Chapter 4 — Pottery Kiln Fire Keeper

For several days after the conversation with Mr. Thoi, Van Khe could not get the image of the scribbled lines in the diary out of her mind. "Tan is no more." That sentence kept echoing in her mind every time she stood in front of the Vong Nguyet furnace, making her look at the familiar gourd furnace tree with a different eye - not only as a place to preserve her ancestral craft, but also as a place where she had witnessed a tragedy enough to bury a friendship, a common dream called Nguyet Bach yeast.

But she doesn't have much time to dwell on the past. The large batch of kilns she planned to make required countless preparations, and every day that passed was a day when she had to worry about the workshop, worry about her father's health, and secretly probe more about family secrets.

That morning, Van Khe and Khac Ben checked all the yeast that had been prepared before, to see which ones could still be used, and which ones needed to be brewed again. The traditional wood ceramic glaze of Vong Nguyet kiln is mainly ash glaze - a mixture of ash from many different types of wood, mixed with clay and a little stone powder, creating warm, natural colors that no industrial glaze can completely copy, because each batch of ash, depending on the type of wood, depending on the season, produces a slightly different shade - that "imperfection" is the soul of wood ceramics.

— How long can the ash yeast last? How durable? — Van Khe asked, stirring a basin of light gray viscous liquid yeast.

— There are about two jars left, sister. But ash is now very difficult to find, the ancient ash trees along the river have been mostly cut down, only a few trees remain on Mrs. Tu's piece of land, and she is also planning to sell the land to Tan Tho.

That news made Van Khe feel guilty. The ancient bamboo plant is an irreplaceable ingredient to create the characteristic glaze of Vong Nguyet kiln - the glaze that her grandfather called "soul glaze", because it carries within it the spirit of an entire land over decades. If the last bamboo trees are cut down to make way for industrial factories, not only the Vong Nguyet kiln, but also the unique ceramic glaze tradition of Doi Sanh village will disappear forever.

— Let me go talk to Mrs. Tu, — Van Khe decided. — Please keep the ash trees, or at least let me ask for the ashes before selling the land.

*

Mrs. Tu's house is located at the end of the village road, the large garden is shaded by ancient sycamore trees that, according to the story, have existed since her great-grandfather was alive. When Van Khe arrived, Mrs. Tu was sitting on the porch, waving a mop fan in her hand, her face showing the fatigue of old age.

— What's the matter with Khe coming? — she asked, her voice friendly but also somewhat reserved.

Van Khe clearly expressed her wishes, explaining the value of ash for traditional ceramic glaze. After listening, Mrs. Tu sighed deeply, looking out at the garden full of regret.

— You know, these sycamore trees were planted by my grandfather and my grandfather, when they were classmates at the same teacher in the village. My grandfather and my grandfather, and Mr. Truong from the Chiem family, the three of us were very close, like three siblings.

Mrs. Tu's words startled Van Khe. She had never known about this connection, that her grandfather's circle of childhood friends was wider than she thought, that perhaps there were many other people in the village who held memories of the feud between the two families.

— Grandma, do you know what happened that caused my grandfather and Mr. Truong to no longer communicate?

Mrs. Tu stopped fanning and looked at Van Khe for a long time, as if considering whether to say it or not.

— That story was a long time ago, but it hurts so much, dear. She only heard the story, but at that time she had just become a bride and did not understand everything. It was said that night there was heavy rain and strong winds, the kiln was in the middle of firing a new batch of yeast, but Tan - Mr. Truong's younger brother - was for some reason watching the kiln alone. By the time people discovered it, it was too late, he was seriously burned and couldn't be saved in time.

— But who guarded the furnace that night with your grandfather and Mr. Truong? Why is Tan there alone?

Mrs. Tu shook her head, her face full of guilt.

— I don't know that, dear. I've only heard all sorts of rumors, some say it's because my grandfather miscalculated the time to close the air vent, some say it's because Mr. Truong likes to experiment recklessly. But speculation cannot be accurate. Only insiders know the truth, and both men have remained silent for decades.

