Chapter 6 — Pottery Kiln Fire Keeper

The day of loading the kilns begins at dawn, when dew still covers the entire yard. This is an equally important step as watching the fire for the next seven days, because the arrangement of each ceramic item in the nine kiln compartments will directly determine whether the fire and fly ash can contact the glaze as intended or not. Grandfather Van Khe once compared stacking the kiln to stacking a chess board - each chess piece must be placed in the right position, at the right distance, so that the flow of fire can penetrate every corner without being hindered, while still creating random streaks of flying ash, which create the unrepeatable beauty of wood ceramics.

Khac Ben and Van Khe worked well together, one giving and the other receiving, stacking stacks of dishes on fire-resistant terracotta shelves, inserting small clay tablets between them to avoid the enamel sticking together when melted. Large items such as jars and jars are placed separately in the middle compartments, where the temperature is most stable, while smaller, more fragile items are placed near the air vents, where strong airflow helps the glaze develop richer colors.

As promised, Chiem Duy Khang appeared early in the morning, wearing simple work clothes, completely different from the image of a rich man that Van Khe had imagined. He didn't say much, just quietly observed how the two of them worked for a while, then started helping without too much guidance from anyone - perhaps the knowledge about ceramics he learned in Japan also partly helped him grasp the process quickly.

— Does the distance between items need to be absolutely even? — he asked, carefully placing a plate in the position Van Khe pointed out.

— It doesn't need to be even, it needs to be reasonable, — Van Khe replied, her voice much more natural than in previous meetings. — Where near the door, burn more sparsely, so that the fire doesn't hit straight and crack the enamel. Somewhere far away can be stacked a little thicker.

Khang nodded, remembered, then continued his work with a concentration that surprised Van Khe. She still kept a little vigilance in her heart, but had to admit that his seriousness was gradually shaking her initial prejudices.

Near noon, when the three had finished arranging nearly half of the furnace compartments, Mr. Vong walked out of the workshop with his cane and stood watching from afar. He did not come closer, just stood there observing, his eyes complicated when he saw Chiem Dac Nguyen's son covered in clay, diligently working next to his daughter. Van Khe recognized that look, but she didn't stop, just nodded slightly to greet her father from afar as a word of reassurance.

*

In the afternoon, the kiln loading was completed. Van Khe stood in front of the largest furnace door - the first compartment where the fire would be lit first - taking a deep breath. This was a moment she always felt both nervous and sacred, as if she were standing on the threshold of an ancient ritual passed down through generations.

— Before lighting the fire, do I make offerings to the furnace? — Khang asked, seemingly curious about the customs.

— Yes, — Van Khe replied, bringing out a small tray of fruits, incense, and lights, placing it in front of the oven door. — My grandfather still keeps this custom, worshiping the Craft Patriarch, worshiping the Fire God, praying for a smooth firing and the peace of the kiln watcher. This profession is associated with fire, and fire is inherently impermanent, without worshiping, the heart cannot be at peace.

She lit three incense sticks, clasped her hands in prayer in front of the furnace door, her solemn face was different from her usual stubborn look. Khang stood quietly behind, saying nothing, but his eyes followed her every move with obvious respect.

While the incense smoke still lingered in the air, Van Khe took the prepared firestick and lit the fire on the pile of kindling neatly arranged in the first compartment. The fire ignited quickly, licking the dry wood, crackling like an opening song for the next seven days and seven nights.

— From this moment, — Van Khe said, her voice solemn, — the furnace is on fire, and must not be turned off until the firing is completed. This is an immutable rule.

*

The first night, three people — Van Khe, Khac Ben and Khang — took turns watching the fire in the head compartment, keeping the temperature slowly increasing to avoid thermal shock cracking the still damp ceramic inside. This is the "kiln drying" stage, lasting about a day and a night. The temperature only needs to be maintained at a low level, about two hundred to three hundred degrees, enough to expel all remaining moisture in the soil before entering the stage of strong heating.

Van Khe took the first shift, sitting in front of the small furnace door, occasionally adding a few thin sticks of firewood, eyes glued to the fire to feel the rhythm of the fire. Khang sat not far from her, holding a sketchbook but not taking his eyes off the fire, it seemed like he was trying to learn every smallest detail.

— How do you know when you need more firewood? — he asked, breaking the silence.

