Chapter 4 — When the Wind Crosses the Porch

The boat across the lagoon carried exactly nine people, a motorbike, three net bags and a Styrofoam box full of fish. Quan had to hold the steering wheel as the ferryman avoided a cluster of water hyacinths, while Mai held her file bag to her chest like she was hugging a fragile object.

Mr. Lam lives in a corrugated iron-roofed house on the edge of the lagoon, with transparent tape on the windows. He worked in warehouse K-17 for twenty-two years, then retired because of poor eyesight. His eyes still look straight now, just can't look at the small lines for long.

“Your father often brings tea,” he said when he heard Mai's name. "He didn't ask me if I opened the warehouse. He asked me if I heard people in the warehouse."

Mai sat down on the plastic chair. “Is there anyone in the warehouse?”

"One time. One night after a storm, I heard the sound of boxes being pulled. In the morning, three boxes were gone."

“Who took it?”

"A truck had a commune badge. I thought they were transferring documents. When your father asked, I realized no one had prepared a ballot."

Mr. Lam took out a small notebook from under the bed, covered in a plastic bag. The pages record the date, time, and names of people entering and leaving. In the line dated November 12, seven years ago, at 9:17, there are two letters Vinh and a symbol K-17. The accompanying person's part is crossed out with black ink.

Mai took a photo of the notebook page. “Do you remember the second person?”

"Remember the figure. A woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat. She didn't enter the warehouse, just stood outside the car."

Quan leaned over. “Is that Hao, the land broker?”

Mr. Lam squinted his eyes. "Maybe. But I'm not sure."

He added a small piece of paper, on which was a route diagram of the three trunks. An arrow points towards the old salt factory, which then terminates midstream.

"Your father said if he doesn't come back, keep the notebook. He said one day you'll need to know the time 9:17."

Mai felt her heart beat fast. “Did he tell you what happened that night?”

"He said there was one person who signed on behalf of seven households. That person was not Vinh."

"Who?"

Mr. Lam looked out at the lagoon. "I don't know. But that person has a hook-shaped scar on his left hand."

On the way home, Quan stopped the car at the old salt factory. The iron gate was unlocked and weeds flooded the yard. The factory has long ceased operations, but a warehouse behind it still has traces of new tires. Mai used her phone to look at the door. The lock has been replaced, the lock body has the same symbol K-17.

“We are not allowed to enter voluntarily,” Quan said.

“Are you afraid?”

“I'm afraid you mistake courage for fearlessness.”

Mai smiled, for the first time for real that day. "I do architecture. I know how to look at structures."

“The structure does not know how to look back.”

They took pictures from outside. On the cement floor, there is a long stain like a heavy box. Next to it is a piece of blue nylon rope, the type used to tie fish bags. Quan put it in the sample bag.

The sound of an engine rang out at the gate. A Huong Duong pickup truck appeared. Vinh walked down with two men. He looked at Mai, not surprised.

“I guess you two will be here.”

“You put someone to watch me?”

"No. People reported it because this is project land."

“This warehouse is an old salt factory.”

"The project land includes the factory. You have the right to inspect."

Vinh held the K-17 lock and turned it in his hand. "Mai, the fact that your father kept the records does not give you the right to open the warehouse. I suggest you go home, receive the money, and forget the past."

“Did you ever open this warehouse at 9:17 on the 12th of that month?”

Vinh's smile disappeared. The two people walking together looked at each other.

“Who did you hear?”

“Someone used to look after the warehouse.”

“Mr. Lam is old, he remembered wrongly.”

“Then show me the delivery book.”

“Not my file.”

“If there's nothing in there, what are you afraid of?”

Vinh stepped closer, his voice low. "I'm afraid you'll push your mother into a lawsuit that she can't stand. Do you think your father is the best person in this matter? He signed for someone else, keeping the money from the entire cooperative. You don't know how many times he lied."

Mai felt her face heat up. "If my father is wrong, I will be the first to say it. But you cannot use his mistake to take land from seven households."

"I didn't take it. They signed it themselves."

“Signatures are the same.”

Vinh looked at Quan. “Do you know that a false accusation can cost someone their job?”

Quan replied: "I know a wrong map can cause many people to lose their homes."

The air between the three people was as tense as an anchor rope. A gust of wind blew sand into their faces, but no one closed their eyes.

Vinh slowly said: "Tonight, the company will send a new notice. If Hanh does not sign, they will apply for revocation. Please think before turning me into an opponent of the project."

“Are you threatening me?”

“I'm reminding you to choose.”

He turned away. Before getting in the car, he threw an envelope on the ground. "This is the valuation document. Don't let your mother suffer any more."

Mai didn't pick it up right away. When the car left, she opened the envelope. The house's valuation is a bit higher than the draft, but includes the clause that the seller is responsible for "all historical disputes". If they sign, they can force Mom to compensate anyone who shows up later.

