The Tapestries (2 page)

“She is very healthy,” the matchmaker replied quickly. “She is as strong as a bull. And look at her breasts. They are heavy. You will be blessed with many grandchildren.”

He relaxed his grimace, looked at the bride, and asked, “What is your name, daughter?”

Upon hearing this, the matchmaker turned happily to the others. “The master has approved. He called her ‘daughter.’ Bring in the musicians!”

A much louder noise from a turn of the street drowned out the old lady's excited cry—the pulsating sound of a drum. Within seconds, a dragon made of glossy painted wood, cardboard, and papier mâché, held up high on bamboo sticks, appeared at the opening of the wharf. From afar, it seemed to float through the village. Young men in white shirts and red pants danced under it to the beat of the drum. Lanterns, shaped like butterflies and fish, burned brightly under the early-morning sun. A soprano sang the ending verse from the famous opera
The King's Wedding.
Her voice glided to the highest note before it, too, blended with the sounds of revelry. More firecrackers soared through the air, and no one seemed to notice when the old man slipped away to his boat and turned it back downstream.

When the noisy celebration dimmed, the bride shyly answered her father-in-law's question. “My name is Ven, sir.”

“Good.” Master Nguyen nodded. It was a lowly name that one would give only to a dog, yet somehow it suited her, he thought.

The matchmaker handed him a red veil, which he hung over the bride's head, concealing her face. From that time on, all she could see were the ruby tips of her slippers, yet she was thankful. The sheer fabric became her protective shield. Alone in a strange town, she would rather be led through the ceremony like a blind woman, unaware of the disparaging looks, like the one she had just received from her husband's father. In the back of her mind, a pang of curiosity stirred up, as faint as smoke. What did he look like? She knew nothing about her bridegroom. What of his personality, his likes, his dislikes, even his name? And yet, these things mattered little at this juncture of her life. Like it or not, she was about to be a married woman.

The servants carried her through the streets. The farther they walked, the more vigorously the cabin rocked on their shoulders. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and let herself sway with its movement. The thought of becoming a fine woman in a rich man's home relaxed her aching muscles. The folds of her satin gown trapped her body heat, and she began perspiring.
“An elegant lady never sweats.”
She dimly remembered an old saying she had heard as a child. She reached under the veil and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

At last, the bridal party stopped at what seemed to be the back entrance of a house. Someone swept aside the silk curtain of her cubicle and took her callused palm. She recognized the matchmaker's wrinkled hand as the old lady guided her down a muddy path that led to a wooden door.

At the entrance, a burning pot of red coals sat on the ground waiting for her. It was the custom for the bride to step over a blazing stove before setting foot in her new home. The fire would rid her soul of any evil spirits still clinging to it. The matchmaker explained that, according to the astrologer, Ven's unfortunate time of birth required her to enter through the back door and go straight to her honeymoon suite. The rest of the wedding celebration would continue without her.

Ven had to wait for her husband to come and lift her veil. This was another important tradition she had been told that she must follow if she ever hoped to have a long and happy life with this man. Seeing nothing but the tiles beneath her feet, Ven was led through unseen rooms and seated on her bridal bed, alone in the unfamiliar house.

V
en lost count of how many hours she remained alone. From the fading of a few streaks of light on the floor, she could tell that the day had aged into night. Outside the window, the party seemed to be winding down. She could hear the laughter slowly diminish into the slurring of drunken guests. The ebullient opera had ended, and now there was a single, soporific moan of a lute. In the dark, her back throbbed, and the numbness in her buttocks spread down her legs. She was hungry and tired. The gown tightened around her bosom, making it difficult for her to breathe.

Just when she thought she could not wait any longer, Ven heard the squeaking noise of a door as it opened and shut. A small group of people tiptoed into the room. Their whispering sounded to her like the wind rasping against rice paper. The oil lamp on the nightstand by her side flickered into light. Moments later, she heard the intruders withdraw, carefully closing the door behind them.

But Ven could tell that she was not alone. The subtle movement of the furniture, the faint rustle of clothing, and the quiet footsteps moving back and forth kept her frozen in place.
It's him,
she thought.
It must be my husband. Who else could it be?
In seconds, her months of waiting would be over. Like a boiling pot of water, the anxiety rose up, and she could hardly control her composure. She sat tightly, watching her hands tremble. She could feel the heat from her husband's body as he approached her. She kept her eyes downcast. Touching the ruby tips of her slippers were two tiny bare feet, just half the size of hers. A small hand reached out and clumsily tugged the veil from her face.

