The Tapestries

by Kien Nguyen

  “Song, my fifth mistress, is waiting to receive you, gentlemen,” said the old man. Then to his wife, he said, “You will show the mandarin and the young lord their guest quarters so that they can rest up from their journey.” And he excused himself.

  Minister Chin Tang bowed and replied, “I follow you, Lady Song.”

  The servant picked up two of the guests' valises in each hand. Song took the largest one from him. “Let me help you, Mouse,” she said as she led the way down a long sidewalk.

  The guest chambers consisted of a series of rooms linked to one another by means of indoor galleries. They were built as an extension to the stately main house, and the first of its two antechambers rivaled the Imperial Palace in its splendor. Their furnishings were works of art from a bygone age, and a new coat of white paint surrounded the windows, which looked into the court. A faint smell of mustiness reinforced Bui's speculation that this area had not been used in a long while. With each compartment they passed, the fifth mistress opened the windows, letting the fresh air enter the stale interior.

  Through the circular-shaped entrance, Bui could observe the rest of the estate. On the other side of the main structure, another side-house belonged to Master Long, his wife, and their daughter. Immediately behind the main complex, alongside the high wall in the rear, were the kitchen and the servants' apartments. Bui had been told that his future in-laws were wealthy, and now he was taken aback by the opulence of their property. He saw more of the long cones of incense, hanging from the ceiling and spiraling down almost to the ground. As the son of the minister of religion, he understood that the fragrant resins had been burning since the full moon of the month before. As long as they went on smoking, their owners would be protected from ill fortune.

  Along the inside of the curved brick wall, lanterns shaped like fish, butterflies, and buffalo were mounted at intervals, in preparation for the first night of the festival. Next to them were trays of moon cakes made of lotus flowers and egg yolks. The fifth mistress explained to Bui's father that it would be imprudent for a noble house such as Master Long's to ignore the power of the underworld, especially when their honored guest was the minister of religion and ceremonies. Therefore, the mayor had hired a geomancer to identify the precise locations for these sacred offerings, in hope of attracting benevolent spirits when the harvest moon reached its apogee the following night. Once inside the building, the ghosts would watch over and protect the living.

  They came to the end of the hall, and Lady Song paused in front of a plain blue door. “This is your room, young Master,” she said, setting down his suitcase. “Make yourself comfortable and rest. A servant will come and notify you when it is lunchtime.”

  She bowed to him and quickly disappeared with the slave behind a bamboo partition that seemed to lead to a small backyard across from the kitchen area. Bui yawned, exhausted from the few hours of traveling. He kicked the door open and entered the vast whiteness inside.

  That night, the eighth moon showed her glittering face in the star-stained sky earlier than usual. However, her radiant beauty was diffused by the torrent of light coming from the streets of the Cam Le Village. It was a night of lanterns, varying in size and shape, reflecting one another like thousands of glowworms. At seven o'clock, the servants from the house of Toan opened the heavy gate to allow two dozen monks to pass through. In their hands, they carried more lanterns.

  In the middle of the courtyard stood a circular altar made of freshly cut wood and bamboo stalks, stacked like the steps of a pyramid. Candles, incense, sandalwood bark, and moon cakes occupied its surfaces. Once the holy men were inside, two servants handed out drums, gongs, and castanets. After choosing an instrument, each monk took his place around the altar, forming a circle. Fiery lights exaggerated their impassive faces. To many, they were no longer flesh and blood, but had become living statues of stone.

  Minister Chin stood high on a pedestal, apart from the rest of the worshipers, facing the altar and the main entrance. He pressed his palms together in front of his chest. Long stems of incense sprouted out of the tips of his fingers, puffing scented smoke. The minister closed his eyes and led the monks in the opening phase of the ceremony—the chanting of holy verses. In this night, he must mend any broken seams of this village by leading the obligatory chanting for at least several hours, so that the land could recover its supernatural powers and yield more crops during the next season. Only with his sincerity would he ensure the harmony of the townspeople and the prosperity of his host.

