Chapter 12 — The End-of-Day Train

The first public opinion meeting was held at the Van Phong Town People's Committee hall, on a Saturday night two weeks after the notice was posted on the bulletin board. Khanh Chi took the day off from her shift and asked a younger colleague to take her place on the last train of the day, so she could join her mother, Mr. Canh, and many other people in town.

The hall was packed with people, much more crowded than Khanh Chi had expected - perhaps the news about the risk of closing the line had spread further than she thought, not only among railway employees but also households living along the line, small businesses, and parents whose children go to school by train. The atmosphere in the hall was tense, mixed with the sound of chatter before the meeting officially began.

The representative of the Provincial Department of Transport attending was Mr. Cung Viet Bang, Deputy Director of the Department, a middle-aged man with a neat appearance in a gray suit, carrying a thick file and several assistants. He stepped up to the podium to speak, his voice calm and professional, presenting the data in the announcement, adding a cost-benefit analysis, comparing the maintenance of the old railway with the alternative of a passenger car system running on the new highway.

"We understand that this is a decision that affects the lives of many people," Mr. Bang said, his voice still calm even though the atmosphere in the hall had begun to stir in protest. "But the budget to maintain this railway each year amounts to billions of dong, while ticket revenue only meets less than twenty percent of operating costs. The rest must compensate for losses from the state budget, and in the context of needing to prioritize resources for many other areas, we are forced to consider more optimal options."

"Optimal for whom?" A voice rang out from below the hall, it was Mr. Canh, standing up even though he was old, his voice was loud and full of indignation. "Optimal for the numbers on paper, or optimal for people like us, who don't have a motorbike, can't afford to take a bus every day, and only rely on this train to go to work or school?"

Applause echoed throughout the hall. Mr. Bang raised his hand to signal order, his voice still remaining calm and professional. "I understand your concern. That is also the reason why the alternative plan will include subsidized bus routes for people in difficult circumstances, ensuring that no one is left behind."

"How can a passenger bus run to every station like a train?" Another woman stood up to speak, her voice equally angry. "My house is near Cau Doi station. Passenger buses only run on the highway. I have to walk or take a motorbike taxi a few more kilometers to get to the main road. Is that more convenient?"

The meeting gradually became more tense as one person after another stood up to express their opinions, mostly concerns and objections, mixed with a few constructive questions about the possibility of some intermediate solution. Ms. Nhan also stood up, her voice trembling because she rarely had to speak in front of a crowd: "I do business at the wholesale market, every morning I catch an early flight, take an evening flight back. If there is no train, I have to rent a motorbike taxi twice a day. The profit from selling vegetables is not necessarily enough to pay for the car, how can I support my two children for school?" After finishing speaking, she bowed her head and sat down, her trembling hand wiping the sweat from her forehead even though it was not hot.

Another middle-aged man, working as a night guard at a factory near Cau Doi station, also spoke up, telling how the end-of-day train was the only means of transport to help him get home safely after a late shift, because he sold his motorbike to pay for his sick wife's hospital bills. Each small, simple, honest story told made the atmosphere in the hall both heavy and unusually warm - a group of ordinary people, not used to fighting, not used to standing in front of a crowd, but tonight they all tried their best to raise their voices for something they believe is important.

Khanh Chi sat in the last row, her hands clasped tightly around the hem of her shirt, her heart aching to stand up and say something but could not find the right words to express what she was feeling - not just the inconvenience of traveling, but a whole part of history, a part of memory that was threatened to be erased just because of the numbers on a budget balance sheet.

Finally, when the meeting coordinator asked if anyone had any further comments, Khanh Chi took a deep breath and stood up.

"I'm Tong Khanh Chi, the train conductor of the last train of the day on this route," she said, her voice shaking slightly at first but gradually becoming steadier as all eyes in the hall turned to her. "My father was a train driver on this same line for over twenty years, he died in an accident while on duty. I grew up on this train, and I know, to many of you sitting here today, it is more than just a means of transportation."

She paused for a moment, trying to suppress the emotions rising in her heart. "You just talked about numbers — costs, revenue, economic efficiency. But there are values that cannot be converted into money, sir. The last train every night carries night shift workers who have no other means of getting home safely, old people who are not strong enough to drive their own motorbikes, poor students who cannot afford to take motorbike taxis every day. If this route closes, those people will not disappear with it, they will have to find other ways to live, and the price they have to pay may be high." is greater than the amount of money you save from budget cuts."

The hall was silent for a moment, then the applause rang out loudly, stronger than before. Khanh Chi clearly felt her mother's eyes, sitting a few rows away, looking at her with pride and emotion.

Mr. Bang looked at Khanh Chi for a long time. His face could no longer maintain the absolute calmness it had at first. There was something wavering in his eyes. “I take your point,” he said, his voice slower. "The final decision has not yet been issued, and we will fully synthesize today's opinions to report to superiors for consideration. If there is any other feasible solution that helps balance both economic efficiency and the actual needs of people, we are ready to listen."

That statement, although still carrying the cautious diplomacy of a state official, lit up a small ray of hope in Khanh Chi's heart. She sat down, her hands were still shaking, but this time it was the trembling of someone who had just dared to speak up about a decision that could change her life and that of so many others.

After the meeting, when everyone gradually left the hall, Thien An - who had been quietly sitting in the last row throughout the meeting without Khanh Chi knowing - walked up to her, his eyes full of admiration.

“You speak very well,” he said. "I believe Mr. Bang was also somewhat moved by what you just said."

"Since when have you been here?" Khanh Chi asked, a bit surprised, secretly looking around to see if anyone noticed the two people standing quite close to each other in the middle of the stream of people dispersing out of the hall.

"From the beginning of the meeting. I want to hear all arguments directly from both sides." He paused for a moment, his voice becoming serious. "Miss Chi, I think I have an idea that can help. But it needs more time to perfect. Should we meet to discuss further?"

Khanh Chi nodded, clearly feeling that the battle to keep this railway was no longer a burden she had to carry alone, but had become a shared journey, a journey that she believed, even though there were many hardships ahead, they could go together to the end.

On the way home, Mrs. Hong walked next to her daughter, silent for a long time before speaking, her voice full of pride and sadness. "You say it the same way your father used to say it in the past. He's the same, every time he sees someone being treated unfairly, he stands up and defends it right away, not afraid of offending anyone."

"I don't know where I got the courage to stand up and speak in the middle of so many people," Khanh Chi confessed, her hands still shaking a bit from the afterglow of the meeting.

"Because you believe in what you say, my child," Mrs. Hong replied, taking her daughter's arm. "People only tremble when they lie, or when they say things they are not sure about. I speak my heart honestly, so even though I tremble, I am still steadfast."

Her mother's words warmed Khanh Chi's heart, and she suddenly realized that, although her mother was always tight-lipped and rarely expressed clear feelings about things related to her father, she still watched over her daughter with a silent but profound love, no less than the love she had for her deceased husband.