by Kien Nguyen
Minister Chin remained standing as he recognized the voice of the mayor, coming from behind the ivory partition. Silently, the minister turned his eyes to Master Long's silhouette, outlined against the mosaic sculpture of a female nude carved into the screen. The mayor's voice seemed to emerge from the figure's blue-jade mouth. “Unpleasantness? Certainly in my house my guests should not be feeling any sort of discomfort.”
Master Long pushed the screen aside and walked in. Following him was the slow, silent woman who had never been properly introduced to the guests. From her expensive garments and the jewelry sparkling in her hair, and the mere fact that she always stayed within three paces behind the mayor, Minister Chin assumed that she was his wife. The woman stepped behind a painted post and merged with the thick gloom. Her husband came forward and bowed before the minister.
“A servant informed me of your desire to speak to me,” he began. “Sir Chin, it is my duty as your host to ensure that all of your wishes be met. So, here I am, at your disposal. I have but two questions: Has any member of my family offended you or the young master? And does it have any relation to the phoenix dance last night? Please speak freely, since your presence in my humble home is a matter of great honor to us. I urge you to reconsider your decision to leave on such angry terms.”
The minister gathered his loose tunic and fastened it against his body with a mechanical twist of his fingers. “So, you are aware of the humiliation my son had to endure at the carnival?” he asked bitterly. “I wonder if it was a premeditated action, a deliberate means of rejecting him, an indication that in your eyes he is not suitable to seek your daughter's hand in marriage.”
“Dear Heaven!” Master Long exclaimed. “What has made you think this? I give you my word that I do not know what happened between the young master and my daughter. My words were mere speculation. Now that I am aware of the problem, let me summon my daughter. She must apologize and beg your forgiveness for her ill manner. Minister Chin, I also want to emphasize that I desire nothing more than to bring about a marriage between the two young adults. After today's festival, I will find a proper matchmaker, and you will see how simple it is, this affair.” He laughed, a cackling sound, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“I am afraid that it is too late,” Minister Chin said, taking a seat on the divan. “We both know how your daughter feels about my son. Maybe she was born to mate with another peasant, like the man she met on the river last night.”
“What man?” the mayor asked. A splash of surprise washed over his face. He turned to Bui. “Did she not invite you to join her in the phoenix dance? Who else on that river could have a better voice than my tenor, or bear a more popular name?”
Bui was slumped in a chair. On this comment, he sat up and responded, “There was someone in a death cape, playing a butterfly lute. I consider him no one, but your daughter apparently thought he was a prince. She even abandoned her boat to be with him. I left the river alone and walked straight to your mansion, almost getting lost on the way.”
Master Long struggled into a chair nearby. “Who was that man? Did you get a good look at his face?”
“No, sir. It was cloaked behind his dark garment. I tried to come closer to their boat, but it seemed that I was bound by the rules of the game.”
“I must speak to my daughter,” the mayor said, as if he were talking to himself. Looking up at his honored guest, who was still perched on the ornate couch on its raised platform, Master Long had lost his earlier buoyancy. His voice came in a whisper. “It is not too late to fix this matter. Please leave everything in my hands. We might have had an awkward beginning, but the festival is not yet over. Please stay!”
The faint echo of his voice bounced off the high ceiling, as if to mimic his supplication. The minister shifted his attention to the front of his gray tunic. Master Long glared at Fifth Mistress. “Lady Song,” he scolded, “I trusted you with my daughter last night. How could you allow that incident to happen in such an irresponsible manner? Have you now at least the decency to reveal to us the mysterious man's identity, or must I begin the investigation?”
Magistrate Toan's fifth wife answered, “I came to the feast as a chaperon to the young lady. As I said to you last night, I was merely there to ensure her safety. I did not interfere with the games.”
“Do not speak to me in that tone, madam,” he screamed at her. “Remember your position in this house and answer my questions: Who was she with? And where did he come from?”
A look of disgust flashed across the young lord's face as though he had just spotted a dead rat on the floor. Master Long turned to follow Bui's eyes.
