Chapter 11 — Tailor Shop at the End of Third Alley

Ngoc created a table to compare signatures, but clearly stated that this was only a formal comparison. Tung provided his valid signature sample, Hanh provided the sample in the file. The curve at the end of the letter P is different, but not conclusive enough. Ms. Thao reminded students not to turn a difference into a crime.

An's father received the contract and asked permission to edit part of his testimony because he remembered the person standing next to him. He did not write the name if he was not sure, just the shirt color and position. Chau complimented him that he was doing it the right way as a tailor removes a stitch: holding each part, not pulling the whole line.

Ms. Van gave the number 32 shirt to Chau to check. The thread at the neck is a bit loose, maybe the tailor was in a hurry. Chau sewed it back on, leaving the remaining fabric intact. An said the person wearing it would grow older; Chau replied that was the reason the shirt needed to wait.

In the evening, Hanh asked to use V buttons for her file bag. She sewed it herself, took it apart once and then did it again. Hanh said that fixing a small stitch herself made her feel like she could fix a large signature, even if slowly.

When Tung heard his name on the list, he was not as surprised as Chau thought. He said that in 2014 he was an intern and was assigned to enter data from paper records. A manager uses his account to update the map. He protested, but only verbally.

“Did you save the email?” Ngoc asked.

“Yes, but on the old company machine.”

Tung promised to ask for access. Hanh said if they had the email, they could prove the system, not just a signature. Mrs. Van put the button in the box, the treasure certified to open the door, the person who had to step through was human.

Chau and An sewed the number 32 shirt in silence. She holds the fabric, he pulls the thread. They don't say who will wear it, just check the nose evenly. When finished, Chau wrote the date and participant on the card, then put the shirt in a purple cloth box.

An asked her if she wanted to keep the button as a souvenir. Chau said she wanted to keep the whole thread, but not keep it a secret if it would cause others to suffer. An nodded, saying that was the way he also wanted to learn.

An's father did not tell him more about the contract that night. He just sat at the computer desk, took off the button from the cuff and placed it next to the button in the box. Two are identical, but one has a small burn mark. Ms. Van said the burn appeared when Khai once welded a bicycle frame right next to a pile of fabric.

Chau asked why they didn't bring the file to the authorities immediately. Ms. Thao explained that we must distinguish between original evidence, copies and accounts. If you rush, the company can say they did the wrong process, and then everyone has to start from scratch. Listen, you say you hate that being right takes more steps than being wrong.

Ngoc sets up a "path control book" for each document. Each time a piece of paper leaves the box, there must be the recipient's name, purpose, pickup time, and return time. Khoa calls it a paper passport. Chau found that this method slowed everyone down, but also made it so that no one could say they didn't know.

An's father asked permission to read the minutes. He realized that the red brick part was not his. The handwriting belongs to a construction site manager named Phuc, who moved away after the project. Mr. Thanh remembers Phuc once asked Khai about the way, then said "one meter won't make anyone lose their house".

An asked his father if he ever argued. He said yes, but only argued at the restaurant, not on paper. Chau said that unrecorded words can still make people remember, but they are difficult to use to protect others. Mr. Thanh nodded, saying it was his generation's fault.

In the afternoon, Mai Phuong went to the store to receive shirts for the volunteer team. She looked baby shirt on the table, recognizing mom's photo in the file. Mai Phuong said her mother always told her not to ask about 2014, because every question entails debt. She wanted to know but didn't want her mother to be dragged into the dispute.

Chau gave her a choice: no need to speak, just sign to confirm that you have seen the shirt if you want. Mai Phuong signed, then asked Chau to embroider a purple stitch on the inside of the volunteer shirt. “Let me remember that this is the work of real people, not symbols.”

An taught her how to tie the last knot. Mai Phuong made puppets, laughing and saying she was only good at running. An said that whoever runs needs to know the way back. Chau listened and saw that those words sounded like words meant for himself.

In the evening, Hanh sent another list of recipients. There was a name covered in black ink, but the amount was still legible. Ngoc used the infrared light of the physics room and saw the word "Van" under the ink layer. Ms. Van denied, saying she never received money from the project.

Chau looked at the ink and realized that it did not cover the words but only covered a line that read "Van refused". The writer tries to turn rejection into acceptance. Ms. Van sighed, saying people used to call it "voluntary support".

The night before they met the inspection unit, Chau put everything in an iron box. An stood next to her and gave her a button with a T notch.

“Do you want to keep it?”

“No. I want to sew it to something that will stay.”

Chau placed the buttons on shirt number 32. The first thread went through the fabric, and neither of them said what promise it was.

Hidden seam in the hem of the skirt

A copy of the contract is located between two sheets of greaseproof paper, next to the button box. Mrs. Van did not leave it overnight in the shop. She took a photo of each page, sent it to Ms. Thao and a neighborhood lawyer, and then put the paper copy in an iron box.

