by Kien Nguyen
Dan covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. Ven urged him to look down, and he obeyed. The crowd's tumult roused the two sluggish guards, pushing them to their feet. They stood at attention, holding their firearms against their trousers. The dark sedan arrived at the entrance, followed by the truck and a team of guards.
As the convoy came closer, Dan could see the faces of the condemned, and he heard them praying aloud. He recognized his first mother even though the soldier's blow had turned her nose into a swollen purple mass, like the skin of an overripe eggplant. Splashes of ruddy blood covered the front of her black dress. She was sixteen years older than her husband, but this was the first time Dan saw her show her age.
The boy's eyes shifted to his father. Tat Nguyen held his blindfolded head erect and seemed undisturbed by his physical discomfort. After the guards repeated the procedure of shoving the prisoners from the truck to the ground, Master Nguyen marched through the squad of uniformed men, following the tug of the shackle. The punctured hole in his palm had replaced his sight and was now showing him the way.
The people of Cam Le Village were restrained behind a barricade. Dan could hear their frustrated cries rise like a human storm, as their anguish deepened. Family members called the prisoners' names with love, hope, and tenderness. Adding to the din, they hurled curses at the magistrate and his son and called for vengeance and justice.
Inside the mansion grounds, a group of soldiers toiled under the supervision of Magistrate Toan to prepare a killing site. From the truck, they unloaded stout bamboo poles, three or more feet in length and solid enough to serve as house beams. With heavy mallets, they drove each post into the ground alongside the brick wall, between the walkway and the garden. Soon a symmetrical pattern emerged, with the poles six feet apart on either side of the main path.
Next came the digging. A few feet in front of each stake, the soldiers excavated an open pit in the rocky ground. Dan counted a total of thirty-three pits. From his hiding place, the execution area seemed to drape along the mango branch, separated by thirty feet of empty space and a thin veil of foliage.
“Bring in the prisoners,” said the magistrate.
The convicts filed through the main entrance, followed by the soldiers. Magistrate Toan waited for them at one corner of the garden, near the first pole. One by one, he unlocked the shackles to release each man. The captive then was led to his designated plot, where a guard stood at attention.
No one said a word or tried to escape. The physical and mental tortures inflicted on the fishermen during the past two weeks had left them in a state of exhaustion that was compounded by their long period of hunger and thirst. Each man was forced to bend down in front of his killer, who then tied his hands to the bamboo stalk. The prisoners knelt on the loose stones, looking at the open graves behind their executioners. The holes stared back, hollow and vacant, like the eyes of Death.
Master Long guarded the first three posts on the right side of the main walkway. His prisoners, Master Nguyen and his two wives, knelt before him with their hands tied behind their backs. The afternoon sun beat down on them. Master Long tilted his head to the side, trying to keep the bright glare off of his glasses. He wiped perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief and shifted his expensive leather shoes on the torrid sand.
Turning to a soldier near him, he said in a tight voice, “Sai, go and fetch me some refreshment.”
The young soldier ran to the road. Moments later he returned, holding a goblet of fresh coconut juice. Master Long snatched the beverage, and a splash of it sprayed the condemned man. Master Nguyen's tongue darted out, and he closed his eyes to savor the drink's freshness. Next to him, Master Long made loud gulping noises as he emptied his glass. Once finished, he sighed and tossed the glass back to the soldier. The man caught it clumsily using both of his hands. A foolish grin broke wide on his face.
On the mango branch, Dan felt faintly warmed by the weak rays of sunlight that penetrated the leaves. In the silence around him, he heard a thumping sound, like a drum against his rib cage. His parents on the ground below seemed miles away. He observed each gesture they made. He was the audience, viewing a play directed by destiny from thirty feet above the stage. Like any spectator, he could not interfere with the performance. All he could do was watch.
Magistrate Toan reached inside his ao dai tunic for a pocket watch and glanced at its face. He walked across the white gravel road and stood before Master Nguyen, who lifted his head.
