Chapter 13 — Summer After the Rain

The second night of preview screening was more crowded than expected, people lined up all the way to the sidewalk in front of the theater entrance. Phuc sent a written request to stop. His signature was stamped in red at the bottom of the page as a warning, but Linh's lawyer confirmed that the license was still valid. They sell cheap, free tickets for children and collect a roof repair donation box, placing it right next to the ticket counter with Hau's handwritten words: "Donate as much as you want, don't donate."

Minh was wearing a white shirt, but he buttoned two buttons incorrectly, causing the hem of the shirt to shift to one side. Linh corrected him, her fingers gliding over each button while he stood still like a schoolboy being adjusted by his mother, he said it was free style. Hau applied his makeup with too white a layer of powder, which Mrs. Nam said looked like a ghost, causing some children who arrived early to be afraid and avoid him all evening.

The first movie is a comedy, bustling laughter spreads throughout the rows of seats. Then, the flood scene was shown, along with Linh's narration about the verified things. Her voice trembled slightly but still tried to maintain coherence. She did not convict Mr. Hai without all the documents. She said her father signed an incorrect operation form, but did not take the relief money. She said her mother was silent because of fear, and that fear hurt her, but she didn't want to turn that hurt into a judgment on the person who left.

A woman stood up in the middle of the row, her voice trembling, admitting that she used to work as Mr. Hai's secretary. She had a copy of the order to open the gate, but she could only keep the last part because someone had torn the first part out long ago. The document lists the caller as “P.”, not full name. Phuc sat at the back of the theater, his face tense under the light reflecting from the screen, then quietly left before the show ended.

Minh ran after him but Linh stopped him, her hand tightly holding his wrist. They needed a woman to testify, not a chase through the crowd. The woman said she would hand over the copy if her identity was protected, her voice still shaking because she had just dared to step out of the darkness after eighteen years of silence. Linh's lawyer received and made a record on the spot, under the light from the box office.

After the screening, a boy pulled Linh's sleeve and asked if her father was a good person. Linh bent down to his eye level, saying her father had done good things and wrong things; it is important for the living to call each thing correctly. The boy nodded as if he understood, then asked for more popcorn, making Linh laugh amid her mixed emotions.

Minh took Linh to the riverbank, the sound of gurgling water mixed with the sound of insects on the summer night. He says she spoke well. She said he also had two misaligned buttons. He replied that it was the comedy part of the night, deliberately to lighten the heaviness of the past.

The rain fell lightly, tiny raindrops clinging to Linh's hair like dew. She asked if she stayed, would Minh continue to fix the machine? He said he would fix it until the machine was completely broken or she kicked him out. She asked what if she kicked him out. He replied that he would apply for a job at the noodle shop opposite so he could still see the theater.

Linh laughed, her light laughter dissolving in the dust and rain. She didn't say she loved him, but put her hand on his, a small gesture but enough to make them both stand still for a moment. Minh was silent, then asked if that could be considered a signal. Linh said to take it as a traffic signal, to go slowly, and they both laughed softly in the light rain.

The film reel returned from the old station after four days. The room staff called first, saying that a few frames were damaged by water but most were still viewable. His voice was cautious as if reporting a medical case. Linh wants to open it right away. Minh reminded her mother of the sentence written on the roll cover. She then invited all those who had signed to sit together in the small screening room, chairs arranged in a cramped but cozy arc.

The first image is the riverbank before the flood, pale yellow sunlight covering the incredibly calm water surface. Her mother stood by the dike gate, her hair blown across her face by the wind. Linh's father held the camera and said the date and time in a clear voice as if he was taking a record. A group of workers were moving bags of cement from the warehouse, sweating profusely under the sun. In a hidden corner, a vehicle from the South Bank project stopped in front of the maintenance gate. The person walking down had a square-faced ring and a terrifyingly familiar gait.

