On the River of Smoky Waves

On the river of smoky waves drifts a lover’s silhouette…

The man stood hesitantly at the corner of Lê Duẩn and Lê Hồng Phong streets. Phan Thiết had changed so much from the days of old. He stepped into the park, settling quietly on a stone bench. It had been far too long since he’d returned to Phan Thiết, though Saigon was only a short journey away. Before him stretched a wide asphalt road, bustling with people and scooters, the sidewalks now sparse with trees. He drifted into memories of a narrow path, dusted with white sand and shaded by ancient tamarind trees. A poem he cherished, as if woven for his own heart’s longing, stirred within him:

“Five years have fled, no path to Phan Thiết’s shore,

Vows whispered oft, a hundred times no more.

Ancient tamarind trees in the town’s heart I mourn,

Dear winding paths, with memory’s sigh adorned.”

Once, this was Phan Thiết’s train station. Slow, creaking trains chugged to Mường Mán, where weary souls changed tracks for Saigon’s boundless sprawl. Their “drunken sway”, as the poem so aptly named it, stirred a wistful smile in him, recalling farewells to friends boarding under evening’s glow, as Lạc Đạo’s bells tolled softly across the quiet town.

“Do trains still sway through the station’s dim veil?
Some drift to Mường Mán, some to Sông Pha sail.
To Mũi Né’s sands or Đại Nẫm’s green glade,
Chasing Lạc Đạo’s bell in the evening’s soft fade.

He rose, strolling slowly along Lê Hồng Phong street toward Quan Bridge. A faint scent of grilled rice cakes wafted on the breeze, mingling with the cheerful sizzle of batter meeting a hot clay mold. He felt as if just meeting an old dear friend. Bánh căn – his lifelong comfort food. Back then, he’d fill his belly at a stall near home. The kind auntie, knowing he was a poor student, let him eat his fill for the price of a single plate.

Freshly made bánh căn, crispy outside, soft within, dipped deep in a light fish broth with a tender piece of mackerel or tuna, paired with fresh herbs, kept him full till noon. On stormy days when fish were scarce, the auntie would switch to a tangy fish sauce with lime, garlic, and chili. He loved eating cakes with the greens, then sipping the sweet-sour sauce like soup. Oh, how it tasted divine! Passing by now, he saw bánh căn piled with eggs, shrimp, squid, and dipping bowls brimming with meatballs, boiled eggs, and pork skin. He gazed, then walked on, longing for the simple, soulful sauce and cakes of old.

Lost in memory, he was startled to find himself at the foot of the bridge. Quan Bridge, or Iron Bridge by the locals, was renamed Lê Hồng Phong now. In his mind, the old bridge stood firm with iron railings, one side for walkers, the other for bikes and scooters. Straw hats bobbed like waves, áo dài fluttering in the breeze, flowing endlessly across the river. The faint creak of bamboo baskets and carrying poles mingled with distant vendors’ calls, woven into the wind’s hum.

He looked up at the graceful water tower reaching into the blue sky – Phan Thiết’s timeless emblem which etched in the heart of every Phan Thiết soul. Leaning against the bridge’s railing, he gazed toward Dục Thanh School. Back then, there was no bridge, only the lively Cà Ty River dock, where boats and ferries shuttled people across. There, he’d watched her silhouette countless times, his heart swelling with quiet, fierce longing.

“Oh, those golden afternoons by the old dock’s side,
Your form on the ferry, where sunlight softly glides.
Sails and oars drifting, to where none could say,
The water tower’s shadow tilting in the fading day.”

She was his schoolmate at Phan Bội Châu School, studying in the class next to his. Somehow, his eyes always sought her gentle figure and that radiant, dimpled smile. She was a fisherman’s daughter, her skin sun-kissed, her laugh warm and kind. A chance encounter brought them together. He was sharp in studies but shy with girls, managing only a few stammered words when they met. He chuckled at himself “shy till moss grew on me”, but that moss smoldered, then one day flared into wind and smoke in his heart.

“Does our old school linger in your heart’s quiet will?
Green moss smolders deep where my soul softly thrills.
Shy days fleeting, when a bird danced near the sky,
Through twilight’s haze, your eyes in my dreams softly lie.”

They’d cross paths “by chance” on quiet roads, their steps soft and steady, hearts beating in silent harmony. They walked and walked, from Đồng Khánh road to Gia Long, over Quan Bridge along the Cà Ty River to Thương Chánh’s beach. Past swaying coconut palms, past whispering casuarina trees, they trod on fine white sand that trembled like their hands, clasped for the first time. The wind blew on, tossing her hair, carrying their light steps through moments of pure joy.

“Oh the roads we wandered, hand in hand, so free,
Gia Long, Đồng Khánh, bathed in spring’s soft glee.
Feet trembling on Thương Chánh’s sandy shore,
Wind weaving through, scenting our steps till dawn.”

He smiled to himself, remembering the time he invited her for bún cá mai (white sardine noodle). Fresh from a scholarship, his first thought wasn’t the dreamed-of books but sharing a meal with her. Years later, that bowl of bún cá mai remained the finest dish in his life.

Delicate rice noodles, silvery white sardine flashed through steaming broth. A pinch of pork belly slivers, fragrant with rice powder, paired with bright red fermented pork and a crisp sesame rice paper. Seeing him hesitate over the fish, she laughed softly, “They’ve deboned it, don’t worry!” A ladle of rich sauce, redolent with peanut and ripe banana flavors, was poured into the bowl. She nudged him to add shredded banana blossom and mint leaves, then mix it all. In her gentle gaze, he took a bite.

Heavens, the sauce sang with tamarind’s tart clarity, banana’s sweet whisper, and peanuts’ earthy depth. The white sardines led a flavor chorus of noodles, tomatoes, and herbs as an excellent conductor. The fish are tender yet firm, soaked in luscious sauce. As delicious and lovely as her! He blushed at his whimsical thought, but that connection became eternal. From then on, every glimpse of white sardine brought her back to him: her way of eating, her gentle grip on the chopsticks, her laugh, her voice. An ache of memory! 

Walking and reminiscing, his steps led him to Lạc Đạo Church, now the Cathedral. Just then, the bells rang out, a bing-boong sound that stirred his heart. Returning to Phan Thiết after years studying in Saigon, he met an old classmate here and was shocked by the news: one friend lost to war, and she got married.

“One day, a tremor: news of a friend’s last breath
One morning, a shock: my love got married.”

A lone bird winged across the deep blue sky and vanished, leaving a hollow ache. For years, he sought news of her through old friends, but she was gone without a trace. He knew he was at fault: leaving Phan Thiết without a promise and writing only a few letters per year. His studies stretched long, uncertain, and he dared not offer her, or himself, any spark of hope.

“Five years have passed, no return to Phan Thiết’s shore,
Vows sworn a hundred times, yet kept no more.
Her life seems dim, not bright with joy’s embrace,
My heart seems burned with love’s undying trace.”

Yes, it was merely “seems,” for he never caught a clear word of her, nor dared to face his heart’s quiet truth. Forever in his soul, her silhouette shimmered through youth’s tender haze, mirrored in his beloved poem “On the River of Smoky Waves”. He stood long, a memory stirring softly within, then fading with the river’s gentle wind and sunlight’s fleeting glow…

* Inspired by Dr. Đỗ Hồng Ngọc’s poem “Trên Sông Khói Sóng” (“On the River of Smoky Waves”).
* Set to music by Nguyễn Thanh Cảnh: “On the River of Smoky Waves” (YouTube)

mlefood – Minh Lê

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/leminhnt.le