The Tapestries (38 page)

The old man howled as his robe caught fire. He lurched toward Dan, the long panels of his skirt alive with flames. The blaze gained speed, spreading upward. His kerosene-soaked hands were also blooming with the hungry flames. Dan withdrew farther. The old man bent down and scooped up the burning liquid on the ground. “Come, come,” he screamed. “I have waited long for your return. Come play with me!” He hurled balls of fire around the room. Some of the sparks landed on the draperies, quickly burning holes through them. Others faltered as they flew across the room and then subsided. The interior walls came alive, bright with the new source of light, and the heat rose.

“Hurry…closer…if you want to know where I keep your father's tattoo. I have held my silence too long. Come before it…too late.” His voice sang above the women's screams.

Ignoring the smoke-filled air, he searched for Dan. The flames multiplied, howling like a typhoon. Each long curtain, each narrow beam, every ornately carved piece of furniture fueled the fire. At the center, his body, a human torch, spewed streaming firecrackers like popping coals from a hot stove.

Dan tripped on the armrest of Lady Chin's chair and fell backward. His head crashed against the concrete floor and blackness covered him like a blanket.

L
ady Chin tried to scream a warning to the embroiderer, but the words would not come to her throat. She was too weak; the heat of the fire robbed her of her voice. She saw the old man charge forward. His robe fluttered around him, a vast tidal wave in multicolored rings rising high in order to crash down upon her. The rainbow! She had seen it before; its outlandish charisma had visited her many times, making her swoon with fear. Not this time! She would have allowed the terror to consume her wholly, if only the embroiderer were not slumped at her feet, powerless and in danger.

Finding some remote strength inside her, she drew her knees up. The beast stampeded nearer. Its burning flesh sizzled and ruptured and flared just inches from her face. With all her might she kicked out, watching the sparks scatter as the soles of her shoes came in contact with his chest. The monster lurched backward, paused for a moment, and then resumed his charge. He was now screaming in earnest. Fire burst from his mouth in gusts, as though his lungs were filled with pure petroleum. She kicked again. But somewhere behind her, the scar-faced man was much faster. He bounded forward and buried his fist in the old man's chest, knocking him several steps back and into his chair.

The time-teller lifted Lady Chin in his arms. The old house was burning like a bundle of twigs. Angry red tongues of flame pulsed around the painted ceiling beams, hissing at the frightful scene below. She saw the embroiderer come to his feet with the help of the peasant woman. He touched his head, gasping for air.

Above her the time-teller screamed, “Ven, Dan, let's go! Follow me to the door!” In his arms, she was swung this way and that, while smoke filled her eyes with tears. His mutilated face bent closer to her, whispering inaudible phrases. She closed her eyes. Darkness filled her stinging lids with a soothing calmness, purging the fire away.

S
ai could not restrain himself any longer. The house and his inert prisoner, in a few short instants, had come alive in a simultaneous combustion. All this time, the old man had tricked him into believing his mind was gone. That old devil, that bastard…he had always been so clever, so devious. During the most severe punishment, he had just sat there and rolled his eyes back into his head and drooled in a steady stream, never closing his lids or clenching his fists. Except for an occasional tremor and sometimes a faint moan, the old man had never given any sign that he knew what was being done to him. How could he, the mayor, suspect otherwise? And now, in the blaze, the old scoundrel stood erect and triumphant, once again outsmarting Sai, making a fool of him.

“Come closer, if you want to know my secret,” Magistrate Toan sang out. His wrinkled skin bubbled like rice paper over live charcoals.

Sai stood in his place, pondering. His men had tried to pull him out of the burning house, but he had shooed them off. How could he leave when the secret was only a few feet away? The fire was a pyramid made of human flesh, and somewhere beyond the intense light lay a fortune, about to be devoured in the hungry flames.
Think, Sai, think!
What would the old man do if he were in this situation? Who knew the master better than the slave after twenty years of devotion? He had to find a way to get into that old brain and retrieve what he wanted. Where would that wily fox hide the map?

“Come, come and play with me, Mouse,” the magistrate crooned.

“Ven, Dan, get out! Follow me to the door!” the voice of the time-teller urged.

