The Tapestries

by Kien Nguyen

  Third Mistress continued. “I had these two precious objects as a young girl in China, long before I entered the cursed house of Nguyen. They have never left my side until tonight. The letter in the middle of the jade is my name in Chinese, and the lute—I think you know its story. Playing it was how I made my living in the years I worked in the opera troupe. Now I have other plans. Give these things to my son when he grows up, so that a part of me can stay with him. Take good care of him and help yourself to anything in the house that you want in order to start your new life.”

  Before Ven could reply, the horse-drawn carriage again rolled down the pebbled road. Lady Yen sank back into her seat and drew the blind over the window. Ven fell to her knees and wept loudly and openly for the first time in her life. Tears had the same salty, bitter taste as her blood.

  Wrapped in Song's embrace, Dan watched Ven's confrontation with his mother and the gardener with a sense of desolation. Although he didn't understand everything that was said, he could feel the storm of emotions that poured from them—a thunder of cries, a hail of sadness, a rain of anger and confusion. Not until after the carriage had disappeared around the bend of the road did Dan realize it was over.

  The maid helped Ven to her feet. They held on to each other and walked back to the mansion. Behind the gates, Dan's peaceful home had been transformed into a vacant tomb. The night was aging. With the strong wind that came from the river, the clouds parted. Once again, the moon and a canopy of bright stars illuminated the gray sky. Dan imagined that all the lanterns in his house had ascended to the Heavens to engage in a wild dance, leaving his dwelling in darkness.

  He followed the adults to his bedroom, where Song rekindled an oil lamp. Though its flame drove the dimness from the room, it did not save Dan from the terror he was feeling. His fear intensified as he watched the women's gigantic shadows skip ominously on the walls. Although they were just a few steps away, Dan felt alone.

  Leaning against the windowsill, Ven undressed. Under the glittering light, her naked back was covered with welts. Dan examined the angry marks with fascination. Some were swollen, trickling blood. Her hair was also crusted with dried blood. Outside, the wind picked up. A chilly breeze rushed into the room through a gap in the window. Ven shivered but stood her ground, too exhausted to move.

  Song floated into the room like a ghost. The surface of the full water basin in her hands swayed in rhythm with her movement. Using the fresh water, the maid helped Ven to clean her wounds. She held on to the frame of the window, letting her head droop against her arm. Her face blanched from the pain. She let out incoherent sounds, which were obscured by a much louder noise from outside—the sound of an automobile engine.

  The neighborhood dogs awoke and added their voices. Soon, the road in front of Dan's house was alive with the sound of dogs barking, children wailing, and the confusion of the roused neighbors.

  Ven reached for her shirt. “Shut off the light!” she ordered Song. The room plunged into darkness.

  Dan searched for Ven blindly, and she sensed his need. Like an eagle tending its young, she flew to his side. Her arms enfolded him and her voice, with its usual gentleness, whispered in his ear the magical phrases that always calmed him.

  “What time is it, Song?” Ven asked. They had not heard the time-teller's gong all night. Without it, time seemed to stretch out to eternity.

  “It is the hour of the rat, madam,” Song replied.

  Dan tried to recall the lessons Ven had taught him about how to tell time. According to the Chinese astrological cycle of time, twelve animals represented equal intervals in the day. In the Western system used by the French, each animal sign corresponded to two hours. The hour of the rat extended from 11:00 P.M. to 1:00 A.M. The next period, from 1:00 to 3:00 A.M., would be the hour of the ox.

  As if to confirm his thoughts, Ven said to the girl, “It's midnight. Who would come at this hour, other than thieves or policemen? No matter what kind of people are out there, I don't think we should let them know that we are here.”

  In the dark, Song nodded.

  Dan felt himself being lifted up from the bed, carried across the room, and laid down inside a small space. The scent of wet bamboo filled his nostrils. Ven had placed him in the basket that she used to carry him on her back while working in the rice fields. Now the container became his sanctuary.