As for the sycamore tree, Mrs. Tu pondered for a moment and then nodded in agreement to let Van Khe ask for ash before considering selling the land. She even promised to try to negotiate with Tan Tho company to keep at least the two largest syringa trees, as a way to remember old friends. Van Khe thanked her profusely, feeling both relieved to be able to keep the precious source of raw materials and heavy because she realized more and more that her family's secret was more complicated and painful than she thought.

*

In the evening, when Van Khe returned, she saw a small ambulance from the commune health station in front of her yard. Her heart sank and she rushed into the house. In the room, her father lay on the bed, his face pale, a nurse was measuring his blood pressure, and Khac Ben stood next to him, looking worried.

— Father! What's wrong dad? — Van Khe panicked and knelt down next to the bed.

— My uncle got dizzy in the afternoon, luckily Ben discovered it in time and called the medical station right away, — the nurse explained, her voice reassuring. — Blood pressure is a bit low, heart rate is irregular, but the danger is over. The family should take the doctor to the district hospital for a closer examination in the next few days.

Mr. Vong tried to smile and reassure his daughter, but Van Khe could clearly see the exhaustion in his eyes.

— Dad, it's okay, just a little tired, — he whispered. — Don't worry too much, it will affect the preparation of the batch.

— What are you saying, father, your health is more important than a hundred batches of kiln! — Van Khe choked, holding her father's thin hand tightly.

After the nurse left, Khac Ben pulled Van Khe out into the yard and whispered:

— Ms. Khe, in the afternoon I saw my uncle sitting and reading Tan Tho's proposal over and over, then suddenly clutching his chest, his face turning pale, and falling down. I think... you worry too much, worrying about getting sick, worrying about money, worrying about keeping the furnace or selling the furnace, the pressure is all concentrated in one place.

Van Khe stood silently in the middle of the yard, looking up at the starless night sky, her mind filled with hundreds of worries. She realized that the battle to preserve Vong Nguyet furnace was not only a battle with Tan Tho company and the times, but also a battle for time with her father's fragile health. Every day she hesitates, every day she hesitates, could be a day that pushes her father closer to an irreversible event.

*

The next morning, after taking her father to the district hospital and being reassured by the doctor that his condition was temporarily stable but needed close monitoring and minimizing stress, Van Khe returned to the village with renewed determination. On the way home, she stopped by the commune committee headquarters and met Mr. Hua Dinh Toai, head of Doi Sanh village, who is famous for his interest in preserving the cultural values of craft villages.

— Why did Khe come to see you? — Mr. Toai asked, inviting her to sit in his simple office, with several certificates of merit for achievements in building new rural areas hanging on the wall.

— Uncle Toai, I want to ask, has our village ever thought about making a dossier to recognize intangible cultural heritage for wood-fired pottery? I heard that some other craft villages have done it, are supported by the state, and are also known to more tourists.

Mr. Toai pondered and nodded.

— I've also thought about this, but making estate documents is not simple. It is necessary to prove the uniqueness and historical value, there must be documents, there must be experts to evaluate, and most importantly, there must be people practicing the profession, there must be "living descendants" and not just memories. If your family's Vong Nguyet furnace is still standing, that is the most precious living proof.

— So if I organize a large batch of kilns, invite everyone to come and watch, and record the entire process, will it help in making documents?

— Yes, — Mr. Toai nodded, his eyes flashing with excitement. — But you need to contact folklore research experts, they will have enough expertise to compile documents properly. I know a girl who works at a cultural research institute in the province. Let me ask if she can come down and help.

That conversation seemed to light up a new ray of hope in Van Khe's heart. If the path of preserving heritage can go hand in hand with proving the economic value of wood-fired ceramics, then perhaps this is the way out she is looking for - not only to save the Vong Nguyet kiln from the Tan Tho company, but also to turn it into a living symbol of the entire Doi Sanh village, something that no money can buy.

She left the commune committee headquarters with a much lighter step than when she arrived, in her mind already starting to sketch out a plan for the upcoming batch - not simply a batch of goods to sell, but a milestone, a declaration that the Vong Nguyet kiln, and the whole wood-fired pottery profession of Doi Sanh village, is still there, still alive, and will not be easily extinguished.