Sai came closer. The heated air, the smell of burning flesh, the snipping and snapping of fire—it was as if Hell had just opened and the devil was raised from a gap in the ground. Beyond a cloud of smoke, Toan sat on a throne made out of flames. His body was almost nude; a red glow shrouded his dark flesh. Fire was bursting out of his eyes.

“Who are you?” the demon screamed at Sai.

“I am Mouse,” he lied, shakily. “Tell me your secret.”

The skeleton's arm shot forward. It caught Sai's wrist and held him with unbreakable strength. He cried out as the pain seized him like a thousand piercing knives. From the tips of the old man's other hand, the sandalwood urn flew through the smoky air and hit him squarely in the forehead.

Sai sank to his knees. The chandelier of oil lanterns came crashing down, carrying with it a portion of burning roof. In the quaking turmoil, the mayor sprawled, and the weight of the collapsing world was upon him.

chapter twenty-three

The Silver Anklet

A
s the afternoon sun pivoted toward the bam-boo forest on the far side of the river, a tiny group of people, like a long, dark line of ants, gathered at the dock. Lady Chin knew that her body was with them, but somehow she seemed to be watching from above. In the distance, over the house of Toan, the north wind thrust bleak, ruddy clouds of smoke into the clear sky. The frantic buzzing of the villagers was half-drowned by the strident sound of the emergency drum.

The embroiderer led the procession. His brown chest gleamed under the waning sun, his hair was tangled with soot and charcoal, and his left elbow was seared by four burns, each the size of a copper penny. The long wharf, which usually teemed with vendors, was empty. News of the great fire had halted the entire town's activities and attracted all who were curious to the site of destruction.

The bearers laid Lady Chin's palanquin on the wet soil and turned to the embroiderer, anticipating their wages. He reached deep into his pocket and handed them a stack of silver coins. They thanked him and left.

Cool winds flooded over Lady Chin. She watched herself gasping for air. From behind a thick, invisible wall, the embroiderer called her name. She saw him above her, hands on her cheeks, looking anxiously for her pulse. She could not answer. The new world that she was discovering had no sound.

As she watched, the sky became bluer and clearer. On a long-ago summer day she had flown through the air on a bicycle, happy as a child, while her body melted into thousands of tiny air bubbles, each mirroring her husband's face. She had often thought of the vivid colors she had seen that afternoon—the spectacular green hills, the massive orange sun, the traces of magenta in the sleepy clouds. She never forgot how cheerfully shiny her silver bike was; it had all but twinkled a smile at her for the entire trip. She recalled a single golden dandelion lying in the grass next to her nude body where they had stopped to make love. Long afterward, a yellow petal lingered in her hair like a soft kiss from the earth.

She would never forget the beautiful life she once had!

There were, however, many things she did forget. All of her bad memories in the house of Toan had faded away. Nothing seemed important anymore, just this moment in time. She must do yet one more thing, which prompted her to reenter her withered body and focus on the embroiderer. “Wear this,” she whispered, thrusting her son's anklet into Dan's hand. “It will protect you.”

She was letting go all the ache and pain in her body, all the weight on her chest. The dandelion was still with her, a simple yet lush fragment of her youth dangling from a river of jet-black, luxurious hair. Her belly was firm and flat, and inside it throbbed the tiny heartbeat of a fetus. Green grass sprouted from the dampened soil; the sun liquefied into a lake of red paint. She gave herself one more chance to do it all over again, and this time it was sheer ecstasy. She could not be sure how it happened, nor did she care. Of all the events that were unfolding around her, one thing was certain: she was not imagining this beauty. It was so real to her that she could feel it with her whole being.

She died, quietly and with exquisite poise.

A
mong the scattered sampans, Dan spotted his vessel floating off to one side. With the corpse in his arms, as warm as a wadded winter quilt, the tip of her forefinger still hooked in the silver chain on his wrist, he walked into the river until the water was up to his hips. As if in a dream he noted the tide pushing against him. At last he felt the exhaustion from his lack of sleep. But the evening approached. He had to leave this place. The eunuch was waiting for him.

