The Tapestries (10 page)

His wife remained calm in the midst of the chaos. She stood at the edge of the yard, examining their surroundings. The garden was made up of a number of rectangular plots of well-kept grasses, separated by wooden paths. Parts of it were far enough from the main house to have been spared from the fire. At the corners near the wall were clusters of mango, guava, and jackfruit trees with thick foliage, which merged to form a canopy over the compound's ornate entrance. One of the tallest mango trees had several branches reaching out over the main pathway. Without hesitation, Ven climbed the tree, holding on to its branches as she moved upward.

Dan wrapped his hands around his wife's neck and crouched lower in the basket. Although her burden was awkward, she moved with skill and precision. Soon they were thirty feet above the ground, looking down at the road through a thin curtain of leaves.

Balancing on a horizontal branch, Ven shifted the basket in front of her. Dan remained motionless, but his mind raced with curiosity. All around him, green mangoes in various stages of growth dangled on their thin stalks.

The fruit reminded him of the little prizes his father had hung on the branches of the cherry tree at the beginning of every New Year's celebration. For as long as he could remember, that tradition was his father's way of rewarding the servants for their hard work. He scratched his nose and blinked away a few tears. His wife made no gesture to comfort him.

“You have cried enough, young Master. Now please be still,” she said to him.

He twisted to face her with a pleading look. “I don't want to be here. Please, Ven, please. You cannot make me. You have no right, for you are not my mother.”

She set the basket on a wide horizontal branch that forked outward like the two grasping jaws of a pair of pincers, less than two feet away from the tree trunk. In her eyes he saw an unfamiliar expression that terrified him. “Be grateful that I am not your mother,” she said. “She has abandoned you. She chose to value herself and a lowly gardener over you, her own son. As for me, the gods have cursed me since the day my grandparents sent me to the house of Nguyen. And now you are becoming a heavy load for me to handle, but I am bound to you under Heaven's law. I assure you, young Master, I have had many moments when I was tempted to leave you. But I knew that if I did, my conscience would forever haunt me. I made a vow to take care of you. I hope that you will always treat me with the respect due to me as your lawfully wedded first wife.

“You don't want to witness the gruesome details of the execution? I am afraid that I cannot spare you this dreadful sight. In order for you to harbor the revenge in your head and the bitterness in your heart, you must witness the death of your father at the hands of his enemies. Only then will your grief be so profound that it will force you to seek payback. Now, be silent.”

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.

A
s 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.”