Itook the bus from Hải Hậu to the city. It was staggering. Light came dancing through the window. He was carrying a little kid in his arm, the kid of less than a year of age sleeping soundly covered with a dirty and shabby blanket.
I felt depressed; his song kept piercing my ears, giving me a sharp sting and pain. “Poor and hungry, me vagrant singer to feed my little brother…” Life, civilized as it may be, has got a lot of misery.
Passengers began to make their comment. Ultimately, they took out of their pockets some small money and silently put it in the singer’s hat. It had no change, but I just wanted to give him some thousands of Dong. Afraid that people would think I wanted to “play the lord”, I stayed still. He kept on singing, a real heart-breaking song. I cried. Some passengers stared at me, not showing their surprise. Nothing to be surprised at when tears were expression of pity for people in such miserable situation.
The bus stopped at the terminal. Passengers were getting off hastily and noisily. The boysinger got off, too. He said his “home” was the corner of the huge waiting hall over there.
I waited for my relatives to come see me. I looked around but nowhere could I find him. He flashed in and out like a miracle. Sad! I crouched on the ground waiting. I regretted not giving him any money while shedding tears for his being miserable. I blamed myself on such silly ideas.
He suddenly showed up. No little kid in his arm. No bag on his shoulder, but his clothes was the same. Maybe he had placed his brother somewhere and went on his vagrant singing.
What a pity!
I hurriedly went to where he was. I would empty my pocket and give him all I had. Didn’t he deserve our pity? But before I had come to him, a mischievous little boy rushed up and questioned him, fast and thick, “Did you earn enough for today?”
A “co-worker” to the vagrant singer. I stopped short frustrated, and sat on the steps behind a pillar where the two boys were conversing.
I would talk to the boy-singer about the compassion after his friend had departed. I overheard their conversation.
The boy-singer answered, “Not much, boy.
That broad woman charged me dear today. She said it was cold today, the baby froze and she cried too much, and so she was so tired.”
“How much then?”
“Fifteen. It used to be ten only. How bitter! I won’t need the baby from tomorrow. I’ll be on my own and I’ll take all, no calculations.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t imagine myself carrying a baby in my arm. I don’t know how to make it shut its mouth when it cries.”
“But it will be easier for you to get money from people. Only your singing wouldn’t do! No one would cry because of your cheap song!”
“How dare you say that? Today, on Hai Hau bus, a girl of your age sobbed her heart out, but didn’t throw any dammed penny into my hat. I was going to boil over with anger!”
“How silly! Was it likely that she cried out of compassion? Those girls with such manners are the stingiest ones!”
“What about you?”
“Nothing much! A real bad day today! Just get something to eat first. I couldn’t wait.”
That mischievous-looking “beggar” ran off.
The vagrant singer whose misery I had felt pity for began to walk away whistling.
- Quỳnh Trang