The Music Trilogy (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

See-Fu sat on his doorstep as the sun came up over the horizon. He felt the warmth and smiled, partly because it would be a lovely sunny day, which he hoped would bring joy, and partly because he heard his beloved daughter.

“How are you this morning, Father?”

“I am well, my Lotus Blossom. The tea smells wonderful. Thank you for bringing it to me.” He sipped a little and then said: “Today is an important day.”

“Why is that, Father?”

“Because you and I have a rendezvous with nature.”

“We do?”

“Yes. We are going to get ingredients and materials for my secret.”

“Your secret?”

“The one that will make you a happy bride.”

“Oh, Father, you know that would only be possible if I married Zhou.”

“I told you before—believe! Believe!” See-Fu said with happiness in his voice as he got up. “Now, let’s not waste any time. Let’s go.”

See-Fu gently held Lotus Blossom’s arm as she guided him into the fields.

“Now, tell me what flowers you see,” See-Fu said.

“Well, I don’t know all their names.”

“That’s alright. Just take me to them. Which one do you see first?”

“Pretty red ones.”

“Lovely. Pick some for me.” Lotus Blossom came back with several flowers. She handed them to her father. He smelled them. “Ah, these must be poppies, a beautiful red color. Good. Let’s continue.” See-Fu said, as he put them in a small leather pouch.

They continued throughout the day. By dusk See-Fu’s collection included eleven different kinds of flowers, all meticulously kept in their individual little pouches.

Back at the shop See-Fu selected thirteen tiny pots and lined them up on a work table. He removed the pouches from his belt and took out the flowers from the first one. He smelled them, tore off the petals, and placed them in the first little container. They were white daisies. He continued in the same fashion with all the flowers, sometimes rearranging the order of the pots after he had felt their texture or smelled them. One by one they filled up and See-Fu inhaled the rainbow of smells. The containers were arranged from light to dark: white, yellow, an empty one, pink, orange, light green, mauve, another empty one, blue, red, purple, and two more on each end without anything in them. They were there so that See-Fee would remember that the blank holders would be for the gold, silver, clear and black. He was finished and happy with the day’s work. In the background he heard Lotus Blossom playing her qin (pronounced chin), the seven string traditional zither. See-Fu went to his cot in the back of the shop and quickly fell asleep listening to his daughter’s music, the always-dangling mustache positioned straight across the smile on his lips.

See-Fu and Lotus Blossom sat side by side on one of the steps in front of the door of their little house. The village was busy with the daily routine of merchants haggling, men and women buying supplies, little boys chasing little girls’ pigtails and dogs barking at the wheels of the carts rolling down the street.

See-Fu exclaimed: “Ah, the stone merchant has arrived from the provinces.”

“How do you know that, Father?”

“Listen… the wheels are groaning, the cart is carrying a heavy load.”

Lotus Blossom shook her head. “How can you tell among all the carts in the street?”

“Each one has its own individual sound. Take a look. The one passing us now is filled with sacks of rice.”

“You’re right! But how do you know?” She exclaimed.

“Listen carefully. You can hear the grains shaking in the sacks. And the next one is filled with fruit.”

“Now, Father, fruit doesn’t make any kind of sound!”

“No, but they smell. Ah, here is the stone cart, I need supplies.”

The stone merchant stopped the ox pulling the cart in front of the potter’s house. “Good day to you See-Fu, and to you Lían Huá.”

“Good day to you,” they answered.

“See-Fu, I bring you only treasures today!” The merchant beamed proudly.

“Excellent. I am in need of special materials. What do you have?”

“Come, I will tell you.”

See-Fu went closer to the cart. The stone merchant took See-Fu’s arm and guided him up and into the wagon. He felt around and touched several baskets filled with different colored stones and rocks.

“First of all I need
pai-tun
,” See-Fu said.

“Yes, I have that. The white bricks’ texture is perfectly fine, just what you need to make your porcelain, See-Fu.”

