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Based on the content of Silent Sa Pa by Nguyen Thanh Long, portray the character of the female engineer to retell the story
1. In the narrative of Sa Pa's Silence by Nguyễn Thành Long, portray the character of the female engineer to narrate the story, model number 1:
Being a girl from Hanoi, just graduated from agricultural university, I was assigned to work in Lai Chau. Like the young generation of Vietnam in the 70s, I was eager to contribute to my country. During the journey, I had a conversation with a young intellectual laborer. His thoughts gave me a new perspective on life and dedication.
Recalling the days traveling to Lai Chau, I sat next to a seasoned painter - a kind-hearted, serious artistic laborer who decided to explore themes for his artwork before retiring. As the car passed through Sa Pa, we were mesmerized by the natural beauty: cherry blossoms, swaying pine trees in the sun, towering bald cypress trees against the green of the forest... When the car stopped for water and passengers to rest for thirty minutes, the driver said he would introduce us to 'the loneliest person in the world'. He was a twenty-seven-year-old youth, petite in stature, working as a meteorological and geophysical observer atop Yen Son Peak, two thousand six hundred meters high. He lived alone amidst trees, grass, and cold mist. When he first started working and felt lonely, he was so eager for company that he used a stick to stop the car to chat with everyone. He gave the driver some medicinal herbs because he knew the driver's wife was sick. When the driver handed him a book he bought for him, I saw his joy. The driver introduced us to him and suggested he invite us to visit his residence and workplace. As soon as we arrived, I was amazed by the flower garden he cultivated with myriad colors. Unable to contain my excitement, I ran over to him. The young man was also very natural, cutting me a large bouquet with courteous respect because I was the first girl from Hanoi to visit his home in four years.
He decided:
- Let's stop picking flowers now. It's been five minutes already. I'll talk about myself for five minutes. Then, for the remaining twenty minutes, please tell me a story. I'm craving to hear a good story.
Essay: Retelling the story of Silent Sa Pa in the voice of a young female engineer
Then he talked about his job measuring wind, rain, seismic activity, weather forecasting, serving production, and combat. His work was really tough, especially at night, always facing the wind, snow, and eerie silence. I was truly drawn into the story he told. Suddenly, he stopped and mentioned the time, which he valued greatly in this encounter:
- There's only twenty minutes left, please come inside for some tea and tell me a good story.
We followed him. His three-compartment house was tidy with books, charts, statistics, and a walkie-talkie. The painter suggested he continue talking about his work, questioning why he was called the loneliest person in the world. He chuckled politely:
- That's the driver's words. Being alone, my friend on Phan Xi Păng is even lonelier than me. I used to ponder: What am I born for, where am I born, who do I work for. My job is tough, but without it, I'd feel lost. I no longer feel lonely because I have books as companions. Also, once I spotted a cloud cluster aiding our air force against American counterforces. Since then, I've felt truly content.
Listening to him, my heart swelled with emotion. I finally understood. Life isn't just about going to battlefields to fight enemies. His laborious life is meaningful for the country. Oh, when people find meaning in their work, they no longer fear any hardship. This encounter has reaffirmed my decision to come to Lai Chau; I'll embrace whatever challenges come my way. Silently, I tucked a handkerchief into one of his books as a keepsake, a token of the affection I hold for him. Perhaps sensing my empathy, the painter suggested drawing him. Surprisingly, he modestly declined:
- No, please don't draw me. Let me introduce you to others more deserving of your art.
He recounts the story of the engineer who planted vegetables, patiently watching bees pollinate pumpkin flowers, and then, taking over for the bees, successfully growing a series of high-yield pumpkins. The cartographer, absent from home for ten years, feared lightning striking his house in his absence... Yes, in quiet Sa Pa, at the mention of someone, one thinks of resting, yet there are those who silently dedicate themselves to the nation.
- Oh my, there's only five minutes left!
The young man exclaimed loudly, his voice filled with regret, and the painter also abruptly stood up. He called out to me to come back and receive the handkerchief unknowingly given by me, causing me immense embarrassment in front of the painter. We bid each other farewell with regret. I shook hands and looked straight into his eyes, the gaze of someone admiring a beautiful soul that may never be encountered again. The painter affirmed he would return to visit him. The young man gave us a handful of eggs then left without saying goodbye because he had to go fix a roof. We understood he, like us, didn't want to part ways; thirty minutes of conversation felt too short. But in this short time, I have come to recognize the portrait of this young man - a representation of Vietnam's young generation in nation-building with admirable qualities: love for the profession, enthusiasm for work, hospitality, caring for others, and great humility.
The chance encounter with the painter and the young man left a profound mark on my life. The young man made me feel more love for life, more enthusiasm for work. The portrait of the young man that the painter will surely paint will bring art and life an ideal model to live by through time.
'Just a few more miles to Sa Pa,' the taxi driver said. I began to feel excited, curious, my eyes gazing quietly but ardently beyond the window glass.
After a cheerful exchange between myself, the taxi driver, and the elderly painter, silence fell over everyone as a strangely beautiful scene unfolded before us... The sun now started to reach out, igniting the trees. The tall pines, swaying in the sunlight, their silver branches occasionally poking through the thin layer of greenery, adorned with patches of purple flowers. The sun chased away the clouds, rolling them into balls, draping them over the dew-drenched leaves, dripping onto the road below, slipping under the car...
