The Tapestries (7 page)

Ven counted her money slowly and carefully several times. Then she looked up. “I only have eight pennies.” She opened her hand to show him her cache.

Big Con swallowed. Golden beams of sunlight danced on his shaven head as he seized the money. “Move away,” he said. “How can I read when you are blocking my view?” He pushed her aside.

Big Con came closer to the announcements, his nose only inches from the tree. He squinted and scratched his hairless skull, stammering over each syllable like a young pupil reciting a difficult poem for the first time in front of a strict teacher.

“Cap-tured Re-bels,” he began. “From-the-Court-of-Hue-came-this-an-nounce-ment-”

As he read on, the time-teller seemed to adjust to the strange characters on the paper. He delivered the message faster and with more confidence. “This day, the second of April of the Dragon Year (lunar calendar), known in the Western calendar as the third of May, 1916, it was revealed that a group of rebels had persuaded our young emperor, King Duy Tan, to escape the Purple Forbidden City. At first, these radicals pretended to fish at Hau Ho, forging palace passes to visit the emperor. Then they docked their boat in Thuong Bac to receive His Royal Highness. As of today, the Imperial Court has not been able to ascertain the emperor's whereabouts. The leaders of the rebel group, Thai Phien, Le Ngung, Tran Cao Van, Phan Thanh Thai, and Vo Van Tru had plotted against the French protectorate over Vietnam. They should not have involved our young king. His Majesty has not yet seen his sixteenth birthday, far from the maturity needed to make decisions to move mountains and conquer seas. Other rebels in the same group have been arrested, including Tat Nguyen, the captain of a Cam Le fishing boat, and his two mistresses, Nan Nguyen and Ly Nguyen. They will be given the death penalty. The executions will be carried out in their hometown two weeks from this day. This action is intended to show other rebels that the Court at Hue is intolerant of insurgents of any kind—”

Ven turned grayer than the bark of the tree against which she leaned to keep herself from falling. “Impossible! Utterly impossible!”

Big Con continued to read. “Upon searching the
Lady Yen,
thirty large gunpowder packages were found in the lower compartment—” He scrutinized Ven's face. “What does this mean?” he demanded. The drunkenness had completely vanished from his eyes.

“I think I have gone mad,” Ven muttered. Then, pushing herself away from the tree, she grabbed Dan in her arms and ran down the hill. Song chased after her.

The time-teller sniffed his string of coins and watched his visitors disappear into the thicket of bamboo leaves. He sucked his teeth noisily and mumbled, “Where is that cursed wineshop? I need a refill.”

chapter five

Inferno

I
t was dark when the two women and their young charge turned into the lane that served as a shortcut to the main gate of Master Nguyen's house. As the last streak of daylight disappeared, the moon rose on the opposite side of the sky, as if trying to outshine the sun. Despite their combined glow, the evening was gloomy. Clouds hovered overhead. Between the chrysanthemums and orchids along the side of the road, the twittering of crickets sounded.

As they approached the house, Ven saw a carriage, drawn by a pair of auburn horses, parked outside the main gate. She recognized the beautiful animals as Master Nguyen's pride and joy, to be used only for special occasions. Ven imagined her parents-in-law sitting on their expensive divan in their living room, and a sense of relief washed through her. She watched as one of the horses neighed, while the other pounded its hooves on the gravel.

The granite gates rolled on their hinges. Standing in the opening was Third Mistress. In her arms she clutched a small box. Her lute hung on a strap on her back, vibrating with each step she took. A coachman jumped from his seat to assist her. Ven saw that it was the young gardener. The handsome couple stepped through the gates, which closed on their wheels, making little sound.

Noticing Ven, the gardener looked terrified. He pushed the Third Mistress inside the carriage and hopped into the driver's seat, yanking the pole that guided the animals to urge them into motion. Lady Yen's embarrassed face peeked out the window of the carriage as it began to move.

“Stop!” Ven called to them. “Where are you going?”

Her voice disappeared down the empty street without an echo. The carriage picked up speed, and Ven saw that the driver was having trouble managing the spirited animals. They pulled at the pole, straining each time he cracked his whip.