Standing at the threshold of his living room was his slave, Mouse. The servant stood erect, tall and triumphant, holding his daughter's hand as if she were now his woman. Her large dark eyes fluttered, but they were filled with a deep happiness. A black cloak swallowed her.
“Please, Father,” she said to him in a calm manner. Clearly she did not understand the damage she had done. “Do not blame Fifth Mistress for my doings. It is not her fault. If there is anything you wish to know, you can ask me or Mouse.” She looked up at the servant.
Master Long jumped forward. His hand seized her cloak, and he yanked it off her. “I will not speak to you until you take this filthy rag off,” he shouted. “Get out of here this instant. And do not leave your room until I have decided on an appropriate punishment. Go! Or I will be compelled to strike you in front of my guests.” With a shove, he sent his daughter sprawling backward on the tiled floor. Mouse leapt to her side.
Behind a painted column, Master Long's wife uttered a frightful sound. Her voice punctured his anger and depleted it at once. “Do not fret, madam,” he said to her. “I am sorry for what you have just witnessed. But I implore you to take your daughter out of my sight. Let me resume my conversation with my guests.”
He shifted his attention to Mouse. The blue veins around his temples were bulging under his skin. “Do not touch my daughter with your dirty hands,” he said. “How dare you treat your own master this way? Where is your sense of duty or your conscience? I took you in during a great famine and gave you food, a home, and an education. I had great ambitions for your future because I recognized your gifts. Until now, no man has found himself in such a favored position in this house. But you are robbing me of my only daughter. Dear gods, I have been harboring a hive of killer bees in my sleeves for nine years.” His forehead was slick with sweat. Finally, he pointed toward the entrance. “Leave my presence! Confine yourself in the kitchen. And pray for Heaven's mercy while you are waiting for me there.”
Bui lifted up a corner of the parchment from a window and peeked outside. Sunlight had broken through the clouded sky, and the sparkling droplets of dew atop the rose leaves had nearly evaporated. Somewhere in the distance, the gong of the time-teller's last round announced the morning. Bui wanted to spy on the girl, but she had disappeared into her own room. He could see her silhouette pacing behind the opaque screen of her window. Frustrated, he diverted his attention to the adults inside the Toans' living room.
From the reclining couch, his father rose. “Sir Long,” he said, pronouncing the mayor's name with an indolent yawn, “do not bother to discipline your daughter for her ill manners and her loose conduct. It is too late for a girl her age to learn. I have made up my mind to withdraw my son's offer of marriage. We will be leaving as soon as possible.”
“You cannot leave, Sir Chin,” said the mayor. “I promise you her behavior will change. Please pay no heed to her. She only speaks like any fifteen-year-old who has all the spoiled willfulness that a mother's excessive affection can bestow. Beneath that rebellious veneer, she is an excellent child.”
The minister walked his fingers along the rough stubble of his chin. Toward the back, a burgundy tapestry that veiled the entrance of an anteroom was moved aside, and Magistrate Toan's face materialized. No one knew how long the old man had remained behind that partition, observing the tense
scene. With dragging steps, he shuffled into the room. As usual, his harsh voice preceded him. “You must not beg the guests to stay, my son. No one in the Toan family should ever have to beg from strangers. We may not have an impressive title in the king's court or reside in the citadel, but we are a class of businessmen. We have our own lands and an entire village of laborers. Our fortune has no fame or nobility, especially the kind that has the reputation without any of the benefits. It is Minister Chin's obligation to be here in the name of the emperor. And our feast is not over until tomorrow night. Sir Chin, you would not let a private matter interfere with your duty as master of ceremonies, would you? As for the wedding, it shall be carried on as agreed.” He sat on an ebony chair decorated with carved dragons.
“I may not have any choice about leaving this town,” the minister said, “but what makes you so certain that we desire to be associated with your family, especially after the dishonorable secret that your granddaughter has just revealed?”
“The girl's dowry,” Magistrate Toan said with a chuckle. “That should be enough for you to change your mind. Not to mention her enormous inheritance of lands that is worth one hundred twenty-five thousand silver pieces, which she will receive upon my death. All of this wealth will belong to the house of Tang in return for your cooperation. A very lavish offer for such an untalented lad, don't you agree?”