Lotus Blossom, having climbed in behind her father, picked up one of the bricks. “How are they made?” She asked.

“Ah, it is a long process,” the stone merchant said. “First the stone must be mined, pounded, washed and mixed together in large urns. It is stirred and turned until all the paste stays floating on the top. Then it is passed through a fine sieve and strained through two layers of silk. The water is removed and the paste solidifies in wooden boxes layered with cotton so that no water is left at all.”

“That is a lot of hard work,” Lotus Blossom said.

“Yes, but it is worth it. It makes the most beautiful porcelain.”

“So, tell me of your treasures, my friend,” See-Fu said to the merchant.

“Ah, yes, I have come from the north-western province where I met a Mongolian merchant. He in turn had just returned from a long journey. He sold many stones that I have never seen before. I bought them for a good price and I will sell you whatever you wish at a very fair price as well.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” See-Fu reached over into one the baskets and pulled out a rough rock. “What is this?”

“This Mongolian told me that many of these are from the same family. I think he called them ‘quartz’. Here is one that is pink, and also a clear one,” he answered, turning around in his cart and picking up several more stones. “I also have a smoky colored one, a milky one, a yellow one, and a purple one.”

“Lotus Blossom, take these stones from this good man.”

“All of them?”

“Oh, yes,” he answered. He turned to the merchant and said: “Now, I need something blue.

“Ah, I have something special from far away mountains. Here,” he said, putting the stones in See-Fu’s hand. “This one is called
turquoise
and this other one is
lapis lazuli
, a darker shade of blue.”

See-Fu touched them. “Is there one that is blue like the sky of the night?”

“Yes, the lapis. Just like the blue before it gets very dark, with streaks of golden sunset.”

“Perfect. Yes, these too. Give them to my daughter.” The merchant did as he was asked. “Now, I need some gold, silver, and jadeite. Also something orange and something red.”

“Father! We can’t afford all this,” Lotus blossom exclaimed. Her father was acting like an addicted gambler, she thought.

“Never you mind. I actually know what I am doing.”

“Just what are you up to, See-Fu?” The stone merchant asked.

See-Fu whispered in the merchant’s ear: “I’m preparing something for my daughter’s dowry. It is time for her to marry.”

“Ah, I understand. Very good, very good. In that case, I will give you an even better price.”

“You are a good man!” See-Fu said.

Lotus Blossom stared at the two men, not daring to even speak. She trusted her father and hoped that he really did know what he was doing. She took all the stones that See-Fu had chosen, brought them into the house and put them on an empty table in her father’s pottery room.

See-Fu was still in the cart. “What is that smell from the sea? You are not carrying fish.”

“No, but you are right. I have some black coral from the ocean. It comes from the waters near a big island, somewhere south of us. They say it is very far.”

“I’ll take some of that too.” The two men settled their accounts and the merchant helped See-Fu off the cart.

“I wish you and your daughter all the best, See-Fu. May she be as happy as she is beautiful,” the merchant said, waving. He was delighted with the day’s sales. He had made a handsome profit.

As Lotus Blossom prepared lunch See-Fu carefully picked up each stone. They cost him almost all the money he had saved from when his daughter was born, in preparation for her dowry. Instead of money he now had minerals and his great faith in Quan Yin. See-Fu felt the stones one by one; the rough gold and silver nuggets, the one pockmarked with small rubies, the black coral from Australia, jade from Japan, carnelian from Ceylon, turquoise and lapis lazuli from the mountains of Afghanistan, and the different quartzes from the Urals: citrine, amethyst, clear, rose colored, milky and smoky. He had all the colors to match the petals in his little pots. That was how he would know the colors of the stones. He became acquainted with each piece. He closed his hand over them, one at a time, and realized that each one slightly vibrated and each one had its own rhythm. Some had slow pulses, others a little faster. He marveled at the beautiful secrets nature always lovingly divulged, delighted that these rhythms and vibrations would show him the colors of the stones. He no longer needed the petals. He didn’t mind the extra work that it had involved for he and Lotus Blossom had spent wonderful times together accumulating them.

