The sky and earth looked gloomy as the rain came in. Dien found some small umbrella trees, he invited me to plant them. We got soaked in the rain, used the knife to dig a few small holes, then covered the roots with soil. The feeling that my father had given up was loving and protecting a (weak, small) creature, so sweet. Dien asked me to cut reeds and plant them around, afraid that the ducks would eat all the leaves, and besides, this bank was frequented by many people, and if we were not careful, they might be trampled. The two of us sat looking at our work, suddenly sad, not knowing if we would have the chance to come back to see these trees grow, to climb up to pick fruit, to hang a hammock, and have a good sleep. My sisters and I had a desire, a longing to plant trees since leaving Bau Sen, because we knew we would never return to live - normally - again. It seemed like we missed it, missed it terribly. The nostalgia includes running around in the square yard full of star apples, planting something yourself, having fruit, and edible fruit, very delicious. But the small dream of watching it grow is also fragile, when we haven't even warmed up yet and have to move to another place. Luckily, this time we stayed in Co Ua for quite a while, taking care of the ducks (which had just become skinny) with "smooth belly feathers". One day, when Dien went out to watch the tree take root, he suddenly smacked his lips, "I wish this was my - land -...". I laughed, that was so far away. Once, passing through the village, in the afternoon, we met old men playing with their grandchildren, Dien stood hesitantly by the hibiscus fence, saying, "If only this man were my grandfather, I would love him less, Hai?". Hearing that, I suddenly felt so poor, so poor that I didn't have... a grandfather to love and long for on the side of the road. I shook my head, saying no, for example, if I fell in love with someone, and tomorrow I would move away, it would be very sad. But, having absorbed, having torn our hearts apart with the pain of separation, are we not afraid?

Living the life of a shepherd, we forced ourselves not to love or be attached to anyone, so as not to be sad, to be indifferent when we rolled up the tent, pulled up the pole and went to another field, another canal. We were more uncertain than any duck farmer running the fields. Because my father's love affairs were increasingly short-lived.

My father had a - normal - appearance, often talking and laughing, cheerful when there were people (this word "people" does not count my two sisters). Many times I could not hide my

astonishment, thinking that I had met my father - of - the - old - days again. Many times I sat watching people in the village visiting the rice fields passing by the hut, at that time, my father would call, "Nương,

grill some dried fish, I will drink with the uncles...". My younger brother was also very happy, carrying a bottle to the store to buy wine, he was delighted to hear his father call, "Điên ơi! Điền...". Just a little bit of joy, when the man was gone, my sisters and I looked bitterly at our father, who looked like a playwright who had just shed his clothes. Pale, cold, bewildered and lonely. No, when he was alone, my father was more frightening. He was like a beast returning to its nest after being full of prey. The beast lay dreamily savoring the taste of its prey, and pondering its desire for the next prey. Sometimes the struggle made the beast's old wound hurt, it licked the blood, and I was horrified to realize that the pain

daughter, and put her clothes back in the closet. No matter, she would love someone else, but she would never forget the humiliation of being left on the side of the road (the proof is that the three of us could never forget). With the women later, my father calculated very well, so that he loved them just enough, hurt them just enough, humiliated them just enough, and abandoned them at the right time. Some had just sold their small shop. Some had just said goodbye to their husbands and children. Some had just cruelly divided their property, some

girls were about to go to their husbands' houses, big and small firewood piled up on the roof... All of them were obedient, trusting and loving. My father took them a distance just enough for the one who stayed behind to clearly see the portrait of betrayal, then the woman was thrown ashore

Father did not spend much effort on conquest (Countryside men have pushed their women to him by their own hands, in many ways. They

like to get drunk, they like to use their hands and feet to show their authority. Tired of working hard in the fields, men have become dry, sometimes all their lives, they do not say a single kind word of love to women. They do not know how to caress, caress, when needed, they turn the woman over and satisfy, then turn their backs and sleep). How many more people will my father let taste that pain, I asked myself when looking at the man in his forties, charming from his smile, from his words, his deep, sweet gaze. Oh my God, except for my sisters, no one can see that behind that radiant square face is a deep, dark pit, a vague, uncertain shore, easy to

fall.

So every time my father gazed and smiled at a new woman, we were tied together. Another painful love affair before the first day (which my sisters and I could not stop). I felt my father grabbing that person, burying his face in her skin and flesh, devouring her, but his heart was cold. Dien bitterly said, “Father, doing that is like ducks mating with hens…”. I scolded, “Don’t talk nonsense…”.

