Chapter 27 — Betrayed by My Own Mother, Saved by My Mother-in-Law

Mother Chau stood firmly before the counter, her voice tight with persistent anxiety. "Ma'am, please, look again. We have brought every single document required." The ticket clerk shoved the stack of papers back across the glass partition with a dismissive gesture. "You have the admission notice, the village verification of results, and the household transfer certificate. But you are missing the official seal for grain ration transfer. I cannot sell you a student ticket, and even for a regular ticket, this specific document is mandatory." I felt my stomach drop, my voice trembling as I asked, "Where exactly can I obtain that seal?"

"The Population Management Station," the clerk replied, not looking up.

"Is that the one in the town center?"

"Since your residency has been transferred from the countryside, you first need a confirmation letter from the village, signed by the commune administration, and only then can you take it to the district management station for their stamp."

The woman tapped her fingers impatiently against the counter. "There is a long line behind you, please move along." Dai Tru gathered the scattered documents, his face flushed with frustration. "How many more of these cursed seals do they expect us to invent?" Mother Chau suppressed her anger, gesturing for us to step away. We squeezed out of the queue and took refuge under the eaves of the station roof. The bus schedule posted on the wall was grim: there were only two buses daily heading to the county seat, and to reach the city, one had to transfer there. My university enrollment date was exactly four days away. If we did not secure these tickets today, the entire plan would collapse.

Mother Chau flipped through the papers repeatedly. Being illiterate, she could only rely on the sight of the red stamps. "There is a whole pile of red seals here already, so how can we still be missing something?" Aunt Diep, who had come to assist us, took the file to inspect it. "We handled the enrollment and residency transfer, but this grain ration logbook involves a completely separate bureaucratic process. When a student enrolls, their food allowance is transferred directly to the university canteen." My skin went cold at her words. These procedures felt like an impossible tangle; if a single link was missing, everything ground to a halt.

Dai Tru spoke with resolve. "I will ride back to the village and get that verification." Aunt Diep studied the sky. "If you go all the way back to the village and then up to the commune office, it will be impossible to finish today." Mother Chau was firm. "Even if it is impossible, you must go!" I bit my lip, whispering, "Mother, could we perhaps just buy a full-price ticket?"

"Even for a full-price ticket, they demand that document," Aunt Diep explained. "It is not about the money; it is about the grain ration file. Without it, you will face endless trouble at the university."

Mother Chau threw her bag over her shoulder. "Dai Tru, take the motorcycle back to the village immediately. Find the village head and get that paper. Trieu Thu, follow me to the commune management office to wait. Aunt Diep, you know the town well, please check what time the management station closes." Aunt Diep nodded. Dai Tru grabbed the motorcycle, twisted the throttle, and vanished in a cloud of dust. The old, rattling bike disappeared quickly behind the bend of the dirt road. Watching him go, my heart tightened in my chest. Mother Chau grabbed my arm. "Come, stop standing there like a statue."

At the commune management office, a few people were already waiting. Inside, the room contained only an old, scarred desk where a clerk was slowly turning the pages of a ledger. Mother Chau explained our plight, and the clerk looked up at me. "University student?" I nodded. He skimmed the file. "Missing the village verification. Without that, I cannot sign."

"My son is on his way to fetch it right now. He will bring it straight here."

The official glanced at the clock on the wall. "I close at four o'clock." Mother Chau insisted, "He will certainly be here in time." He said nothing more and went back to his writing. Time crawled forward. In the courtyard, corn was spread out to dry, and the wind made the husks rustle. I stood under the eaves, my palms slick with cold sweat. Mother Chau could not sit still, pacing back and forth across the yard.

"Mother, please, sit down and rest."

"I am not tired."

"Pacing like that just makes me more nervous."

She stopped and glared at me. "Fine, I will stop." She sat heavily on the stone step, hands on her knees, but within minutes, she was up again. I could not help but let out a small, nervous laugh. She shot me a look. "You can still laugh?"

"I think you are more stressed than I am."

She scoffed. "I am not stressed. But if we miss your enrollment because of a single missing stamp, I will tear the bricks off this commune building myself." I was caught between laughter and tears. Seeing this, she patted my shoulder. "Why are you crying? The stamp is not lost yet."

By three o'clock, there was no sign of Dai Tru. The sky suddenly turned a bruised, dark purple. The wind picked up, swirling dust into the air. I stood by the gate, staring down the road. Every time I heard an engine, I hoped it was him, but they were all strangers. Mother Chau claimed she wasn't worried, but her fingers were shredding the hem of her shirt. At three-thirty, the rain began—first heavy, singular drops, then a torrential downpour that turned the ground into mud. My heart sank. The road from our village involved two steep, dirt hills; in the rain, the path would be as slick as oil, making it treacherous for a motorcycle.

"Mother, what if he fell?"

Mother Chau’s expression flickered, but she regained her composure. "Dai Tru has ridden that road since he was a boy. He could find his way home with his eyes closed." Before she could finish, a loud honk echoed from the gate. Dai Tru surged into the yard on the bike. He was soaked through, his pant legs coated in thick mud, and a jagged tear in his trousers showed a bleeding knee, but he held the white paper high above his head. "I got it!" I ran out into the rain. "Did you fall?" He gasped for breath, offering a wide, toothy grin. "The road was a little slippery, but it is nothing."