Short story: At the end of the alley
Kha's voice was firm. Solid. There was a very brief pause. The coffee cup, which had just been raised to her lips, was lowered again. Slowly. Delicately.
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She's going to become a land speculator.
She thought it over very carefully.
Each word was uttered slowly. In just a split second. The coffee cup was like a carrying pole balancing two extremes. Kha tried to maintain his balance. Thuy still hadn't looked up. The blue light from the phone screen shone directly onto her face, making the edges of light clinging to her fine hairs glisten. Some places sparse. Some places dense.
Did you just shave your facial hair?
- Yes, sis. The more you shave, the faster it grows back. But there's no other way.
- You should go get hair removal done. There's a huge sign at the intersection near the market. Permanent hair removal. Money back guarantee if not effective.
Thùy burst out laughing, her eyes still glued to the screen.
- You believe advertisements too?
Kha said nothing more. The sip of coffee went down his throat quickly. Not bitter. Not sweet. Just a faint layer of cream.
The coffee shop is located in an alley. Office workers occasionally sneak out of work to sit here. I say sneak out because they're not allowed to go openly. Gathering in groups of three or five in a coffee shop during working hours is extremely inappropriate. The organization has reminded them several times during meetings. Strictly. Firmly. Thoroughly. Everyone sees themselves in it, silently listening. After listening, they are determined to make drastic improvements. The chairman takes off the microphone. "The meeting is over." The colleagues look at each other excitedly. "Let's go to the alley and have some fun." After some hesitation, they leave. One after another, the alley is soon filled with the sounds of people.
Kha often goes to the alley to sit. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Thuy. Everyone at the office knows, but they ignore it. They can't ignore it either. When it's time to retaliate, there are plenty of reasons to argue. Every reason seems plausible. A civil servant's life isn't confined to an 8-hour workday. It's not like you can just sit at a desk and get things done. There are partners, clients, and colleagues near and far. The arguments sound blatantly unreasonable, but they just let it go. How many people in life can actually do what they say? They're just salaried employees, after all. So occasionally, people still see the head of the emulation committee trudging alone to the alley. "If everyone else leaves, I'm sure I can have some fun."
Kha often sits alone in a cafe. She likes that feeling. Freedom. Honesty. Completeness. But occasionally, the boisterous laughter of her colleagues falls into her head, and she finds it quite pleasant. Her colleagues, like Kha, sometimes wear different expressions when sitting in the alley. The feeling of the rippling lake, the gentle aroma of coffee drifting through the peaceful day, Kha playfully joins in with a few boisterous laughs. Not perfectly complete, but it seems fitting.
Kha was wearing a pink shirt today. Thuy gave a half-smile. "That's a nice shirt." The blue light from her phone screen sparkled in Thuy's eyes. Kha finished typing the pending message, then nodded and smiled at the shoeshine boy. "I haven't gotten my salary yet, uncle."
The boy smiled sweetly. "They're not dirty yet, sister." Kha knew. These shiny leather shoes rarely get dusty, and if they did, a damp cloth would suffice. But occasionally, Kha would still call the boy. Kha liked his unpretentious gaze. Just a glance was enough to touch the heart of the person opposite. Gentle. Kind. Honest. After more than ten times of shining shoes, it had become a habit. Sometimes, Kha would call for a shoe shine for no particular reason, just to feel at ease. The gentle sunlight fell into her coffee cup. Kha beckoned. "Shin my shoes for me, kid." The boy slipped on his old flip-flops. "Do you want coffee? I'll treat you." "No, sister, I'm addicted to it, where would I get the money?" "Okay, then." The boy happily put on his shoes and walked towards the tree. Diligently. Meticulously. Kha smiled to herself. The boy was so clever. It's best to refuse something that doesn't belong to you from the start. That's all it took for Kha to enjoy a whole morning of peace.
The relief was brief, then everything went back to how it was before. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted up.
- Smoking in the room again?
- It's just a cigarette, why make such a fuss?
Okay, fine. No more arguing. The room is cramped. Six people sharing. And it's not just cigarette smoke. There's snoring. There's singing. There's loud music. Everyone has their own personality. Nobody wants to compromise. I guess I'll just have to put up with it. Just be quiet. Be still. Eventually, I'll get used to it.
The clicking sound of keyboards fills the dry, monotonous day.
- Why are you assigning this task to me? I'm in the Security department.
- Just get it done, anyone can do it.
When the department head assigns a task, it has to be done. If it's not within the assigned area of expertise, just finish it. The quality of the work is a secondary consideration. The inbox is always overflowing with reminders. Every task is urgent, and there's relentless pressure. With this kind of work, who can supervise the quality besides conscience and responsibility? There are days when Kha types just enough pages for the report, enough appendices, enough signatures. The content doesn't change much, only the wording is rotated to fit each directive. He's become so used to it that he doesn't even reread what he's just written. When the work is finished, he stands up and stretches. The faces are patient and solitary. Everyone is burdened with heavy responsibilities. Kha misses the coffee shop in the alley. He wants to grab a colleague's hand and go out to the alley, but then he hesitates. Who knows, the arguments that just ended after the year-end review meeting might follow them out. At the end of the year, everyone is more careful with what they say. A single careless word could cost them their "successful performance" rating. Without anyone telling them to, people learned to stay silent for safety. Kha quietly went back inside. The late afternoon sun cast a lonely, golden glow.