  The Toan family closed ranks behind their distinguished guest. The old man, too feeble to stand, hunched in an armchair. Everyone else stood under the lanterns, holding bundles of incense. Their robes made soft rustling sounds in the cool evening. Without looking back, Minister Chin could feel their curiosity burning the nape of his neck. His many years of standing in the throne room among his colleagues had inured him to such looks.

  The minister relished the opportunity to display his prowess in the harvest ceremony Despite the crudeness of this town, he was satisfied with the trappings of wealth in this farmer's house. As for his son, he did not need a professional matchmaker to paint a picture of how lovesick the poor lad had become under the spell of that slender girl. To him, they seemed like a perfect match, and this trip could very well be the beginning of a marriage of propriety. More than ever, he knew he must exercise his vast stature before his future in-laws.

  The chanting ended, and a servant struck a deep gong. The minister expanded his chest and shouted into the sudden silence, “I, Minister Chin Tang, have come to this town in the name of our emperor.” It was time for the festival to begin.

  Bui lowered his head and chewed his nails, struggling to control his impatience during the mantra. It seemed unbearable to him that he could do nothing but watch the girl from a distance. The night was rapidly advancing, and he had yet to be alone with her. Each time the wind blew, he waited for it to lift her hair away from her neck, where the collar of her tunic caressed her white skin. He wanted to seize her, and to peel her robes away bit by bit, so that he could see more of her flesh. Instead, he stood among the flickering lanterns and watched her recite Buddhist scripture, until his father intoned the conclusion of the chanting ceremony.

  When it was over, a young maid came out to inform the mayor that tea was ready. Master Long opened the living room's panel of doors. To the guests' awe, the enormous space, supported by elegant carved mahogany beams and decorated with exquisite furniture, opened like an ancient temple before them. Except for the old man, who excused himself to the bedroom in the back, everyone passed silently into the large room, following their host.

  Once they had all taken their seats around a table with a red marble top, Master Long turned to the minister. “Would you like to enjoy some opium with me after the children leave for the carnival at the river?” he asked.

  Before the minister had a chance to reply, his son interrupted. “A carnival?” he cried. “I am fond of all carnivals.” The fact that he had never experienced a carnival did not dim his enthusiasm. “It would be my pleasure to escort the young lady,” he continued, “but I do not know what to expect of this particular street party. Tell me, what is its nature?”

  Master Long looked at his guest of honor and said, “Let the minister explain the purpose of this feast, since he is more qualified to do so than anyone else in this room.”

  Minister Chin signaled for a maid to replenish his cup of jasmine tea. He glanced outside into the courtyard. The monks had all gone, but behind the tall wall, the excited noise of revelry was building. In a calm voice, he said to his son, “You should not have asked me to explain this spectacle. I am a firm believer in the theory of introspectionism, the latest European doctrine, by which all life experiences should be observed through one's own eyes, rather than through others' influencing thought and feeling. You, my son, must tackle the unknown with open arms. Trust me, you will find it entertaining.”

  Bui leaned forward
with his hands pressing against the marble surface. “Come now, Father. Certainly you would not expose me to the risk of failure in front of the young lady because of my lack of knowledge. I am thrilled at the prospect of this mysterious festival, but I cannot say that I would enjoy making a foolish mistake.”

  Minister Chin Tang smiled. “I suppose you are entitled to a brief education. The Harvest Moon Festival is a time for young people to practice their belief in romantic love. I am glad that you will have a chance to witness the festival, since we do not have this sort of entertainment in the Purple Forbidden City. But I want you to understand the rules of the game before you join in.” He sipped at his cup of tea and then laughed self-consciously. “So much for the theory of introspectionism.” He continued.

