Chapter 10 — The Bookmobile Through the Mountains

Three weeks after the conversation with Yen, Nghi left for Nam Cay again, bringing with her a new batch of books and a few exam review materials that she had worked hard to learn about and obtained from a highland education support center in the province specifically for Lo Van Pao. The sky that day was gloomy from early morning, heavy dark clouds swirled over the mountain top, but the local weather station only predicted light showers in the afternoon, so Nghi still decided to set out as planned.

The morning at Nam Cay went smoothly. Nghi and Nam rearranged the bookshelf, added new books, and she spent half an hour chatting with Pao, instructing him how to make a study plan for the upcoming exam. But near noon, the sky began to darken rapidly, and within half an hour, an unusually heavy rain fell, much heavier than forecast, accompanied by thunderous sounds throughout the valley.

"It must have been a tropical depression that suddenly landed earlier than expected," Nam said, standing and looking out onto the classroom porch, a worried expression on his face. "You probably won't be able to get back like this. The road is very slippery, and the stream water rises quickly, sometimes flooding the underground section below."

Nghi looked outside, torrential rain covered the entire area, gusts of wind caused the trees to tilt. She tried calling home to tell her mother the news, but the phone signal here was already weak, now even more unstable under the heavy rain, until she was able to send a short text message informing her that she would stay at school overnight because of the bad weather.

"Maybe I have to bother my school for one night," Nghi said, his voice a bit guilty.

"It's okay, you can stay, safety is the most important thing," Nam replied immediately, without any hesitation. "The teacher's lounge is simple but has enough space. Ms. Ngan is also staying because her way home is difficult in the rain."

The rain continued all afternoon, with no signs of letting up. At dusk, when Ngan went back to his room to rest early because he was a bit tired, only Nghi and Nam remained sitting on the porch of the classroom, under the flickering oil lamplight, listening to the sound of rain falling on the corrugated iron roof, occasionally mixed with thunder and lightning in the distance.

"Are you hungry? I'll cook some instant noodles, that's all the school has," Nam asked, walking inside and taking out a mini gas stove and a few packets of noodles.

"Okay, thank you," Nghi smiled and helped Nam arrange the bowls and chopsticks. The two of them sat and ate a bowl of hot noodles in the warm light of an oil lamp, while the sound of the rain outside continued to fall, creating a private, intimate space that Nghi had never experienced since taking over the bookmobile route.

"Tell me about your father," Nam said after a moment of silence, his eyes looking intently at her under the yellow oil lamp light. "I'm very curious. A man who can build a program like this alone must be very special."

Nghi was silent for a moment, then began to tell - about her father's first trips on a motorbike, about the story of Tuat that she had just read in an old notebook, about the nights when he came home wet from the rain but still smiled brightly and told the story of how passionately the children in the book read books. Her voice gradually became emotional when talking about the part where her father passed away suddenly, right while unloading books at a school, without having time to say any last words.

"I still remember vividly the day I received the news," Nghi said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "At that time, I was working at a company in the city, a normal, stable office job, nothing to do with books or vehicles. I hurriedly took the bus home, but didn't have time to see my father one last time. After the funeral, I looked at the book cart parked silently in the yard, at the unfinished boxes of books that hadn't yet been distributed, I knew I couldn't let it stop there."

"So you quit your stable job to come here and take over?" Nam asked, his voice full of admiration.

"Yes. Many people say I'm foolish, leaving a well-paying job to drive around the mountains and forests, working hard but not earning much. But I don't think so. I feel like if I don't do it, no one will, and everything my father has built will disappear with him." Nghi stopped and took a deep breath. "It's just, sometimes I'm still afraid I'm not good enough, not persistent enough like my dad, afraid I'll ruin everything."

Nam was silent for a moment, then spoke gently, his voice sincere without any politeness. "I think you're doing very well, Nghi. I've seen the way you treat the children, the way you meticulously record every detail, the way you worry about Pao's future as if he were your own younger brother. Your father, if he saw it, would definitely be very proud."

Those words touched a deep corner of Nghi's heart, where she had always hidden her fear and inferiority. She looked up at Nam, their eyes met for a moment, under the warm oil lamp light, amidst the constant sound of rain outside, an invisible but strong connection seemed to have just been established.

"Thank you," Nghi said softly, his voice shaking slightly. “No one has ever told me it this way.”

Nam smiled, then as if he remembered something, he stood up, took out a carefully folded piece of paper from his bag. "Ah, I heard some more information about the digital library project you mentioned the other day. A friend of mine who works at the district Education Department said that it seems that the Culture Department is preparing to present an official proposal to the District Committee, not just an idea. Maybe in the next few weeks there will be more specific moves."

That news caused the warm atmosphere that had just been established between the two to suddenly weaken, replaced by a common worry, bringing them closer together in a common goal. "Then I need to prepare mentally carefully," Nghi said, his voice was low but his eyes still shone with determination.

"No matter what happens, I will stand by your side," Nam said, his voice firm, without any hesitation. "This program is not just for you, it is for all the children in Nam Cay, in Seo Lu, in Khuoi Tra. We will find a way to protect it, at all costs."

That night, the rain continued to fall, but in Nghi's heart, amid worries about the program's uncertain future, something warm and solid was gradually forming - a belief that, no matter how difficult the road ahead was, she would not have to walk alone anymore.

Late that night, when the sound of the rain had become less intense and was just like a sad song, Nam led Nghi out to the guest room - essentially just a small corner in the teachers' room, with a simple wooden bed and a few thin blankets. Before leaving, he turned around and gave her a small flashlight.

"It's very dark here at night. If you need anything, just call, my room is right next door," he said, his voice a bit hesitant as if he wanted to say something more but didn't.

"Thank you for everything today," Nghi said, looking up at him in the dim light of the oil lamp in the hallway. "Not just for the place to stay, but for listening to me tell stories about my dad."

Nam smiled, his eyes were unusually gentle. "I'm glad that you trusted me to share. Good night, Nghi."

He turned away, but after a few steps he stopped, turned around and said one more sentence, his voice small but clear in the quiet space of the rainy night. "But I think your father would certainly be happy to know that the path he opened has now led you all the way to Nam Cay."

Nghi burst out laughing at Nam's slightly awkward way of speaking, a clumsiness rarely seen in a teacher who is always calm and mature. "Thank you. Good night."

Lying on a simple wooden bed, listening to the steady sound of rain falling outside, Nghi took out his father's notebook and, under the light of a small flashlight, wrote a line on a new page: "Nam Cay, heavy rain at night. Stuck at school. I think, if Dad was still alive, he would probably like Teacher Nam very much - a person who is as stubborn and dedicated to the highlands as Dad." After writing, she smiled to herself, closed the notebook, and placed it on the small bedside table.

The sound of the rain outside was still pouring endlessly, but strangely, that sound no longer made Nghi feel insecure like the rainy nights she used to huddle alone in the car's cabin in the middle of the road, waiting for the water to recede so she could continue. Here, in a small, simple room of a highland school, knowing that just a thin wall away, there was someone ready to run to her if needed, Nghi felt a rare peace that she had not felt for a long time since her father passed away.

She closed her eyes, imagining tomorrow, about the road down the mountain that might still be muddy, about the unfinished work that was waiting, about the worry about the digital library project that was still hovering somewhere ahead like a dark cloud that didn't know when it would collapse. But for the first time in many months, Nghi fell asleep not with constant loneliness, but with a feeling of support and companionship - a small but precious thing, enough to give her the strength to continue on the long journey ahead.