But deep down, I also thought, my father was a bit different from humans. More bland than seasonal, instinctual relationships, my father had no more emotions, his face was full of plans, he planned to betray us before meeting.

My father pushed us into a long slide into endless deprivation. Every time we left a place, it was hard to tell if we were leaving or running away. We

lost the right to see them off, to be moved by the waving, to receive some gifts from the countryside like a bunch of bananas and incense or a bunch of spinach cut in the

garden, along with the affectionate advice, “Go well…”.

My sisters and I tried our best to keep our anger and frustration from burning. We fed the ducks far away in the field, lying there from morning to evening. The desolate

wind in the field did not cool our hearts. Luckily, the wind only blew dry the tears that were always flowing on my sister's face.

I no longer wanted to treat Dien's eyes. Because Dien cried all the time (just like me), even though his face was very calm (I did too, except my tears dried up in

my heart). We were both so strange that sometimes we were startled

One time, the two of us sat on a bank, around which the harvesters were eating. The midday sun was scorching hot. I said, is there anywhere else with such fierce sunlight? Dien said, the smell of fish stewed in fish sauce was incredibly fragrant. Yes, I nodded, but the smell of poverty was too good. So what smell of wealth, Dien asked back. I laughed, braised pork. Obviously the two of us argued back and forth, but then a harvester looked surprised, "You two sat there all day, not saying a word, and yet you can still stand it?" Dien laughed, "Huh, we can't speak human language!?" I realized that he didn't move his lips, I read Dien's thoughts. There, there was a raging storm, the wind whipped madly into his small heart full of painful wounds. Dien rebelled. The signs started from one day in the dyke neighborhood, accidentally watching a pair of dogs fighting each other, seeing the sisters drying rice and screaming, I asked Dien to pretend to close his eyes (this game was extremely childish, because everyone could clearly imagine the two dogs in heat). Dien burst out laughing, he shouted loudly, "Hai, look..." then grabbed a piece of wood and rushed to beat the pair of dogs repeatedly. The two dogs cried out in pain, panicked, and rolled around in the dust. In extreme pain, they huddled at the foot of the haystack, but refused to leave each other. The male bowed his head to the ground, groaned, and drooled. Don't run? Slap. Don't run. Slap. Dien screamed. The bamboo was crushed. I held Dien's hand and said, "Why are you so cruel to them, honey", seeing tears streaming down my sister's face.

From that moment, I wanted to run home and tell my father "What happened to Dien, dad...". I was scared, panicked when I had to witness it alone.

Dien knew I had seen something, he bowed his head bitterly. Dien denied the joy of becoming a real man. He suppressed his strong instincts at puberty with all the contempt, anger, and hatred. He protested by emptying everything my father had and did.

Struggling until he was exhausted, many times, he wallowed in the pond until his body turned pale. He ran like crazy at night, on the grassy rice fields until he was exhausted and collapsed. Then he lay sprawled on the field, in tatters.

It's not like that, it's not like that, Dien, I wanted to cry out, unfortunately my illiteracy prevented me from expressing it in words. I'm not sure, but lust and flesh are not evil, not worthy of contempt, not the reason that pushed my sisters and I to this life with these brokenness...

Dien was sixteen years old, he could lie contentedly beside me, letting me fondle his earlobes. Dien was cold. It indifferently looked at the girls weeding rice, pants

rolled up high, young thighs. Sometimes it saw couples entangled between the huts or bushes, it laughed contemptuously. It calmly said in a slightly trembling but very thin and gentle voice, "Hai, stop it. I'm fine, why be sad...".

I smiled, said yes. But wanting to stop being sad was not simple. It took a long time for me to look at Dien normally, I tried to forget about her, imagining

that she was now nine or ten years old (when we were like bonsai trees, equally straight, Dien often imitated sitting to pee).

And I suddenly thought, Dien's abnormality was simply part of a very long series of punishments. That explained why nature was becoming more and more fierce, more severe. With thunder and lightning, growling, it seemed that heaven and earth had held back a lot, the rage was about to begin. One time, I used rubber to wrap the mosquito nets, watched the rain stick its wet tongue into the tent, happily tasting every inch of the ground, I wondered if it rained as much elsewhere (where we weren't). That thought kept appearing in my head, that the sky only poured rain and sunshine where we stopped. The humiliation of the women abandoned by my father (and the broken heart of those around them) penetrated the clouds.