See-Fu immediately started his project. He took each stone and carefully hammered away until only the crystal remained. This took him days. Then one by one he placed each gem in a mortar and systematically crushed them until they became very fine powder. This backbreaking process took him months. Each time he finished he carefully put the powder in a small pot, similar to the ones that held the now dried flower petals. He lined the powders in the same way he lined up the colors. They stood in pairs; the petals in back, powders in front, and from light to dark. With each blow and turn of the pestle he saw his daughter’s happy face.

See-Fu sat in front of the white porcelain vase. This process had been the easy part, having made many such vases with the pai-tun bricks. The challenge lay ahead. He washed his new creation with a large goat-hair brush until it was perfectly clean. He passed his fingers delicately over every inch. It was perfectly smooth, standing seven hands tall with a simple yet elegant design similar to an urn.

See-Fu stretched out his arms and found both edges of the table. The vase was centered and now ready to be painted. In one corner towards the back, the little sculpture of Quan Yin seemed to stare at him. In the other back corner, an incense stick burned and the sweet smell enveloped him. His brushes, made by hand from horse, goat, and wolf’s hair, lay on one side of the vase. On another little table, by his side, were his small pots where the paints were ready and perfectly smooth. The colors were vibrant, each from a crystal or a precious stone, a gift from deep within Mother Earth. They waited, as if they had their own souls, for the paintbrushes to discover them. They, too, were on See-Fu’s quest.

The village was dark and quiet, the majority of the inhabitants asleep. See-Fu sat motionless in front of his forum, his tools in precise formation, as only his mind could understand. He was meditating, analyzing how he should start. He just didn’t know how to proceed with his task—the one that would enable his daughter to become a happy bride. He just sat there, waiting, waiting. Nothing came to him.

From the back of See-Fu’s house a soft melody rang out. It came from Lotus Blossom’s room. Her long delicate fingers plucked her qin. Her performance was ethereal See-Fu thought, a combination of earth’s gentleness and mysteries of the night. Every once in a while Lotus Blossom accompanied the harmonics with a song, an ancient love poem. See-Fu felt his entire body mellow as his daughter’s voice reminded him of birds and the melody painted the portrait of nature’s beauty where they had collected his ingredients. He smiled triumphantly and delicately touched the statue of his Goddess. He now knew. He remembered Quan Yin’s guidance:
“When the music is played, your heart will be your eyes.”

See-Fu said a grateful prayer. Quan Yin answered him:
“The love of your soul will be displayed in your creation.”

See-Fu focused his mind over each little pot. Even though he knew exactly where everything was he double-checked by passing his hand over each of the paints and felt each one’s distinct vibration. He took one of the goat-hair brushes and gently dipped the tip into one of the paints. He delicately held the vase with one hand and with the other he lifted the paintbrush, very much like a maestro waiting for his musicians. Then he applied the first brush stroke onto the white porcelain. Suddenly the baton with the goat-hair nib seemed to take on a life of its own, as if guided, and at the same time as if leading a great orchestra. See-Fu could hardly keep up, the pace was furious. As meticulously as he had prepared and arranged his paints, now he didn’t even have time to think as to where they were even placed. His hand dipped the different brushes into one paint, then the other and then another and another. He worked so fast that some of the paint stayed crusted on the vase, instead of being smooth and precise. This crusted paint would eventually turn into a novelty, and this enamel would become See-Fu’s trademark. He could feel his heart beating just like when he was a boy running through the woods, trying to get back home before the dark of night. He felt himself perspiring, and breathing hard. He tried to think of his next brush stroke, but it was futile. His hand worked faster than his brain, and he just let it happen. He was not one to interfere with divine intervention.