Chapter 15 — Floating Market Without Water

The rain poured down while An was standing in the middle of the temporary wharf, where boxes of fish were stacked on pallets high above the ground.

Water doesn't just fall from the sky. From the residential lot, a stream of dark brown mud spilled over the road leading to the market. It follows the old ditch, passes the stile and flows into the boat mooring area.

Mrs. Sau shouted for everyone to pull the rope, but the muddy water made the wooden floor slippery. A boat was pushed sideways, its bow hitting a pile. An's mother hugged the pot of porridge and slipped. An pulled her up, and Ti ran to hold the rope.

“Don't run into the water!” Khai shouted.

Ti didn't listen. He saw a child stuck between two foam boxes and waded out to pull it. Khai rushed after him, using the pole to push the boat away from the muddy stream. Metallic and chemical smells rise in the rain.

Duy arrived in a pickup truck and opened the door for people to get into the truck. He called the factory to mobilize a pump truck and rescue team. At this time, no one asked who he represented; Everyone needs someone who knows the way.

“Bring clean water to residential areas first,” An said.

“The factory is cutting off the pump.”

“Why cut?”

“So as not to push more mud.”

Khai looked at the flow. "It's not the plant pump that's pushing. It's overflowing from the auxiliary tank."

Duy called back, asking to open the emergency release door. The person on the line said the door was sealed.

“Break the seal,” Duy said.

“No orders.”

“I take responsibility.”

Khai looked at him. “Did you just say take responsibility?”

Duy did not respond, just pulled the rescue rope.

An returned to look for Ti. He was sitting on the roof of the boat, holding the camera to his chest. The rescued child got into the car. Little scraped his knee, but the machine still turned on.

“I can turn,” he said.

“I need a doctor.”

“First machine.”

An took the phone. The video shook violently, but clearly recorded the flow of mud overflowing from the auxiliary tank, the time on the screen and the sound of Duy ordering the pump to be turned off. That's proof of action, but it doesn't prove where the mud started.

An's mother sat on the steps of the car, her hands were cold. She said the porridge pot was empty. An wanted to apologize, but mother said:

"Don't apologize for the water. Find out where it comes from."

The factory rescue team arrived, wearing life jackets with logos. They built fences and took the elderly out of low areas. A worker named Quan realized that the mud smelled like tank cleaning. He said the factory team was asked to discharge the tank at 2:17 a.m., but did not know where to discharge it.

Duy heard it and told the worker not to continue speaking in front of the camera.

An wrote down that sentence in the notebook, without facing the worker.

Khai and Vinh found door M-17 behind the wall. Vinh doesn't want to open it. He said if the door is broken, it will collapse. Khai asked if it doesn't open, the residential area will be flooded with mud.

“I have no rights,” Vinh said.

“I have the key.”

“The key is not the responsibility.”

“But the person holding the key must report.”

Vinh looked at Duy. Duy nodded.

They opened the M-17 door using the spare crank. The muddy water changed direction, flowing into an old drainage ditch to the open field. The overflow reduced, but exposed the inside of the door: on the metal there were layers of different colored mud, indicating that it had been discharged many times.

An shines the light. A new layer of mud has black particles, the old layer has a red-brown color.

“This is history,” she said.

“This is the tank,” Khai replied.

“The tank does not create its own schedule.”

Duy stood between them, his shirt muddy.

“Give me the transcript,” he said.

"Are not."

“I need to see so I know what to report.”

“You'll get to watch it with everyone.”

The rain continued until evening. The water plant, the market were temporarily closed, and the main wharf was blocked. Containers drifted against the fence. Many people lost a day of business, but the residential area avoided a deeper flood.

Night, An received a message from the editor: the article about the mud stream has been posted, with a video Ti filmed. The factory asked to remove it because of "affecting reputation".

Before An could reply, Ti sent a screenshot. In the video, behind Duy there is a person holding a walkie-talkie. That person signaled with his hand before Duy asked to turn off the pump.

Little zoomed in.

That person is Mrs. Sau.

The mud stream still flows under the wharf, carrying with it what the town has left in its records for twenty years.

An did not immediately post the photo of Ms. Sau signaling. She called her grandmother to come and see. Ms. Sau looked at the frame, said she was asking people to back away from the tank and pointed towards the rescue vehicle, not ordering a discharge.

“I know,” An said. “But if you don't explain, someone else will explain.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me what you did.”

Ms. Sau said that when it rained, she received news that the auxiliary tank was about to be full. An officer said he needed to hang up, but the phone couldn't make calls. Duy said if M-17 is not opened, water will flow into residential areas. She directed the ambulance driver to get the keys, not just the valve.

“I didn't know it was on camera,” she said.

“I used to know the discharge schedule.”

“Knowing the calendar does not mean knowing the mud.”