And it seemed that my and Dien's secret communication was also in an unusual chain, which made the relationship with my father more fragmented. The meals followed each other in silence. When eating, I often had hallucinations, thinking that I was sitting in the field of nine years ago. An endless field with the wind swaying the withered sunlight, a very thin and scattered cloud floating lazily above. The horizon was hazy and distant. A few patchy graves under the cluster of myrtle trees.

The sound of birds chirping, dripping stale drops. The smell of new straw mixed with the fishy mud. A flock of ducks tucked their heads into their armpits, sleeping listlessly under the shade of the tra tree hanging clusters of yellow flowers, hopelessly shaking like mute bells. The scene did not change, nor did the people, just sitting there, scratching old wounds, shedding tears.

Like the graves sitting, Dien commented. Luckily, at noon, the sun shimmered on the straw, we could feel the chattering voices.

Dien exclaimed, "Are we really three-eyed, Hai?" when he realized it was the sound of... ducks. I smiled, happily. The world of ducks opened up. No jealousy, no anger, probably because the duck's head is too small so it's only enough for love. I stopped wondering why a flock of hundreds of ducks only needed ten or fifteen male ducks.

Immersed in the new language, we accepted letting people look at us like crazy people (as long as we could temporarily forget the sadness of the human world). My sisters and I learned to love the flock of ducks (hoping it wouldn't hurt like loving a certain person). But sometimes when I saw Dien listening to what the ducks were saying, I was startled, swallowed my bitterness, and wondered if it had come to this, that playing with humans made me sad, so I switched to playing with ducks. Every night,

also tiptoeing, slowly, the two sisters lit a lamp in the middle of the cage, so that when we came out, they would see, know we were not strangers, and not be disturbed. While quietly taking the

egg, I sang a song absentmindedly, sometimes because I lowered my voice and lost my breath. The ducks were terribly sensitive, later, when I tried to correct those breathless places,

they immediately recognized it, and looked at me with suspicion, "Oh, is that you - the person from the other day?". A blind duck snorted and laughed, "It's not who, the voice is different,

The sky and earth looked gloomy as the rain came in. Dien found some small umbrella trees, he invited me to plant them. We got soaked in the rain, used the knife to dig a few small holes, then covered the roots with soil. The feeling that my father had given up was loving and protecting a (weak, small) creature, so sweet. Dien asked me to cut reeds and plant them around, afraid that the ducks would eat all the leaves, and besides, this bank was frequented by many people, and if we were not careful, they might be trampled. The two of us sat looking at our work, suddenly sad, not knowing if we would have the chance to come back to see these trees grow, to climb up to pick fruit, to hang a hammock, and have a good sleep. My sisters and I had a desire, a longing to plant trees since leaving Bau Sen, because we knew we would never return to live - normally - again. It seemed like we missed it, missed it terribly. The nostalgia includes running around in the square yard full of star apples, planting something yourself, having fruit, and edible fruit, very delicious. But the small dream of watching it grow is also fragile, when we haven't even warmed up yet and have to move to another place. Luckily, this time we stayed in Co Ua for quite a while, taking care of the ducks (which had just become skinny) with "smooth belly feathers". One day, when Dien went out to watch the tree take root, he suddenly smacked his lips, "I wish this was my - land -...". I laughed, that was so far away. Once, passing through the village, in the afternoon, we met old men playing with their grandchildren, Dien stood hesitantly by the hibiscus fence, saying, "If only this man were my grandfather, I would love him less, Hai?". Hearing that, I suddenly felt so poor, so poor that I didn't have... a grandfather to love and long for on the side of the road. I shook my head, saying no, for example, if I fell in love with someone, and tomorrow I would move away, it would be very sad. But, having absorbed, having torn our hearts apart with the pain of separation, are we not afraid?

Living the life of a shepherd, we forced ourselves not to love or be attached to anyone, so as not to be sad, to be indifferent when we rolled up the tent, pulled up the pole and went to another field, another canal. We were more uncertain than any duck farmer running the fields. Because my father's love affairs were increasingly short-lived.