“Do you have a last request?” Magistrate Toan asked.
“If that question is addressed to me, then the answer is yes,” Master Nguyen replied.
“What is your request, sir?”
“I would like to have my blindfold removed. And I urge you to give my two mistresses the same consideration. If you won't grant them this small favor, then I shall keep mine on.”
Magistrate Toan tapped his foot on the ground, thinking for several seconds. In his most domineering tone, he ordered one of the guards, “Take the coverings off their eyes.” The soldier responded instantly.
Master Nguyen blinked, adjusting to the brightness around him. He looked about the garden, searching for his two wives and the rest of his crew, then turned to face the ruins of his home. What he saw exceeded the capacity of his imagination. He gasped, using all his willpower to keep still. But, in spite of his efforts, his emotions exploded out of him like the howling of a wounded wolf. Next to him, the two women wept.
The outburst startled Magistrate Toan into taking several steps backward. With a whoop of surprise, he fell into the open grave behind him. Master Nguyen yanked at the bamboo stake that secured his hands and sprang against the hard ground. The guards subdued him with a shower of punches, not stopping until he lost all power to resist.
Dan watched his father's head tilt and hang motionless. He wondered if the beating had killed him. A tremor passed over Master Nguyen's body, and his eyes opened.
The condemned sea captain waited for Toan, assisted by his son, to climb out of the grave before he exclaimed, “What has happened to the remainder of my family? Where are my son and his mother? Who is responsible for the destruction of my property?”
“Everyone in your family escaped the fire,” said Magistrate Toan. “But they cannot hide for long, because I am sending out search warrants for their arrest. And it is I who was responsible for destroying your charming home.”
Master Nguyen burst out laughing—a terrible sound that expressed more pain than his earlier outburst. “All survive,” he muttered, as if the sound of his voice would somehow confirm the validity of the news. Looking up at Toan, he asked, “Why did you do it? What have I or any member of my family ever done to offend you?”
“Treason,” the old magistrate said. “You have committed a great crime against the country. You have been found guilty of having conspired to aid the young emperor's escape, as part of a greater plan to overthrow the French government. I am just an ignorant old man. I am following orders from the Court at Hue. The Office of the Royal Prosecutor has required me to exercise its power and mete out justice in this area.”
“I am innocent of those accusations,” replied the captain. “If you are interested in the facts, just ask your son. Master Long knows as much about my business and political affairs as I, since he is handling some of my estates. He can vouch for my neutrality when it comes to politics. I am and have always been a businessman, and my position as a captain of a small fishing boat is not nearly eminent enough for me to be involved in any political activity. Only thirty sailors serve under me; and they, too, are innocent of all crimes. It must be a conspiracy—”
Magistrate Toan interrupted. “What you ask is impossible. My son knows nothing about you or your affairs, Sir Nguyen.”
“Tell me then,” said the captain. “Since it is the stem of my misfortunes, what has happened to King Duy Tan?”
“His Majesty was arrested three days after his infamous escape, at a town called An Cuu.
The prime minister, Sir Ho Dac Trung, was in charge of carrying out a judgment against the king and his supporters. This is the result of his trial.” He reached inside his long sleeve to pull out a golden scroll—the imperial order he had received from the Court at Hue. With a flourish, he unrolled the paper and read its contents.
This letter is addressed to all the mandarins in the Court at Hue. The royal prosecutor has concluded: “At first, these men pretended to fish at Lake Tinh Tam, forging the emperor's handwriting to create false permits. Then they aided the emperor's escape on a boat at Thuong Bac Port. They fed the young king inferior quality rice at Ha Trung and chicken rice soup at Ngu Binh Mountain. His Imperial Highness has suffered through a series of storms, winds, and dust throughout his journey. All of these crimes were part of a scheme designed by these accused.”