  She set his mother's lute in the carrier beside him. He reached for her hands on the handles of the basket, wanting to show her that he was very scared. But she seemed lost in worry.

  Outside the window, under the whitish moon, a sedan drove up to the main gate. Running in a double file behind the vehicle was a troop of soldiers, clad in brown uniforms. The dark-blue socks covering their ankles showed that they belonged to the palace army. The sound of their marching boots reverberated on the gravel road, pounding in Dan's ears. Each soldier held in his hand a burning torch made from a strip of dried rubber that had been dipped in gasoline and wrapped around the end of a bamboo pole.

  Following Ven's instruction, Dan drew farther inside the basket. As the automobile came to a halt, so did the tight phalanx of soldiers. In order to go from the gate to the main house, they would have to pass by Dan's bedroom, which was situated on the right side of the path, hidden behind a large garden.

  Song was the first one to sneak out through the window. Hiding herself behind some cherry trees, she reached back to take the basket from Ven's hands. Dan closed his eyes and felt himself being swung through space like a jackfruit. The experience sent a wave of excitement through him, in spite of his fear.

  As the wind rasped in his ears, the lute next to him vibrated. It was as if the wind had become fingers walking atop the strings. The song ended when the maid caught him in her arms.

  Ven climbed out last, making a thud as she fell from the windowsill onto the wet soil. With Dan curled in a fetal position, the maid fastened the basket around Ven's back. Ven crawled on the grass to get under the raised wooden walkway that cut across the garden. Song followed her a few steps behind.

  Once they found an ideal place to hide, she unhooked the basket from her shoulders and swung it in front of her. She wanted Dan to watch what was happening with an unobstructed view. From their position under the esplanade, with the thick floorboards above their heads and the wind to muffle any sounds their movements might make, the women and Dan could spy on the visitors without much fear of discovery.

  Following gruff orders from inside the vehicle, the first two soldiers fell out of rank and ran to the front of the car. They propped their torches on the ground on either side of the house's main entrance. Placing their hands against the black granite, they pushed open the gates and stepped aside for the car to enter. The dark and luxurious sedan, reflecting the fires in the soldiers' hands, took on the color of a cockroach's wings. Its thick glass windows hid the passengers.

  The majestic car lumbered along the white-brick path and stopped in front of the veranda. Like the tail of a massive scorpion, the military men kept up with it. Their feet clobbered the bricks, sending a chill down Dan's spine.

  The back door of the car swung open, and two men stepped out. Dan felt Ven's hand wrap around his face. He wanted to pull away, but she was too strong. Her work-roughened fingers left just enough room around his nose for him to breathe. From somewhere above his head, he could hear her whisper with disbelief. “Oh, dear God, it's Master Long,” she said.

  “And his father, Magistrate Toan,” Song added.

  A third man emerged from the car. He wore a strange black suit, and his face bristled with light-colored fur that sprouted like the brushing end of a new broom. His eyes reflected the light like a housecat's, as he scanned the surroundings with an imperial mien. The two Vietnamese men stood beside him. Their bodies appeared diminutive as they bowed, bobbing their heads like two excited pigeons during the mating season.

  The foreigner looked at Master Long and spoke a string of odd words. His thick fingers sliced the air in count
erpoint to his bizarre speech. Magistrate Toan leaned closer to his son and cast a brief but expressive glance at the foreigner. “What did the French captain say?” he asked.

  “The mandarin wanted to confirm that we have taken him to the correct address of the rebels,” Master Long answered. His short, pomaded hair copied the Frenchman's style, in contrast to his father's traditional headdress.

  Magistrate Toan urged his son, “Tell him yes, quickly.”

  Master Long said a few words to the French official. As they conversed, Magistrate Toan stood next to his son, waiting impatiently to receive the information from the foreign dignitary. “What did he say just now?” he asked, seizing his son's arm when the two men grew silent once more.