My father had a - normal - appearance, often talking and laughing, cheerful when there were people (this word "people" does not count my two sisters). Many times I could not hide my

astonishment, thinking that I had met my father - of - the - old - days again. Many times I sat watching people in the village visiting the rice fields passing by the hut, at that time, my father would call, "Nương,

grill some dried fish, I will drink with the uncles...". My younger brother was also very happy, carrying a bottle to the store to buy wine, he was delighted to hear his father call, "Điên ơi! Điền...". Just a little bit of joy, when the man was gone, my sisters and I looked bitterly at our father, who looked like a playwright who had just shed his clothes. Pale, cold, bewildered and lonely. No, when he was alone, my father was more frightening. He was like a beast returning to its nest after being full of prey. The beast lay dreamily savoring the taste of its prey, and pondering its desire for the next prey. Sometimes the struggle made the beast's old wound hurt, it licked the blood, and I was horrified to realize that the pain

daughter, and put her clothes back in the closet. No matter, she would love someone else, but she would never forget the humiliation of being left on the side of the road (the proof is that the three of us could never forget). With the women later, my father calculated very well, so that he loved them just enough, hurt them just enough, humiliated them just enough, and abandoned them at the right time. Some had just sold their small shop. Some had just said goodbye to their husbands and children. Some had just cruelly divided their property, some

girls were about to go to their husbands' houses, big and small firewood piled up on the roof... All of them were obedient, trusting and loving. My father took them a distance just enough for the one who stayed behind to clearly see the portrait of betrayal, then the woman was thrown ashore

Father did not spend much effort on conquest (Countryside men have pushed their women to him by their own hands, in many ways. They

like to get drunk, they like to use their hands and feet to show their authority. Tired of working hard in the fields, men have become dry, sometimes all their lives, they do not say a single kind word of love to women. They do not know how to caress, caress, when needed, they turn the woman over and satisfy, then turn their backs and sleep). How many more people will my father let taste that pain, I asked myself when looking at the man in his forties, charming from his smile, from his words, his deep, sweet gaze. Oh my God, except for my sisters, no one can see that behind that radiant square face is a deep, dark pit, a vague, uncertain shore, easy to

fall.

So every time my father gazed and smiled at a new woman, we were tied together. Another painful love affair before the first day (which my sisters and I could not stop). I felt my father grabbing that person, burying his face in her skin and flesh, devouring her, but his heart was cold. Dien bitterly said, “Father, doing that is like ducks mating with hens…”. I scolded, “Don’t talk nonsense…”.

But deep down, I also thought, my father was a bit different from humans. More bland than seasonal, instinctual relationships, my father had no more emotions, his face was full of plans, he planned to betray us before meeting.

My father pushed us into a long slide into endless deprivation. Every time we left a place, it was hard to tell if we were leaving or running away. We

lost the right to see them off, to be moved by the waving, to receive some gifts from the countryside like a bunch of bananas and incense or a bunch of spinach cut in the

garden, along with the affectionate advice, “Go well…”.

My sisters and I tried our best to keep our anger and frustration from burning. We fed the ducks far away in the field, lying there from morning to evening. The desolate

wind in the field did not cool our hearts. Luckily, the wind only blew dry the tears that were always flowing on my sister's face.

I no longer wanted to treat Dien's eyes. Because Dien cried all the time (just like me), even though his face was very calm (I did too, except my tears dried up in

my heart). We were both so strange that sometimes we were startled

One time, the two of us sat on a bank, around which the harvesters were eating. The midday sun was scorching hot. I said, is there anywhere else with such fierce sunlight? Dien said, the smell of fish stewed in fish sauce was incredibly fragrant. Yes, I nodded, but the smell of poverty was too good. So what smell of wealth, Dien asked back. I laughed, braised pork. Obviously the two of us argued back and forth, but then a harvester looked surprised, "You two sat there all day, not saying a word, and yet you can still stand it?" Dien laughed, "Huh, we can't speak human language!?" I realized that he didn't move his lips, I read Dien's thoughts. There, there was a raging storm, the wind whipped madly into his small heart full of painful wounds. Dien rebelled. The signs started from one day in the dyke neighborhood, accidentally watching a pair of dogs fighting each other, seeing the sisters drying rice and screaming, I asked Dien to pretend to close his eyes (this game was extremely childish, because everyone could clearly imagine the two dogs in heat). Dien burst out laughing, he shouted loudly, "Hai, look..." then grabbed a piece of wood and rushed to beat the pair of dogs repeatedly. The two dogs cried out in pain, panicked, and rolled around in the dust. In extreme pain, they huddled at the foot of the haystack, but refused to leave each other. The male bowed his head to the ground, groaned, and drooled. Don't run? Slap. Don't run. Slap. Dien screamed. The bamboo was crushed. I held Dien's hand and said, "Why are you so cruel to them, honey", seeing tears streaming down my sister's face.