  “Each year on this very night, when the moon is one day shy of becoming fully round, everyone who is young and single is free to join the carnival in search of true love. Dress yourself in a costume and choose a mask to hide your identity. Once you are disguised, you may enter the phoenix dance. Then, you will be treated just the same as everyone else at the fete, despite your rank or your wealth. Without the help of a matchmaker, or any prearrangement from me, you can exercise your wits to woo the girl of your dreams. The trick is to learn her character well, so that you can find her in the crowd. Do not worry if you are not successful. You will find this girl, or rather, her parents will find us tomorrow. Then you will know what to do. When you are tired of this childish game and wish for my help, you can return here and look for me.” He turned to the mayor. “Am I being too presumptuous in my description of the festival, Master Long?”

  His host gave him a gratified smile. “No, sir, not at all. I think you have predicted its exact outcome. Any parents in this village would be honored to have the young master for a son-in-law. I only need to add one minor detail in order to prepare the young master fully for the evening's gaiety. In this town, the phoenix dance takes place on the river, not on dry land.”

  “What is a phoenix dance?” Bui asked.

  The mayor replied, “The legend says that a phoenix captures the heart of its true mate by expressing its passion in dance. Nothing can be more effective at impressing a fair maiden than a love song composed only for her, or a poem about her beauty. Given that you are a young man of great virtue and courage, I have no doubt that tonight the moon god will reward you by sending the most beautiful girl in the dance straight into your arms, young Master.”

  The screen that blocked the living room entrance was drawn aside, and a servant appeared. Bui recognized the handsome slave named Mouse. “Please, everything is ready,” the slave said. “The horses are harnessed to the carriage. Would Master Bui and Lady May like to join the festival now?”

  Bui got up from his seat and walked toward the slave. He had to look up to face Mouse, and the difference in their statures offended him. “Are you the coachman for the evening?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” replied the young man. Unlike most servants, he did not avoid Bui's eyes. He seemed relaxed yet courteous. His serenity triggered an aversion in Bui, and he folded his hands into fists.

  Without turning around to face the mayor, Bui raised his voice in a tone of disgust. “Must we be exposed to the potential dangers of being placed in the hands of this inexperienced slave? Is he the only coachman in this house?”

  Tai May, who had been silent in her seat until now, spoke up. Her voice was filled with sudden excitement. “I beseech you, young Master. Mouse is my slave. Besides that, he is my friend, confidant, and a precious gift from my late grandmother to me nine years ago. By taking us to the carnival, he is only fulfilling his duty to me. You can rest assured that your safety is in the hands of the best driver in this town.”

  Those passionate words from her pretty lips turned Bui's ears red with shame.

  Mouse bowed his head before his young mistress as though he was thanking her. “It would be my honor to drive you to the feast, Master Bui,” he said.

  Before Bui could find a proper reply, Mouse bowed again and disappeared behind a screen. The rest of the Toan family got up from their seats. Magistrate Toan's fifth mistress addressed Master Long. “I would like to accompany your daughter to the festival,” she said. “I think it is wise for the young lady to go with a chaperon. I promise I will not interfere with their games.”

  Master Long nodded with a smile. “Indeed, a good idea. I entrust my daughter's happiness to your hands, Lady Song.”

  On the way out, Master Long pulled Bui aside. Under the shade of a large hibiscus shrubbery near the entrance gate, the mayor whispered into the young lord's ear. “Listen to me. Do you desire my daughter?”

  Bui bobbed his head in the dark. He wanted to tell this man how much he coveted the beautiful girl, but words failed him. Master Long examined his features. In the gloomy shadows, the older man could just see Bui's small eyes. He saw no trace of good looks of any kind on his common, arrogant face. It would be just as well. The boy would appreciate his daughter's beauty all the more. The trace of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Will you promise to obey my instructions implicitly?” he asked.

  Once again, Bui nodded.

  “Then listen carefully.” Master Long seized Bui's forearm to emphasize his seriousness. “My daughter's boat is painted white. There will be two lanterns shaped like butterflies hanging from its bow. It is important that you recognize her before eleven o'clock. That will give both of you a chance to get acquainted, since the festivities end at midnight.” He looked up and signaled for a large figure standing nearby to approach them. “Take this man with you, young Master. Surely you have heard of Monsieur Jean Luu, the famous opera singer.”