The image jumps suddenly. Ms. Xuan ran into the frame, her hair wet, pulling a little girl out of the rapidly rising water. The baby was Mrs. Nam's child, crying in her arms. Then, mother turned the lens to the dike door. The valve lock was open, but the person standing next to the control cabinet was not Linh's father. Mr. Phuc appeared, looking straight at the camera for a brief moment. He didn't know he was being filmed.

At the end, the image vibrates as if the person holding the camera's hand is shaking with fear. Linh's father's voice outside the frame was urgent and urgent: "If you don't take Linh away, they will use her to force you." Mother replied, her voice choked: "I can't leave you behind." Father said: "I'm not leaving you. I'm taking her out of here."

No one in the room breathed heavily, only the sound of the projector running steadily like a common heartbeat. Linh looked at her mother on the screen, younger than she is now, her face frightened but not as cold as she had imagined for many years. She thought her mother left because she wanted to get away from the family. It turned out that she left because she believed that staying would cause her daughter to be dragged into a fight that she was not strong enough to protect.

After the viewing, a man stood up, his hands shaking, claiming he was a former worker from the South Bank and asked to talk. He said that night there was an order not to open the side gate because the material truck was parked inside. Mr. Phuc knows the tide is rising, but wants to keep the warehouse until the truck is finished moving. Linh's father argued with him, his voice still filled with the anger of that night, then broke the lock himself to get people out even though he knew he was violating the above order.

Linh wrote down her testimony, her hand shaking slightly on the page. She asked why he didn't say anything sooner. He replied that his family received support money after the flood, and if he spoke up, he would be cut off, a simple but heavy answer. He and his wife lived with that shame for eighteen years, wondering every night if they were cowards.

Minh took Linh to the riverbank again, this time the atmosphere was heavier. He said she didn't need to forgive her mother right away. Linh told her to know. She also hasn't forgiven her father for letting her grow up with half the truth. But as she watched the water roll under the dim moonlight, she realized she was starting to forgive herself for ever thinking she was abandoned.

Minh asked her if she wanted to go home. Linh squeezed his hand, telling him to go slowly today. The two of them stood in the dusty rain, no one let go first, letting the light rain soak their shoulders without anyone paying attention.

When he returned to the theater, Linh rewrote the worker's testimony in short sentences, preserving even the places where he hesitated, the three dots marking the places where his voice choked. She told herself that was the way to respect the witness, not to embellish anything. Hau asked if he could write a separate section about popcorn, because he mentioned eating the last packet of popcorn before jumping into the water. Linh said that if the popcorn is related to the time of the flood, he should just write, because every small detail can be a piece of the big picture.

Minh tried showing a broken frame, the lens made a noise before the image appeared. It only shows a blurry patch of light, but behind it you can still see the outline of Linh's mother, blurry like a ghost waiting to be recognized. She didn't delete it. She named the file “light_waiting_frame”, and saved it in a separate folder, as if keeping an unfulfilled promise.

That night, after everyone had gone home, Linh sat alone in the small screening room, watching the last part of the film over and over again until she memorized every word. She tried to imagine how her mother felt at that moment: standing in the middle of a decision with no easy options, between staying with her husband and protecting her only daughter. She realizes, for the first time, that this story does not have a single villain behind all the pain; it was a series of ordinary people forced into unusual choices, and each chose the one they thought would hurt the least.

Minh found her there near midnight, the projection room lights were still on. He didn't ask her how long she had been sitting, he just pulled a chair next to her and silently watched the video with her one more time. When the image of Linh's mother appeared, with that panicked young face, Linh felt Minh gently hold her hand, saying nothing, just a quiet presence amidst the painful footage.

“Do you think if it were you, would you do what my father did?” Linh asked, her eyes still glued to the turned off screen.

"I don't know. I just hope that if I have to choose, I won't let anyone choose alone."

That answer didn't solve anything, but it made Linh feel a little lighter, as if the burden of the truth was no longer completely on her shoulders. They sat there for a while longer, in the dark room with only the light from the hallway, no one said another word, until Hau knocked on the door asking if anyone wanted to eat instant noodles at midnight, breaking the quiet atmosphere with his carefree timing.