Quan finished reading and exhaled. “They want to push the risk to your home.”

“And buy silence with a sufficient amount of money.”

On the way home, Mai called her mother but Hanh didn't listen. When I got home, the front door was wide open. Drawers were ransacked, letters and blue-covered notebooks disappeared. The trunk in the background is still there, but the cassette tape is gone.

Hanh sat on the porch steps, her wrist had a red mark. Next to her is Duy, a sixteen-year-old neighbor, his face pale.

“Who did it to Mom?” Mai ran over.

“Mom, it's okay.”

Duy whispered: "Two people came in. They asked for a cassette player. Aunt Hanh didn't give it to them, they took it themselves."

“Do you see my face?”

“A person with a scar on his left hand.”

Mai and Quan looked at each other.

“What do you remember?” Mai asked.

“That person said to the other person: ‘The original is not here.’ Then they went to the kitchen.”

Hanh tightened the hem of her shirt. “Mom hid the tape somewhere else.”

"Where?"

“In Duy's radio.”

Duy was startled. “Your radio?”

Hanh looked at him. "Father Mai asked me to fix it seven years ago. He said there was a noise inside that needed to be saved."

Duy held the old radio in his hand and took a step back. “I don't know.”

Quan opened the back cover. A small microphone tape is glued under the circuit. Duy carefully took it out. The ice is still dry.

“Don't listen here,” Quan said. “If they come back, this is what they look for.”

Hanh looked at Mai. “I gave it to you, I have nothing to hide anymore.”

“I still know who has scars.”

Hanh looked out at the road in front of the house. "That person's name is Tu Hau. He used to work as a warehouse guard. Later he transferred to Vinh's construction team."

“Why didn't mom say anything?”

"Because Hau once came to apologize. He said he only signed once, because he needed money for his wife's medical treatment. I think a signature from a desperate person should not be used to destroy the whole family."

“But now it's being used.”

Hanh nodded. “I know.”

Duy held the microphone tape and said: "If you need to listen, we have an old speaker set at home. Uncle Tam can fix it. But I want to know what your father recorded."

Mai looked at the boy. “You don't need to get involved.”

"I've been involved since they took the radio. Besides, if I find out the truth, they won't say I made it up."

Mai didn't ask what anyone had said to him. She just nodded.

That night, they sat in Duy's living room, listening to the microphone tape through the crackling speaker. The first part is the sound of wind, the sound of someone tapping on the table. Then Mai's father's voice rang out, weaker than in the old tape:

"I don't keep the money. I keep the promise of the seven households. If you transfer the files, I will tell you."

A strange male voice replied: "If you say so, your daughter will not have a scholarship."

“Don't drag my child into it.”

“I pulled it in myself when I signed.”

The sound of a chair being pulled. There was the sound of Hanh crying very softly, as if she were in the room.

Mai clutched the edge of the table. Mom was present during the conversation, but for the past seven years she said she didn't know.

Mai's father's voice continued: "I will hand over the original copy to the warehouse keeper. As for you, if you want to take it, please say it clearly in front of everyone."

The stranger laughed. “The original has been signed by someone.”

A crashing sound. The tape is timid. Then Mai's father said one last sentence: "9:17 am. I will meet you in a place without cameras."

The tape stops.

No one spoke up. Duy turned off the speaker. Quan looked at Mai, waiting for her to decide.

Mai heard the last sentence again in her head. The place has no cameras. It could be a salt warehouse, an embankment, or a road behind the factory.

Hanh closed her eyes. “Mom was there.”

Mai turned. “Where is mom?”

"Outside the car. I saw your father go into the warehouse with Vinh."

“So what?”

"I waited. When he came out, he told me to take you to school. He said he would come home as soon as he finished checking."

“Dad, were you beaten by anyone?”

Hanh did not answer immediately. She looked at her hands, as if looking at an object that had done something that could not be washed off.

“There was blood on his shirt,” she said. “But he said he hit the side of the cabinet.”

Mai stood up. She wanted to ask more, wanted to blame, wanted to drag her mother back to that night. But a distant train whistle echoed through the town, bringing with it the smell of smoke and salt.

Quan placed his hand on the microphone tape. “Tomorrow I will find Tu Hau.”

“What if he refuses to talk?”

“Then find the original before forcing him to speak.”

Mai looked out the window. Duy's house had a single light on, while her house was in darkness. She realized that this return had changed direction. She no longer just defends her mother's right to sell. She was looking for a promise her father had accepted on behalf of those who no longer had the strength to defend themselves.

The wind banged on the window. The microphone tape lay between them, small enough to be hidden in the palm of a hand, but large enough to vibrate the whole old house.