by Kien Nguyen
A man advanced from behind a tree and drew the horse to a halt. “Excuse me,” he called up to Mouse. “You must leave your vehicle here if you want to enter the carnival.”
“How do we get there?” Mouse asked.
“The men follow the right path, and the women the left one.”
Mouse jumped from his driver's seat. He opened the door and told his passengers what he had just learned. Bui leaned back in his seat and looked at his wife-to-be. His legs were stretched out in front of him, blocking her exit. Surely she must acknowledge him before they disembarked.
The girl sat on a white quilt. Her face was smooth and delicate. Bui detected fine specks of ground pearl on her powdered skin. Yet, underneath the vulnerable demeanor, her dark eyes betrayed a sense of will that made him look away. She lifted her hand and offered it to him. The tips of her fingers barely touched the palm of his hand. He shuddered at the slight contact.
“You have my best and sincere wish for a successful evening, young Master,” Tai May said in a calm voice.
He seized her hand in both of his. The heat from her skin shot through him like lightning. He opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say. “I promise I will find you on that river tonight” were the words that came out.
Bui took the right path with his opera singer. He was still drunk from the girl's touch and the bewitching look in her eyes. Around him, a new source of noise rose over the shouts of the crowd—the cries of the mask-sellers. Each vendor carried hundreds of different costumes, made from either colored paper or coarse cotton. The revelers hastened to purchase a mask and its complementary outfit.
For himself he chose a dark-blue peacock mask and an elaborate costume depicting the bird's vivid feathers and for the opera singer he purchased a brown monkey suit. The effeminate man murmured a sound of disparagement, but took his gear from Bui's hand. He searched the crowd for the coachman, but Mouse had disappeared. The slave had shed his peasant skin to become part of the crowd, just another among the many mask-wearers.
On the bank of the river, a boat-renter approached Bui. His face was covered in pockmarks. Some of the scars were so deep that they resembled little black holes in his skin. The man bowed to him and said, “Would you like to rent a boat, my lord?”
Bui scrutinized the boatman's face, laughed, and poked his finger against the man's nose. “More than anyone else in this place, you should wear a mask, my good man. You are frightening the customers. Give me your most expensive boat.”
The boatman bowed lower. “Right this way, my lord,” he said. “Do you want a steersman as well, sir?”
“Yes,” Bui said enthusiastically. “I want everything. Tonight must be perfect. This money should be enough to cover it.” He thrust a handful of coins into the boatman's hand.
The river air was chilly but abuzz with excitement as Bui's boat entered the tumultuous scene. The dull thumping of the drums along the riverbank accompanied the higher pitch of female voices, echoing through the vast space above them. As in the mating ritual of birds, the male singers answered coyly, adding new verses to the familiar songs that the women sang. Then, communicating through the music, they searched for one another. Hundreds of tiny boats floated like fallen leaves, pushing against one another as they maneuvered for favorable positions. The brilliant light of lanterns, sparkling as though they were the rarest, most expensive jewels on Earth, reflected on the water surface.
With marvelous skill, the helmsman Bui had hired was able to escape the men's area and advance toward the women's boats. The young lord stood up, despite the cool wind cutting through his paper costume. He could hear the stirring of the oars and the clashing of the boat's keel against water. A short distance ahead, he spotted Lady Tai May's white canoe floating like a swan among a flock of black ducks. At its tip, just as Master Long had predicted, hung a pair of lanterns shaped like butterflies. He recognized her almost instinctively. She was dressed in all white, and her outline was defined against the dark river and sky. He noticed her mask, which resembled a butterfly's wings. Next to her was the fifth mistress of Magistrate Toan, who wore no costume. The stout woman was rowing, and her gentle rhythm kept their wooden vessel a few paces ahead of the other boats.
Bui struck his boatman on the shoulder. “There,” he said, pointing. “Get me to that white boat.” And to the opera singer, he ordered, “Sing, sing this instant. Let your voice be heard.”
