The Tapestries (19 page)

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

D
an
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?”

“It's too late,” he said. “The enemies know I love her. It was you who sold me to the house of Toan, and fate brought Tai May and me together. No one can prevent what a heart desires. I can never be what you want me to be.” She took a step back and closed her eyes. Her face was taut.

A thumping noise pounded in his ears. It seemed to come from all around them. He recognized the relentless echo of a loud drum, three intervals of nine continuous beats. It was the village's urgent warning that some catastrophe had occurred. In her eyes he saw that she, too, knew the meaning of that pulsating sound.

He turned to the north. Past the endless golden pastures of Cam Le, he could make out the tiny pillars of the town's entrance and, beyond them, a succession of beautiful rolling hills. As the huge gates were closing toward each other, the view before him slowly vanished. He knew that his fate had been sealed behind the locked doors. Above, the swollen sun was trying to burst through the leaves. Dan watched the beams of light shooting through the shaded canopy to create a dappled pattern on the ground, like the metal bars of a jail cell. Ven put her arms around his shoulders.

He pushed away from her and looked for an escape. The town's north gates would be protected by the watchful guards. To the south, the river stretched its silver body along the edge of the village and then divided into canals and streams to crisscross the green landscape until it reached the end of the earth.

Over the clamor of drums, he heard Ven's surprised scream. He turned to look at her. A lock of hair stood up above her head like the crest of an angry rooster. To the side of the back fence, he saw a broad section of shrubbery shake violently. There, to his shock, Dan spotted the round red face of the young lord, Bui Tang, son of the proud minister from Hue. Bui, realizing he had been caught spying, dashed from his hiding place and charged toward the exit. Dan dove after him like a falcon pursuing a rabbit. Ven followed, her ragged clothes streaming behind her.

Dan grasped a handful of Bui's carefully styled hair and pulled. The teenager gasped as his head was wrenched back. But the rest of his body continued to thrust forward and curled into an arc under the bright sun, like a taut bow aimed at the sky. Then, as his feet came out from under him, he fell to the ground with a thud. Dan's momentum pushed him over the fallen boy. The impact of his dusty foot made an imprint on Bui's tailored shirt. Out of Bui's mouth came a gurgling sound, and he curled to his side, clutching his stomach. Ven approached and studied the teenager on the hard soil. “Pick him up,” she said to Dan.

Bui moaned. With his eyes half shut, he seemed to ignore the two shadows above him.

Suddenly the quivering mound beneath Dan's palm sprang up and erupted into a cloud of dust. Dan felt sand, like streaks of fire, shoot into his eyes. He collapsed to his knees and groped at his face in agony. Before his vision dimmed into darkness, Dan caught a flash of white shirt floating against the blue sky. Behind it fluttered a black tuft of his wife's long hair. Her hand came down, and he heard a scream. There were more rustling sounds. Her hand came down again. He heard a pounding like a wooden pestle striking the hollow well of a mortar. Another scream. Then silence.

Dan tilted his head toward the warm sun and listened. Tears streamed down his face, and the redness before him grew thicker. He felt as though he were peering into a pool of blood.

“Ven,” he called. His hands felt the empty air. The aroma of garlic and fresh mint returned, signaling her comforting presence.

“I am here, Dan. Are you all right?”

“I can't see. What has just happened? Did you kill him?”

“No.”

“Did he get away?”

“No, I just knocked him unconscious,” she said.

“Dear Heaven!” he cried, temporarily forgetting the ache in his eyes. “What are we going to do?”

Ven did not answer him. Her soothing fragrance withdrew from his nose.

“Ven,” he shouted. “Where are you? Do not leave me alone.” There was no response, except for the distant drum.

He grabbed the front of his shirt and wiped his eyes. A flood of tears washed the sand from them in abrasive rivulets. Gradually, the blur in front of him settled into thousands of tiny specks of light. Inside this circle of illumination, he saw Ven's face.

She stood before him, clutching a kitchen knife in her hands. A few feet away from her, Dan saw Bui lying on his stomach. His knees were bent. His hands and feet were suspended over his buttocks, tied together with a stout rope. The young lord rested one side of his face against the sand, puffing through a corner of his wide mouth. His eyes, dark and fluid like a duck's, were blinking without recognition. A deep red handprint spread across his cheek.

“Come, come, calm yourself,” Ven said. “I just went inside and looked for a cord to tie up our spy before he fully regains consciousness. Do you need any help?”

Dan drew in a deep breath. With his restored vision came a wave of relief, but he was now an outcast. In one day, whatever life he had hoped to build with Tai May was dashed. When they had left the river, he was sure that they would be together and he would kiss her until the end of time. The hypnotic drumbeats seemed to be growing louder or coming closer. He could no longer distinguish their sound from the throbbing of his heart.

Ven put down the knife and disappeared again behind the kitchen wall. She came back, holding a large straw hat in one hand and a wet cloth in the other. “Here,” she said. “Clean your face. It will make you feel better.”

