Tứ 's house was in a narrow alley, his room looking out on a small lake. In the morning and late afternoon, the sun reflected itself in the bottom of the lake, but rarely did he make it a point to appreciate its appearances.
His house was not large, but the household was small. His eldest sister married and had her own place, his younger brother was in the armed forces. His mother was alone in the country making her own living by keeping chickens, growing plants and vegetables. Since his father's death, she decided to live in the country, not to move to Hanoi though encouraged by her children to come live with them.
Tứ had long gotten used to and interested in the solitude and quietness of his own alley. Almost an absolute quiet, especially at night when the wind from the lake was blowing in thru the window, making kind of rustle amid the thin papers.
Early in the evening one day, Tứ arrived home, took his bicycle in, switched on the light.
He saw, near the window, a blue envelope in the shape of an airplane. The postman had thrown it in thru the crack of the door. He picked it up, curiously as if there had been some mistake. It was from Vũ Kiều Oanh from Bắc Thái. I have no acquaintance in Bắc Thái, Tứ talked to himself, but sure enough, the recipient's name was his, Nguyễn Huy Tứ.
The handwriting: wide O's, regular and a little lyric. Kiều Oanh sounds impressive. After some hesitation, he opened the envelope.
"Dear Uncle Tứ,
I am doing my designation paper for graduation, I would like to apply the theory of probability to deal with the problem at its best choice. I've read your book, I understand the first part, the following chapters are too complicated to me. When autumn comes, I'll do my apprenticeship in Hanoi, I'll come to see you. I know your address via the Science and Technology Publishing House. I look forward to your help, I promise not to cause you so much trouble." That night, he came to bed earlier than usual but couldn't sleep until late. A certain girl-student's graceful handwriting seemed to stare at him in a joking way, "I'll come to see you, Uncle."
And then an evening in late autumn, a girl with a slender figure, quick movements and determined eyes stood in hesitation for a time in front of the house that seemed to be deserted, before she knocked at the door.
The wooden door screeched and opened. The girl, surprised, looked at Tứ, "May I see Uncle Tứ, author of the Theory of Probability."
After a pause, Tứ uttered, "I'm Tứ ." The girl felt shy, her face turned red. In silence, a red leaf fell and landed on the blue grass patch on the lake.
- Võ Nhật Thăng