The brown monkey opened his mouth, and music streamed from his lungs. His voice, rich with melody, instantly prompted a couple of women's sampans to draw near. The admirers' shrieks and clapping filled Bui's heart with pride. He recognized the priceless value of his songbird.
“Sing louder,” he urged the tenor, banging on his back as if beating a drum, and the man complied. His voice swept higher, and for a moment, the girl on the white boat seemed to notice him. She cocked her head and listened.
Bui soon found his vessel surrounded by the singer's amorous aficionados. Many of these ladies had recognized the opera singer's famous voice, and their passionate cries reverberated in the dark night. Some even threw Bui bouquets of flowers, realizing he must be a man of wealth to have hired such an important tenor. As the women's boats approached, they reached over and tried to snatch the peacock mask, wanting to see his face. He fell back into his seat, covering his head. The boat rocked with a violent force. Even the skillful helmsman was having a difficult time steering his vessel.
“Stop singing, you fool,” Bui yelled. To his newly acquired fans, he snarled, “Get away from me, you filthy farmers.”
But now he had offended the peasants. Their happy cries turned aggressive. With a yank, one of them pulled his mask away. In minutes, his peacock feathers flew about his boat like the remnants of a torn flower.
Fortunately for Bui, the attack stopped abruptly. Someone or something on the river had captured the women's attention and drew them away from his boat. In the riotous atmosphere, he heard the spellbinding sound of a lute. The melody drifted through the air, soothing the angst of the game. The chaotic river was restored to its calm.
With his hands over his face, Bui was able to see between his fingers. He watched a boat gliding atop the water. Its owner wore a black hooded cloak that made him resemble Death. The light was so faint that no one could see the details of the man's features or how his fingers were dancing on the strings of the instrument. Bui saw the white boat advance. The slender girl who was supposed to be his wife got up from her seat. He watched Death take her into his arms.
Outraged, Bui turned to his steersman. Under the moonlight, he caught the man's dull smile. To vent his anger, he struck the grinning face with his fist. There was a note of hysteria in his voice as he cried out. “Take me to that boat. Now! Now! I want to see his face.”
The helmsman's smile turned into a fearful frown, and he cried out in pain. Yet he remained unmoving in his seat.
“Are you deaf?” Bui said. “I command you to take me to that boat.”
The peasant shook his head and replied in a flat voice, “I can't, my lord. It is too late. She is already inside his boat.”
All around him, the carnival continued. However, to Bui, it was over. He had lost the phoenix dance.
Mouse's throat went dry. He looked at the girl in his arms. She was the only daughter of a village mayor, and he was her slave. On this river they were probably the most unlikely match conceivable. But she had chosen him! By walking into his boat, not only did she defy her family and risk losing everything, including her own reputation, but she had also spurned the visiting mandarin and his son. Mouse's spirit lifted. Tonight, thanks to the festival and the cloak of darkness, his status did not matter. Her strength ignited in him the courage to love like everyone else.
Her butterfly mask pressed against his chest, its wings undulating like the river. He leaned closer and inhaled the gardenia scent of her hair. She had not changed her fragrance for as long as he had known her. Somewhere beyond a group of floating boats
he saw the young lord, white-faced with rage. He knew they would suffer for this later, but he did not care. The world around him melted away.
She lifted the disguise and peeled it away from her face. Mouse watched, riveted by every gesture. She gathered her hair—dark and rippling down to the small of her back—and pulled it over one shoulder so it lay above her breast. The moon outlined her features. He saw her eyes, slanted because of her high cheekbones and shaped like the spreading wings of a distant swallow. They widened when she looked at him. She was smiling. He stopped breathing, unable to tear his eyes away.
For a long time, they stood in the middle of the sampan, holding each other without uttering a word. The boat rocked, drifting farther away from the festive area of the river. All that Mouse could think of was how happy he felt. Now his love for her was no longer a secret. He reached his arms farther around her waist. He could feel her hand slip through the opening in his cloak and rub his back. She raised her head, and the tips of their noses touched, briefly. He heard his voice whisper, “Mistress.”