Ven understood the horses. She had tended them in the stable for the last few months, brushing and feeding them. That wasn't the way to handle them, she thought. She pushed Dan into Song's bosom. “Hold him,” she said to the maid.

Before Song could react, Ven charged after the fleeing coach. Her stride was strong, and soon she was abreast of the horses. The gardener slapped harder at the lead, pushing them to a more furious speed. Still, Ven held her pace.

“Go away!” he screamed at her. “Stop chasing us!”

Anger fed her determination. She rushed past the two horses, reached out, and seized the closer animal's ears, allowing it to drag her along.

The gardener turned the whip on his pursuer, hoping she would give up the chase. The first lash unraveled the knot of her hair. His next blow struck her head, then another landed on her back.

Ven felt the rough leather's sting ripping her skin every time it touched her. Blood ran down her face, blurring her vision, filling her mouth with the metallic taste she knew so well. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on the horse's ears. The animal snorted with pain, and its forelegs buckled. Its sudden halt jerked the second horse back. The pole that connected the two animals snapped in half as the carriage swerved to a stop.

With nothing to break her momentum, Ven shot forward like a cannonball. She rolled over twice before landing facedown in the road, limp.

Once the adrenaline subsided, pain and dizziness overwhelmed her. Blood dripped into her eyes, and the clouds of dirt raised by the carriage obscured her vision. From somewhere behind her, Ven could hear Lady Yen wailing.

She got to her feet and limped toward the noise. Her skin was scratched and torn, but as far as she could tell, no bones were broken. Through her tangled hair, she saw the moon peeking between the clouds, whitening the rock-strewn road. About ten feet away, the gardener was removing the broken implement from between the horses. Ven strode to the carriage and raised her voice over the sharp weeping of Third Mistress.

“Why are you running away with that man?” she asked her mother-in-law. “They are going to behead half of your family in two weeks. What am I going to do with your son?”

“What else am I to do?” Third Mistress pleaded through the carriage window. Her hands grasped the bars so tightly that her knuckles were white. “I heard about the news soon after you left. Surely the police will kill me, too, if I remain in that house. They will find me guilty by association. You are not a stupid person; you know I am too young to die a virtuous death like a proper wife. It wasn't in my contract with the Nguyen family. My son is now your husband. My duty to tend him ceased the day he married you. Ven, the boy is your responsibility, not mine. Let us go in peace, I beg you.”

From the front of the carriage, the gardener's head poked into the passenger compartment. “Time to leave,” he said.

Lady Yen pulled a silk handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her eyes. A beautiful fragrance emanated from its fragile tissue, making Ven swoon. She found it difficult to argue with her mother-in-law. Words seemed to fail her every time the lovely young woman looked at her with her mournful eyes. And her language! Ah, Lady Yen was an eloquent speaker. Words streamed from her mouth as smoothly as oil poured into a lantern.

“Take this jade and my lute.” Lady Yen took off her gold necklace and handed it to Ven, along with the delicate instrument, through the carriage door. Curiously, Ven inspected the gold chain. It was finely made but secondary in beauty to the round piece of jade, the size of a Chinese penny, that hung from it. The stone's surface glowed in the moonlight. In its center was a fine mesh of gold lattice woven together to form a Chinese character.

Third Mistress continued. “I had these two precious objects as a young girl in China, long before I entered the cursed house of Nguyen. They have never left my side until tonight. The letter in the middle of the jade is my name in Chinese, and the lute—I think you know its story. Playing it was how I made my living in the years I worked in the opera troupe. Now I have other plans. Give these things to my son when he grows up, so that a part of me can stay with him. Take good care of him and help yourself to anything in the house that you want in order to start your new life.”

Before Ven could reply, the horse-drawn carriage again rolled down the pebbled road. Lady Yen sank back into her seat and drew the blind over the window. Ven fell to her knees and wept loudly and openly for the first time in her life. Tears had the same salty, bitter taste as her blood.

