The Tapestries (16 page)

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.”

O
n 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.

T
he 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.

M
ouse 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 mile-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.

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.

B
ui 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.

T
he 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.