Chapter 3 — The Bookmobile Through the Mountains

The road from Seo Lu to Khuoi Tra is the scariest part of the whole route, not because it is long - in fact it is less than fifteen kilometers long - but because it is bumpier and more slippery than the other parts, especially in the days after the rain, when the red basalt soil becomes as mushy as jelly, clinging tightly to the wheels, causing the old truck to slowly crawl short distances.

It didn't rain today, but last night there was an unusual frost that made the road surface as smooth as oil. Nghi carefully set the gear to low, drove slowly, both hands tightened on the steering wheel, eyes never leaving each turn. The car jumped onto a mound of dirt, then suddenly stopped, the engine made a shrill sound and then turned off, as if someone had just strangled it.

"No, no, no, don't do it now," Nghi muttered, trying to restart. The key turned, the indicator light on the dashboard flashed faintly, but the engine did not start. She tried again a second time, a third time, each time only receiving a helpless chuckle and then silence.

She sat still for a moment, sighed, looked around. Surrounded by forest, not a single person, not a single phone signal appeared on the screen. This is the biggest obsession of this job - the car is sixteen years old, many parts are rusty, and every time it "breaks down" in the middle of the road, Nghi has to manage it alone, sometimes for hours, before someone passes by to help.

She opened the hood and looked at the tangled mess of wires and pipes inside, even though she knew that looking wouldn't solve anything — her mechanical knowledge was only enough to change spark plugs and check coolant, not enough to diagnose a more complicated problem. Just as she was struggling, a motorbike carrying two sacks of corn came from behind, the driver was a middle-aged man with a rough appearance, sun-tanned skin, and a faded helmet.

"Miss Nghi, did the car break down again?" The man stopped the car and asked in a familiar voice.

"Yes, hello Uncle Bon. Yes, the car is acting up again," Nghi replied, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized that the person who had just arrived was Uncle Bon Senh, the old car mechanic in town, an old friend of her father, the only person in the area who really "understood" this bookmobile.

Uncle Bon Senh does not live here, but has relatives in Khuoi Tra, so he sometimes visits, bringing a few bags of corn seed or fertilizer for his brother's family. The fact that he appeared at this right time, for Nghi, has become such a familiar coincidence that she sometimes wonders if he deliberately timed her passing on this road.

Uncle Bon parked the motorbike, went to open the truck's bonnet, bent down to take a look, fiddled with a few electrical wires, and tapped on the carburetor. "The spark plug is damp. There was too much dew last night, it must have entered the combustion chamber. Let me dry it first."

As he spoke, he took the tool bag he carried with him - a small cloth bag that was always attached to the side of the motorbike, containing a few wrenches, screwdrivers, and a clean rag - to remove the spark plug and clean it carefully. "My father's car used to do this a lot in the past. Every time it became foggy, it was the same thing. He and I used to have to push the car a kilometer in the rain to find shelter."

"Have you and my father been close for a long time?" Nghi asked, squatting beside him to observe, a familiar curiosity aroused in his heart every time someone mentioned his father.

"Ever since he first bought this car, somewhere sixteen years ago. At that time it was just a scrap truck, he bought it cheap because the machine was broken, then asked me to fix it. I remember that for a whole month, the two of us, me and him, worked hard in the workshop, replacing part after part, building a few wooden shelves on the back of the truck to arrange the books neatly. He drew the bookshelf diagram very meticulously, measuring each part. centimeter, I'm afraid if the books are not placed neatly, it will be difficult for children to find them."

Nghi smiled, imagining his father working hard in the car repair shop, meticulous with every small detail like that. That's exactly who he is - always taking care of seemingly small things, because he believes that it's the small details that make the difference.

After struggling for about twenty minutes, Uncle Bon reinstalled the spark plug and told Nghi to try starting it. This time the engine started crisply, the engine roaring like a thank you. Nghi breathed a sigh of relief, a feeling of relief spreading throughout his body.

"Thank you so much. Without you, I would have stood here all afternoon," she said, her voice sincere.

"It's nothing, just worry about your route, leave the car to me," Uncle Bon laughed, rubbing his greasy hands on his shirt. "But I'm telling the truth, this Anh Duong is old, Nghi. The internal machinery is all worn out, replacement parts are hard to find now because the car is so old, I have to order it in the South to get it. You should also plan a long distance, but if you keep patching it up like this, one day it will lie on the road and won't be able to get up."

