- Is that you, Hoa...?
My mother's voice trembled and broke.
- It's me, Mom. What's wrong?
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
- Father and son... went to sea this afternoon, and they still haven't come back.
Hoa sat up abruptly.
His hometown is a small fishing village on the central coast. His father is over sixty but still clings to his old wooden boat. For the past few years, the sea has been unpredictable, with few fish, but his father says he'll go out as long as he can; staying home would only make him more anxious. This afternoon, there's a thunderstorm. Hoa knew this because he saw the weather forecast on his phone while delivering the goods. He even considered calling home to tell his father not to go out to sea, but then customers kept placing orders, and he forgot.
- Has everyone started looking for them yet, Mom?
- They're gone. Several boats from the village have been out since last night. No one has seen them yet.
My mother's voice choked up.
- Mom, just stay home. I'll be right back.
He hung up the phone and hastily grabbed his backpack. Outside the window, the city was still brightly lit. Traffic was sparse. Hoa drove to the bus station, his heart burning with anxiety. It had been a long time since he'd been home because life in the city was so difficult. His meager salary barely covered rent and allowed him to send a little money back to his parents. Every time he planned to go home, something unexpected would arise, and he'd postpone it month after month. The bus left the station at almost one in the morning; through the window, the rows of high-rise buildings receded into the distance. Hoa remembered the last time he'd seen his father. He stood at the end of the alley, slipping a few hundred thousand dong into his son's hand.
- Carry it with you in case of trouble.
Hoa smiled and put it back in her father's pocket.
- I have a job and I'm getting paid now.
Her father just smiled kindly. Even after the car started moving, he stood watching it go, his tanned hand raised for a long time. For some reason, that memory kept coming back so vividly. Hoa suddenly felt a stinging sensation in her nose.
*
The bus had just reached the edge of the district when dawn broke. Hoa got off the bus and quickly hailed a motorbike taxi to take him back to the village. As soon as she saw her son enter the yard, Hoa's mother burst into tears. She had stayed awake almost all night. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her gray hair was disheveled.
- Have you heard from Dad yet, Mom?
She shook her head.
Not yet... They've been searching since last night.
On the beach, a large crowd of villagers had gathered. Boats lined up, docking and then starting their engines and leaving. Hoa ran to meet Uncle Bay, who often went to sea with her father.
"Initially, we were fishing near the shore. By afternoon, we saw a storm brewing, so everyone turned back. But the father and son said they still had a few nets out on the rocky beach, and they felt bad leaving them there. He said he would come back as soon as he got them," Uncle Bay sighed.
Hoa stood silently. Her father was still the same. Throughout his life, he always thought about not wasting anything. He used the tattered fishing net, patched up over and over again. He refused to replace the old boat engine, which had broken down several times. He often said, "We're poor, so as long as it's usable, we'll keep using it."
By noon, the village's search team, along with border guards, continued to expand the search area. Hoa asked to go out to sea on a boat. The sea was calmer after the storm, but the waves were still large. The vast expanse of water made everyone even more uneasy. The boat traveled for nearly two hours. Suddenly, a person on the bow pointed forward.
There's something floating there!
Everyone immediately steered their boat closer. It was a Styrofoam box tied with a worn nylon rope. On top was a familiar blue raincoat. Hoa recognized it instantly; it was his father's. He hugged the raincoat, still soaked with seawater, his heart aching. In the pocket was still the small, old lighter that he himself had bought for his father. Everyone fell silent, and no one dared to say the worst, but worry was evident in everyone's eyes.
As evening fell, the search team still had no results. Hoa returned home with a heavy heart. Her mother sat on the porch, her eyes fixed on the sea. She whispered:
- My father has never broken a promise. Every time he goes to sea, no matter how late it is, he always comes home. Yesterday, before he left, he said he would buy some delicious fish for lunch so the whole family could have a meal together tonight, and how happy we'd be when I got home...
Hoa bowed his head. The last time he called was almost a month ago. The conversation lasted only a few minutes because he was busy delivering goods. His father asked:
How have you been lately, son/daughter?
He replied vaguely:
- I'm very busy, let's talk another time.
Looking back now, Hoa feels her heart is as heavy as a stone.
*
That night, almost the entire village was sleepless. Around midnight, as Hoa sat on his porch looking out at the dark sea, his phone in his pocket suddenly rang. The screen displayed an unfamiliar number. He quickly answered. On the other end was a hoarse male voice:
- Excuse me... are these people related to Uncle Tư, the owner of the boat with registration number TH-217?
