Chapter 7 — Pottery Kiln Fire Keeper

On the third day, the batch entered the intense heating phase - the most decisive phase of the entire process. The temperature in the furnace must be pushed up slowly but continuously, from about five hundred degrees up to more than twelve hundred degrees, and each furnace compartment must be monitored separately because the fire moves sequentially from the low chamber to the high chamber according to the natural convection principle of the gourd furnace.

Van Khe hardly left the furnace area for more than half an hour continuously. She walked back and forth between the burning doors, holding a long iron rod to probe through the small hole in the wall of the furnace, her eyes observing the color of the flame inside - from dark red to bright orange, then gradually turning to bright yellow, and finally so white that it was almost impossible to look straight at, a sign that the temperature had exceeded the threshold of twelve hundred degrees, enough to melt the glaze, turning the layers of ash covering the ceramic surface into a shimmering layer full of illusion.

— How do you know the exact temperature without a thermometer? — Khang asked, standing next to her, holding a similar iron rod in his hand, trying to learn from her observation.

— It is used, — Van Khe pointed to several small cone-shaped ceramic pellets placed on a stand near the observation hole, called a thermometer, made from a mixture of minerals calculated to soften at a certain temperature. — When the measuring pole bends down, that is the most accurate indication. But the color of fire is also a way of reading, my grandfather called it "fire eyes" - people who have been in the profession for many years, just need to glance at the color to guess with an error of no more than fifty degrees.

She brought Khang close to the observation hole and showed him how to see without being dazzled by using a specialized piece of dark-colored glass.

— Look, — she said. — This is the color of the fire in compartment three, which is at about nine hundred degrees. And here - she led him to the next compartment - was compartment number two, which had risen to nearly eleven hundred degrees, almost to the top.

Khang looked through the glass, and the bright white light from the heart of the furnace made him squint slightly. But right after that, he couldn't hide his surprise.

— So beautiful, — he whispered, almost forgetting he was speaking out loud. — I have seen photos of anagama furnaces in Japan, but have never been in front of a real furnace burning at this intensity. It feels like looking at a beating heart of the whole earth.

Van Khe smiled, a genuine smile she rarely showed to outsiders.

— Your grandfather used to say the same thing, — she said. — He said, the fire in the furnace is not a dead fire, it has its own breathing rhythm and its own emotions. A good furnace watcher is someone who knows how to listen to that breathing rhythm, know when it is angry and when it is peaceful.

*

The third night was the hardest night, because this was when the three of them had to continuously add firewood every fifteen to twenty minutes to maintain the momentum of the increase in heat. No delay was allowed even for a few minutes, otherwise the temperature would drop and all the hard work of the past few days would be lost. The three people took turns taking short naps of fifteen or twenty minutes, then got up to continue working, their bodies tired but their minds still alert.

At nearly three o'clock in the morning, when Khac Ben was taking a nap in the shack, only Van Khe and Khang were left watching the fire. She suddenly staggered from exhaustion and almost fell while carrying a heavy bundle of firewood. Khang quickly caught her, the two stood close together in the flickering firelight, their hearts pounding not just because of the heat of the oven.

— Are you okay? — Khang asked, his voice worried, his hand still holding her shoulder.

— It's okay, just a little dizzy, — Van Khe replied, trying to stand still, but in her heart she clearly felt the warmth from his hand, a strange feeling that she had never experienced with any other man.

Khang helped her sit on a nearby stone and poured her a cup of warm fresh tea.

— Drink, then rest for a while. Let me watch the fire for you for a while, I've learned how to see the color of fire.

— Are you sure? One mistake and the whole batch will be ruined.

— I'm sure, — Khang replied, his eyes determined. — If there's anything unusual, I'll call you right away.

Van Khe looked at him for a moment, then nodded, letting him add firewood to the stove himself under her careful observation from afar. She sat on the stone slab, sipping warm tea, watching Khang's figure move flexibly around the furnace doors, the firelight casting warm orange streaks on his face. There was something in that moment that made her heart flutter — not because he was a rich son, not because he was handsome, but because she realized, for the first time in a long time, she no longer felt alone in her fight to keep the furnace.