“But you told people this is treated water.”

Mrs. Sau bowed her head. “I said it because at that time I believed it.”

An writes down the entire sentence. Not a confession, not an exoneration.

The residential area was temporarily relocated to the school. An's mother brought porridge, but did not sell it. Ti took pictures of medicine boxes, raincoats, and lists of names, but An reminded him to ask before taking pictures of their faces.

A woman said her family lost all their goods, but did not want her name to appear in the newspaper because her husband worked in a factory. An asked if it was possible to write without a name. The woman nodded.

"I don't want to be chosen for sides. I just want the floor to not be black anymore."

The environmental department took samples from mud in three areas. Officials said they had to wait for the results, but asked the factory to temporarily stop the tank cleaning process. The factory agreed and asked for transportation costs.

Ms. Sau said that all support amounts must be clearly stated as rescue, not compensation. The lawyer explained that compensation cannot be called for until there is a conclusion of responsibility.

Duy went to school, sat and talked with workers and people. Someone scolded him. He didn't leave, but he also didn't take on all the decisions.

“I don't operate valves,” he said. “I take responsibility for what I know and don't say enough.”

Khai listened and said that sentence was still small. Duy asked him what he wanted to hear.

“Name of person who approved the calendar.”

Duy said he doesn't have a certain name yet.

“So say no.”

Duy nodded.

Vinh was missing for two days. The factory told him to quit. An suspected but did not post. At night, Vinh himself went to Mr. Nam's house, gave him a bag of tools and a maintenance book. He said someone asked to delete the log, but he didn't know if they wanted to cover the mud or cover the general access code.

“I received money from outside,” Vinh said. “I must say.”

Mr. Nam told him to say it in the minutes, not through the back door.

Vinh agreed.

The rain stopped after two days. The river water rose enough for boats to leave the wharf, but the sales ban remained. An looked at the boats that could float but could not run.

“The market has water,” Ti said.

“The water is not safe yet.”

“So the market hasn't emerged yet.”

The mud stream still flows under the wharf, carrying with it what the town has left in its records for twenty years.

An asked the rescue team to mark deep mud spots before everyone returned. A red line painted on the pole shows how high the water once rose; a yellow line indicates temporary safety level. An's mother said that every color must have a date written on it, otherwise no one will know about the next season.

The factory built a water tank at the school. People lined up, factory people distributed water and cooperative people recorded numbers. The two sides still argued, but they argued while standing next to the same sink.

Vinh brought the maintenance book. He said door M-17 was opened before Duy gave the order, but he did not know who had the key. The book records one inspection at 2:09 a.m. and one "pressure treatment" at 2:17 a.m. There is no name of the reviewer.

Khai looked at the window and said the word "pressure handling" is often used to cover many things: flushing water, cleaning pipes, opening side doors or rescuing tanks. An asked the writer to explain, but Vinh just said it was an existing model.

"The available models are also designed by people," Ms. Sau said.

Preliminary water sample results have not shown to exceed toxic standards, but turbidity and mineral oil need to be monitored. Environmental officials said people should not use river water directly. The market continues to close downstream.

An's mother asked for a copy of the results and pasted it next to the porridge price list. She told guests to see even the unknown.

Duy asked An why he didn't write that the factory saved people during the rain. An said she would write, along with the fact that the factory operated a system with unclear responsibilities.

“Aren't you afraid people will say you're ungrateful?” Duy asked.

"Yes. But rescue cannot buy the right to correct records."

Duy accepted that sentence without arguing.

That night, Vinh went to Mr. Nam's house and said he had decided to testify. Mr. Nam said that testifying would not help him clear his mistakes.

“I know,” Vinh said. “But at least my words weren't erased first.”

Mr. Nam did not invite Vinh into his house right away. He led him to the edge of the wharf, where the smell of mud was still strong after the rain. Vinh pointed to the new row of piles and said that in the past, workers were not allowed to ask where the pipeline ran to. They receive orders on paper, pull the valve according to the hour, then record the number on a pre-printed table. If there is a mistake, the person recording will be called out; If it's true, no one gets credit.

“Do you keep the old sign?” Mr. Nam asked.

"I kept a few. Not enough."

"So tell me what you know. Don't fill in the blanks with guesses."

Vinh nodded. The next morning, he brought the papers to the dock and placed them next to the community map. There was a torn time slot, a number written in pencil, and muddy shoe prints in the corner. They don't prove the whole story, but they show that the system once operated on pieces of paper that were never placed next to each other.

An recorded Vinh's words into two columns: what was done and what could not be known. She read each sentence back to him. Vinh changed the word "close" to "requested to close", then said:

"That's the difference. I don't want to turn orders into my decisions again."

The rain stopped. On the surface of the river, a small branch of water crept through the mud, slowly but visibly.