Hoa jumped to her feet, her hands trembling.
- Yes... yes! Is my father there?
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line before he replied:
- He's still alive. But...
Hoa clutched the phone tightly.
- My father... where is my father?
The man on the other side replied slowly:
- I'm Nam, the captain of a fishing boat from Quang Ngai . Around four o'clock yesterday afternoon, our boat spotted a person clinging to a Styrofoam box in the middle of the sea. When we brought him aboard, he only had enough strength to say his name and ask to call his family, but the waves were too big, so we only managed to get a signal now.
Hoa froze. All the sounds around her seemed to fade into the background.
- Is my father alright?
- The old man is exhausted and has many scrapes and bruises. We are taking him to the nearest port.
Tears welled up in Hoa's eyes. Her mother, sitting beside her, looked at her, but before she could ask anything, Hoa hugged her mother's shoulders.
- Mom... Dad is still alive.
She collapsed right on the porch. Her hands clasped in front of her chest, her mouth repeating the same words over and over:
- May God and Buddha have mercy... May God and Buddha have mercy...
*
The next morning, Hoa and Uncle Bay rushed to the port. The ship had just docked. His father was being helped off the ship by several people. His gray hair was matted with salt, and his sun-tanned face looked even more haggard after a night at sea. His arms were covered in scratches from clinging to pieces of wood and styrofoam boxes. Seeing his son, he smiled faintly.
- You're back, son...?
Hoa ran to embrace his father, a hug he hadn't given in years. His once strong back was now much thinner. His familiar shoulders seemed small in his son's arms.
After his health improved, the father recounted everything. That afternoon, as he returned to the rocky shore to pull in his last net, a sudden storm struck. The strong waves caused the boat to hit a submerged rock and capsize. He only managed to grab a Styrofoam container of ice and drifted away with the current. As night fell, amidst the vast expanse of water, there were times he thought he wouldn't have a chance to return, but thinking of his wife and children, he told himself that as long as he had a little strength left, he had to cling to that container.
Towards dawn, Nam's boat passed by and spotted him. If they had been an hour later, things might have been different. Listening to his father's story, Hoa could only bow his head. He suddenly understood that what had kept his father alive was not just the willpower of a fisherman, but also the love he had for his family.
*
My father stayed in the hospital for a few more days before being discharged. Laughter filled the small house again. The first family meal consisted of just a pot of fish soup, a plate of boiled vegetables, and a bowl of chili fish sauce, yet everyone ate with relish. My mother kept serving food to my father, occasionally glancing at him silently, as if afraid that if she blinked, he would disappear again.
After that incident, Hoa took a leave of absence from his city job. Initially, he only intended to stay home for a few days to care for his father. But during the days he spent repairing the boat with his father, mending the fishing nets, and sitting on the porch listening to the waves, he realized he had lived too hastily for too long. For years, he had always thought that simply sending money home was enough to fulfill his duty. Only when faced with the uncertain future of his father did he understand that sometimes, what the elderly need most is not money, but the presence of their children.
One afternoon, Hoa's father called her to the beach. He watched the sun slowly disappear behind the waves.
- Back then, I was always worried that you would suffer if you returned home. Now, I just hope that wherever you are, you remember to spend time with your family. There are many things that can be regained if lost, but there are people who, once they leave, never call back again.
Hoa fell silent. He remembered the midnight call. If the caller hadn't been Nam, but had delivered bad news, he would probably have lived the rest of his life tormented by not having had the chance to say a kind word to his father, not having had the chance to share a meal with him, not having had the chance to sit and listen to his father's stories of the sea.
A few months later, Hoa returned to the city for work, but this time it was different. Every evening, no matter how busy he was, he would call home. Sometimes it was just for a few minutes, asking his father how the fishing trip went, asking his mother if her back still hurt, and hearing the sound of the waves echoing through the phone brought him peace.
On the other end of the line, Dad smiled kindly, just like always.
Yes, we're doing well. Just remember to take care of your health.
Outside the window, the city lights were still shining. Hoa put down the phone, suddenly feeling an unusual sense of peace.
He understood that some calls didn't need anything grandiose to be said. Just having someone answer the phone was already a blessing.
Source: https://hanoimoi.vn/cuoc-goi-luc-nua-dem-1759317.html
