Chapter 4 — Summer Rescuer

Thao Nhi's only day off in the week, she usually spends to visit Mr. Quan Huu Dat, who lives alone in a small house hidden behind a casuarina tree at the edge of town, about three kilometers away from Bai Duong toward the hill. He is sixty years old, was the captain of the first rescue team of Bai Duong before her father's time, and is the swimming teacher for countless generations of children in the town, including Mr. Loc and Thao Nhi.

That morning, she cycled to his house, carrying a bag of fruit her mother sent her. Mr. Dat was sitting on an old rattan chair on the front porch, holding a small radio broadcasting the weather report. His figure was thin but still exuding the toughness of a person who had swum into the ocean countless times in his life.

"She's here," he smiled, his eyes squinting against the sun. "Sit down, let me make tea."

"I can mix it myself, Uncle Dat," Thao Nhi said, but he stood up, his gait was a bit limp because his leg was injured in a rescue many years ago, limp but still agile in his own way.

They sat on the porch, looking out at a small yard filled with red bougainvillea flowers, in the distance was a strip of sea peeking out from behind the trees. This is where Thao Nhi always feels most at peace, perhaps because it reminds her of childhood afternoons, when her father often brought her here to play with Mr. Dat after work.

"I heard that our team is very busy this week," Mr. Dat said, pouring tea into two old porcelain cups. "The story of the boy nearly drowning on the opening day of the season, and the story of the worker falling into the water at the construction site."

"News travels really fast here," Thao Nhi chuckled, but the smile quickly disappeared. "Uncle Dat, I want to ask you something. Regarding the Cape Sa Den area, in the past, before I was born or when I was young, was the water there ever as dangerous as it is now?"

Mr. Dat put down the tea cup, his eyes looked far out to sea, and was silent for a long time before answering. "Cape Sa Den always has its own current, my child. The seabed terrain there is steep and has underground trenches, so the offshore current is inherently stronger than other places. But in the past, people knew how to respect it. Wherever it was dangerous, flags were posted, warnings, no one would foolishly swim there without experience."

"What about now?"

"Now they build a giant embankment right in the middle of that natural flow," he said, his voice heavy. "Where do you think the water will go when it's stopped in the middle of the road?"

Thao Nhi remained silent, letting his words sink in. She had been observing and taking notes herself for the past few weeks, but hearing Mr. Dat himself confirm it with decades of experience made her worries even clearer and heavier.

"Uncle Dat," she said softly, her voice shaking a bit, "I want to ask about my father. About the day he passed away."

Mr. Dat's hand tightened around the tea cup. This wasn't the first time Thao Nhi asked him about this, but something in her voice today was different from the previous times — no longer the question of a child wanting to understand her pain, but the question of someone searching for the truth.

"Do you remember anything about that day?" he asked back, his voice gentle but cautious.

"I remember it wasn't raining that day, but the sea was rough," Thao Nhi said, looking down at the slightly steaming cup of tea in front of her. "I remember my dad going to work early in the morning like every day, telling me to study for the year-end exam. I remember in the afternoon, someone ran to the restaurant to tell me the news, and my mother dropped the stack of bowls she was carrying."

She stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. "I remember when I ran to the beach, there were a lot of people standing on the shore, but no one dared to say anything to me. Only uncle, Uncle Dat, hugged me and said 'Your father tried his best, child'."

Mr. Dat closed his eyes, as if that memory was still as fresh as yesterday, even though eight years had passed. "Your father is the bravest man I've ever known, Nhi. He saved you two that day, before..."

"Before going back to find the third person," Thao Nhi continued, her voice choked. "I know that part. But Uncle Dat, I want to know the part that no one is willing to tell me. Why can't my dad, the best swimmer in town, with twenty years of experience, save himself?"

Mr. Dat opened his eyes, looked straight at her, and in those eyes, Thao Nhi saw something tormenting that had been buried for a long time, a burden that he had carried alone for eight long years.

"Children," he said, his voice hoarse, "there are things I don't have specific evidence for, only the hunch of a person who has worked as a rescuer for many years. I don't want to say what I'm not sure about, because you've suffered enough."

