"Its cry was like a cut, cutting the silence and cutting everyone's gut, which was so sad. It was the "Dad" that she had been trying to suppress for so many years, the "Dad" sounded like it broke out from the bottom of her heart, she cried and rushe...
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Guys! Every time I saw that little ivory comb, I wondered and felt pity. In my life of resistance, I have witnessed many breakups, but never have I been as emotional as that time. In the days when peace was restored, I went back to visit my hometown with a friend. Our houses were next to each other and near the small canal that flows into the Mekong River. We left our homes together to go to the resistance war, in early 1946, after our province was invaded. At the time of his departure, his first daughter - and also his only child, was less than one year old. He was the sixth son and also named Six. During the years of the resistance war, Mrs. Six had visited him several times. Every time he told her to bring the children. But the scene of visiting her husband on the Eastern battlefield was not simple. She didn't dare to take her child through the forest. Hearing her say that, there was a reason he couldn't blame. He only saw his daughter through a small picture. By the time he returned, the father's love was still hung in his body. As the boat entered the wharf, he saw a kid about eight years old with shoulder-length hair, wearing black pants and a red cotton shirt playing in a hut under the shade of a mango tree in the front yard; guessing it was a child, he couldn't wait for the boat to dock, then he shrugged his legs and jumped up, shoving the canoe over, leaving me reeling. He walked hurriedly with long strides, then stopped and shouted:
-Autumn! My child!
Just then, I approached him. With his longing, he must have thought that his child would rush into his lap, hug his neck tightly. As he walked, he stooped and held out his hand to wait. Heard his calling, the girl was startled, looked at him with eyes wide open. It was bewildered, feeling weird. About him, he couldn't suppress his emotion. Every time he was touched, the long scar on his right cheek turned red, twitched, and looked very scary. With that expression of emotion, and with his hands still forward, he stepped onward slowly, his voice quavering:
-Your dad's here!
-Your dad's here!
She found it so strange, blinking at me as if to ask who he was, her face suddenly turned pale, then she ran away and shouted: "Mom! Mom!". As for him, he stood there frozen, watching his child, the pain making his face look pitiful, and his arms hanging down as if broken.
Because of the long-distance, we could stay at home for only three days. In those three short days, she couldn't realize he was her father in time. That night she wouldn't let him sleep with her mother. She had a really bad temper, she slipped off the bed, stood on the ground, jumped up, grabbed his hand, and pulled him out. Can't pull it, it put its mouth to bite. Until the day he left, his hands were still deeply imprinted with the marks of his child's teeth. During the day, he didn't go far, always patting his child. But the more care she received, the more she pushed him away. He longed to hear a "dad" from her, but she never called him like that. When his mother told her to call her father in for dinner, she said:
-Mom, you can just call him by yourself.
Her mother became angry, waved her chopsticks, and threatened to hit it, so she had to call but said disrespectfully:
-Come in to eat!
Mr. Six still sat still, pretending not to listen, waiting for her to say "Dad, come in to eat". She kept standing in the kitchen and said:
-The rice is cooked! - He did not return. She was so mad, turned back to her mother and said out loud:
- I called, but he didn't listen.
He looked back at his daughter, shaking his head slightly and smiling. Perhaps because he was so miserable that he couldn't cry, he had to laugh like that. The next day, while cooking, her mother ran out to buy some food. Her mother told her to call her father if he needed anything at home. It didn't say anything, just crouched in the kitchen. When she heard the rice cooker boil, she opened the lid, took a few chopsticks from the kitchen - the rice cooker was a bit big, it couldn't be brought down to drain the water, only then did she look up at Mr. Six. I thought to myself, she's being cornered, she'd have to call him dad. It observed around for a while, then exclaimed:
-The rice is boiling, drain the water for me! - It talked disrespectfully again.
I speak out to pave the way for it:
-You have to say "Dad, please drain the water for me", that's how to say.
It seemed not to pay attention to my words, it yelled again:
-The rice is boiling, it's going to be pasty!
Mr. Six was still sitting. I threaten it:
-If the rice is soggy, my mother will beat you when she's back. Why don't you call your father? Can't you just say "dad"?
At that time, the rice cooker was boiling very hard. She was a little scared, looked down, thinking, unable to lift it, she looked up again. The sound of boiling rice seemed to urge her. She winced like she was going to cry. It looked at the rice cooker, then up at us. Seeing it squirming, I thought she was both pitiful and funny, thinking that she would give up anyway. It struggled and then on tiptoe took the patch and scooped out every patch of water, mumbling something unclear. What an awesome kid!
During that meal, Mr. Six picked up a large yellow fish roe and put it in her bowl. She immediately poked the bowl with chopsticks, left it there, and then suddenly used them to throw the roe out, making the rice splash all over the tray. Angry and unable to think, he swung his hand to hit its butt and shouted:
-Why are you so stubborn, huh?
I thought she would cry, would struggle, would knock down the whole tray of rice, or would run away. But no, it sat still, head bowed. Think about something, she took the chopsticks, put the fish roe back into the bowl, then quietly got up and walked out of the tray. Arriving at the dock, she jumped into the canoe, opened the chains, tried to make the ropes clatter, rattle loudly, then traveled across the river. She went over to her grandmother's house, told her grandmother, and cried there - that afternoon, her mother came to comfort her, but she didn't agree to come back. Six had to go the following day, it was the last night for the two of them, and his wife didn't want to force their child to come back.
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