The plane lifted into the sky, rain drifting in fine mist outside the window. A lightheaded rush coursed through Tiên – an intoxicating mix of happiness, anticipation, longing. The simple, unshakable joy of returning home. Even the weariness of travel seemed to dissolve into the air.
Her cousins had promised to greet her at the airport. How fortunate she’d thought to bring along a few boxes of Bến Tre coconut candy; without gifts in hand, their bright little faces might have fallen into disappointment.
Her heart leapt when she caught sight of them through the glass doors – those beloved faces pressing forward, impatient with joy. Bình still wore his tattered yellow plastic sandals, one strap flapping uselessly at the side. And Nhím – what on earth possessed her to dress in that cockroach-brown outfit, a costume that made her look like a little old woman? Yet their innocence shone through, radiant and unspoiled, so endearing that Tiên wanted nothing more than to pinch their cheeks, crush them into her arms, breathe in their presence until her long-nursed longing was at last soothed.
And there he was – the “legendary” driver, her familiar uncle. Tall and lean, a gray cap pulled low, giving him the air of an undercover cop. But with dragons and phoenixes sprawled across both arms, he looked more like a retired gangster who still missed the action, a cigarette smoldered at his lips, a quick drag, a flick to the roadside. His eyes were deep-set, framed with heavy lashes; when he smiled, a whole constellation of crow’s-feet appeared, and yet there lingered a rugged charm – his straight nose, his gleaming teeth, one crooked fang that lent a boyish mischief, all set against lips the dusky shade of black coffee, hair artfully messy in a “woke up like this” kinda way.
Tiên saw him only once a year. Though he was barely older – just a single year – tradition required she call him uncle. To do otherwise would be branded insolence, a crime against the invisible hierarchy of blood and custom.
Tien and her cousins clattered their way to the parking lot, and there was Uncle Hiệp, already leaning coolly against the car waiting.
‘Uncle Hiệp! How’ve you been? Have you been waiting long for me?’”
Tien! Girl, I’ve been counting the days! Waiting for you is nothing – heck, I only get this VIP appearance once a year. And look at you now – Got some meat on those bones this time. Last trip home you looked like a walking toothpick.”
“Do I look okay?”
“You kidding me? You look amazing! Just one year away and you’re coming back looking all international- I almost didn’t recognize you! Still no boyfriend in tow? Pretty like that and still flying solo? What a waste! So, when do I finally get your wedding feast?”
“I am not sure… about the wedding yet, I’m still living my best single life”
“Better stay single and live your best life – beats falling for some dude who’s just gonna drive you insane.”
“I think you are right!”
“Got anything for your favorite uncle?”
“Of course! Brought you some fancy smokes – slim fit, imported straight from Korea. Smooth stuff”
“Damn, you really are the most thoughtful niece ever. Still remember my taste, huh? Alright, hop in. Let’s roll.”
Tiên had been getting rides from her uncle since the days he was still a free man. Back then, the whole ride home felt like tuning into some late-night love radio: tragic heartbreaks, wild adventures, syrupy sweet romances, and bitter breakups – he had a whole playlist.
The road home always stirred emotions. Time had changed the landscape, in ways subtle and not so subtle. Flowers flamed bright on either side of the highway, the car swept past the new factories and workshops, then rolled into softer scenes – quiet fields, herds of buffalo and cows moving at their unhurried pace. Her younger cousins sat subdued, queasy from the ride, chewing Bến Tre coconut candy that filled the car with its sweet, milky fragrance. Everyone has a homeland to which the heart clings; Tiên was on her way back to hers, the soil where her life had first taken root.
An hour later, they reached the familiar Love Market. Today was a market day, the square ahead bustling and crowded. Tiên leaned forward, craning her neck to ask:
“Wow, uncle, so many cars in the village now!”
“You betcha!” he barked, his accent thick with that quirky village lisp – almost a local specialty.
“You go to the market in the morning, you’ll see traffic jams just like in Saigon!”
Suddenly, the air split with shouts
“Move it! Customers can’t even get through!”
“Blocking the road like that – are you blind?!”
Up ahead, a furious woman waved her arms like a warrior queen, sparring loudly with another vendor in a chorus of insults.
Tien’s uncle chuckled, puffing up with pride.
“Our village these days – houses sprouting like mushrooms after the rain.”
“You wouldn’t believe it, Tiên. The whole village is crawling with rich folks now!”
“Really?”
“Take Tùng, my buddy who worked in Japan for five years. Came back and built a couple houses. Gifted his parents a fancy garden villa, then moved into his own mini-mansion next door. Opened a feed company too – every farmer in the district buys from him now.”
“Or Khánh – remember that fool? Never studied a damn thing, used to copy off me every test. Dumb as a cow, I swear. Now he’s the kingpin of rare wood, built himself a palace fit for a lord.”
“And Minh the scrawny one – you remember him? Dropped out before seventh grade. Parents used to beat him till he ran half the village. Now he runs a whole chain of motorbike shops. Every time he comes back, he’s in a new car and on the arm of a new girlfriend – changes them faster than his shirts.”
He let out a mock sigh, tossing his cigarette butt out the window.
“And me? I’m the poor one. Worked my bones raw just to put up a three-story house. Pathetic, huh?”
“Poor? Oh please, uncle – you’re the poster boy for broke!” Tiên chuckled, trying not to laugh out loud.
And the whole ride was filled with his lively updates, keeping Tiên entertained all the way.
Tien’s home lay just ahead, cradled in the shade of banana trees – so many bananas swaying amidst the fresh green grass. While the world spun forward into online businesses and the rush of “industrialization,” Tien’s family held fast to their roots: planting rice, tending vegetables, raising chickens and pigs. They still cooked animal feed and chopped greens, just as the elders once did.
Tien loved sinking into the quiet breath of the countryside; it had been so long since she last inhaled the scent of her homeland. The pomelo branches sagged under the burden of heavy fruit, ready to snap, while clusters of lemons swayed and dangled like playful ornaments. Tonight, she would tear into a boiled chicken wing, pressing it against shreds of kaffir lime leaf until the fragrance clung, then dip it in nothing more than a few grains of salt and pepper – just a few, not too much – clinging to drops of congealed blood, and brightened by the sharp sting of bird’s-eye chili. A taste of pure bliss.
The rice fields, nearly ready for harvest, had begun to turn gold. Tien adored that golden hue – it gleamed more beautifully than any precious metal. Gold could not fill a stomach, but rice could sustain life. Yet a pang of sadness passed through her: only days ago, fierce rains had poured their wrath upon the fields, beating the helpless stalks into the mud. The villagers rushed to tie each clump back upright, refusing to let the grains soak and sprout into waste. Here, the people still worked the land by hand. During planting season, they gathered at dawn, guided by the lingering moonlight, bent over in unison, row after row.
They labored until nightfall, the buffalo trudging ahead, the farmer straining behind with the plow, yet still exchanging warm greetings that carried the soul of the village. Images of mothers, grandmothers, and kind-hearted neighbors – bent backs glistening with sweat in the paddies – etched themselves deep into Tien’s memory.
It felt as though the tender echoes of childhood had come rushing back.
“Excerpt from The Road Back to the Village – a short story collection by Hà Kim.
