Chapter 8 — The One Who Counts Bridges

Linh An's suitcase was in the middle of the restaurant, blocking the path of people coming to buy breakfast sticky rice. Mrs. Van had placed it there since 5 o'clock, before opening the kitchen, as if a heavy object in the right place could make the decision more real.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Linh An said.

“Mom called Thoa to let me stay.”

“I have a job.”

“A cooperative is not a house.”

"Home is not the place to chase you away because you ask questions."

Van turned around and scooped porridge into a bowl for a guest. She added onions and peppers, then replied: "I kicked you out because you didn't know when to stop."

“Your father stopped so he was blamed.”

The pot touched the edge of the pot, making a dry metal sound. The customer looked at the mother and child, paid and left without asking anything. Van waited for the door to close before saying:

“Do you think I don't know?”

“What do you know?”

"Know that your father is not wrong. Know that the path is real. Know that Mr. Minh was there. Know that my mother signed the papers."

“Mom told me.”

“Mom said it like she was talking about someone else.”

Van took a towel to wipe the table, wiping away a dried water stain. "Mom, you have to live with what you signed. I don't have to live with it."

"I'm living with him. Since my father passed away, people looked at me like the daughter of someone who made a mistake. My mother told me to leave the country to learn a trade, and told me not to talk about him. I did the right thing. But now they are using the same map to push others away, and my mother still tells me to shut up."

“Mom told me to live.”

“What kind of life?”

Van put down the towel. “There's still tomorrow.”

“If we don't talk, who will still be under the bridge tomorrow?”

“Do you think talking will save them?”

“At least they know the way.”

"They don't need to know the way. They need a salary, need to keep a shop, need medicine for you. A newsletter from you cannot pay for those things."

Linh An did not respond immediately. She knew her mother was half right, and that half was dangerous because it made the other half look naive. A map can show the way out, but it cannot compensate for the cut of money. The truth can open the door, but it does not guarantee that the other side will let them in.

Khai came to the shop at 8 o'clock and saw the suitcase. He didn't ask about the family, just put a file on the table.

“Bridge Number Seven just got fenced off a bit,” he said. “I got the notice from the crew.”

Linh An opened the file. The temporary decision stated the reason "risk of subsidence due to the old item being no longer suitable". The fence area includes the path leading to the market, but there is no alternative route diagram. Approval signature of Tran Duc Minh, time 9:17 yesterday.

“Mr. Minh signed on time,” she said.

“And Bridge Seven was fenced off after we listened to the tape.”

“Where did you get it from?”

“A sender.”

“Have you asked permission yet?”

Khai looked at her. "I've learned it. I asked first."

“That person agreed to use it in the file?”

“Agree if you don't write your name.”

Linh An nodded. She placed the notice next to her father's map. The new fence area crosses one of the red dotted paths.

“They are clearing people's paths with fences before fixing the map,” she said.

“So where are you going?”

“Don't know yet.”

“Mr. Bay has an empty house behind the factory.”

Van pushed the suitcase towards the door. “I don't sleep at other people's houses because of mom's problems.”

Khai looked at her, then stepped back. “I just said where to sleep.”

“Uncle Khai,” Linh An said, “thank you.”

Van did not look at her. She put the bowl of porridge on the tray, but her hands were shaking slightly.

At 9 o'clock, Linh An moved the suitcase to the cooperative's warehouse. Diem didn't ask why, just opened a room containing old printing paper and gave her a small fan. Yen sent a message that the station was ready received three more calls from people, but could not broadcast them because two people asked to remain anonymous and one person just wanted to "tell someone".

“How do you feel?” Linh An asked when she arrived at the studio.

“Seeing that I was standing in front of many people, everyone gave me a piece and waited for me to assemble it into a door.”

“Can you say them?”

"I could say I don't know. But listeners don't like that sentence."

Yen gave her the tape recorder. "I wrote a correction. It said: 'The station does not confirm the existence of the tenth bridge; we confirm that someone is using a path that is not on public record.'"

“Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“That's what we know.”

“And what we don't know?”

“Who deleted it?”

“No. We don't know how safe that way is yet.”

Linh An exhaled. "Correct."

Yen underlined the last sentence, adding a warning not to arbitrarily enter the fenced area. They distributed a newsletter at noon, with an invitation to the Infrastructure Department to provide an alternative route map. Thirty minutes later, a red map was sent to the station, showing a detour nearly three kilometers from the market.

“This road goes through the land being leveled,” Linh An said.

“Can the ambulance go?”

“Not if it rains.”

“Do they know?”

"The map knows. The signer may not."

Yen did not distribute maps. She called the Infrastructure Department again, asking to confirm field access. This time the secretary connected to a person named Hung, the legal representative of the joint venture. Hung said the detour is only a civil solution, rescue is the responsibility of the authorities.

“The station is not a rescue agency,” Yen replied. “But if the authorities have not received the correct information, we must tell what we know.”

“You're overthinking the risks.”

“And you're describing an untested path as the alternative.”

The call ended. Yen put down the phone, her face was red with anger. “I want to play it all.”

“Do not distribute without verifying the road,” Linh An said.

“Are you just going to keep it in check until people die?”

"No. I want to give us some useful information. If they say the detour cannot be used without checking, they will consider all warnings as sentimental."