She winced and pulled away. The boat swayed. Without his sturdy stand to keep her balance, Tai May staggered and grabbed the air. He caught her hands, helping her to sit on a wooden bench. Then he fell to his knees in front of her. She sighed, her hand touching his face. “Do not address me with that awful title, not tonight, not ever,” she said.
He nodded, fascinated by her mouth. He had heard the young cowherds talk about the French kisses, in which a man explored his woman's mouth with his tongue. The strangeness of the act had seemed so erotic that it made him squirm with anticipation. Vietnamese never kissed; to express affection they took long, deep sniffs at each other's skin. But in the dim glow of the lantern her lips were full and wet, so inviting that he ached to taste them. He sat at her feet, dazed and full of desire.
She glanced down at the lute on the floorboard and asked, “Who taught you to play that sad song?”
He explored the instrument with his fingers, and a melancholy sound rose from under his hand. “It is my mother's favorite ballad,” he replied.
“Your mother,” she echoed. “She is the one who lives in the haunted mansion.”
Mouse felt the blood drain from his head. He was horrified by the knowledge behind her remark. The secret he thought that he had buried so deep was now exposed. “What do you know about Ven?” he said.
Her mischievousness turned to confusion. But Mouse was too upset to notice. She clutched her hands in her lap and said, “I am sorry if I am intruding on your privacy. Please forgive my curiosity. My only desire was to learn about you.” After a moment, she added, “We have always been friends, have we not?”
Mouse frowned. “Did you tell anyone in your family about her?”
She shook her head.
He took her hands and looked into her eyes. “If you ever do, Tai May, you will place Ven and me in a grave danger. There are men in this village who want to hurt us.” Out of a corner of his eye, he saw a sampan approaching. He fell silent and turned away, letting go of her hands. His face was hidden behind the hood of his cape.
Two people in blue pirate costumes rowed by. The woman lifted up her mask and waved happily at Tai May while her companion threw a pigskin filled with wine to Mouse. “Take this, young lovers,” he called. “Have a drink to show respect to the old gods of the moon. May they bless your great future together with a wedding.” He laughed and sculled off. Their voices dimmed as their vessel hastened down the river.
Mouse watched the couple pass through the crowd of boats, until he and Tai May were alone once again. He brushed the hood away from his head and shifted his position so that he could look at her. He cleared his throat, and said, “I was abandoned nine years ago. Ven, the woman you saw in that haunted house, is not my mother.”
“Then who is she?”
The innocent look remained on her face. He could not bring himself to lie to her, but he hated to sadden her. “She is my wife,” he said.
Tai May flinched as though he had just slapped her face. Mouse could not bear to see the hurt in her eyes. He realized that this was what the musicians meant when they sang about a broken heart. No wonder the love songs always made people weep.
“Do you love her?” He heard her gentle voice.
“Yes, I do,” he admitted. “But not the same way that I love you.”
When he got the courage to look up again, Tai May was holding the jug of wine in her hands. She shook it and said, “Tonight, we must drink every drop of this wine to forget about your dreadful predicament. Instead, you can recite a story for me.”
“The way I always do at your bedtime?” he asked.
“No.” A sparkle of fun seemed to return to her. “This time you must play the lute while you relate the tale, like a true storyteller at the market.”
He heard her laughter, light and tinkling, as she put her foot forward to touch his. Was she trying to hide her disappointment about his past? The river was silent except for the soft splash of waves against the boat and the rise and fall of distant jollity. He chewed his knuckles. “Would you still have come to me if you knew I had a wife?”
She whispered, “I love you dearly, Mouse,” and slid closer to him. “I find you faithful, honest, and deserving. With the witness of Heaven above and the underworld below, I solemnly pledge my truest words. I will never regret what I have done tonight, nor would I hesitate to do it again.”