  “He wants to search the entire place for clues of the rebels,” Master Long translated. “Also, he ordered the arrest of everyone inside, regardless of age.”

  Under the shadow of the hiding place, Ven exhaled. “Bastards,” she said under her breath. “It is unfortunate that our master placed his trust in these poisonous people. They are dangerous not only to our family, but to the very air the Cam Le Village breathes.”

  Song placed a finger against her lips to plead for Ven's silence.

  On the veranda, Master Long, followed by his men, traversed the long walk to the living room. Once they disappeared behind the door, Dan listened to the sounds of furniture being thrown on the floor or smashed against a wall. Through the opaque windows, he caught sight of a torch leaping from room to room. Shadows of men danced against the white parchment paper of the windows. Their images reminded him of the stories his father often told about monsters who were half men, half goat, and who ascended from Hell to steal the souls of the living. Dan covered his ears with his hands. Still, he could not block out the sounds of destruction.

  Outside, in front of the ornamental vase on the wooden stand, Magistrate Toan and the French mandarin awaited the soldiers' return with visible impatience. The magistrate, with terror in his eyes, studied the foreigner, hoping for some positive words, dreading to see a frown. More than half an hour went by, an eternity to Dan, before Master Long and his men emerged from different doors of the house and reassembled in the courtyard.

  Master Long stepped out of the living room, staggering under the load over his shoulder. A few strands of pearls peeked out from his front pockets. His face wore a grin. Like him, the soldiers clutched large bundles on their backs. With each step they took, the clanking of metallic objects stirred the night like the rattle of ghostly chains. Others came from behind the house, leading Dan's entire collection of barnyard animals, including cows, horses, pigs, and cages of poultry, as well as a pair of oxen Song had rented the month before from a farmer in the neighboring village. Under the men's prodding, the animals moved in rows, following the fires held high in the soldiers' hands.

  The French official and Master Long exchanged some words. But the foreigner did not seem satisfied with Master Long's response. He turned away and folded his arms in front of his chest. Master Long tried to speak, but the mandarin became livid. In front of the shocked soldiers, he blurted out some loud comments, then strode to the sedan and kicked its front tire.

  Looking at his father, Master Long explained, “The mandarin wanted to know if I found any evidence against the fisherman. When I told him that I had found nothing, he wanted to examine these bags. Once I informed him that they contained the fortunes I had confiscated from the rebels' home, he lost his temper. He even called us a bunch of greedy monkeys.”

  “I see,” the old man whispered, trying to maintain an air of poise.

  “Do not worry, Father,” Master Long said. “He will soon cool from his temper. Then, I shall provide him with the evidence he needs in exchange for these profits in our hands. Be merry, because tonight we have stumbled upon a great fortune.”

  From where Dan sat, he could not see Magistrate Toan's face, but he clearly heard the sound of his laughter. He wondered if this could be just a nightmare. The things he had witnessed seemed outrageous. Yet Ven's hand against his mouth assured him that he was not dreaming.

  Dan's legs grew numb from staying in the same position for too long. He stirred, but Ven held him tighter. He tried to peel her fingers off and at the same time kicked the bamboo basket with his feet. Ven would not yield. Though her silent strength dominated him, the boy would not be still. The bottom of the basket scratched against the sand beneath it.

  “Who's there?” Magistrate Toan called out to the dark garden from his vantage point on the veranda. Dan saw the old man's face, looking straight at him.

  The boy froze. Magistrate Toan's sharp eyes seemed to hypnotize him, making him weak with fear. Several torches pointed toward the wooden walk. Unfortunately for the refugees, the combined lights were strong enough to reach their hiding place. However, as they remained unmoving, the soldiers were unable to make out their cowering figures under the floorboards.

  “Who's there?” Magistrate Toan repeated. When dealing with the villagers, he always used his most intimidating voice, and its tone played a crucial role in implementing his power.