— Hear the sound, — Van Khe replied, not taking his eyes off the stove. — When a fire burns evenly, there is a small, steady murmuring sound. When the sound begins to weaken and the fire turns from yellow to dark red, it's time to add more firewood. My grandfather taught me to watch the fire not by looking at the clock, but by listening with my ears, seeing with my eyes, and feeling with my face - when the heat on the face weakens, it means the fire is hungry.

Khang was silent, seemingly absorbing what she said. Then he suddenly asked, in a lower voice:

— Van Khe, have you ever blamed your grandfather for leaving you such a heavy burden? The wood-fired pottery profession, if you can keep it, is so beautiful, but if you can't keep it, you will lose a lot - time, youth, maybe even other opportunities in life.

That question made Van Khe ponder for a moment. She looked at the fire gently licking the sticks, the warm orange light reflecting in her eyes.

— There are times when I'm tired and wonder if I'm stubbornly holding on to something that's out of date, — she admitted with a rare sincerity in her voice. — But then I think, if everyone chooses the easier path, things that are beautiful, difficult to make, and require a lot of dedication like wood-based pottery will completely disappear from the world. I don't want to be the one to let that happen, at least not in my life.

Khang nodded, something changed in his eyes looking at her - no longer the initial curiosity, but a sincere admiration that was gradually growing.

— I understand that feeling, — he said. — In Japan, I once met an old man who made pottery in the anagama style, with a multi-compartment wood stove like this. He is eighty years old, has no successor, and all his children and grandchildren work in the city. He told me that when he passes away, perhaps that fire will go out with him. I stood in front of his furnace and shed tears, even though it wasn't blood or blood. From then on, I promised myself that if I had the chance, I would not let the same thing happen in my hometown.

That story made Van Khe look at Khang in a different light. She realized that behind the elegant, somewhat aloof appearance of someone who had studied abroad, was a heart that was truly moved by traditional values - something she never thought she could find in a person with the last name Chiem.

Late at night, Khac Ben came to change shifts, Van Khe and Khang retreated to a small temporary shack set up next to the furnace to rest a bit. But neither of them could sleep right away. They just lay there, listening to the crackling sound of the fire, the chirping of insects in the night, and the sound of Boi Giang River flowing gently not far away. There was a strange peace in that atmosphere, the kind of peace that can only be found when two people share a great mission, staying awake for a fire that they both cherish.

Van Khe fell asleep without realizing it, and in her fitful sleep, she dreamed of her grandfather standing by the stove, smiling gently, next to him was the figure of another man whose face she could not see clearly, only hearing the warm laughter of two old friends, as if they had never had any distance between each other.

Near dawn, she was startled awake by the sound of Khac Ben calling urgently outside the shack.

— Ms. Khe, wake up quickly! The wind changes direction, the smoke blows back into the oven door, I'm afraid the heat won't be even!

Van Khe jumped up immediately, with the reflexes of someone accustomed to unpredictable nights watching the furnace. She ran out and saw gray smoke swirling abnormally around the mouth of the furnace, not flying straight up into the sky as usual, but passing sideways, seeping into every crevice of the makeshift roof. The night wind suddenly changes direction, a phenomenon that often occurs on seasonal nights in riverside areas, but always makes the kiln watcher extremely stressed, because if not handled promptly, the reverse air flow can cause the fire to burn unevenly, damaging the entire batch right from the beginning.

— Close the west door, open the east door! — Van Khe shouted loudly, his hand quickly pulling the terracotta shield covering part of the air inlet.

Khang didn't need to wait for a second reminder. He immediately rolled up his sleeves and helped Khac Ben carry the heavy clay-wrapped wooden shield to the east air vent location according to instructions. The three people worked in the flickering firelight, sweating wetly even though the weather was still cold, the sound of the wind whistling through the furnace mixed with short shouts to coordinate. In less than fifteen tense minutes, the smoke flow began to stabilize again, flying straight into the sky as before, and the fire in the furnace gradually regained its familiar, steady burning rhythm.

The three stood panting in front of the oven door, looked at each other, then burst out laughing in relief because they had just overcome a small dangerous moment together, but enough to make everyone's heart beat faster.

— This job really doesn't allow anyone to be negligent for even a moment, — Khang exhaled, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his ash-stained sleeve. — I began to understand why my grandfather once said that a furnace keeper must have a heart that can never sleep completely.

Van Khe looked at him, his face now shining with fatigue but also unusually radiant under the firelight, and she suddenly realized that the moment of danger just now, although brief, had drawn three strangers closer together than any mere words could do.