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and planted his lips on hers. At first the contact was so soft that he wondered if he had just kissed the empty air in between them. Then he felt her mouth open slightly, and her breath caressed his face. The tip of her tongue passed along the border of his lower lip. He raised his eyelid and peeped out in sheer incredulity. Through his lashes, he saw her looking at him.
He encircled her in his arms and laid her down on the bottom of the boat. The hood fell over his head and shielded them from the rest of the world. He tasted her mouth and was aware of her trembling in his embrace. Instinct urged him to thrust himself against her body, to stroke her soft breasts, to make himself one with her. With a gasp, he broke away.
“I must stop,” he panted, “before I can no longer trust myself.”
“No,” she moaned.
The moon was hidden above masses of dark clouds. Most of the lanterns were extinguished as the villagers were leaving the carnival. The only light that was left was a lantern hanging at the bow of Mouse's boat. “I should take you home,” he said.
“Not yet,” she said. “Stay with me. I don't want to be alone.”
Around them the wind picked up its pace. He turned and faced her. She was still shivering in her cotton dress. He took off his linen costume.
“You never told me, who are these men that want to hurt you?” she asked as he pulled the cloak over her shoulders.
“The most important one is Magistrate Toan, your grandfather,” he replied.
chapter ten
The Break
The next morning dawned cold and cloudy. During the night, the winds had shaken most of the gold plaques from the outer walls of the house, and they lay scattered on the ground. At the house of Toan, just as the restless sun mounted the horizon, the thick carved door of the guest house that faced the courtyard was flung open. Moments later, two shadows stormed through it. They were Minister Chin and his son. In his haste, the minister did not fasten his gray satin tunic. His loose garments flapped in the wind, much to the surprise of the two female servants who were sweeping the patio. Neither of them said a word to the guests. They merely stood aside to let them pass.
“What a misfortune,” Minister Chin said to his son, as he ascended the steps that led to the owner's living room. “But before I confront that girl's father, I must understand something. Have you told me the entire story of last night's events?”
“To my best recollection, sir,” was the young man's reply.
Bui had never been refused by anyone until his experience at the phoenix
dance. Now, several hours later, rage still coursed through his heart. He would never forget the image of the girl leaving her boat and stepping into the arms of a stranger. She had made him feel less adequate than a peasant. But now it was his turn to shame her in front of her elders. His father, one of the king's ministers, would make certain that the Toan family name was of no account in the Court at Hue unless they agreed to disown the girl. Bui gnawed at his nails. From time to time he paused long enough to wipe the tips of his fingers along the pristine fabric of his shirt. Soon, dark trails of blood streaked the glossy cotton.
His father reached for a way to open the panel of doors but found them bolted. He stopped and turned to the young servant nearest him, a short, thin girl who was clutching a broom in her hands. “Let me in!” he demanded.
The maid was so nervous that the left side of her face was twitching. “Is there anything wrong, sir? Did we sweep too noisily and disturb your rest? If we did, I beg you and the young lord to accept a thousand apologies.”
“Shut your mouth,” he barked. “This matter doesn't concern you. It is the face of your master that I am looking for. Wake him up and tell him—”
From behind the thin wall of doors, the sound of furniture being moved interrupted Minister Chin. Wooden clogs clobbered against the tiled floor, and the entrance to the main living room burst open. Magistrate Toan's buxom fifth mistress stood at the door, holding a candle in her hand. Her hair was tousled, and she squinted at the stark sunlight. Seeing the minister's face, she took a step back and pressed her hand against her chest. “Can I help you?” she asked in a weak voice.
Minister Chin swept past her and entered the dark living room. “I must speak to the girl's father before we leave here this morning.”
The young mistress extended her hand toward a richly upholstered reclining couch with silver inlays around its edges. The polished metal reflected her candle, winking at Minister Chin. “Will you please take the best seat in the house?” she said to the minister. “I will summon my son-in-law this instant. While you wait, the servant will bring hot tea to warm you. I beg you to have patience and try to forget any unpleasantness that is troubling you.”