The last bright strokes of September sunlight made his eyes tear. He carried her to the boat, raising his arms high so that the water would not touch her body. One by one the tossing waves lunged against his chest, only to disappear into the silvery sunset.

On the bank, Ven stood unmoving. Her brown skin merged with the bamboo forest. Each time the gentle winds blew, the forest gave up a handful of golden leaves that spattered down on her, floating in midair like paper canoes before the river took them into its bosom. She was staring at his back, and without looking, he knew the look of love and wonder in her eyes. He had not yet bidden her good-bye. The time-teller lingered nearby, holding his silence.

Dan had no idea how to take his leave. The sun descended lower into the west, and the winds grew chillier. When the edge of the plywood gunwale touched his skin, he lifted Lady Chin over the side, then climbed in after her. With infinite gentleness, he laid her down on the deck, her head resting on a bench. The lady-in-waiting looked as if she were watching the sunset through half-shut eyes. He arranged her clothing and folded her hands across her chest. Dan saw Ven walk to the water's edge. For a moment they stood, soaking in the glowing twilight.

“Farewell, Ven!” he called and reached for the oars.

Her grief-stricken shout tore through the silence. She dove in, hands stretched out before her. The river received her embrace, the waves exploding their foamy heads into the cool dusk. The time-teller fell to his knees and leaned forward, clutching his head and rocking himself. His howl, deep and whimpering, echoed hers. Ven turned her head to look back at him, then continued to part the river and propel herself forward.

Dan leaned over the boat's starboard side, reached out, and pulled her toward him. Ven grabbed the wood and lifted herself. The vessel swayed. Her wet clothes clung to her body, dripping water onto the deck.

“What are you doing here, Ven?” he asked. “Your life belongs with him.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. Carefully tiptoeing around the dead body, she backed away from him.

“Listen!” Dan said, reaching to grasp her arm. “Do you not hear him? Big Con is your spouse, and he has saved your life. You have to return to him.”

She shook her head, slid her hand into the river, and moved her wet finger across the dry bench. It took her a few attempts to form the message she wanted to tell him.
Help…
the phrase read.

“You can write,” he said with astonishment. “Tutor Con must have educated you. How remarkable!” He grew worried. “Help? You need help?”

She tapped on her chest, and then pointed at the wobbly scribble on the bench. The word was blurring as it was absorbed into the wood. He leaned over, wrinkled his forehead, and guessed out loud, “You…help!” She nodded and caressed his face. He saw the entire river in her eyes, immense and endlessly giving. Behind her, the time-teller had ceased his howling. Clutching the front panels of his shirt, he staggered across the wet sand. His face was drawn, eyes hollow. The panic on his features was deafening.

“You'll help me,” Dan repeated.

She nodded.

Pointing a finger at the time-teller, he asked, “Who shall help him? What will happen to the tutor if you leave?”

She blinked, pushing the oars into his hands.

“I understand, Ven,” Dan said. “You feel that you must be loyal to me first.”

She shook her head in disagreement. Quietly, she put a finger against his lips, as if to stop him from talking. Dan pulled away from her touch.

Big Con chose that moment to spread his arms in her direction and scream, “Come to me, Ven! Come back! If you abandon me, you are abandoning yourself.”

She turned her head away. “Go,” she slurred at Dan. Her strange voice pushed him back on his seat, and he thrust the oars into the water. Ven huddled across from him, hiding her face.

The time-teller stood frozen under a tamarind tree until their boat was out of sight.

B
y the time they reached the Truong Tien Bridge the sun was gone. The city was soaked in a faint purple shadow like the inside of a dense mosquito net. Through the twilight, Dan could see the south entrance of the Imperial Palace. Along a small stretch of water a series of sampans was docked. He aimed his boat toward them.

In September, the sky got dark quickly. Above the horizon the stout silhouettes of partridges—the game birds with variegated plumage—circled in the wind, wailing for a safe place to nest. Their predators, the local dogs, crouched in the sand, unmoving except for the fuzzy tips of their tails, as they waited patiently for the flock to veer down. Some of the birds wheeled and soared. Others dove into the water, their little bodies rising and falling on the glistening white-caps like lotus blossoms. Watching them, the dogs growled.