Chapter 8 — Old Book Repairer In A Small Alley

Tra Lang Provincial Library is located in an old French-style building with high stone columns and arched windows. Inside, the smell of old paper and varnished wood blend together to create a quiet atmosphere different from the noise outside on the street. Lam and Duy Khoi arranged to meet here on a midweek morning, when the rare documents reading room was almost deserted, with only an elderly man sitting quietly in the far corner reading old newspapers.

Duy Khoi contacted the person in charge of the archive in advance and borrowed a number of local newspaper documents from the period 1963 to 1966 - newspaper issues left over after many wars, relocations, and even old paper liquidations that accidentally wiped out many valuable documents. He placed a pile of yellowed newspapers on the long wooden table, carefully turning the pages with gloved hands.

"I found a few issues of Tra Lang Tuan San, a local newspaper with a popular arts section at that time," he said, his voice excited like a hunter who has just found traces of his prey. "If Thuc Hien had sent poems to the newspaper under another pen name as described in the letter, maybe we would find traces here."

They divided each page, Lam was in charge of the arts section, Duy Khoi was in charge of social news and other small sections that might contain clues. The work was tedious and required a great deal of patience, but neither of them showed any signs of impatience — for Lam, this was no different from her daily book restoration work, just searching on a larger scale.

She was used to sitting for hours, her eyes glued to each tiny line of text, her hands carefully flipping through each brittle page so as not to further tear what was already fragile. Duy Khoi, sitting opposite, occasionally whistled softly an unclear tune every time he found an interesting detail, though not necessarily directly related to Thuc Hien - an old cinema advertisement, an editorial discussing the expansion of the road to the river, a black and white photo of the inauguration ceremony of the bridge that has now been replaced by a much more modern concrete bridge. He had a habit of reading aloud passages he found interesting, sometimes making Lam laugh in the quiet atmosphere of the reading room, causing the old man sitting in the far corner to look up at the two of them with eyes that were both uncomfortable and kind.

"You read old newspapers like you read detective novels," Lam whispered teasingly, trying to suppress a laugh.

"It's true that it's a detective," Duy Khoi replied, his eyes never leaving the newspaper. "The only difference is that the perpetrator died nearly thirty years ago, and the victim probably never knew he was harmed."

That half-hearted joke made the atmosphere between the two of them slacken a bit. They both remained silent, aware that behind these yellowed newspaper pages was a real human destiny, not a fictional story for entertainment.

Near noon, Lam exclaimed softly when he found a small column called "Young Poetry Garden" in the October 1963 issue, publishing a poem signed "H." accompanied by a short introduction from the editorial board: "A new writer, still shyly anonymous, sends readers a promising first poem." The poem has a few familiar lines, almost identical to a passage in the stack of papers found in the spine of the book.

Duy Khoi leaned closer to read, his face lit up. "H. — could be the first letter of the name Hien. The pen name is hidden, just like the letter said. Let's try to find out if there are any other issues of the newspaper that have this section."

They continued flipping through, finding three more poems signed "H." Scattered in issues from late 1963 to mid-1964, each article has a style close to the articles in Thuc Hien's stack of papers - the same sad tone, the same recurring images such as smoke, fog, empty wharves, lost birds' wings. In the July 1964 issue, the "Youth Poetry Garden" section suddenly disappeared, never to appear again in any subsequent issues they found.

"This," Lam said, her voice low, "right around the time she wrote a letter about being forced into marriage by her family, saying she wouldn't have time to write poetry anymore."

Duy Khoi nodded, took careful notes in a separate notebook, compared dates, and marked each issue that needed to be photocopied for documentation. "We need to find out more who is in charge of this 'Youth Poetry Garden' section. Maybe they know the real identity of author 'H.'. The editor in charge of such a small arts section is usually close to the contributing writers."

He flipped through the editorial information page at the end of each issue, recording the names of people who were on the editorial board of Tra Lang Weekly Magazine during that period. Most of the names were unfamiliar and couldn't be looked up further, but there was one name that caught both of their attention: "Editorial secretary, in charge of printing: Vu Khac Dien."

"Vu Khac Dien," Duy Khoi muttered, then his eyes lit up. "This is the name I mentioned the other day - the old man who used to work as a typesetter, was interviewed by a group of students last year! If it is indeed the same person, he not only worked at the printing house that printed Smog Suong Lac Ben, but also was directly in charge of printing for the newspaper that published Thuc Hien's poems under the pen name 'H.'. This may be the most important witness we have found."

Excitement spread between the two, Lam suddenly grabbed Duy Khoi's hand in a moment of joy, then immediately realized his gesture, quickly pulled his hand back, his face red. Duy Khoi was also somewhat confused, coughed lightly, both bent down and pretended to focus on a stack of old newspapers, neither one dared to look directly into the other's eyes for a few more seconds.

"I... I will contact the group of students who interviewed you last year, ask for a phone number or address," Duy Khoi said, his voice a bit hurried to break the awkwardness. "If it goes well, maybe we can go see him in person this weekend."

Lam nodded, trying to keep his voice normal. "Okay, you... I'll arrange a time."

On the way out, the two walked along the tree-lined street in front of the library, the atmosphere between the two of them was somewhat different from the morning, a clearer awareness of each other's presence that before, when they were still engrossed in work, they had not had time to pay attention. Duy Khoi broke the silence by telling Lam about his student days, about the reason he chose to study literature instead of studying economics as his family wanted, and about his passion for the stories hidden behind every page of old books.

"Maybe that's why I find it compatible with you," he said, then suddenly realized that his use of words was somewhat sensitive and quickly corrected himself, "I mean, your work and mine, although different, revolve around saving what others have forgotten and overlooked."

Lam smiled, a feeling of relief spread in her heart. "So I guess we'd be perfect as a strange investigation team."

They both burst into laughter, a crisp laugh in the midst of the sunny afternoon, dispelling some of the heaviness that had weighed on their shoulders all morning rummaging through old newspaper pages full of secrets. Duy Khoi stopped by a roadside sugarcane juice shop, bought two glasses to take with him, and gave Lam a glass that still had cool vapor on the edge of the plastic cup.

"Thank you," Lam said, taking it, her fingers accidentally touching his hand in the moment of exchange. They both paused for half a second, then pretended like nothing happened and continued walking.

"You know," Duy Khoi said, breaking the silence, "when I was little, I dreamed of being a detective. Then when I grew up, I realized that studying literature is no different from being a detective, it's just that the objects of investigation are not crimes but gaps in history, stories that were forgotten or deliberately hidden."

"So your job is similar to mine," Lam replied, for the first time switching to a closer way of addressing him without realizing it. It wasn't until he saw Duy Khoi smiling slightly that he was startled to realize the change in his own words. She was about to correct her, but he spoke first, his voice gentle as if he didn't want to embarrass her further.

"So we're both looking for what people deliberately forget," he said, and then they both silently walked on, the glass of sugarcane juice in their hands gradually dried up, the noon sunlight spread out on the sidewalk, and in Lam's heart, a warm, fragile, new feeling was quietly sprouting amid so many worries and unfinished mysteries.

But as soon as the laughter subsided, Lam suddenly looked into the distance, where a large advertising sign of a new real estate project hung high on the roof of an unfinished building, dazzling capital letters promising some flashy future that had nothing to do with her small alley, and the smile on her lips suddenly disappeared, giving way to a familiar anxiety about what lay ahead.