  The Frenchman pulled out a pistol from inside his jacket. Without a word, he cocked the gun and aimed at the garden. Dan was hypnotized by the dark, round opening of the gun. He felt helpless, like a chicken waiting for an ax to fall on its neck.

  Song touched Ven's hand. Her voice was barely audible above the rustling wind. “Listen to me, madam. Move away quickly from this place after I surrender. Take care of the young master. If you want him to stay alive, don't let them capture him.”

  Without waiting for Ven's reply, Song ran out from her hiding place. She raised her hands over her head and cried, “Please don't shoot me. I am just a lowly servant. Have pity on me.”

  Master Long whispered something in the foreigner's ear, and the man placed his gun in its case, which hung around his waist under his jacket. At the same time, Magistrate Toan waved his fingers in Song's direction, and two soldiers ran to seize her. Together they dragged her across the yard to face the old man. She pulled against their grasp, but they twisted her arms behind her shoulders, forcing her legs to bend. Beneath the swirl of hair, her face was as white as her shirt. Her head fell to her shoulder, and she swooned.

  “I heard talking,” Magistrate Toan shouted at Song, waking the girl up. “Who else was out there with you?”

  “I was alone,” Song whispered. “What you heard might have been my prayer to Heaven, sir.”

  Ven crept from under the wooden path, pulling Dan and the basket deeper into the darkness of the shrubbery. She muttered in his ear, “Did you see what trouble you have caused Song? Please stay still from now on, I beg you, Master.” But her voice contained more sorrow than reprimand.

  Her pleas were unnecessary. Dan would not dare to move even a muscle after what had happened. Nevertheless, he could not tear his eyes from the spectacle that was occurring thirty paces away.

  Despite his age, Magistrate Toan jumped closer to Song with the ease of a panther. He snatched a burning torch from a soldier. With his other hand, he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head backward, so that he could look down at her. The torch came down near her face as their eyes locked. The magistrate's nose was only inches from hers.

  “Speak to me, slave,” he shouted. “Who else is hiding out there? Say it before I scar your face with this torch.”

  “Nobody is here but me, sir,” she said with difficulty.

  He brandished the fire closer, until her hair was the same shade as the roaring torch. From a distance, it looked as if her hair had caught fire. Song closed her eyes.

  “Where are they then? Where is Lady Yen?”

  “My Third Mistress left with her son in a carriage late this afternoon. I know not where she is heading. A true servant shall not be inquisitive about her mistress's plans, but simply obey her order. I stayed behind because I have no other place to go, and it was her wish for me to remain here.”

  “Why?” he
asked, as he handed the torch to one of his men.

  “To guard their home until she or the master comes back. Alone in the house, I became frightened, especially when an army of strangers came in at midnight. I did not know what else to do but hide.”

  The magistrate couldn't seem to take his eyes from Song's face. She took a step backward, but the two soldiers tightened their hold on her arms, forcing her to be still. The flickering tongues of the fire made her rosy skin flush and her eyes glisten. With his right hand he toyed with the gold band on the third finger of his left hand, thrusting his finger in and out of the ring with increasing speed.

  His voice lost its severity. “You are indeed a very attractive servant. Your master is a blind man to ignore such a beautiful flower right under his roof.”

  Song said coldly, “I am a married woman. My husband may have passed on, but I am devoting the rest of my life to him. Please have respect for the dead, sir.”

  “Hmm,” the old man said with a frown. “Now that you mention the word married, where is that daughter-in-law of the Nguyen family?”

  “She also ran off. I think she is returning to her family.”

  “That miserable wench,” Magistrate Toan said. Then, after a brief pause, he turned to a soldier and ordered, “Send out a search warrant for all of them in the morning. They couldn't have gone very far, especially that peasant bride. It will, however, be a difficult assignment to hunt for her, since no one in this town seems to have ever seen her. I understand that the fisherman's family hid her in shame even on the night of her wedding feast. Her features were said to be too coarse for her to pass for a lady. I think we will have more luck finding her at her maiden home than waiting for her to resurface in this town.”