The Tapestries (15 page)

His father exclaimed, “This car is like the king's chariot, which is only used for His Majesty's pleasure to drive around the imperial garden and to entertain important guests.”

“You and the young lord are my important guests,” replied the old man. Turning to Bui, he asked, “How did the young master enjoy my present? That bed had been in my family for a very long time. It is a small token to express our sincere hopes for this friendship and respect for your impeccable tastes.”

His father answered for him. “All of the mandarins' quarter buzzed with the praises of the Toans' generous gift. My son is a very fortunate lad to have received such attention from your family, which, of course, he clearly doesn't deserve.”

The old man waved his hand. A cloud of sadness passed over his eyes, and he said ruefully, “That was my very first wedding bed. I have no use of it now, since my wife has passed away. My second and third mistresses preferred the impoverished, chaste, and simple lives of the religious world and have entered a nunnery. I am now relying on the companionship of my fifth mistress. I wish you many decades of happiness, like I had in my earlier years.”

“What about your fourth mistress?” Bui asked. The magistrate ignored his question. He smiled and looked outside. Feeling impatient, Bui beheld the smallest marketplace he had ever seen. It sat in the center of a square behind the town's main entrance, having fewer than twenty vendors and a handful of shoppers.

The carriage rode along the bricked wall, and the road soon narrowed into a simple path. The earth beneath them was hollowed into tiny canals, covered with planks in a man-made system that supplied water from the river to the fields. Bui had never seen this before. He marveled at the thought of riding atop a thin layer of wood, and he winced each time the carriage swayed on its wheels. He did not want to be thrown from the vehicle and dirty his expensive clothes.

The horse came to a stop under a large red-tiled awning. Beyond it was a mansion, protected by thick walls and iron-barred gates. The old magistrate said with glee, “We are here, at last. Welcome, Minister Chin Tang and Master Bui Tang. Please pardon our humble home. We are indeed delighted at the honor of your visit.”

A
s the carriage passed through the black iron gates, Bui counted at least fifteen young maids in pink cotton uniforms running back and forth under the supervision of a plump woman dressed in a black silk outfit. Some were sweeping the courtyard, using brooms made of the leaves of the areca palm tree. Others hung strings of incense on long bamboo posts.

They drove into a long courtyard, and Bui found himself surrounded by a cluster of buildings. These wealthy country mansions, he observed, shared a lot of design traits with the Chinese houses that he had seen in New Town, across the river from the citadel. All of the elements of nature, including the directions of the winds, the flow of the river, the contour of the land, mountains, trees, and bushes, were taken into consideration before the house was built. Here the entire property was laid out on a square piece of land, built to accentuate the benevolent forces of the earth.

There were three separate quarters. The main one was a two-story building that stretched horizontally and faced the gates. On either end was a long, narrow wing. Looking from above, the compound took the form of the letter
H.
The kitchen was at the northeast corner, next to the back entrance. From its finely carved roof to its thick bluestone foundation, the entire structure was covered in gold plaques, a sign of the owners' gratitude to the gods. In the middle of the front yard, the carriage came to a halt.

Bui reached for the links of silver around his ankle, which had been catching the hem of his trousers since the beginning of the journey. “Can I take off this trinket now, Father?” he asked.

“By all means,” replied the minister. “You are now an adult; you can do anything you want. What are you planning to do with it?”

“I'll give it to the less fortunate,” he said and unfastened the chain. Easing down from the vehicle, Bui smoothed his neatly combed hair and scanned the scenery around him with a satisfied look. As he passed Mouse, who was unloading their suitcases from the back of the carriage, Bui threw his outgrown good-luck charm at the quiet slave and said, “Here is your tip, my good man.”

Magistrate Toan's fifth mistress ran out to meet her husband and the guests. She was the same woman in the black silk outfit Bui had seen at the gates. To him, she appeared a bit overweight, yet still striking.

“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.

T
he 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.

T
hat 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.

B
ui 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?”