Khai heard the argument and took the car keys. “I'll go check.”

“I'll go with you,” Linh An said.

"No, you stay with the data. I need someone who knows how to run a construction site."

Tung walked in from outside the door. “I know.”

“You can't go,” Khai said.

“If you go alone, you won't know the way through the corrugated iron yard.”

Khai looked at Linh An. She did not interfere. Tung is not the one being sent, but he is choosing what he wants to do. Khai nodded after a moment.

They returned two hours later, carrying ground photos and a video. The roundabout has a chain-locked gate, and the road surface has sunk more than ten centimeters near the ditch. Motorcycles can pass, ambulances cannot.

“Who is responsible?” Linh An asked.

Khai placed a photocopy of the leveling permit on the table. "Huy's company. Expiry date is until the end of the month."

“So the alternative route is through Huy's land.”

“And the gate was locked by Huy's people.”

Yen held the photo without speaking. She knew a news report could open the gate, but it could also make Huy lock it tighter.

Linh An called Mr. Minh. Not the secretary, this time he answered the phone.

“Miss Linh An,” he said, his voice tired. “I heard the cooperative's report.”

“You know the detour is not enough for rescue vehicles?”

“The technical team is checking.”

“Since yesterday?”

"Miss Data should not be arbitrarily published.”

“I haven't announced it yet. I'm asking for responsibility.”

“Responsibility is not a button to push when you want.”

“But your signature has the exact time.”

The other end of the line was silent. Linh An heard the sound of papers flipping.

“Where did you get that information?”

“In the decision you signed.”

“There are things you don't understand.”

“So please explain.”

“I will invite you to the Infrastructure Department.”

“What about my mother?”

Minh hesitated. “I don't understand.”

“The restaurant under the Old Wharf is located in the clearance corridor. If you want to talk about responsibility, tell me why my house was undermeasured."

“I am not in charge of measuring each plot.”

“But you signed the addendum.”

Minh sighed. “You're mixing family matters with work.”

“It was work that mixed them up twelve years ago.”

She turned off the phone before he answered.

In the evening, Van went to the cooperative. She picked up a bag of clothes and placed it on Linh An's suitcase.

“Mom brought the things.”

“Mom, you don't need to give it. I can buy it myself.”

“I know.”

“Mom chases me away and then brings the things, what do you mean?”

Van sat down on a chair in the hallway. “Mom is not good at talking. Mom just knows how to put things in her bag.”

Linh An looked in her pocket and saw the brown jacket her father used to wear when measuring bridges. Mom washed and folded it, but there was still a streak of gray paint on the sleeve.

“Father left it?”

"YES."

“Why hasn't Mom left yet?”

“Because I don't know where to put it.”

Linh An sat opposite. “Mom, tell me. Night of Prayer Number Seven.”

Van looked down at the yard. “Do you know that before the bridge collapsed, your father heard the flood alarm bell?”

"Are not."

“He called me at 9:17. He told me to close the shop and take me to my old school.”

“Why don't you do it?”

“Mom is waiting for the money. I think he's too worried."

"Afterward?"

“The water is rising. Vibrating bridge. Father and son ran through the ramp. Mom took me another way.”

“Did you see him save people?”

"See."

“So why sign?”

Van held the edge of her jacket. “Because people say if you don't sign, they won't take your child to the hospital. I thought they could keep their word.”

“Do they keep it?”

"Are not. After that, they still listed father and son as responsible.”

“Do you keep the paper?”

"Have."

"Where?"

Van stood up. “Mom will give it. But you must understand: that paper does not exonerate your father. It just shows how scared she was.”

She took a brown envelope from her pocket and gave it to her. Inside is a statement signed by Van, a supporting receipt and a piece of paper with the time 9:17. At the end of the testimony, there is a typed line: "Employee Nguyen Van Hoa arbitrarily changed the approach, leading to the incident."

Linh An read that and her fingers turned cold.

“Mom didn't read this line before signing,” Van said.

“Mom signed it.”

“I know.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don't know.”

“So why give it?”

“Because you asked the right question.”

Linh An folded up her testimony and placed it next to the map. The two things both belong to the same story and oppose each other: the map shows that her father tried to maintain a human way, the testimony turns him into a person who voluntarily did wrong.

Van carried her bag home. Before leaving, she turned around and said: "Don't make your father a good person just because they made him a bad person."

“I don't plan to.”

“He also lied. He hid the fact that he took the measurements away from his mother. He believes he can bear it all on his own.”

“I know.”

"Are not. I'm just starting to know.”

After her mother left, Linh An opened a photo of her login history. 9:17 a.m., partnership server. She placed the testimony under the photo and discovered that the two types of paper had the same fold mark horizontal.

Not a signature. Not ink.

The person who held both stacks of papers once placed them on the same table top.

The next morning, she will go to the Infrastructure Department at Mr. Minh's invitation. But before turning off the lights, Yen sent a text message: "Hung just called. The association said if the station doesn't remove the post, they will sue. Hao was asked to clean up the restaurant within 48 hours."

Linh An looked at the suitcase in the middle of the room. She no longer knows whether she was kicked out of the house because of the investigation, or was pushed out by her mother so she could move on.

On the street, a white car parked under a light pole. The person inside did not step down. The car's lights were on for exactly one minute, then turned off at 9:17.