Chapter 4 — The Medicine Bearer Through the Chaos

Drum Sound From Village Communal House

The sound of the communal drum rang out early in the morning, which was not a regular meeting, three consecutive beats, different from the rhythm of the drum that announced the hour every morning - enough to let every house in Lach Dua know that something bad was happening. Tinh Yen was helping Mrs. Khue dry the medicine when she heard the sound of a drum, raised her head to look at her, saw her hand stop mid-step, a handful of wormwood leaves fell from her hand and she didn't bother to pick it up.

"Grandma, what drum is that?"

"Drum summons." Ms. Khue stood up, brushed her hands on her shirt, her voice lowered. "I'll stay at home and take care of the medicine. I'll go out to see what's going on."

"Can I go with grandma?"

She looked at her grandchild for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, but when you go, be quiet and listen, don't interfere."

The two of them went to the communal house yard, where most of the men in the village had gathered. Even the women with husbands and children of military age also stood at the edge of the yard, everyone's faces were tense. In the middle of the yard, an official wearing a blue shirt stood next to Mr. Tu Dien, holding an opened scroll, next to him were two soldiers carrying long spears, their faces as cold as stone.

"According to the royal order," the official raised his voice, "now that the North Dich army has increased its attacks along the northern border, the royal court urgently needs additional troops. Dong Hai town must provide enough men according to the registration book, aged from eighteen to thirty-five, regardless of family background."

A soft ooh spread throughout the crowd, not necessarily surprised - everyone had heard this story from the wandering groups passing by - but when it became a clear reality in front of them, the worry still came like a sudden wave.

Mr. Tu Dien stepped forward, his voice still maintaining the calmness of a village leader who was used to arranging large and small matters. "Your Excellency, Lach Dua village mainly lives on fishing and salt making. If all the young men are gone, who will take care of the farming, who will go out to sea to take care of the young and old at home?"

"This is a royal order, not a matter of discussion." The official replied curtly, waving his hand to signal the two soldiers to hold up the village's nail book to read the names. "For each family with two or more young men, they must send one person. The family only has one young man. They are exempted this time, but must pay additional food and provisions."

The list began to be announced, each name resounding in the courtyard like hammer blows hitting the listeners' chests. There was a sobbing sound somewhere behind, there was a suppressed sigh, there were young men who stood still as if they heard their name, their faces turned pale but they did not dare to argue back.

Tinh Yen clutched the hem of Mrs. Khue's shirt, her eyes glued to the crowd, looking for a familiar face. Then he saw the Kinh family standing in the corner of the yard. The father was holding the shoulders of his eldest son, Kinh's second brother, who had just turned nineteen this year. When his name was announced, the whole family was stunned. Kinh's mother burst into tears, hugging her son, while Kinh stood next to him, his eyes wide with disbelief, his hand clutching the hem of his brother's shirt.

"Brother Hai doesn't have to go, dad?" Tinh Yen heard Kinh's high-pitched voice echoing in the crowd, and could no longer maintain the composure of an eleven-year-old child. "Our family only has brother Hai and me. I'm still young, who goes to the beach with dad?"

The soldier standing nearby scowled at the sound of shouting, causing Kinh's father to quickly pull his son back and bow his head to apologize. The blue-shirted official paid no attention to that scene and continued to call out the names according to the book, his voice was monotonous and expressionless as if he were reading a soulless oration.

When the list was read, all twelve men in Lach Dua village had to leave in the next three days, gathering at Thanh Duong district before being mobilized to the border. The officer rolled up the book, told Mr. Tu Dien a few things about the procedure and then left with the two soldiers, leaving behind a courtyard filled with cries and hasty hugs.

Tinh Yen stood close behind Mrs. Khue, looking at that scene with a heavy heart filled with a new feeling - not necessarily fear, but a sudden realization that her peaceful little world was not separate from what was happening in distant lands she had never set foot on. War, something he had only heard about through the stories of adults or groups of people running amok, had now reached into his village's communal house, picking off the people he knew.

On the way home, he was silent for a long time, until he couldn't hold back any longer and asked her.

"Grandma, will Kinh's brother Hai go to the army and come back?"

Ms. Khue did not answer immediately. She walked slowly, looking down at the dirt road beneath her feet. Her voice sounded unusually heavy when she spoke.

"I don't know, honey. Some people go and come back, some people go and don't come back. War doesn't promise anything to anyone."

