Chapter 8 — Pottery Kiln Fire Keeper

On the fifth day of the firing batch, when all three first kiln chambers had reached peak temperature and began to be stopped to shift focus to the following chambers, Mr. Chiem Vinh Truong suddenly appeared at the Vong Nguyet kiln. He arrived in the afternoon, driven by his eldest son - not Champa, but a distant cousin - in a wheelchair, with a thin figure, a hunched back, and hair as white as ice.

Van Khe was busy adding firewood to the fifth furnace compartment when he heard Khac Ben calling out, reporting a stranger. She quickly let go, ran to the yard, and when she saw the old man sitting in a wheelchair, his eyes were dim but still sparkling with intelligence as he looked towards the gourd tree, she immediately realized that this was the person her father had mentioned with a hidden reserve.

— Are you... Mr. Truong? — she asked, her voice shaking a bit.

The old man nodded, his eyes filled with tears when he saw the familiar gourd tree after so many years of separation.

— That's right, you're Van Khe, right? "You look a lot like your grandfather, especially the way you stand looking at the stove," he said, his voice trembling with both age and emotion. — I'm sorry for coming so suddenly. He just... he wanted to see it again, before he no longer had the chance.

Van Khe didn't know how to react. In her heart was a mixed bag of emotions - both curious to know the truth, wary because this was the head of a family that had had a rift with her family for decades, and unable to help but be moved by the image of an old man trembling with tears in his eyes in front of an old friend's stove.

“Please come in,” she finally said, pushing the wheelchair to help him get closer to the furnace area.

At that moment, Mr. Vong also walked out of the house, using his cane to walk slowly. When he saw Mr. Truong, his face briefly froze, then a series of complex emotions flashed through - surprise, wariness, and even something like sympathy that he did not expect to still retain after so many years.

— Mr. Truong, — Mr. Vong spoke first, his voice hoarse.

— Uncle Vong, — Mr. Truong replied, his voice choked. — It's been a long time since we talked to each other properly like this.

Two men, one old and one middle-aged, stood looking at each other in the middle of the factory yard, neither of them could say anything for a moment. Van Khe stood silently next to her, feeling the weight of the past pressing on the surrounding air, so heavy that she could almost hear it in each of their rapid breathing.

— I came here, — Mr. Truong continued, his voice trembling but resolute, — not to bring up old matters torment anyone. I just want to look at the oven one more time, and... if it's okay, I'd like to apologize. During the past thirty-five years, I have never been able to say this to Mr. Tuyen. Now that he is gone, I can only say it to you.

Mr. Vong was silent, his eyes were red, his hands clasped the head of the stick tightly.

— Old story, you don't have to—

— No, I need to say, — Mr. Truong interrupted, his voice suddenly much stronger even though his body was still trembling. — That night, it wasn't Tuyen's fault. It was me... it was me who arbitrarily opened the air vent earlier than scheduled, because I was impatient to test a faster firing method for the batch of Nguyet Bach yeast. Mr. Tuyen stopped me and told me not to take any risks, but I didn't listen. At night, there was heavy rain, strong winds, and sudden changes in airflow, causing the fire to flare up much more intensely than expected. Tan... Tan is standing near the air vent to help me...

Mr. Truong could not finish his sentence, the sob stuck in his throat made the whole workshop sink into a painful silence. Van Khe felt like her heart was being squeezed. So, the truth was finally revealed - it was not her grandfather who caused the accident, but Mr. Truong, in a rash moment of his youth, accidentally pushed his younger brother into danger.

— But the whole village at that time was rumored that it was because my grandfather miscalculated the temperature and the time to close the air vents... — Van Khe blurted out, unable to hold back.

— That's because Mr. Tuyen admitted all his mistakes, — Mr. Truong replied, tears rolling down his wrinkled face. — He was afraid that if the truth were known, I would live my whole life in torment for causing my own brother's death. He told my parents that it was his fault, that he had miscalculated, so that I wouldn't have the reputation of killing my younger brother. He sacrificed his honor, sacrificed the friendship between the two of us, just to protect me from a pain that I should have been the one to bear.

