Chapter 37 — Summer After the Rain

The theater began its largest-scale roof repair ever. Scaffolding was erected around the entire outer wall, making the whole area look like a stage preparing for a big performance. Minh wore a helmet that was too big for his head. Every time he bent down to check the materials, he almost fell into the half-mixed mortar bucket at his feet.

Linh is in charge of purchasing construction materials for the entire project. She once confused between cement and wall putty during a hasty order, but luckily discovered it in time before pouring the wrong thing into the project. Auntie Tam said a good manager is someone who knows what he or she is about to cause and proactively asks for others' opinions before taking action.

Tuan sent a young engineer to support the construction team. That engineer's name was Vy, he spoke very little but drew the drainage system surprisingly beautifully and accurately. Hau immediately invited her to join the theater's communications team, but she flatly refused because she only wanted to focus entirely on her technical work.

While dismantling the old roof, they accidentally found an old light box with a piece of paper with Ms. Xuan's name inside. Inside the box are some old rescue team photos and an old number 13 ticket. Linh carefully placed it all in the theater's general archive.

Minh asked her if she wanted to keep these mementos for herself. Linh said things parents leave behind don't have to be locked in their own rooms. They can be shared with everyone, as long as the origin and context of each item is clearly stated.

Everyone worked hard until late at night. When the scaffolding suddenly shook due to a strong wind blowing, Minh quickly grabbed Linh's hand and pulled her back down from the dangerous area. He said she absolutely must not stand right under objects hanging so high above. Linh asked him if he had ever said anything unrelated to work safety. Minh replied yes, but she often ignored him.

This time Linh did not ignore that statement. She asked him directly what he wanted to say. Minh looked at her, preparing to speak, but at that moment, Hau called her out because a cat had climbed from nowhere to the highest scaffold. The cat got stuck on a horizontal bar, screaming loudly as if demanding ownership of the entire structure. Minh had to climb up to save it, and it gave him a long scratch on his arm.

“Don't let it hurt you more,” Linh said, her voice worried.

“He is a long-time witness of the theater.”

“He is a fish-stealer.”

The cat was brought down safely and immediately ran straight into a nearby popcorn box as if nothing had happened. Ms. Nam announced the permanent suspension of access to its box office from today.

At the end of the working day, Linh and Minh sat and rested on the securely locked scaffolding, looking down at the theater below. He said he wanted to ask her if she planned to stay in An Binh, not because of her responsibility to the theater, but really because she wanted to. Linh looked down at the yard, where her mother was cleaning up the chairs and Hau was arguing loudly with a crooked bulletin board.

“I don't know yet,” she said. “But I want more time to find an honest answer.”

Minh nodded, not requiring her to answer immediately. He just gave her a brand new nail, telling her to keep it as a lucky thing. Linh carefully put it in his pocket, saying that if it really brought luck, he should also try to fix the stuck window on the second floor.

The wind blew briskly through the newly repaired roof. Ha Vang Theater is still not absolutely perfect, but for the first time in many years, the sound of rain falling on the roof no longer makes anyone look up with fearful eyes.

Linh carefully photographed the remaining child's drawings on the wall before the crew proceeded to apply a new layer of paint over the entire thing. They decided to keep a small section of the wall intact, placing a protective glass panel in front and clearly writing the name of the person who recognized each drawing in their memories. The little girl who wore a raincoat during an outdoor screening said that when she grows up, she wants to become a theater repairman like Minh. He told me to first learn not to drop screws everywhere, and then immediately hide my own screws away.

Linh laughed, feeling that a small but certain future was gradually being built from such very specific and simple jobs.

After the main roof was completed, the group moved on to carefully inspect the east wall of the theater. The old lime layer peels off to reveal children's scribbles from many years ago. There's a picture of a small boat, a simple bridge, and a cute misspelled text. Linh intended to repaint the whole thing to make it neat, but her mother stopped her, telling her to take pictures and keep them carefully before touching any part.

They invited older former theatergoers to come and identify each drawing on the wall. An old lady immediately recognized the scribbled handwriting of her son, who has been living abroad for many years. She asked permission to take a photo to send to her children. Another person, looking closely, recognized a small drawing of himself from when he was a ten-year-old child.

Minh proposed opening a mural restoration class for those interested. Hau asked if it was possible to restore his own old misspelled handwriting. Linh said that handwriting should be kept natural as a humorous warning for future generations.

On the way down from the scaffolding after a long day, Linh told Minh about her old job in the city, about the endless meetings where people only used phrases like "social impact" but no one bothered to remember the name of a person who was actually affected by their decisions. Minh did not advise her to quit that job completely. He just asked what she wanted to bring back from there to apply in An Binh. Linh said she wanted to learn how to build a place that could live for a long time without a person having to sacrifice their entire life for it.

Minh took a pen and quickly wrote on the back of a technical drawing: three days in the city, four days in the theater, and every quarter a week of real rest. Linh said that schedule sounds no different than the maintenance schedule of a machine. He replied that machines still need regular maintenance, let alone people. She crossed out two unnecessary meetings in her calendar, kept the important community management part, and set an official date to start applying the new schedule. When she stepped down from the scaffolding, Linh knew she still didn't have a complete answer for the future, but at least she had a plan that wouldn't force anyone to disappear so others could stay.

Vy, the quiet young engineer, stayed a few more days after the main construction was completed to instruct Minh how to maintain the new drainage system. While working, she said that she used to be an exchange student in a big city, but chose to work for a small company in the province because she wanted to see the concrete results of her work, instead of just abstract numbers on drawings. Linh heard that story and realized that there seemed to be a type of young people who were secretly looking for small places like An Binh, not because of lack of ambition, but because they wanted their ambition to have a clearer shape.

Before leaving, Vy left Minh a notebook detailing the maintenance schedule for each part of the drainage system, clearly marking the times during the year that need periodic inspection. She said this was a parting gift, and also a reminder that a good building is not one that never fails, but one that has someone who knows in advance when it needs to be taken care of. Minh thanked her and promised to post that notebook right next to the theater's general procedure board, where everyone can refer to it when needed.

Linh saw Vy off to the bus station, thanking her for spending her valuable time on a small, unremarkable project among countless other large projects that the company is implementing. Vy just smiled, saying that sometimes small projects are where she learns the most about the true meaning of engineering, something that huge, flashy projects often cannot teach her.