From that moment, I wanted to run home and tell my father "What happened to Dien, dad...". I was scared, panicked when I had to witness it alone.

Dien knew I had seen something, he bowed his head bitterly. Dien denied the joy of becoming a real man. He suppressed his strong instincts at puberty with all the contempt, anger, and hatred. He protested by emptying everything my father had and did.

Struggling until he was exhausted, many times, he wallowed in the pond until his body turned pale. He ran like crazy at night, on the grassy rice fields until he was exhausted and collapsed. Then he lay sprawled on the field, in tatters.

It's not like that, it's not like that, Dien, I wanted to cry out, unfortunately my illiteracy prevented me from expressing it in words. I'm not sure, but lust and flesh are not evil, not worthy of contempt, not the reason that pushed my sisters and I to this life with these brokenness...

Dien was sixteen years old, he could lie contentedly beside me, letting me fondle his earlobes. Dien was cold. It indifferently looked at the girls weeding rice, pants

rolled up high, young thighs. Sometimes it saw couples entangled between the huts or bushes, it laughed contemptuously. It calmly said in a slightly trembling but very thin and gentle voice, "Hai, stop it. I'm fine, why be sad...".

I smiled, said yes. But wanting to stop being sad was not simple. It took a long time for me to look at Dien normally, I tried to forget about her, imagining

that she was now nine or ten years old (when we were like bonsai trees, equally straight, Dien often imitated sitting to pee).

And I suddenly thought, Dien's abnormality was simply part of a very long series of punishments. That explained why nature was becoming more and more fierce, more severe. With thunder and lightning, growling, it seemed that heaven and earth had held back a lot, the rage was about to begin. One time, I used rubber to wrap the mosquito nets, watched the rain stick its wet tongue into the tent, happily tasting every inch of the ground, I wondered if it rained as much elsewhere (where we weren't). That thought kept appearing in my head, that the sky only poured rain and sunshine where we stopped. The humiliation of the women abandoned by my father (and the broken heart of those around them) penetrated the clouds.

And it seemed that my and Dien's secret communication was also in an unusual chain, which made the relationship with my father more fragmented. The meals followed each other in silence. When eating, I often had hallucinations, thinking that I was sitting in the field of nine years ago. An endless field with the wind swaying the withered sunlight, a very thin and scattered cloud floating lazily above. The horizon was hazy and distant. A few patchy graves under the cluster of myrtle trees.

The sound of birds chirping, dripping stale drops. The smell of new straw mixed with the fishy mud. A flock of ducks tucked their heads into their armpits, sleeping listlessly under the shade of the tra tree hanging clusters of yellow flowers, hopelessly shaking like mute bells. The scene did not change, nor did the people, just sitting there, scratching old wounds, shedding tears.

Like the graves sitting, Dien commented. Luckily, at noon, the sun shimmered on the straw, we could feel the chattering voices.

Dien exclaimed, "Are we really three-eyed, Hai?" when he realized it was the sound of... ducks. I smiled, happily. The world of ducks opened up. No jealousy, no anger, probably because the duck's head is too small so it's only enough for love. I stopped wondering why a flock of hundreds of ducks only needed ten or fifteen male ducks.

Immersed in the new language, we accepted letting people look at us like crazy people (as long as we could temporarily forget the sadness of the human world). My sisters and I learned to love the flock of ducks (hoping it wouldn't hurt like loving a certain person). But sometimes when I saw Dien listening to what the ducks were saying, I was startled, swallowed my bitterness, and wondered if it had come to this, that playing with humans made me sad, so I switched to playing with ducks. Every night,

also tiptoeing, slowly, the two sisters lit a lamp in the middle of the cage, so that when we came out, they would see, know we were not strangers, and not be disturbed. While quietly taking the

egg, I sang a song absentmindedly, sometimes because I lowered my voice and lost my breath. The ducks were terribly sensitive, later, when I tried to correct those breathless places,

they immediately recognized it, and looked at me with suspicion, "Oh, is that you - the person from the other day?". A blind duck snorted and laughed, "It's not who, the voice is different,