The Tapestries (17 page)

“Stop singing, you fool,” Bui yelled. To his newly acquired fans, he snarled, “Get away from me, you filthy farmers.”

But now he had offended the peasants. Their happy cries turned aggressive. With a yank, one of them pulled his mask away. In minutes, his peacock feathers flew about his boat like the remnants of a torn flower.

Fortunately for Bui, the attack stopped abruptly. Someone or something on the river had captured the women's attention and drew them away from his boat. In the riotous atmosphere, he heard the spellbinding sound of a lute. The melody drifted through the air, soothing the angst of the game. The chaotic river was restored to its calm.

With his hands over his face, Bui was able to see between his fingers. He watched a boat gliding atop the water. Its owner wore a black hooded cloak that made him resemble Death. The light was so faint that no one could see the details of the man's features or how his fingers were dancing on the strings of the instrument. Bui saw the white boat advance. The slender girl who was supposed to be his wife got up from her seat. He watched Death take her into his arms.

Outraged, Bui turned to his steersman. Under the moonlight, he caught the man's dull smile. To vent his anger, he struck the grinning face with his fist. There was a note of hysteria in his voice as he cried out. “Take me to that boat. Now! Now! I want to see his face.”

The helmsman's smile turned into a fearful frown, and he cried out in pain. Yet he remained unmoving in his seat.

“Are you deaf?” Bui said. “I command you to take me to that boat.”

The peasant shook his head and replied in a flat voice, “I can't, my lord. It is too late. She is already inside his boat.”

All around him, the carnival continued. However, to Bui, it was over. He had lost the phoenix dance.

M
ouse's throat went dry. He looked at the girl in his arms. She was the only daughter of a village mayor, and he was her slave. On this river they were probably the most unlikely match conceivable. But she had chosen him! By walking into his boat, not only did she defy her family and risk losing everything, including her own reputation, but she had also spurned the visiting mandarin and his son. Mouse's spirit lifted. Tonight, thanks to the festival and the cloak of darkness, his status did not matter. Her strength ignited in him the courage to love like everyone else.

Her butterfly mask pressed against his chest, its wings undulating like the river. He leaned closer and inhaled the gardenia scent of her hair. She had not changed her fragrance for as long as he had known her. Somewhere beyond a group of floating boats he saw the young lord, white-faced with rage. He knew they would suffer for this later, but he did not care. The world around him melted away.

She lifted the disguise and peeled it away from her face. Mouse watched, riveted by every gesture. She gathered her hair—dark and rippling down to the small of her back—and pulled it over one shoulder so it lay above her breast. The moon outlined her features. He saw her eyes, slanted because of her high cheekbones and shaped like the spreading wings of a distant swallow. They widened when she looked at him. She was smiling. He stopped breathing, unable to tear his eyes away.

For a long time, they stood in the middle of the sampan, holding each other without uttering a word. The boat rocked, drifting farther away from the festive area of the river. All that Mouse could think of was how happy he felt. Now his love for her was no longer a secret. He reached his arms farther around her waist. He could feel her hand slip through the opening in his cloak and rub his back. She raised her head, and the tips of their noses touched, briefly. He heard his voice whisper, “Mistress.”

She winced and pulled away. The boat swayed. Without his sturdy stand to keep her balance, Tai May staggered and grabbed the air. He caught her hands, helping her to sit on a wooden bench. Then he fell to his knees in front of her. She sighed, her hand touching his face. “Do not address me with that awful title, not tonight, not ever,” she said.

He nodded, fascinated by her mouth. He had heard the young cowherds talk about the French kisses, in which a man explored his woman's mouth with his tongue. The strangeness of the act had seemed so erotic that it made him squirm with anticipation. Vietnamese never kissed; to express affection they took long, deep sniffs at each other's skin. But in the dim glow of the lantern her lips were full and wet, so inviting that he ached to taste them. He sat at her feet, dazed and full of desire.

She glanced down at the lute on the floorboard and asked, “Who taught you to play that sad song?”

