“I love storms because when there’s a storm, people give me guavas, and I can pick up pomelos () until my basket is full.”
(*) Pomelo: A type of large citrus fruit similar to a grapefruit.
In the summer of 2002, the wind kept lashing against the house doors, dark clouds gathered ominously, and the sound of plastic sheets flapping echoed from the rooftops. People hurriedly rushed home before the rain poured down. An old man was pulling his buffalo toward the village entrance when a passerby called out, “Where are you taking the buffalo at this hour?”
“I’m going to plow, of course. There are still a few plots of land I haven’t worked on yet. Gotta hurry before it’s too late,” the old man replied.
The passerby scolded, “Are you crazy? Are you still plowing at a time like this? Can’t you see the storm’s coming? The radio said there’s a typhoon today!”
The old man was startled. “Really? My radio broke today. It only makes static noises so that I couldn’t hear the forecast.”
The passerby waved his hand toward the village, “Take your buffalo home now. Secure your roof, or the rain will soak the stable, and your buffalo will get sick and won’t be able to work.”
The old man muttered a few acknowledgments before turning his buffalo around and heading home.
From a neighboring house, a woman called out to her son, “Hieu, bring me some small basins from the kitchen!”
Chou stood in the middle of the house, watching his father climb a wooden ladder, struggling to patch up a crumbling brick wall before the rain leaked through. His father tore pieces of plastic sheeting and tried to patch up the wall, just like sewing up an old, tattered coat. His sister held the ladder firmly, both feet planted at its base, one hand gripping the ladder, the other holding more plastic sheets. She looked up intently at their father, occasionally rubbing her eyes when dust from the crumbling mortar fell onto her face.
Chou glanced at his mother, a woman wearing a green shirt with a small tear near the hem, barefoot as she moved aluminum basins under the holes in the roof tiles—just in case the rain seeped through.
Outside, raindrops began to fall, tapping rhythmically on the roof before turning into a torrential downpour over the moss-covered tiles. Thankfully, his father had finished patching the wall, and his mother had prepared all the large and small basins, along with pots and pans, to catch any leaking water.
Suddenly, a loud thump came from outside. Ignoring the rain, Chou immediately dashed to the gate. His father called after him, “Be careful not to slip, son!”
Chou quickly scanned the area and snatched up a fallen pomelo, running back inside with it. He tossed it into a large basket in the corner, grinning with satisfaction. His mother was fumbling to find candles and a matchbox, while his sister, noticing Chou’s excitement, peeked outside to see if there were more fallen fruits.
Chou turned to his sister and said, “I checked already—only one fell this time, hehe.”
Their neighbor had a huge pomelo tree right in front of their house, and half of its branches extended out onto the street. Whenever a storm hit, the kids in the neighborhood would rush out to grab any fallen fruit. Storm season was like harvest time for them.
Their father roamed around the house, checking for more spots that needed patching, while their mother, after lighting a candle, resumed weaving bandages—a daily task. Each roll of bandages back then sold for about 500 or 1,000 vnd, though Chou wasn’t exactly sure. It had to be 12 to 13 arm-lengths long to be considered a full roll. Every night, their family stayed up until 1 or 2 AM weaving. Some days, they managed 10 rolls, some days fewer, and occasionally more.
Chou also helped weave, but his work was sloppy—some parts were uneven, others too loose—so his parents often had to redo it, taking almost as much time as making a whole new roll.
Another thump sounded from outside. Without hesitation, Chou bolted out the door to fetch another pomelo. His mother, worried, called after him, “Stay inside, it’s too stormy out there!”
But just as he reached the gate, he saw Hieu from next door snatch up the fallen pomelo and dash past his house.
Chou called out, “You’re fast!”
Hieu grinned mischievously.
Chou’s face fell as he turned to his mother, sulking, “Hieu got to it first.”
His mother, hands moving swiftly as she wove, chuckled, “Well, you have to let him pick some too. You’ve already got a whole basket full!”
Chou glanced at his overflowing basket of large and small pomelos, collected since the wind first started howling, and suddenly felt content.
Smiling brightly, he declared to his family, “I love storms because people give me guavas, and I get to pick up a whole basket of pomelos!”
Then, he sat down, admiring his collection, already thinking about how the neighbor would surely give him a basket of guavas once the storm passed.
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