The department head knocked on the door. "Has anyone registered to go back to the commune?"
Is it mandatory, boss? Or is it voluntary?
- Is volunteering considered zero? The mandatory quota is one person per room.
The silence was frozen. Tears welled up in her eyes.
- Let's have a meeting. For now, we'll encourage volunteers. Otherwise, we'll draw lots.
Eyes locked on each other, staring intently. The gaze seemed to want to immediately send the person opposite to the village. The lottery slip was cold as a guillotine. Whoever it landed on would surely cause the room to erupt in boisterous laughter. Kha sighed. "At worst, I'll just end up in the village. Life as a civil servant is the same everywhere. The only downside is the long commute."
Her fists clenched tightly. Kha tried to relax. She wanted to interlock her fingers with her colleague's. Life would be easier if people held hands. But no… Kha clenched her own fist. Just like her colleague, Kha held her breath in tension.
- There's a new directive; there's no more drawing lots. It's voluntary. Those who want to go can register voluntarily.
The room deflated as quickly as a punctured balloon. The tense shoulders relaxed. People began to turn to each other, asking questions in warm, friendly tones. “That’s how it should be.” “That was close.” “Almost died.” “Everyone eventually chooses stability.” Kha looked outside. He shuddered at the changes. The shifty, furtive glances. The insincere laughter. The sunlight was thin. The wind was thin. And Kha too. Thin enough to be blown away into the alley.
Kha was really enjoying himself. Alone. The alley at the end of the day was so quiet you could hear the slow, gentle trickle of coffee dripping from a filter. It had been a long time since Kha had enjoyed this kind of coffee. Drinking filter coffee is usually more elaborate and time-consuming than machine-brewed coffee. Kha playfully tapped his fingers on the table. Each drop of coffee flowed steadily in rhythm with his tapping.
- Mrs. Kha wants to go into land speculation. How disgusting! I didn't even want to talk to her.
- You didn't respond to her either. But who knows, maybe she actually did it.
- That's ridiculous. Seeing other people eating sweet potatoes, they grab a hoe and start digging too. It's like buying vegetables or fish at the market – buy if you like, don't buy if you don't. Keep dreaming!
Why didn't you tell her then? Now she's sulking and making fun of you.
There was no more slicing or chopping. Only the clinking of a porcelain spoon against a glass. Kha was startled. The noise was upstairs. It was so familiar. That corner was where Kha and Thuy used to sit in the mornings. Kha understood. He stirred his coffee lightly and drank it quickly. The afternoon sun spread across the table and then shattered with each step Kha took.
The alley was bustling in the early morning and quiet at the end of the day. Kha couldn't imagine what her life as a civil servant would be like without it. She was familiar with the patience and waiting of the chairs, tables, and glasses, down to the smallest scratch. The gentle eyes of the young waiters were familiar faces. There was freedom in every step, in every friendly nod. People in the alley met so often they became acquainted. They knew each other's faces without needing to know each other's names. A smile replaced a greeting. The conversations and laughter in the alley were so gentle. Always kind and sincere.
Sitting in the alleyway for long, Kha noticed that land speculation was the most talked-about topic among the locals. Without looking back or forth, they talked about surfing the market, reversing trends, virtual and real markets… Everyone eagerly threw themselves into the land. They lived off the land. They died because of the land. Profits and losses were clearly visible on their faces. No one hid anything from anyone, not even the shady dealings of middlemen. Kha listened and was drawn in. Ultimately, land speculation is something with clear boundaries. But Kha's life as a civil servant had those boundaries, which were fragile and blurry. Whether she was on or off the annual performance evaluation criteria, Kha didn't know; she only knew that her efforts sometimes crumbled like bewildered leaves in someone's hands. These crumbled leaves repeated themselves. Over time, she became accustomed to them. Kha stopped being bewildered. Or perhaps she had already crossed the line without realizing it.
The afternoon sun was trapped in the leaves. Scratches crisscrossed the tabletop. Kha left the alley. Thuy's indifference, the noise in the corner of the cafe, the suppressed silences… All of it simultaneously danced in Kha's mind. "Seeing others eat sweet potatoes, I also grabbed a hoe and went digging." Kha chuckled to himself. "Maybe I should go into land trading." The afternoon breeze lingered in the alley. Kha felt relieved to have escaped his silent comfort zone. Tomorrow. The alley would once again be bustling with the buying and selling exchanges of land brokers. Who knows, Kha might bring a different version of himself to the alley.
