Chapter 34 — Summer After the Rain

The meeting about the Ha Vang theater was held in the town hall, a large room with old ceiling fans rotating slowly above the heads of hundreds of people. Tuan represented the group to attend as a stakeholder, Phuc was absent at the request of the council, Linh stood up to present the conservation plan that the group had diligently prepared for many weeks. People sat from the front row to the back of the room. Hau mistakenly gave out the order number, causing three people to stand up and speak at the same time, creating a rare humorous moment amid the tense atmosphere.

Linh said theaters are more than just places to show movies. It used to be a flood shelter for dozens of families, a place where people met each other for generations, and a place to preserve important historical evidence of the entire town. She did not require the estate to relinquish all of their rights; She only proposed a cooperation to change the planning direction, retain the theater and develop the riverside area in a more suitable location.

Tuan made a commitment to sponsor the repair of the theater's roof, but did not ask for the company's name to be placed on any items, a concession that caused the entire hall to whisper. Mr. Tan presented technical documents about the dyke system with easy-to-understand diagrams. Linh's mother recounted her family's story to the crowd, her voice shaking but not breaking. Ms. Nam stood at the back of the hall, constantly reminding everyone not to interrupt while others were speaking.

A man stood up to protest because he feared the theater would not have enough revenue to support itself in the long term. Auntie Tam provided a detailed spreadsheet, showing that the weekend market stall, skills classes and ticket sales could sustain basic operating costs. Minh added a small line "repairing things for neighbors" as an additional source of income, making the whole hall laugh amid the serious atmosphere.

The Council conducts voting on the spot. The plan to keep the theater was approved with the condition that it must undergo periodic safety inspections and establish a quarterly public transparent fund. Bo Nam Company, through its representative, withdrew its official land purchase request in the presence of all people.

Linh walked out of the hall, sighing in relief in the afternoon sunlight. Minh asked her if she wanted to celebrate. She said she wanted to eat noodles, simple as that. He said noodles were the choice of someone who had just won a battle through his own extreme fatigue.

They sat eating noodles on the sidewalk, heat rising in the cool evening air. Minh asked how long she planned to stay in An Binh. Linh said that until the theater has a manager, it will be truly stable. He asked if that manager could be her. She didn't answer right away, but she didn't say "no" either, letting the question hang in the air like an unformed promise.

The official mediation session with the Bo Nam company took place later in the district meeting room, where the air conditioning was so cold that Hau had to wear two extra layers of coat. The company offered to buy back the theater at a higher price than the market and finance the construction of a completely new theater in the suburbs. In exchange, all records related to the flood must be sealed for five years and cannot be made public in any form.

Linh looked at the contract and asked directly, if the company did nothing wrong, why did it need to seal the records like that? Company representatives said it was to avoid unnecessary "inciting public opinion". Mai immediately responded that releasing the records according to the legal process cannot be called incitement, but is the community's right to know the truth.

Phuc sat at the end of the meeting table and was not allowed to officially speak during this session. He looked down at the table, his hands clasped together tensely. Linh didn't want him to be the reason she won this negotiation. She wants to win with a fair deal, without forcing anyone into eternal silence.

They proposed that the company reimburse the environmental remediation costs caused and contribute a part to the town's general dyke repair fund, but insisted that they not own the theater in any form. The company rejected this proposal. The mediation session ended without any signatures being put down.

In a bowl of noodles that night, Hau found a stem of water spinach bent into a strange question mark shape. He said it was a sign of the future. Mai said it was simply a naturally bent vegetable stem. Linh smiled, seeing for the first time that the failure of a mediation session did not mean that the whole day had lost its meaning.

That night, she wrote a letter to her father, sitting alone in the projection room under the sole light of a desk lamp. She said the theater had not been completely saved, her mother was in the upstairs room learning to get used to the old house again, Minh still dropped screws regularly every day, and she no longer wanted to disappear from this place. She didn't send that letter anywhere. She put it in the box, right next to the faded number 13 ticket.

Linh added one last line to the letter: "I don't know how long I will stay, but this time I will say it before I leave." She folded the letter carefully, not locking the box like before. Mom walked by, saw the open mailbox, asked if she wanted her to read it. Linh replied no, but still thanked her mother for asking instead of opening it on her own.

The next morning, a lawyer representing the South Coast sent a new, completely different proposal. They agreed to pay the full cost of repairing the dike if Linh signed a commitment not to release any further documents in the future. Mai finished reading the paper and placed it on the table gently, as if placing it on a flammable object. She said the company is not trying to buy silence with money, they are just testing to see between the two sides, who will be tired and give in first.

Linh did not respond immediately. She spent the morning calling each person who had contributed their story to the file, clearly explaining the new proposal and asking them what they really wanted to protect most in this situation. Some people want the money to repair the damaged house, some people just want their names to be kept completely confidential, some people simply want to ensure that a similar incident will never happen again in the future. From those sincere answers, Mai drafted a careful response: accepting the compensation in a transparent manner, resolutely rejecting the gag clause, and pledging to absolutely protect the identities of all witnesses who spoke.

When the response text was sent, Linh felt her hands trembling with excitement. Minh stood next to her, not telling her to calm down in a cliché way. He just quietly placed a cup of warm water in her hand and asked if he needed to read the text again to make sure. Linh shook her head slightly. She understands that not every right decision makes people stop feeling afraid immediately; Sometimes it simply gives that fear a clear place, without letting it control all of its actions.

A few days after the written response was sent, the South Coast side was unusually silent, without any response for nearly a week. That silence made the group more tense than when they received a direct threat. Hau continuously checked his mailbox, asking if the company was secretly preparing a larger counterattack. Mai reassures the group that silence is sometimes simply a sign they are rethinking strategy, not necessarily a bad omen.

While waiting, Linh decided not to let the group focus all their attention on that worry. She organized a major cleanup around the theater grounds, mobilizing young volunteers who had recently joined. They planted a few more pots of bougainvillea along the entrance, repainted the old fence that had mostly peeled off, and erected a small wooden board recording a brief history of Ha Vang theater for visitors to read when they stop by. That simple manual work, although not directly related to the legal battle, helps people temporarily forget their worries and find some necessary peace.

That weekend, when the wooden sign was completed, Linh stood back and admired the result with the whole group. The inscription on the board reads simply: “Ha Vang — where every story has a seat.” Her mother finished reading, was silent for a moment, then hugged her daughter's shoulders without saying another word. Linh understands that sometimes the smallest and most simple tasks are the things that anchor people most firmly in the midst of big storms that we don't know when will actually pass.