Uncle Bon's words made Nghi's heart sink a bit. She knew he was right, but thinking about having to replace a new car, at a cost that could reach hundreds of millions of dong, while the program's annual operating budget was so tight that she had to ask for more books to be donated each time, she saw that it was a distant dream.

"I know. But let's think about it later, now I have to go to Khuoi Tra to avoid being late," Nghi said, trying to brush off his worries and restart the car.

Uncle Bon nodded, gave a few more instructions on how to start when it was foggy, then got on his motorbike and continued on his way to visit his younger brother. Thinking about letting the car move, her mind was still lingering on his words, but the scenery on both sides of the road gradually brought her back to reality - the green terraced fields, the stilt houses undulating on the hillside, and in the distance, kitchen smoke began to rise from the roofs of the houses at the top of Khuoi Tra village.

Khuoi Tra village is a Dao village, located deeper in the valley, more closed than Seo Lu. When Nghi's car arrived at the beginning of the village, the atmosphere here was a bit quieter - fewer children ran out to greet it, and the adults looked at the car with cautious and curious eyes, as if they were still not completely used to its regular appearance, even though many years had passed.

Ban Thi Kia, a nine-year-old girl Nghi had known since last year, stood behind the bamboo gate of her house, not daring to go out right away but just peering through the gap. Nghi stopped the car and waved goodbye, but Kia just bowed her head, fiddled with her shirt with both hands, not daring to step out.

"Hello little girl," Nghi said softly, walking closer to the gate, not getting too close to avoid scaring the girl. "I brought the book, do you want to see it?"

Kía looked up, her eyes were slightly excited, but quickly lowered when she saw her mother, Mrs. Ban Thi Nai, coming out of the house, still holding the unfinished loom, colorful brocade threads slung over her shoulder.

"Are you going up again?" Mrs. Nai said, her voice not very enthusiastic, her eyes looking at the book cart with obvious skepticism. "My daughter still has to help me weave cloth, so she doesn't have time to sit and read books."

Nghi was familiar with such statements from Mrs. Nai, the mother who did not believe that reading could bring any practical benefits to a family that only relied on a few acres of fields and looms all year round. "Yes, I understand. I don't dare disturb your work. It's just that if Kía has some free time, I think reading a few pages won't hurt."

Mrs. Nai did not answer, just glanced at her daughter, then turned back into the house to continue weaving, leaving Kia standing hesitantly by the gate, her eyes sparkling with hope and searching, not knowing whether to step out or not.

Nghi waited patiently, without urging, just quietly opening the book cart, arranging a few books neatly, as a way to implicitly show her that she was in no hurry, that this door was always open whenever Kía was ready to step forward. That's another lesson she learned from her father — sometimes this job isn't about persuading with words, but about waiting patiently, letting trust sprout on its own over time.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, when Nghi had finished setting up the sunshade on the side of the car and placed a small mat on the ground - a makeshift reading seat that she often prepares in villages that don't have a spacious cultural house - Kía gingerly stepped out of the gate, sneaked a look at her house one more time as if to make sure her mother wasn't paying attention, and then dared to come closer. The girl said nothing, just stood a distance from the car, her hands clutching the hem of her indigo shirt.

"Would you rather look at pictures of animals or pictures of princesses?" Nghi asked, deliberately choosing a simple question, no need for Kia to read the words, just point.

Kía hesitated for a moment then gently pointed to a picture book with a cover depicting a group of carp swimming in a lotus pond. Nghi smiled, took out the book, sat down on the mat, left a space next to him, and invited the girl to sit with him. Kía hesitated a little longer before gingerly sitting down on the edge of the mat, a safe distance away from Nghi, still glancing towards the house gate.

Nghi turns each page, reads slowly, points to each word, so that Kia can both listen and look at the words. At first, the girl just listened silently, but when it came to the part about the carp playfully hiding under the lotus leaf, a small smile flashed across Kía's lips, and she moved a little closer, enough to see more clearly the colorful drawings on the page. It's a small step, but to Nghi, it's no less valuable than conquering a mountain.

That afternoon, when the sun began to lean toward the west, dyeing the roofs of Khuoi Tra's stilt houses a warm orange color, Nghi left the village with a mixed feeling of tiredness and contentment. Mrs. Nau still hasn't nodded in support, but at least Kía was willing to sit down and listen to the whole story, and for Nghi, that's a start worth hoping for.