"So why does the court keep forcing people to go? Is it okay if we don't go?"

"No, my child. Our country is being attacked to the door. If no one goes to war, the border will break and the enemy will flood in. At that time, our whole village will no longer be peaceful." Ms. Khue sighed, her voice softened. "She didn't say that what the court did was 100% right - there were things she found cruel, like forcing a family that had only two brothers to separate. But that's war, it spares no one, and it forces people to choose between things that are all heartbreaking."

Upon arriving home, Mrs. Khue immediately took out some tonics and carefully wrapped them into small packages. "I'll help you carry these packages over to the families of people who are about to join the army. Carry them with you along the way in case you get hurt or catch a cold. It's better than nothing."

Tinh Yen received the packets of medicine and went from house to house. When he arrived at Kinh's house, he saw Mr. Hai sitting and fixing his grass sandals to make sure they were safe for the long trip, while Kinh sat next to him, not saying a word, just quietly watching his brother work, his eyes red from crying.

"This is the medicine my grandmother sent." Tinh Yen handed the packet of medicine to Mr. Hai, her voice hesitant, not knowing what else to say. "Grandma told me... if you get injured, you should cover the wound with this brown powder first. It's very good at stopping bleeding. And you can use this to make water to drink when you have a fever along the way."

Mr. Hai took it, nodded his thanks, and tried to force a forced smile. "Thank you ma'am, thank you."

Tinh Yen turned to Kinh, not knowing what to say, just quietly sat down next to him. The two children sat silently like that for a long time, looking out at the sea where the sails were still raised calmly as if nothing had happened, as if the sea did not know that the land was preparing to say goodbye to its sons.

"Tinh Yen." Kinh finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "Do you think my brother will be able to come home?"

Tinh Yen remembered her grandmother's answer just now - honest but heartbreaking - and in that moment, she understood that there are truths that should not be told directly to someone who needs hope more than the truth.

"Go back." He said, his voice as firm as possible, even though his heart was not sure at all. "Brother Hai, you're healthy. You brought my grandmother's medicine with you. You'll definitely be able to go home."

Kinh didn't answer, just nodded, then suddenly put his head on Tinh Yen's shoulder, letting the last tears he had been holding back all morning fall uncontrollably. Tinh Yen sat still, letting her friend cry, gently patting his back like Mrs. Khue often did with panicked patients - not saying much, just being there, providing support.

Three days later, twelve young men of Lach Dua village set out with the sound of drums and farewell cries echoing throughout the riverbank. Tinh Yen stood with Mrs. Khue in the farewell crowd, watching the group gradually disappear behind the curve of the trail leading out of the village, bringing with them not only their sons but also a part of the peace that this fishing village has had for many generations.

"Grandma." He whispered, his hand still clutching the hem of her shirt. "I think things are about to change."

Mrs. Khue did not answer, just squeezed her grandchild's hand tighter, her eyes following the group of people until the last figure disappeared behind the distant misty mountains. The sea breeze blew stronger than usual that day, blowing sand and dust along with the dull sound of the drum still echoing in the air, like a warning that no one in Lach Dua village could ignore anymore.

That night, Mrs. Khue's house did not light the lights early as usual. The two of them sat in the dark for a long time, with only the kitchen fire flickering from the crack in the door. Tinh Yen tidied up the basket of medicine left over after distributing it to families with soldiers, placing each small package into the familiar box. Her hands were working but her mind was still wandering, thinking about Kinh's puffy face when she said goodbye to her brother at the riverbank.

"Grandma, do I have to smoke more from now on?" He asked, his voice less shaky than during the day.

"Probably so." Mrs. Khue replied, her hands were still sewing a thread on the old leather medicine bag that was worn out from many years of use. "Soldiers need medicine to carry, people at home worried about getting sick also need sedatives. And once the war has touched our village, the road ahead will no longer be the same."

"So you have to learn faster." Tinh Yen spoke, her voice more determined than usual, as if the morning scene had pushed her to grow up a few years in just one day. "I don't want to learn when people need me."

Mrs. Khue stopped sewing, looked at her granddaughter through the flickering firelight, was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly, not saying any more compliments, but her eyes at that moment said it all. Outside in the yard, the wind still whistled through the coconut leaves, carrying with it the salty, acrid breath of the night sea, and in the distance, the sound of the communal house drums in the morning seemed to still echo somewhere in the memories of the whole village, not yet completely extinguished.