— Hey, — Khang called, not taking his eyes off the stove. — Why did you say fire had emotions earlier, so how is it feeling right now?

Van Khe laughed softly at that somewhat naive but also cute question.

— I think he's excited, — she replied. — Tonight the fire burns steadily, the sound is very pleasant, probably because someone is visiting it for the first time, it wants to show off all its beauty.

Khang turned back to look at her, his eyes in the dark night were only illuminated by the firelight, but Van Khe could still feel the sincere warmth in them.

— Then I'm just as excited as him, — he said, his voice gentle but containing a much deeper meaning than the words.

The two were silent, with only the crackling sound of the fire and the sound of late-night insects as the background, but that silence was not awkward at all, but brought a strange feeling of closeness, as if there had been an invisible string between them that had been connected through seven days and nights of keeping the fire together.

*

Near morning, when the sun began to peek over the horizon, Van Khe took the opportunity to stop by the house to check on her father's situation. Mr. Vong was still sleeping peacefully, his health was temporarily stable, but on the table, she saw that Tan Tho's proposal paper had been taken out of the drawer, placed neatly on the table, next to it was another piece of paper she had never seen before - a handwritten letter, neat but somewhat shaky handwriting.

She picked up the letter and realized it was Mr. Chiem Vinh Truong's handwriting, sent to her father, with a brief but meaningful content: "Uncle Vong, I know Khe is trying to keep the furnace. I hope he succeeds, even though I have no right to say this. If I have a chance, please let me visit the furnace once, before it's too late."

Van Khe stood silently, her hand trembling as she held the letter. "Before it's too late" — that phrase carried a weight that made her shiver. Mr. Truong, who holds the entire truth about the tragedy thirty-five years ago, seems to feel that his time is running out, and is trying to somehow find his way back to the past before everything sinks into oblivion forever.

She put the letter back in its original place, her heart a mess, then hurried back to the furnace, where Khang and Khac Ben were still diligently guarding the fire all night long. On the way, she wondered whether she should tell Khang about this letter, or should she wait until she had a clearer understanding of the truth behind it, before reopening a wound that might be too deep for both families to face together.

When she returned to the furnace, the sky was already bright, the morning sunlight shining through the thin curtain of smoke rising from the vents, creating golden streaks of light floating in the air. Khac Ben was sitting and wiping sweat from his forehead, while Khang was standing in front of the second furnace, writing something in a sketchbook, his face covered in ash but his eyes still glowing with passion.

— You're back, — Khac Ben shouted, his voice relieved. — Last night the temperature remained stable. Mr. Khang is really good, learning much faster than I thought.

Van Khe looked at Khang and nodded slightly in thanks, but in her heart she still lingered on the content of the letter she had just read. She sat down next to the firewood pile, pretending to check the remaining quantity, but actually to have a little more time to organize her thoughts.

— You seem thoughtful, — Khang realized, walked closer, and squatted down next to her. — Is there something going on at home?

Van Khe hesitated, considering between keeping it a secret and sharing. In the end, she decided to only reveal part of it.

— My father received a letter from your grandfather, — she said, trying to keep her voice calm. — He... wanted to visit the furnace once.

Khang paused, his eyes flashed with something hard to name - both surprise, anticipation, and a deep sadness.

— My grandfather has rarely left the house these past few years, — he said, his voice low. — If he actively wants to come here, there must be something very important to him. I... I also feel that there is a story between our two families that no one has ever fully told me. Every time I asked, my father just brushed it off, saying it wasn't something adults and children needed to know.

Van Khe looked at him and realized they were both standing in front of the same secret wall, only each person saw a different side of it. She was about to say something more, but Khac Ben's loud call from the fourth furnace compartment interrupted the conversation.

— Ms. Khe! The thermometer pole in chamber four is bent, it's time to switch tones to chamber five!

The two quickly stood up and ran towards the call, temporarily putting aside the unfinished story to focus on the intense pace of the firing that was entering its climax. But in Van Khe's heart, the seed of a new sympathy had taken root, between two people who were originally raised in the shadow of a hatred whose origin they both never really understood.