Chau asked why he didn't give it directly to the company. Ms. Van said that documents are only valuable if the person holding them knows how to protect the person who gave them. If they go public too soon, the person who will suffer may be An's father.

An sat in the corner, fixing the hem of her blue dress. You don't touch the contract. Chau felt angry seeing that.

“Don't you want to know what the signature was cut for?”

“I want to. But I don't want a piece of paper that makes my dad lose his job before he knows it's valid.”

“So just keep quiet?”

“No. I'm doing what I can: find someone who made a suit.”

Ms. Van said the suit belonged to a man named Nguyen Van Khai, but the wearer was not Khai. Ten years ago, Khai made a vest for an officer preparing to attend a planning meeting. One centimeter deviation at the hem of the shirt makes the person realize that the entire measurement in the file has been adjusted.

“Why didn't he say?” Chau asked.

"He did talk. No one listened."

Aunt Huong brought a box of old threads. In the bottom of the box is the label of the garment factory opposite Cau Nam station. Aunt said that the day after Khai lost contact, a man brought his suit in to have it repaired. That person paid with a receipt, without leaving his name.

“Only the bear part is left,” said Aunt Huong. “People remove all parts of the body because they are afraid of having a mark.”

Chau removed the purple thread from the hem of the dress. Underneath the layer is only a thin piece of fabric, embroidered on it with the word **Van — remember to keep the mark**. Not the sender's name, but the reminder.

At school, Ngoc organized a group to examine maps. She assigned each person to measure a section of the alley using a ruler and laser measurer borrowed from the physics room. Khoa recorded each milestone, but this time using two memory cards. An took notes, Chau kept the fabric sample to mark.

They discovered old mold in the corner of the shop's wall that had been painted over. Chau scraped off the paint layer with a knife cut the thread, found a small engraved line on the tile. The engraved line is exactly 1.14 meters from the base of the wall compared to the pile the company just built.

Khoa whistled. “A meter was really taken away.”

"Don't talk like you found money," Ngoc reminded.

“Money has no lines engraved on bricks.”

A passerby recognized the engraving. She said Khai used to put it on when repairing plumbing, because that was the spot where digging was not allowed. She allowed the story to be recorded. Chau asked for clear permission, explaining that the file would only be used in negotiation documents.

In the evening, An's father came to the shop. He didn't carry a briefcase, just an old shirt with purple thread on the neck. He placed it on the table.

“Khai blessed me the day I signed the contract.”

An stood up. “What did you sign?”

He didn't look at me. "A revision. They said it was just a technical adjustment. I didn't read it all."

Chau held her breath. An's father said he remembered Khai trying to stop him from signing. After that, the two argued right inside the store. Khai took the map, and Mr. Thanh took the contract. That night, Khai left with his suit unfinished.

“Why didn't dad say anything?” An asked.

"Because dad thought silence would keep his job. Then silence turned into debt."

He gave Chau a key. "This is the locker at the old station. Khai said if he doesn't come back, give it to someone who knows how to read seams."

Chau received the key and felt her hands were cold. On the keychain is a purple tag that reads: **Tuesday, last flight.**

In the evening, Chau did not open the closet door immediately. She sat in front of the sewing table, wrapped a tape measure around her wrist and then took it off, as if the string could trap the smell of motor oil and his broken voice. Mrs. Van cooked a pot of green bean porridge and placed a bowl next to her without asking. The two of us are used to nights where things are left unsaid.

“Is that card Mr. Khai's?” Chau asked.

"No. He only uses purple to mark trips that require him to go alone."

“Which trip?”

Mrs. Van looked out at the alley. "The shirt delivery trip went to the old station. There were people waiting there, but they never signed for it."

Chau opened the drawer. There were no valuables inside, only thirteen rolls of thread, a few chipped buttons and a small brown-covered notebook. The first page lists the names of students of class 11C from ten years ago. Some names are hyphenated, some are circled. At the bottom of the page is a symbol that resembles three parallel seams.

At that moment, An called. He asked Chau what she had found, then remained silent for so long that she thought the call had been lost. Finally, An said: "My dad used to deliver goods at the station. He said that every time he delivered a shirt, Mr. Khai made the recipient re-measure his shoulders. Not to fix the shirt, but to know if the person was telling the truth."

"Measuring shoulders to tell the truth?"

"People who lie often have one shoulder strained. That's what my dad said."

Chau burst out laughing, but the laughter stopped as soon as she turned to the last page. There is a new line written in blue ink, handwriting that is not Ms. Van's: **If the number 32 shirt comes back, don't give it to the person wearing the silver ring.**

Outside the alley, the sound of a motorbike passed and stopped. The shadow of a hand glides across the glass window. Chau held the key tightly. For the first time, she saw that the tailor shop didn't just store clothes; it is taking away the promises that adults have forgotten.