Magistrate Toan rolled the paper back to its original shape and continued. “Unlike all of you, His Highness has escaped the death sentence, but he abdicated immediately and is now in exile, somewhere in Africa, on an island called Réunion. The court has appointed a new king, who reigns in Vietnam at this moment—King Khai Dinh. His Majesty is from a long line of royal blood, as you may know, and has always been destined to be a true king, even in his cradle. The king's father was the late King Dong Khanh.”
Magistrate Toan glanced at his pocket watch again and said, “The moment has arrived. It has been ordered that the prisoners must cease to live by the hour of the goat. This is now the hour of the goat.” He raised his hands to summon the soldiers.
“Wait,” said the captain. “I have one more request.”
The old magistrate shook his head. “I can only grant you one favor, which was removing your blindfolds.”
“You must listen to me,” Master Nguyen insisted. “I'll trade my fortune for one final wish.”
The old man snorted with laughter. “This is a very ridiculous offer, since I already possess everything you once owned.”
“No doubt,” said the prisoner. “However, my real treasure lies hidden away, and I am the only one who can show you the map that leads to it. You must trust me, for I am a pirate. And you know, pirates often bury their wealth. A vast treasure could belong to you, Sir Toan, if you grant me a final wish before I depart this world.”
“How can I believe this so-called treasure really exists?” asked the magistrate, who was losing patience.
“My request is very simple. My son's life and the lives of my sailors, all are insignificant to you; however, I am responsible for their safety. Release them, or put them in prison if you must, but please spare them from the death sentence. They are no threat to you, nor are they criminals under any court of law.”
“How much money are we talking about, Captain?” inquired the magistrate.
Master Nguyen's eyes were half-shut. “More than you can imagine, Magistrate Toan. It sleeps in the bosom of the earth, waiting to be uncovered.”
Magistrate Toan looked to his son. Master Long, in turn, merely shrugged. The old man turned to the prisoner. “I have no reason to trust you.”
“And neither have I any cause to accept your word,” replied the captain. “I can only hope that you will spare the lives of the people I just mentioned once I leave this world. After all, one must grant a dying wish, regardless of the conditions.”
“All right,” conceded the old man. “I will honor this agreement.”
“In that case, send your men outside. I must disclose this information in confidence.”
Once again, Magistrate Toan turned to his son. “Get your men to untie the prisoners and take them outside the gates,” he said. “Make sure that no one else is in this garden, except for the captain, his mistresses, and me.”
Master Long made an effort to hide his disappointment. “Must I, too, go outside, Father?”
“Indeed, you must stand guard over the prisoners.”
Master Long instructed the soldiers to carry out his father's command. The fishermen were released from their posts. The shackles were once again passed through their swollen palms, and the chain was threaded through to connect them. The granite gate was reopened. As they passed by their captain, the sailors bade him farewell, saluting him with titles of respect. They then returned to the road.
Magistrate Toan turned to Master Nguyen, who wore a look of pride.
“Tell me the location of the map,” the magistrate demanded. “As you can see, I intend to keep my promise to you.”
“Thank you,” Tat Nguyen replied. “Half of the map was tattooed on my back. You can check it if you wish.”
Magistrate Toan studied his opponent. Slowly he strolled a half-circle around the bound prisoner, so that he could look at him from behind. With the swiftness of a hawk, he tore open Master Nguyen's tunic. In the bright sunlight the map appeared before the old man, covering a large portion of the captain's upper body with a detailed landscape and an inscription in the old vernacular. The magistrate leaned closer and read out loud: “The priests make charms out of nature by aligning the constellations, the sun, and the moon.” He scratched his chin and asked, “What does that mean?”
Master Nguyen replied, “It is a favorite verse of mine, written by Taoist monks in China during the early seventh century. It means just what it says, nothing more. The map will lead you to the treasure.”
In the mango tree, Ven repeated the verse softly as if it were a mantra.
Toan narrowed his eyes. “For the lives of your son and your crew, tell me where the treasure is. I have no patience for riddles.”
