”

With his strong and skillful hands, he quickly pulled the tattoo out of its sheath. Squinting one eye, he told me: “You can retire this tattoo. It has six or seven patches. It’s dangerous to go like this.” I said embarrassedly: “Please understand, my paycheck hasn’t come yet.” “It’s okay. I’ll replace it for you just to be safe. Just consider it a loan, and you can return it when you have it.”

From then on, I got to know Hai. Every day on my way to work, I would look into Hai's shop and raise my hand to say hello. He nodded and smiled as if greeting back. More than half a month later, I received my salary, but I did not see him at the shop. When I asked, the owner said that Hai was about to have surgery because his old injury had relapsed. I went to his house.

Hai's house was deep in an alley. When he saw me, he was surprised and asked: "How... how did you know my house?". I said: "Ah... uh... I asked the owner of the house where you were staying. He said you were about to be hospitalized. I'm sending you the money I used to fix my car a long time ago. Thank you very much!".

When I left, I don't know why I said: "Oh, I forgot, after the surgery, there will probably be a lot of work to do, please tell me if I can help." He smiled: "Thanks in advance, are you going to pay interest?". I quickly walked out of the house, my cheeks burning. I didn't know if it was the sun or my sudden words.

This afternoon, I took a day off to quietly commemorate Thao's death anniversary. Mom asked: "What day is it today that you're so fanciful?". I lied: "Oh... I got a reward for my hard work. We should have a time to pamper ourselves." Looking at the fried fish and golden fried beef, Mom said: "In the past, Thao loved to eat fried fish. Every time he caught a fish, he would make me fry it until it was crispy. It was hard, during the subsidy period, where did we get so much fat to fry it?". I knew this. Many times I blamed Thao for being a soldier's daughter with the temperament of an official. But today, when Mom said that, I was very happy. It seemed like her memory was recovering. In recent years, she has been taking medicine, eating more meals, and her health has improved. Sometimes she even helps me sweep the house and pick vegetables.

The offering tray was lowered to the table, and Mom said, “We’ll just eat half of this plate of fried fish. Who knows, maybe Thao will come home tonight.” I was stunned. So Mom was still forgetting things. I said, “We can eat as much as we want. When my family comes back, I’ll buy more. You’ll get a lot of money as a reward.” Mom smiled.

Just then a wheelchair stopped right in front of my house. Sitting in the wheelchair was Hai. Before I could react, my mother-in-law rushed out like a healthy person. She said cheerfully: “Oh, my son Thao is back? You are so bad, my son, I have been waiting for you day after day. Where have you been for so long?” Her hands slowly moved from Hai’s body to his face. She pressed Hai’s head tightly to her thin chest, half crying, half laughing.

I quickly stopped my mother: “Mom, this is not my house. This is Hai, the mechanic at the beginning of the village.” My mother let go of Hai, glared and said: “You lied to me, right? It’s Thao. My son, I should have recognized him. Was he injured? Did he lose both legs? How pitiful of my son.” For the first time, my mother was happy, and she spoke the longest sentence since Thao died.

Hai was surprised. It seemed like he understood my family situation. He said softly: “You thought I was Mr. Thao. If you believe me and are happy like that, then let her be happy. At your age, there is not much happiness left.” I silently looked at Hai to express my thanks.

Just as Hai said, since the day Thao sacrificed herself to come to her mother, she could count on her fingers. Mother looked at Hai without blinking: "No matter how your appearance changes, I still recognize you. Because you are the flesh and blood of your parents". Hai gently held my mother-in-law's hand: "Mom, from now on I won't go anywhere. Are you happy?". Mother burst into tears. Tears streamed down her wrinkled face: "I'm happy, very happy, my child. Sit down here and eat. There's fried fish, your favorite dish". I whispered to Hai: "Stay and eat with me and the children". Hai nodded. He had to try to play his reluctant role.

Late at night, Hai asked permission to go home. His mother asked, “Where else are you going?” Hai said, “I have to go back to the hospital to treat my old wound. I will have surgery next week.” This Hai told the truth. The last piece of shrapnel would be removed from his body. Hai would be in less pain every time the weather changed.

During the days Hai was in the hospital, my mother was always by his side. She took care of him every little thing. When asked, my mother bragged: "My son just came back from the battlefield." Both Hai and I were in a difficult situation. No matter how I explained, my mother did not believe me. Many times she even got angry and scolded me for lying.

One thing that cannot be denied is that since the day my mother met Hai, her health has improved significantly. The day Hai was about to be discharged from the hospital, my mother told me: "This afternoon, buy a small bed for me, and a big bed for you and your husband." I was stunned. We were nothing more than friends. I had to play my role for my mother's happiness.

*

Two years passed, the fake became real, Hai and I lived together. A miracle happened to my family. At 43 years old, I got pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy for my mother to hold.

My mother-in-law was very happy. Her coma was gone. The house was always filled with laughter. Every day Hai and I went to work, while my mother stayed home to look after the children.

Today is Thao’s death anniversary. After neatly arranging the food, my mother stood in front, my husband and I stood behind, clasping our hands respectfully. My mother prayed clearly to the deceased: “Thao, I know you are no longer here. Your lover has taken care of me for over twenty years. I feel that our family is truly blessed. Now he must have company. He cannot be alone forever, especially when I am a hundred years old. Your lover deserves all the best things.”

Oh my, living with my mother for decades but I still don't fully understand her heart...

NGUYEN SY DOAN
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My mother in law