In that moment, the driver pulled over for a break. Alone with the painter and me, he turned to us mysteriously: he would introduce us to one of the 'loneliest souls in the world.' The driver seemed amused by this name. He even assured the painter—a passionate artist—that 'you'll want to paint him.' Somehow, when he mentioned this, the driver glanced at me, causing me to blush involuntarily. That look seemed to carry deeper implications.
According to the driver, he's a twenty-seven-year-old guy working in meteorology and geophysics on the 2600m high Yen Son peak. When he first arrived, unfamiliar with the forest air and trees here, he craved human interaction so much that he would block the road with a log just to strike up a conversation.
Look, him over there! - The taxi driver pointed out.
Playing the role of a young engineer recounting the story of Silent Sa Pa
The elderly painter and I were truly moved and utterly surprised to see before us a small-framed young man, his face radiant, running down the mountain slope toward the parked car.
The young man handed the taxi driver a small bundle - a ginseng root - a mountain specialty. In return, the driver gave him a book. They exchanged some words, the driver beaming with joy and the young man grinning. I felt that their actions were not merely those of acquaintances but of family. It turns out, the taxi driver's wife had just recovered from illness, and the young man sent a bit of 'homegrown ginseng' as a gift, while the driver sent him a book to read through the blues and ease the longing for normal life!
After a moment, the taxi driver led the young man back to where the painter and I were standing to introduce him. He invited us to visit his home. Then, like many other young men, he blushed, fumbled, and asked to go home early. Not just me, the painter or anyone else would think that he rushed home to tidy up the house, or fold the blankets because... he's a young man! Yet, being alone makes it hard to avoid those difficult conversations.
But what a surprise! I noticed the painter's astonishment as we climbed the earthen stairs and saw the young man picking flowers. And I just went 'oh.' After nearly two days, over four hundred kilometers away from Hanoi, standing in the mist at eye level with that rainbow bridge, suddenly folding single flowers, daisies, marigolds, yellows, purples, reds, pinks, honeycombs... in the summer below, suddenly and joyfully, forgetting all shyness, I ran to the young man cutting flowers. He was so natural, as if with an old friend, handing me the bouquet he had cut, and just as naturally, I took it.
I cut a few more branches. Then she wanted however many more, as she pleased. She just cut a clearly large bouquet. She could cut them all if she wanted. I don't know how to commemorate today properly. You and the painter are the second group of visitors to my house since Tet, and she's the first girl from Hanoi to come to my house in four years.
The young man said aloud things that people should only think. Also, things people rarely think. That made the painter and me touched and immediately drawn in. I hugged the bouquet to my chest, boldly looking straight into his face. The young man caught that look, wiped the sweat from his nose with a smile, and lowered his voice to ask:
Also a comrade, aren't you?
Yes - I replied.
Well, end the flower picking session - The young man suddenly decided. The taxi driver was given only thirty minutes. Five minutes have passed. I'll talk about my work in five minutes. And in twenty minutes, please come in for tea, both of you, and let me hear your stories. I crave listening to stories from below so much...
He began to talk about his job. That his job is to measure wind, measure rain, measure sunshine, calculate clouds, measure earthquakes to forecast the weather. And the difficulties, obstacles: rainy stormy nights, snowstorms, sunny days, rain. But he still works very seriously, every hour, every minute. Because perhaps he understands how important his job is...
I still stood there, holding the bouquet and listening attentively. He suddenly stopped. Oh my! Ten minutes passed so quickly!
Keep talking - The painter urged.
Report completed! - The young man returned with a cheerful tone.
Just twenty more minutes. Both of you, come inside. The tea has steeped already.
The fleeting time urged us on. We stepped into the tidy and neat three-room house. The painter promised to return and tell him the stories from below.
The taxi driver sipped his tea and listened to him explain the phrase 'the loneliest person in the world.' That there's someone even lonelier than him. It's his friend at the Phan Xi Păng peak station, fourteen hundred and forty-two meters above sea level, who's even lonelier than him.
I was reading a book on his table and still listening to the two older gentlemen chatting.
The more he talked to the young man, the more interested the painter seemed. The painter suggested drawing him. But he declined. Because, according to him - he's not worth drawing. He modestly introduced someone else. It's the engineer in the vegetable garden below Sa Pa. But luckily, with a few strokes, the painter had captured the young man's face for the first time.
This young man has made me and the painter think a lot. The things we've heard along with the things I've discovered on the pages of the book I'm flipping through are astonishing. Perhaps it's the light shining from the pages that helps me understand more about the courageous solitary life of the young man, about the world of people like him that he narrates, about the path I'm walking on?
Not just because the bouquet, so large, will accompany me on my first journey into life, but because of another bouquet, the bouquet of random excitement and dreams he adds to me. I don't want these moments to pass by meaninglessly in my life. I hope to leave something truly meaningful here... I gently unlock the small box by my side...
And so, only five minutes left.
The painter smirked and stood up. I also stood up and walked over to him.
Oh! You forgot this scent sachet here!
The young man just walked in, calling out, and he took the round handkerchief nestled between the pages to hand it back to me. The gift that I thought was a bit insignificant, gentle but... I bowed my head shyly, not looking directly at him as I took the handkerchief back and turned away.
The painter and the young man bid farewell, promising to meet again. As for me - I extended my hand for him to shake, cautiously, clearly like giving something to each other rather than a handshake. I looked at him, a gaze as if never to meet again.
Goodbye.
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