Santri Famiglia's

Heavy Rain

Fifteen years ago—when Fang had his first year of retirement, heavy rain poured down. Power's out. The fireplace is squealing, providing lighting to the room. His first son looked out the window and put a candle on the table.

"Dad, this atmosphere is too dim to read. Why not just take a break?" said the first son-in-law with great concern.

"And actually, this strange father, aren't we already living in the modern era? Why do you still have candles and no rechargeable LED flashlights?" Fang's first son sat down beside him, revealing his astonishment.

His second son joined the conversation, "Dad, just try to come with me to the city. We won't experience this kind of darkness there."

"It's a storm outside, so it's only natural there's a power outage, isn't it?" Fang smiled as he continued, "it's possible that there's a tree falling and hitting the power cord. If that was the case, both in the village and in the city, the result would be the same."

The first son took a long breath. "Maybe, but look! This father seems to want to go back to the primitive times."

Fang's house is spacious, but there is almost no electronic equipment except in the kitchen and lighting. No home phone, let alone a cell phone. In order to communicate with Fang, his children and grandchildren had to send letters if they did not want to trouble the neighbors or come directly to his house.

"This must be because of Dad's reading!" Fang's second son took the book from Fang.

"That's a very good book. You'll understand what being together really is when you read it."

For Fang, a simple life away from the sophistication of technology was a deliberate choice. He justified the notion that relying too heavily on modern tools could deprive traditional values and the true quality of social interaction.

While looking at the soft light from the candle flames emanating in the room, Fang imagined the chapters written in the book. He permeates all, as if he were in the story, spending his childhood in the village. He grew up in a state far from opulence and got used to being modest. Every night, his family would gather in front of the fireplace, tell stories of ancestors, and exchange stories. It was the most precious moment for him, where family relationships were tightly intertwined. Honey, it was just a delusion, an experience that had never existed in Fang's life.

Fang was born into a well-to-do family. Both of her parents work, while Fang himself busies himself with activities because he does not want to be lonely at home. After the marriage, Fang was also rarely with his son and wife. Secret tasks often require him to be away from family for months. However, his relationship with his family remains good. His late wife successfully educated their children into a caring person.

Unfortunately, that concern is limited to fulfilling the duty of care. He used to live in his sons' house. Both his son and son-in-law spent more time outside to work. His youngest grandchild was even cared for by a nanny. They are too busy with their own world. Therefore, Fang decided to move to the village. From then on, his family occasionally took advantage of holidays to visit Fang.

"Dad, you do have unique habits," said the second son-in-law with a smile, "but I must admit, the atmosphere here is very comfortable and warm. It's like going back to the quiet past."

Fang smiled at her, feeling the happiness of seeing her two daughters-in-law begin to understand the reason behind her simple choice. "Thank you, kids. I just want us to be able to enjoy the moment together without the distractions of the outside world being so noisy."

The boys run in the dimness. Even the teenagers play. Houses filled with children's laughter.

On that night, the rain continued to fall. Staring out the window, they heard the thunderous roar that shook the sky. However, they did not feel afraid or anxious. They felt safe and peaceful in the embrace of the warmth of Fang's home.

"Grandfather, tell me again the story of life in the village. I want to hear it" asked his fifth grandson, who was only seven years old.

His other grandchildren stopped playing. They seek a comfortable position on their own, while the little ones make the same request.

Fang smiled at his grandson and began the story he had told him over and over again. The atmosphere is increasingly alive with the cheers and laughter of children who are increasingly swept away in the story. They imagined beautiful villages, green nature, and simple life.

A few hours later, the rain began to fall. From a distance, there was the sound of power machines returning to light, indicating the blackout was over. However, nothing moved from its place. They still sit around the fireplace, enjoying a rare moment of togetherness in modern life that is so hectic.

"I miss moments like this" said the first daughter-in-law in a soft voice. "Sometimes, we are too busy with the outside world to forget the importance of time with family."

"That's right," said his second son-in-law. "This simple life teaches us to appreciate the little things and the value."

The candles are still left lit. It was the right decision because the blackout again happened with thunderous Thunder. A momentary flash illuminates the night. The glass trembled, and then a heavier rain fell. Some children screamed in surprise.

"So did anyone hear that?" The second son-in-law made sure they heard the same thing.

"Let me check!" The first son stood up. He brought one of the candles, walked to the front door..

When the door was opened by him, an old man was seen standing. He did not recognize the old man. A large coat enveloped the old man's body. The front is bulging. His hands were like he was carrying something hidden behind a wet coat.

The watery face of the old man looked fierce. Drawing anger from there. The darkness and the dim yellowish light made him look sinister.

"Fang ...." That one word was said from a foreign old man. His voice was heavy, indicating the amount of age he had.

"Vladimir Arshavin?"

The voice surprised Fang's son. When he looked, his father was standing next to him. Fang frowned. His gaze was as if he was investigating an old man who was the same age as himself.

"Fang, I need your help! The old man said it with urgent intonation.

"Is this really you, Vlad?" Fang seemed to be in disbelief at the sight before.

They live on different continents. Fang never thought someone would visit him in this bad weather. The intensity of the rain is back up. Lightning snatching.

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh, my old friend, come on in! Let's get in!"

"Save my grandson!" Vladimir half-kneeled down to hold something in his arms so that he could rush to open his coat.

From behind, there was a little boy who closed his eyes. Her pale skin looked yellowish due to the candlelight. The smell of water smelled from him.

Fang immediately told Vladimir to bring the little boy in. The lack of lighting made it difficult for Fang's family to understand what had happened to the boy.

"Webster, prepare a change of clothes and a meal for our guests!"

"Good, Dad!" Fang's first son guided them to an empty room.

He left a candle on the nightstand, then had his wife do Fang's orders. Meanwhile, Vladimir laid the boy in a crib to the bed. Water dripping from the coat. The rush made him forget to take off his soaked coat.

"What's wrong with this kid?" Fang noticed the stains attached to the shirt. However, he still had difficulty interpreting what it was. The candlelight disguises the original color of what it sees.

"He's been shot." Implied sadness in the vibrating voice of Vladimir.

Without waiting for further explanation, Fang shouted, "Web, get Robert here right now!"

"Now?" Webster was reluctant. The rain has not stopped, it is getting heavier.

"Don't procrastinate! Tell me someone's dying here with a gunshot wound!"