  Bui beheld a barrel-chested man with an androgynous face concealed under a thick layer of white powder. Being from the citadel, Bui had heard of the singer and was impressed to find him at this rustic celebration. “Indeed,” he said.

  The mayor continued. “Tonight, at my request, he will sing all of my daughter's favorite songs. With this songbird, I am sure that you will triumph.” He led Bui and the singer toward the entrance.

  The same silver carriage that had brought Bui and his father from the river was now waiting for him under the bright moonlight. Lady Song and Tai May sat close together on the bench behind the driver's seat. There was no breeze, and the temperature had begun to rise. The slave was lowering the hood to both sides of the wagon. Bui walked closer, but Mouse was so engrossed in his work that he did not hear the young aristocrat's footsteps. With an exasperated gesture, Bui grabbed the servant's long hair and dragged him a few paces away.

  “Never bar my path, you fool.” He kicked the slave. Then, he mounted the step and slid inside, choosing the seat opposite the beautiful girl. For a second, their knees touched, but the contact was soon over. She avoided him in the same way that fire shrank from a waterspout. In the awkward silence, he feasted his eyes on her face. Her expression was blank.

  Next to him, the pale and oily opera singer wiggled his oversized rear into the seat and started to hum. He rummaged his fingers, with their long scarlet nails, through a small moneybag that was hooked around his shoulder. Bui watched in amazement as the tenor took out a piece of red color-coated paper and a hand mirror, and blotted his lips with its dye. Once his lips matched the shade of his nails, the man heaved a deep sigh of pleasure. When he turned and met Bui's astounded glare, the singer smiled broadly and offered his cosmetic tools.

  “Would you like to try some color on your lips, Master Bui?” he asked.

  He shook his head and moved away as far as the narrow bench allowed.

  Mouse urged the horses into motion. The carriage left the house of Toan and joined the celebration that was already making the streets ring. All those who were young and single, or older and married and still attracted to the gaiety of the carnival, mingled through the village with candles or lanterns in their hands. Their shrill laughter and conversation filled the night. Together, the pedestrians formed a m
ile-long path of flickering lanterns, descending toward the river like an incandescent snake. Above them, the moon was a circular window open to a heavenly world, where golden lights shone through.

  The carriage took Bui and his companions through the Cam Le Village and approached the Perfume River by a road crammed with people on foot. Mouse had chosen his route so that his passengers could admire the moon-soaked scenery along the way. Sitting across from May, Bui cast a few stolen glances at her. But her face was averted as she concentrated on the view at her side. No words were exchanged among the company, and the only sound was the tenor's tedious humming. To his right, he saw a long and bumpy path cut through a thicket of endless cornfields.

  As the carriage turned onto a crowded street filled with lights, Bui noticed a large vacant property situated a distance from the road. Trees and shrubs obscured the crumbling brick walls, which were covered in vines. As the moon struggled through a sea of foliage, its filtered light revealed the ruins inside. The sharp edges of burned bricks jabbed upward into the sky, so faint that they appeared at first like phantoms. Eeriness rose from the deserted grounds, and Bui was aware of a chill wind—or was it his own imagination?

  “What is that place?” he asked.

  The girl paid no attention to Bui's query. The older woman replied, “That is the haunted estate of the Cam Le Village. It once belonged to the Nguyen family. Its owners have been gone a long time.”

  “Haunted?” Bui asked with excitement. “Is it really filled with restless ghosts? Has anyone seen them? What do they look like?”

  His questions were interrupted as the carriage took a sudden turn, tossing him against the wall of its cabin. Bui cursed the coachman. When he fell back into his seat, the cheerful tumult outside his window recaptured his attention.

  Soon the coach reached the end of the street, where it split into two smaller paths that led to the river at different sites. Each opening was lit by a pair of torches, one burning on either side.