The captain smiled. “If I could remember where I hid my riches, I would not have bothered to record their location in a tattoo. Besides, searching for it will be an exciting adventure for an old fox like you. Have I gained your trust now, Magistrate Toan?”
“Where is the other half of the map?”
“Before I answer that question, allow me one more inquiry, just to help clear my mind.”
“By the Heavens, what is it?” cried the old man in exasperation.
“Why are you destroying my peaceful home? Could it simply be vengeance? I do not remember ever offending you.”
“No, you haven't,” replied the magistrate. “There is no reason, except for—”
“Except for?”
“There cannot be two suns in the sky nor two kings in one country. You and I cannot exist together in this town. I must destroy you before your strength and power outshine mine. This opportunity could not have come at a better time.”
“Your words ring of truth,” said Master Nguyen. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“Now, tell me where the other half of the map is.”
The captain said, “It is tattooed on my son's back. Once you find him, you can copy the map if you wish, but you must spare his life as we have agreed.”
Upon hearing these words, Dan jumped with fright inside his basket. Behind him, Ven made a surprised sound from the back of her throat. She should well be familiar with his body by now. Nevertheless, Dan felt his wife's hands creeping up along his torso. She lifted the thin fabric of his shirt. Soft wind walked its fingers along the small of his back, where the skin was as white as ivory. Dan could not remember getting any tattoo, nor could he comprehend why his father had lied to the old magistrate. His wife, however, understood. She squeezed his little body in her strapping hands.
“Prepare for the deaths of the condemned Tat Nguyen and his family,” Magistrate Toan announced.
Sai, the same soldier who had handed the beverage to Master Long, now returned to the garden. In his hands he held a small tray containing a dry lump of red ink and a large Chinese brush made from sable fur. Some of the ink had been ground and mixed with water inside a clay bowl to form a viscous paste. Standing before the magistrate, he raised the tray to his brows.
The old man picked up the brush and dipped it in the thick ink. When he drew it closer to Master Nguyen's face, the tip of the instrument dribbled red liquid onto the white sand. Carrying out the executi
oner's ritual, Magistrate Toan drew a line around the prisoner's neck, marking the place where the cut would be made. From the gates, the sound of a tambour lifted, hollow and rushing like the galloping of wild horses. The magistrate made the same marks on the necks of First and Second Mistress. They wailed as they felt the brush on their skin.
Another soldier appeared. With his palms open, he handed Magistrate Toan a scimitar. The sharp edge of its curved blade reflected the sunlight, gleaming like a crescent mirror.
Ven knew what was going to happen next. She wrapped her hand around Dan's mouth, silencing him before he had a chance to scream. Thirty feet below them, Magistrate Toan picked up his weapon with two hands. Dan shrank back and closed his eyes tightly, trying to escape the dreadful scene. When he reopened them, his father's head was flying in the air like a shuttlecock. It landed with a soft thud on the ground underneath his basket.
Dan's gaze was riveted on the decapitated head, which lay facing the sky. His father's eyes, still wet with his spirit, seemed to look straight at him, recognizing who he was. A faint smile passed over his bloody face. And then, as though the fire inside him was extinguished, his features grew dull.
Warm fluid spontaneously squirted down Dan's legs. He had lost control of his bladder. Ven loomed above him with her arms tight around him. Magistrate Toan was erect and triumphant. He inhaled deeply as though he were absorbing the spirit of his enemy, then turned to face the two bound women with his weapon.
Beneath the mango tree, the swatch of green grass slowly took on a bright shade of crimson.
chapter seven
Two Silver Dollars
At the first sight of blood spurting from Master Nguyen's neck, Ven collapsed against the tree, A half-fainting. The stricken look Dan gave her reminded her of her duty. She would not allow the scene beneath the mango's branches to steal her will to fight. Anger seized her throat, and she fought the urge to scream, shake her fists at the Heavens above, or confront the enemies below. For the sake of her young husband, she concentrated on formulating a plan to save both of their lives.