He explored the instrument with his fingers, and a melancholy sound rose from under his hand. “It is my mother's favorite ballad,” he replied.

“Your mother,” she echoed. “She is the one who lives in the haunted mansion.”

Mouse felt the blood drain from his head. He was horrified by the knowledge behind her remark. The secret he thought that he had buried so deep was now exposed. “What do you know about Ven?” he said.

Her mischievousness turned to confusion. But Mouse was too upset to notice. She clutched her hands in her lap and said, “I am sorry if I am intruding on your privacy. Please forgive my curiosity. My only desire was to learn about you.” After a moment, she added, “We have always been friends, have we not?”

Mouse frowned. “Did you tell anyone in your family about her?”

She shook her head.

He took her hands and looked into her eyes. “If you ever do, Tai May, you will place Ven and me in a grave danger. There are men in this village who want to hurt us.” Out of a corner of his eye, he saw a sampan approaching. He fell silent and turned away, letting go of her hands. His face was hidden behind the hood of his cape.

Two people in blue pirate costumes rowed by. The woman lifted up her mask and waved happily at Tai May while her companion threw a pigskin filled with wine to Mouse. “Take this, young lovers,” he called. “Have a drink to show respect to the old gods of the moon. May they bless your great future together with a wedding.” He laughed and sculled off. Their voices dimmed as their vessel hastened down the river.

Mouse watched the couple pass through the crowd of boats, until he and Tai May were alone once again. He brushed the hood away from his head and shifted his position so that he could look at her. He cleared his throat, and said, “I was abandoned nine years ago. Ven, the woman you saw in that haunted house, is not my mother.”

“Then who is she?”

The innocent look remained on her face. He could not bring himself to lie to her, but he hated to sadden her. “She is my wife,” he said.

Tai May flinched as though he had just slapped her face. Mouse could not bear to see the hurt in her eyes. He realized that this was what the musicians meant when they sang about a broken heart. No wonder the love songs always made people weep.

“Do you love her?” He heard her gentle voice.

“Yes, I do,” he admitted. “But not the same way that I love you.”

When he got the courage to look up again, Tai May was holding the jug of wine in her hands. She shook it and said, “Tonight, we must drink every drop of this wine to forget about your dreadful predicament. Instead, you can recite a story for me.”

“The way I always do at your bedtime?” he asked.

“No.” A sparkle of fun seemed to return to her. “This time you must play the lute while you relate the tale, like a true storyteller at the market.”

He heard her laughter, light and tinkling, as she put her foot forward to touch his. Was she trying to hide her disappointment about his past? The river was silent except for the soft splash of waves against the boat and the rise and fall of distant jollity. He chewed his knuckles. “Would you still have come to me if you knew I had a wife?”

She whispered, “I love you dearly, Mouse,” and slid closer to him. “I find you faithful, honest, and deserving. With the witness of Heaven above and the underworld below, I solemnly pledge my truest words. I will never regret what I have done tonight, nor would I hesitate to do it again.”

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and planted his lips on hers. At first the contact was so soft that he wondered if he had just kissed the empty air in between them. Then he felt her mouth open slightly, and her breath caressed his face. The tip of her tongue passed along the border of his lower lip. He raised his eyelid and peeped out in sheer incredulity. Through his lashes, he saw her looking at him.

He encircled her in his arms and laid her down on the bottom of the boat. The hood fell over his head and shielded them from the rest of the world. He tasted her mouth and was aware of her trembling in his embrace. Instinct urged him to thrust himself against her body, to stroke her soft breasts, to make himself one with her. With a gasp, he broke away.

“I must stop,” he panted, “before I can no longer trust myself.”

“No,” she moaned.

The moon was hidden above masses of dark clouds. Most of the lanterns were extinguished as the villagers were leaving the carnival. The only light that was left was a lantern hanging at the bow of Mouse's boat. “I should take you home,” he said.

“Not yet,” she said. “Stay with me. I don't want to be alone.”

Around them the wind picked up its pace. He turned and faced her. She was still shivering in her cotton dress. He took off his linen costume.