W
rapped in Song's embrace, Dan watched Ven's confrontation with his mother and the gardener with a sense of desolation. Although he didn't understand everything that was said, he could feel the storm of emotions that poured from them—a thunder of cries, a hail of sadness, a rain of anger and confusion. Not until after the carriage had disappeared around the bend of the road did Dan realize it was over.

The maid helped Ven to her feet. They held on to each other and walked back to the mansion. Behind the gates, Dan's peaceful home had been transformed into a vacant tomb. The night was aging. With the strong wind that came from the river, the clouds parted. Once again, the moon and a canopy of bright stars illuminated the gray sky. Dan imagined that all the lanterns in his house had ascended to the Heavens to engage in a wild dance, leaving his dwelling in darkness.

He followed the adults to his bedroom, where Song rekindled an oil lamp. Though its flame drove the dimness from the room, it did not save Dan from the terror he was feeling. His fear intensified as he watched the women's gigantic shadows skip ominously on the walls. Although they were just a few steps away, Dan felt alone.

Leaning against the windowsill, Ven undressed. Under the glittering light, her naked back was covered with welts. Dan examined the angry marks with fascination. Some were swollen, trickling blood. Her hair was also crusted with dried blood. Outside, the wind picked up. A chilly breeze rushed into the room through a gap in the window. Ven shivered but stood her ground, too exhausted to move.

Song floated into the room like a ghost. The surface of the full water basin in her hands swayed in rhythm with her movement. Using the fresh water, the maid helped Ven to clean her wounds. She held on to the frame of the window, letting her head droop against her arm. Her face blanched from the pain. She let out incoherent sounds, which were obscured by a much louder noise from outside—the sound of an automobile engine.

The neighborhood dogs awoke and added their voices. Soon, the road in front of Dan's house was alive with the sound of dogs barking, children wailing, and the confusion of the roused neighbors.

Ven reached for her shirt. “Shut off the light!” she ordered Song. The room plunged into darkness.

Dan searched for Ven blindly, and she sensed his need. Like an eagle tending its young, she flew to his side. Her arms enfolded him and her voice, with its usual gentleness, whispered in his ear the magical phrases that always calmed him.

“What time is it, Song?” Ven asked. They had not heard the time-teller's gong all night. Without it, time seemed to stretch out to eternity.

“It is the hour of the rat, madam,” Song replied.

Dan tried to recall the lessons Ven had taught him about how to tell time. According to the Chinese astrological cycle of time, twelve animals represented equal intervals in the day. In the Western system used by the French, each animal sign corresponded to two hours. The hour of the rat extended from 11:00
P.M.
to 1:00
A.M.
The next period, from 1:00 to 3:00
A.M.
, would be the hour of the ox.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Ven said to the girl, “It's midnight. Who would come at this hour, other than thieves or policemen? No matter what kind of people are out there, I don't think we should let them know that we are here.”

In the dark, Song nodded.

Dan felt himself being lifted up from the bed, carried across the room, and laid down inside a small space. The scent of wet bamboo filled his nostrils. Ven had placed him in the basket that she used to carry him on her back while working in the rice fields. Now the container became his sanctuary.

She set his mother's lute in the carrier beside him. He reached for her hands on the handles of the basket, wanting to show her that he was very scared. But she seemed lost in worry.

Outside the window, under the whitish moon, a sedan drove up to the main gate. Running in a double file behind the vehicle was a troop of soldiers, clad in brown uniforms. The dark-blue socks covering their ankles showed that they belonged to the palace army. The sound of their marching boots reverberated on the gravel road, pounding in Dan's ears. Each soldier held in his hand a burning torch made from a strip of dried rubber that had been dipped in gasoline and wrapped around the end of a bamboo pole.

Following Ven's instruction, Dan drew farther inside the basket. As the automobile came to a halt, so did the tight phalanx of soldiers. In order to go from the gate to the main house, they would have to pass by Dan's bedroom, which was situated on the right side of the path, hidden behind a large garden.

Song was the first one to sneak out through the window. Hiding herself behind some cherry trees, she reached back to take the basket from Ven's hands. Dan closed his eyes and felt himself being swung through space like a jackfruit. The experience sent a wave of excitement through him, in spite of his fear.