Bui stepped forward, puffing with indignation. “Do not insult me!” he exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. But his outburst was cut short by a signal of his father's hand. Minister Chin paced the length of the living room, lost in thought, and then resumed his seat.
“I take pride in being an honest man,” the minister said. “It is difficult for me to decline such a generous offer. But untalented as my son may be, he still deserves better than wearing a slave's secondhand shoes.”
He rose and saluted the old man and his son. Bui followed him.
“Two hundred thousand silver coins as her inheritance, plus her dowry,” the old man called after them. Then he added, “That is my final offer. But you need not give me the answer right away. Tonight, my servants will prepare a pipe of highest-quality opium for your pleasure. Do not refuse, since I have already made all the arrangements. Only let me warn you that my persistence is legendary.”
Minister Chin opened the door and let himself out. Bui ran after him. The courtyard opened before them, spotless under the bright sun. The sky was blue, dotted with white, billowy clouds. Fresh roses scented the air, reminding Bui of the aromatic steam that rose atop his mother's morning cup of tea.
“With that dowry,” he said to his father when they left their host's front porch, “we can become landowners, and we can buy a great house similar to this one. Is there anyone else in the mandarins' quarter who could do these things?”
His father seized his shoulder and shook him. “Have you no religion, no morals, that you harbor these thoughts in your head? What is wrong with the life you have inside the citadel, enjoying a high status among the elite of society?”
“We are not rich, Father,” Bui said. “With your meager income, you have three mouths to feed in our family, plus the servants. How long can we go on living as we do? Why must we refuse the old man's offer so hastily? This marriage is a means for us to add more strength to our name, and a chance for me to get revenge on that arrogant girl. I beg your forgiveness for speaking so frankly. I never dare to correct you, my elder, but I wish you would reconsider the Toans' proposition. It gives us much to gain and nothing to lose.”
Minister Chin sighed and led his son in the direction of the guest quarters. “Bui, you are a good lad, but you are much too young to understand that money is not the source of happiness. Our pride and heritage are the ultimate treasures, which no amount of money in the world can buy. By accepting their offer as they try to pass us a rotten piece of fruit, we will sacrifice our family traditions and values. Is that what you really want?”
His father's voice receded into the background. Across the long path leading to the kitchen, and through a thicket of durian trees, whose foul-smelling fruits with prickly rinds reminded him of the sweat of a peasant's body, he caught a sight of his nemesis, the slave. He watched the youth tiptoe through a small back gate, carrying a black knapsack across his shoulder. There was no one else in the courtyard, except for his father, who was searching Bui's face for an answer. Only Bui observed the slave. Should he follow the peasant in case he was attempting to escape? He imagined the terrible punishments the youth would face if he were captured, and, of course, Tai May's reaction to her lover's woe. He wanted to see her suffer a sudden, horrible, and devastating shock. He thought furiously, scratching his head as though the sun had made his scalp itch with its robust rays. Next to him, his father waited. He struggled with the impulse to alert the Toan family of the furtive escape that he alone was witnessing.
He looked at Tai May's window. Her shadow was still flickering against the semitransparent screen. He watched her bend over and comb her hair—her long, lustrous river of hair. Then he watched the slave's back, floating down a small road. He measured the growing distance between them with his eyes. Bui opened his mouth, drew in a deep breath, but let it out soundlessly. Dimly, he was aware of his father's high, cracked voice, saying something about his ancestors.
Bui started to run. “I will think about your words later,” he yelled to his surprised father. Brushing aside the durian branches, he bolted through the back gate and hurried down the narrow and dusty road, keeping an inconspicuous distance from the slave.