That story shocked Van Khe. Her grandfather, whom she had always revered as a moral example, turned out to be even greater than she had ever imagined — he had silently endured the injustice for thirty-five years, to protect his best friend from the unbearable burden of guilt.

— But then why did the two families disown each other? If your grandfather had admitted all the blame—

— Because he took all the blame, I couldn't face him anymore, — Mr. Truong explained, his voice full of regret. — Every time I see Mr. Tuyen, I remember my younger brother, and remember how he sacrificed his honor for me while I was really the one at fault. I don't have the courage to look him in the eyes, I don't have the courage to live next to the furnace where my brother died. I left, built a new pottery kiln far away, and switched to a gas kiln so I would never have to smell the smell of wood smoke that reminded me of that night again. It was a cowardly escape, and I paid the price for the rest of my life, living in endless regret.

*

That night, after Mr. Truong was driven home by his nephew, the whole factory yard was engulfed in an unusually quiet atmosphere. Van Khe sat by the stove, watching the fire with Khang, but neither of them could say much, their minds were still confused with what they had just heard.

— So for many years, my father grew up with the story that your family was the cause of his uncle's death, — Khang said, his voice deep and sad. — No wonder he always had an inexplicable hostility towards Vong Nguyet furnace. Perhaps, the fact that he wants to buy land and destroy this furnace is not simply a matter of business.

Van Khe nodded, her heart heavy.

— I think, this is not just about money for your father. This is about him wanting to erase a painful memory he has carried since childhood, even though that memory was based on a misunderstanding.

— Then we have to tell him the truth, — Khang said, his voice determined. — My father needs to know that my grandfather is the one at fault, not your family.

— But if I say it out loud, — Van Khe hesitated — will it make things worse? Mr. Truong kept it a secret for thirty-five years, perhaps because he was afraid the truth would destroy the image of his father that Mr. Nguyen still respected.

Khang was silent, his eyes looked at the burning fire in the furnace, reflecting a deep concern.

— I don't know, — he finally admitted. — But I know one thing: the truth, no matter how painful, is better than letting a lie continue to separate two families for another thirty-five years. We can't just let the past determine our future, Van Khe.

She looked at him, realizing in those steadfast eyes there was a companionship that she had never dared to hope to find in a person with the last name Chiem. And amidst the flickering fire of the Vong Nguyet furnace, in the middle of the fifth night of the fateful firing, a new bond has begun to form, not only between two hearts, but perhaps, between both families that have been lost to each other for too long.

Late that night, when Khang went into the shack to take a nap during the rotating shift, Van Khe took the opportunity to go into the house to visit her father. She found Mr. Vong sitting alone on the porch, the light of an oil lamp casting his long shadow onto the ground, in his hand holding an old, yellowed photo - a picture of her grandfather and Mr. Truong in their youth, standing next to each other in front of the Vong Nguyet furnace, both smiling brightly, shoulder to shoulder like two siblings.

— Do you still keep this photo? — Van Khe asked softly, sitting down next to him.

— I found it in the bottom of the chest yesterday, — Mr. Vong replied, his voice distant. — I still remember, when I was little, I still saw the two of them sitting and drinking tea, talking about ceramic enamel late into the night, laughing and chatting loudly. I didn't expect such a beautiful friendship to end on a fateful rainy night.

— Are you angry with Mr. Truong? — Van Khe asked, carefully examining his father's emotions.

Mr. Vong was silent for a long time, his finger gently caressing the old photo.

— I've been angry for a long time, ever since I was young, when I heard people gossiping about your grandfather, — he admitted. — But now that I've heard him tell the truth himself, I just feel sorry for both of you. One person carries an unjust reputation for the rest of his life to protect you, the other person carries the true crime for the rest of his life torment himself. Both are equally miserable, Khe, just in two different ways.

Van Khe leaned her head on her father's shoulder, feeling the familiar warmth, thinking that perhaps, the truth revealed tonight not only healed an old wound, but was also silently drawing her and her father closer together, after many days of separation due to the burden of making a living and illness.