Chapter 20 — Climbing Through the Storm

Two months after the storm, Thắng climbed a high-voltage pole for the first time since the accident, not in an emergency situation, but during a routine check on the line near the district center, a twenty-meter pole in completely calm weather conditions.

Before climbing, he stood at the base of the pole for a longer time than usual, his right hand clenched and unclenched a few times, feeling his strength had almost completely recovered after persistent physical therapy for many weeks.

"Are you okay?" Khánh Thi asked, standing next to him as a safety supervisor this time, a reversal of positions compared to the first sessions when she was the one standing trembling on the pole while he stood below observing.

"Fine," Thắng replied, but both of them heard something in his voice that was not quite as confident as before, a psychological trace left by the accident, something that did not show up on any health certificate.

"It's okay if you don't feel ready," she spoke softly, recalling the words he had said to her during the first training sessions. "Fear doesn't go away. It just can't be controlled."

Thắng looked at her, a smile flickered on his lips when he realized his student was using his own teachings to reassure him.

"You learn really fast," he said, then put on the harness, checked each padlock carefully as always, and began to climb.

The first steps of the stairs were normal, but when he reached a height of about fifteen meters, almost the same height as the accident he had on column 49, a chill ran down his spine, his hand stopped for a second on the iron beam, the memory of the piece of corrugated iron flying horizontally, of the sharp pain in his forearm, of the sound of metal rubbing on the auxiliary hook, all came back at the same time.

"Uncle?" Khánh Thi called from below, noticing the unusual slowdown.

Thắng took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second, then opened them, looking straight at the iron beam in front of her, just as he had taught her countless times.

"Just get up there," he said to himself, repeating the same words he had used to reassure her on column 43 many months ago. "No need to think about the top of the column."

He kept moving, a little slower than usual, but steadily, and when he reached the spot to be inspected, he finished the job with absolute concentration, not allowing the memory of the accident to intrude for another moment.

When he reached the ground, he stood still for a moment, panting more than the job required, and Khánh Thi realized this was not simply physical fatigue.

"Is it that difficult for the first time after the accident?" She asked, handing him a bottle of water.

"It's harder than I thought," Thắng honestly admitted, taking a large gulp of water. "I thought I was over it, it was just a physical problem. It turns out that's not the case."

"So how do you get over it?" She asked, genuinely curious, because this was the first time she had seen her usually steadfast teacher admit such an obvious fear.

"I remember what I once taught you," he replied, a gentle but genuine smile appearing. "It turns out that being a teacher is also beneficial for yourself, not just for your students."

That sentence made them both laugh, a laughter that relieved the tense moment that had just passed, and in that laughter, Khánh Thi realized that the relationship between them had changed, no longer simply teacher and student in a one-way sense, but had become a mutual support, where both learned something from the other.

That afternoon, while the two were packing their tools and preparing to go home, Cả Xuyên drove over, bringing new news.

"I just applied for early retirement," he said, his voice both relieved and a little sad. "The board of directors accepts, I will officially retire at the end of this year."

"Much sooner than expected," Thắng said, although he already knew this intention from the conversation at the new column 42 scene.

"My knees can't wait any longer." Cả Xuyên smiled and rubbed his left knee. "But before I leave, I want to spend the remaining time passing on everything I know to the young people, holding nothing back."

He looked at Khánh Thi, his eyes filled with the affection of an uncle for his nephew whom he had watched grow up every day.

"You will be the next one to teach the new students, right?" he asked.

Khánh Thi was startled, having never seriously thought about that scenario.

"You? You don't have enough experience to teach anyone yet," she said, though there was an undisguised curiosity in her voice about that possibility.

"Experience is not only measured in years, Ms. Thi," Thắng said, using the more formal title that he only used in important moments. "It's measured by having been in the learner's shoes, remembering that feeling of fear, and knowing how to lead others through it. She has all of those things."

Khánh Thi remained silent, letting those words sink in, and in her mind, the image of a new future began to form, a future where she was not only an apprentice, but also a passer of the profession, continuing a thread of experience that had been passed down through many generations of electricians before her, and now, it was her turn to shoulder part of that responsibility.

"If I accept, I will teach you a little differently," she said, after a moment of thinking, her voice gradually becoming more certain.

"How different?" Thắng asked, curious.

"I will tell students directly about my fear from the first day, without waiting for them to admit it themselves like I had to hide it for weeks," she said. "I think if someone had told me from the beginning that fear of heights was normal and not something to be ashamed of, I would have suffered a lot less in the first weeks of my apprenticeship." Thắng nodded, a sincere agreement appearing on his face.

"It's a good improvement," he said. "I teach the way I was taught, silently observing, letting students express themselves when they are ready. But your way, speaking directly from the beginning, may help many people avoid having to suffer alone like you did." Cả Xuyên nodded, lit a familiar pipe cigarette, looked at both teachers and students with the eyes of someone who was about to leave the profession but felt relieved about what he left behind.

"This profession does not stand still," he said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "Each generation has its own way to do better than the previous generation, whether it's technique or teaching. I'm glad to see that before I retire."

Late that afternoon, when Cả Xuyên drove back, Thắng and Khánh Thi lingered at the base of the pillar for a while longer, looking at the orange-yellow sunset across the rice fields that had turned green again after the storm, the young rice flowers stretching in the gentle breeze, a completely different image from the scene of devastation they had witnessed many months ago.

"Thank you, uncle," Khánh Thi said suddenly, causing Thắng to turn to look at her.

"Thank you for what?"

"For not giving up on me, even though I lied to you and said I wasn't afraid," she said, her voice a little choked. "If it were someone else, they probably would have removed me from the list of students after the first practice session."

Thắng looked at her for a moment, then looked out at the rice fields whispering in the afternoon wind.

"I didn't see a scared person when I looked at you that day," he said. "I saw someone trying despite being afraid. That's the only difference I need to decide whether to continue teaching you."

Khánh Thi turned her face away a bit, hiding her red eyes, and Thắng, even though she noticed, didn't say anything more, just stood there, letting that moment of silence pass naturally as it should.

"How is Bin?" He asked, changing the subject to give her time to regain her composure, a subtlety he had learned over many years of working with vulnerable people in different ways.

"He's started kindergarten," Khánh Thi replied, her voice had returned to normal, a warm smile replaced the tears that were about to flow. "The teacher said he often told the story of his mother climbing the electric pole to the whole class. His friends were very impressed."

"Worthy to be proud of." Thắng smiled, looking towards the pillar they had just finished checking, standing tall in the middle of the field in the sunset. "Having a mother who does this job, he will probably be equally brave when he grows up."

"I hope he chooses something less dangerous." Khánh Thi smiled and shook her head. "But if he really wants to pursue this profession, I won't stop him, I'll just teach him carefully like you taught me."

They stood for a while longer, not saying anything, just quietly watching the sunset gradually disappear behind the distant mountains, leaving a dark purple sky dotted with the first stars, before gathering the last tools together and getting in the car to return, ending a normal working day but filled with many things that were not normal at all.