Mouse wound his way through the cornfields that lined the narrow path. Bui realized that the slave was heading toward the main street. It was the same road they had taken to the carnival the night before. Behind the marketplace rose the twin pillars of the town entrance, two massive gray columns that stood under the orange sun like a pair of powerful guards. Their tips, decorated with carved stones that resembled lotus blossoms, were nearly hidden by the foliage of ancient oak trees. Beyond the portals, the golden earth, like the vast sky above it, spread out to infinity. Bui understood that once the slave stepped outside the village, he would become a free man.
However, to his surprise, instead of heading toward the bazaar, Mouse turned toward the east, picking his way through a cornfield. Soon, Bui could only distinguish Mouse's dark hair and the top of his knapsack over the immeasurable sea of auburn tassels. Without hesitation he, too, melted into the field's embrace.
They walked a few paces apart for almost a half hour under the hot sun. Bui was tired and thirsty. The muddy ground, oozing water from under its surface like perspiration, seized his feet. Somewhere inside the endless cornfield, he lost his leather shoes. Ahead of him, the slave did not show any sign of slowing down. A few more turns, and the field ended.
As the sky opened up, Bui found himself facing a ruin. Mouse, with an air of confidence, entered the wasteland through a crumbling portal. Recognizing the sharp edges of the brick walls and the wildly grown, unkempt shrubs and weeds, Bui realized the slave had led him to the back entrance of the infamous haunted house. A sighing wind above him, like the groans of troubled ghosts, beckoned Bui to come forward and explore the mystery inside. He followed the path into the compound and hid in a wild chrysanthemum bush.
He watched the slave approach a woman in her mid-thirties. Bui had never seen anyone like her. It was as if all the spirits of this wrecked place had taken on female form. Dressed like a beggar with clothes that were tattered and muddy, she was as brown as the ground she stood on. Her tangled black hair hung down her back. She opened her arms, and Mouse fell into them.
The slave's voice sounded like a child's. “Ven,” he said, “I have come to seek your advice, for I have gotten myself into a great deal of trouble at the house of Toan.”
chapter eleven
The Rose
Dan Nguyen remained still in his wife's strong embrace. Her scent, the familiar mixture of freshly turned soil, mint leaves, and garlic, reminded him of
the days he had spent as a child riding on her back. For nine years, she had been the keeper of his soul on this damaged ground. Countless times he had come to her, broken and frightened. Each time he saw the warmth in her eyes, his spirit was renewed. He reached for her hand, his favorite part of her body. Smooth on top, callused on the bottom, it reminded him of a dog's paw.
For several minutes he heard no sound but his wife's soothing voice. Then he was aware of the humid air rushing through the trees, and his farmer's instinct sensed rain. He looked up. Through a curtain of willow fronds, swaying in the breeze, he saw patches of piercing blue sky, free of clouds. Could he be wrong about the rain?
Ven's voice, melodious as singing, brought him back to his surroundings. “I knew it was trouble when I saw that girl in your boat last night.”
Dan drew back and looked at her. “You saw us together?” he asked.
She nodded. “I saw you, and so did the rest of the town. You interfered in the mating dance between Magistrate Toan's granddaughter and that young lord in the peacock costume. Didn't I advise you to keep away from that family's troubles altogether? If only you could hear the rumors that are flying through the town. But it is too late now. We are in trouble because of your impulsive conduct.”
“I had just as much right to take part in that festival as anyone else,” Dan said. “Last night was the first time I could see Tai May, not in the manner of a servant waiting for his mistress's command, but as a man admiring the beauty in his woman.”
She slapped him, then felt instantly sorry. “You cannot look upon the enemy's offspring with adoring eyes. Have you forgotten our quest for vengeance, the sole reason for us to remain in this village?” She searched his features. “Must I remind you that up on that mango branch, you witnessed your parents' brutal slaying? And their killer, old Magistrate Toan, is still alive, wrapped in silk embroidered robes. He wears clothes with stitched knots so finely made that they can only be prepared by the hands of children, who will eventually go blind. Every year he purchases a new imported black silk hat, topped with an ivory finial and decorated with the rarest feathers. And yesterday in the community hall, he invited more than two hundred guests for the harvest moon celebration, so they could enjoy bird's nest soup and opium. How can this go on? How will you face your parents in the afterlife?”