"I don't need you to be sure," Thao Nhi said, her voice more determined than she expected. "I just need to know what you think, what you feel is wrong."

Mr. Dat sighed, stood up and walked to the window, looking out to sea in the distance as if considering something important. "That day, the current in the area where I rescued people was unlike any natural offshore current I had ever seen in my forty years of working. It was too strong, too sudden, and it appeared right at the time the sand dredging company was operating nearby. I told the investigator about this, but they said I was just 'emotional speculation', with no scientific basis."

"So why didn't anyone investigate further?"

"Because that company," Mr. Dat said, his voice full of bitterness, "has a full license and connections with people in the district. No one wants to make a big deal out of it during the peak tourist season. The death of a rescuer, no matter how heartbreaking, is quickly wrapped up as an 'occupational accident' so that everything can continue as normal."

Thao Nhi sat silently, Mr. Dat's words were like a knife cutting into an old wound that seemed to have healed but in fact had never truly healed. She had always sensed something was wrong with the official story of her father's death, but this was the first time she had heard an experienced professional confirm that the feeling was not the figment of a grieving child.

"Do you remember the name of that company?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Phu Vinh Sea Sand," Mr. Dat replied. "Dissolved just two months after your father passed away. I tried to find out who was behind that company, but the clues kept coming up. I only remember one name appearing in some documents I happened to see — a young, very ambitious CEO."

"What's your name?" Thao Nhi asked, her heart beating faster.

Mr. Dat looked at her for a long moment, as if he was considering whether to say it or not. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't remember clearly, Nhi, it's been eight years. But if you really want to find out, I think you should ask the people at the district Economic and Tourism Department, the people who have worked there from that time until now. Maybe there are still records saved somewhere."

Thao Nhi nodded, remembering every word he said. Before leaving, she hugged Mr. Dat tightly, feeling the slight trembling in his thin body - not because of his age, but because of the burden of memories he had carried alone for too long.

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered.

"You have to be careful, Nhi," Mr. Dat advised, holding her hand tightly before she got in the car. "If it's as I suspect, the people behind this are not average. Your father paid the price with his life. I don't want you to pay the same price."

On the bike ride home, Thao Nhi felt both relieved and heavy at the same time — relieved that she finally had a real piece of the puzzle, no longer just a vague hunch; heavy because that piece opens a path that she knows will be full of thorns and dangers.

She stopped the car on the side of the road, looking down at the sea from above. The water's surface sparkled in the afternoon sun, so beautiful that it was hard to believe that it could hide deadly currents beneath those quiet waves. She thought about her father, about the notebook with the last words he wrote, about the name Cat Bien Phu Vinh, and about a question that kept lingering in her mind: is the person behind that company eight years ago the same person behind the Diamond Bay project today?

She didn't have an answer, at least not yet. But she knew she wouldn't stop until she found it.

When I got home, it was late afternoon, the sunlight dyed the whole coastal road yellow. Thao Nhi did not enter the house right away but went around to the back, where there was an old almond tree her father planted when she was a child, with the promise that when the tree was big enough to give shade, he would build her a swing right under the canopy. That swing is still there, the ropes are worn out but the wooden frame is still sturdy, because her mother did not have the heart to remove it even though no one had sat on it for many years. Thao Nhi sat down, letting her feet gently sway to the ground, looking up at the green leaves rustling in the afternoon breeze.

She thought about Mr. Dat's words — "my father paid with his life" — and felt a new determination rising in her heart, different from the dull pain she had carried for the past eight years. This is no longer just a matter of the past. If the dangerous current at Cape Sa Den is repeating exactly what happened eight years ago, then every day she hesitates, every day she fails to find the truth, means that someone else — maybe a child, some innocent tourist — will suffer the exact same fate as her father. That thought made her unable to sit still any longer. She stood up, brushed the sand off her pants, and went into the house with a clear decision in mind: tomorrow, she would start looking for the district Economic and Tourism Department, no matter how many closed doors she had to face.