Dan pressed the damp cloth over his forehead. “What are we going to do?” he asked.

Ven tied the hat strings under her chin. “I must go to town and learn some news before we decide on a plan.” Sensing his hesitation, she added, “If I am certain that they are hunting for us, we will leave this place together after nightfall. For the time being, it will be much simpler for us to hide from the guards. Tonight, if the villagers are allowed to celebrate the harvest moon, we will have more luck getting away.”

Dan pointed to the young lord, who lolled on the ground like a bound pig. “When are we going to release him?”

“He will not be released.”

Bui let out a scream. “Let me go.”

Ignoring him, Ven picked up the knife. He struggled against his bonds. Looking at Dan, he called, “Who are you people? What is this vendetta between you and the Toan family? If they are your enemies, I see no reason for you to harm me or hold me hostage. By imprisoning the son of the king's official representative, you are committing an offense against the Imperial Court. Release me this instant, if you ever expect to beg for my mercy in the future.”

“We cannot let you go, young Master,” Dan muttered. “You spied on us, and in doing so, you forfeited your freedom.”

Bui fixed his eyes on the knife in Ven's hand. The muscles in his neck tightened, and he yelled with all his might, “Help me, somebody! Help!”

“Shut your mouth,” Ven shrieked. She flew to the hostage's side and pressed her knife against his neck. “Do you wish to die? Just say one more word, and I will grant you the favor.”

“Calm down,” Dan said to the prisoner. “We will not harm you.”

Bui shut his eyes. The burly woman's shadow blocked the sun from his face. He did not dare to look at her, towering above him like a giant, ready to extinguish his life the same way she would squash a bug. He began to cry, softly and bitterly.

“Are you hurt?” Dan asked the teenager once his sobbing had subsided.

Bui responded only with a lot of sniffing. He glanced at the beggar woman.

Dan said, “Speak if you want, but remember to keep your voice low.”

The prisoner spoke as though he did not want to. “What do you have in store for me? You cannot leave me here alone in this haunted house overnight, not while there is a full moon. As you must know, ghosts thrive on the yin effect that the moon creates. I would die from terror.”

“If there are ghosts in here,” the woman interrupted Bui, “they would not bother to haunt you. Instead, they would come after those who are unjust under the eyes of Heaven. Why would you fear the dead unless the true origin of your demon is your own conscience? Is that not what you are truly ashamed of—the reflection of your hateful heart?”

“I am not afraid of any inner demons!” he exclaimed. “It is the legends of the disturbed ghosts, this wretched place, and your hostile companionship that I fear.”

“This place is our home,” Dan said. “You have chosen to enter our property as an unwelcome guest and challenge our hospitality. Aren't you ashamed of your behavior?”

“Forgive him,” Ven said. “Under the elegant exterior, the young lord is well aware of his shortcomings. You, my husband, although a slave, are richer than he is in several ways. He wishes to see you trampled and dishonored, so that he can reclaim the confidence and masculinity that you took away, not to mention the beautiful girl and her fortune.”

Bui whispered in horror, “Who are you, woman? How can a lowly beggar know what my thoughts are? And why do you speak like an educated person? Are you the phantom of this haunted ruin?”

“No,” she said. “Although some town folks might think that I am an apparition who has not yet matured into a ghost, I am actually the wife of that slave, who is the only surviving offspring of the Nguyen family I must go now. If you place any value on your life, stay still and do not try to escape.” Turning to Dan, she whispered, “I will try to get back as soon as possible, young Master. Keep a close watch on the prisoner. Do not let him out of your sight. If he screams again, stuff rags in his mouth.”

“Be careful, Ven,” he said.

She bent toward the ground in the courteous way of a wife bowing to her husband. Still hunched over, she concealed the knife under the front panel of her tunic. “I will try to come back before night falls. If you are hungry, look behind the wall. Your supper is being kept warm on the brick kiln.”

She vanished behind the back door, choosing the road that led toward the community hall.

A
fter Ven had gone, Dan repositioned his prisoner so that he was sitting with his back against the trunk of a weeping willow tree with his hands tied behind it. Dan sat down a few feet away and reached for his knapsack. From it he withdrew a birch-bark sewing kit, whose surface bore symmetrical carved designs and repeated patterns of bamboo and plum trees, symbolizing an everlasting friendship. Dan chose a couple of bamboo loops from the box and used them to stretch a piece of cotton cloth.

He held a thin needle close to his face and passed a silk thread through its eye. With a deft twist of his shoulder, he raised the needle high in his right hand and pointed the tip downward, while his left hand held the frame steady. Then, like a machine that had been oiled and put into motion, his fingers and arms moved through the rapid series of automatic gestures that drew his mind into the tedious, comforting ritual of needlework.

Hours passed. As he plied the long strands, the image of a red, raised petal took shape on the taut surface of the fabric. Ignoring the prisoner, Dan worked faster. His eyes tracked the gleaming needle with the keenness of a hunting animal.