“You never told me, who are these men that want to hurt you?” she asked as he pulled the cloak over her shoulders.

“The most important one is Magistrate Toan, your grandfather,” he replied.

chapter ten

The Break

T
he next morning dawned cold and cloudy. During the night, the winds had shaken most of the gold plaques from the outer walls of the house, and they lay scattered on the ground. At the house of Toan, just as the restless sun mounted the horizon, the thick carved door of the guest house that faced the courtyard was flung open. Moments later, two shadows stormed through it. They were Minister Chin and his son. In his haste, the minister did not fasten his gray satin tunic. His loose garments flapped in the wind, much to the surprise of the two female servants who were sweeping the patio. Neither of them said a word to the guests. They merely stood aside to let them pass.

“What a misfortune,” Minister Chin said to his son, as he ascended the steps that led to the owner's living room. “But before I confront that girl's father, I must understand something. Have you told me the entire story of last night's events?”

“To my best recollection, sir,” was the young man's reply.

Bui had never been refused by anyone until his experience at the phoenix dance. Now, several hours later, rage still coursed through his heart. He would never forget the image of the girl leaving her boat and stepping into the arms of a stranger. She had made him feel less adequate than a peasant. But now it was his turn to shame her in front of her elders. His father, one of the king's ministers, would make certain that the Toan family name was of no account in the Court at Hue unless they agreed to disown the girl. Bui gnawed at his nails. From time to time he paused long enough to wipe the tips of his fingers along the pristine fabric of his shirt. Soon, dark trails of blood streaked the glossy cotton.

His father reached for a way to open the panel of doors but found them bolted. He stopped and turned to the young servant nearest him, a short, thin girl who was clutching a broom in her hands. “Let me in!” he demanded.

The maid was so nervous that the left side of her face was twitching. “Is there anything wrong, sir? Did we sweep too noisily and disturb your rest? If we did, I beg you and the young lord to accept a thousand apologies.”

“Shut your mouth,” he barked. “This matter doesn't concern you. It is the face of your master that I am looking for. Wake him up and tell him—”

From behind the thin wall of doors, the sound of furniture being moved interrupted Minister Chin. Wooden clogs clobbered against the tiled floor, and the entrance to the main living room burst open. Magistrate Toan's buxom fifth mistress stood at the door, holding a candle in her hand. Her hair was tousled, and she squinted at the stark sunlight. Seeing the minister's face, she took a step back and pressed her hand against her chest. “Can I help you?” she asked in a weak voice.

Minister Chin swept past her and entered the dark living room. “I must speak to the girl's father before we leave here this morning.”

The young mistress extended her hand toward a richly upholstered reclining couch with silver inlays around its edges. The polished metal reflected her candle, winking at Minister Chin. “Will you please take the best seat in the house?” she said to the minister. “I will summon my son-in-law this instant. While you wait, the servant will bring hot tea to warm you. I beg you to have patience and try to forget any unpleasantness that is troubling you.”

Minister Chin remained standing as he recognized the voice of the mayor, coming from behind the ivory partition. Silently, the minister turned his eyes to Master Long's silhouette, outlined against the mosaic sculpture of a female nude carved into the screen. The mayor's voice seemed to emerge from the figure's blue-jade mouth. “Unpleasantness? Certainly in my house my guests should not be feeling any sort of discomfort.”

Master Long pushed the screen aside and walked in. Following him was the slow, silent woman who had never been properly introduced to the guests. From her expensive garments and the jewelry sparkling in her hair, and the mere fact that she always stayed within three paces behind the mayor, Minister Chin assumed that she was his wife. The woman stepped behind a painted post and merged with the thick gloom. Her husband came forward and bowed before the minister.

“A servant informed me of your desire to speak to me,” he began. “Sir Chin, it is my duty as your host to ensure that all of your wishes be met. So, here I am, at your disposal. I have but two questions: Has any member of my family offended you or the young master? And does it have any relation to the phoenix dance last night? Please speak freely, since your presence in my humble home is a matter of great honor to us. I urge you to reconsider your decision to leave on such angry terms.”