Standing before her was a little boy wearing a groom's costume. He could not have been older than seven. She could see the wide gap of his missing front teeth as he grinned at her, and it came to her that this child was her husband.

S
he got up from the edge of the wedding bed and lowered the oil lamp until it emitted only a dot of light the size of a pea. Quietly, she took off her restrictive clothing. The boy sat on the bed and watched her with his large, almond-shaped eyes. He inserted his thumb into the gap in his teeth. Ven left her undergarments on and climbed into the bed, pulling the mosquito net over her. As she lay down, her husband snuggled into her outstretched arms. He buried his face in her armpit, sucking his thumb.

She took the boy's wrist and pulled the finger out of his mouth. With an effort, she made her voice low and reasonable. “Young master, you are too old for this habit.” He lay still, looking at her. Then he closed his eyes and went to sleep. Ven struggled with an impulse to wipe the drool off his face.

In the dark, she began to understand what her position would be in this rich man's house. They did not marry her to make her a fine lady. They wanted her for slave labor. Yet, being a daughter-in-law, she was not entitled to the salary a servant would have been paid.

To her surprise, Ven found she could not cry. Soon exhaustion claimed her.

chapter two

Breakfast

V
en was awoken before dawn by a tapping on her shoulder. In the light of the oil lantern, she saw the shadowed face of a young woman leaning over her. At her side, still wrapped in her arms, her groom was asleep.

Ven pulled away from her husband gently, so as not to disturb him. His peaceful face, round with baby fat, pressed against the hard tatami surface. The oak bed creaked under her weight like the bones of an old person. Through the bedroom window the night seemed frozen in time, and the courtyard shimmered in an iridescent glow. Here and there, the moonlight lingered on a few rare orchids.

Beyond the high brick garden wall, she heard the lazy footsteps of a time-teller. In most communities, the task of telling time fell to the village idiot, since his duty was considered lowly in the extreme. Most often, he lived in a hut on the outskirts of town, far from any neighbors. Besides the clothes on his back, the time-teller typically owned only a small metal gong. Night after night, he wandered the streets, sounding the passage of time with his padded hammer. By counting the strokes he made, the villagers could approximate the hour. The night was divided into five intervals, each about two Western hours long, stretching from sunset to rooster's crow. Ven counted four strokes on the gong. Its hollow sound echoed through the stillness long after the man's shuffling footsteps had receded.

She dressed quickly in the dark, wearing the undergarments she had on from the day before. From the bundle of possessions she had brought with her, she chose a long-sleeved cotton blouse, as the sun would not come up for several more hours.

The young woman who had woken Ven up stood waiting by the doorway. She was dressed in servant's clothes—a faded brown uniform. She was about sixteen years old, and sleep still crusted her eyelids. With an impatient gesture, she beckoned for Ven to follow her. Ven took a lantern from the bamboo stick outside the bedroom door and watched the servant hurry ahead of her down the hall. The girl was heavy, and she waddled like a pregnant mare.

“What is your name?” Ven asked her.

“I am called Song,” she said in a whisper.

“Where are we going?” Ven hastened to keep up as they walked down one of the manicured paths that cut across the garden, dividing it into rectangular beds of well-kept grasses and plants.

The maid stopped next to a plum tree and turned to look at Ven. “We are going to the kitchen, of course,” she whispered. “First Mistress has ordered you to make breakfast and have it ready by the time the other mistresses wake up. Didn't the matchmaker tell you this would be your duty?”

“No,” Ven replied. “When do the mistresses wake up?”

“As soon as the time-teller makes his last round. But if I were you, I would not rely on him. He drinks too much rice wine and is always late. You have about two hours to prepare the meal.”

She resumed her swaying gait, and they walked in front of Master Nguyen's house. The mansion and its outlying buildings faced a white-brick path, about twenty feet wide and a hundred yards long, that led to the street. Three gates protected the compound from intruders. The middle and largest one was a solid piece of black granite, split in two. When closed, the two sides merged in a complicated carving that depicted a portion of the mystical world of Heaven—beautiful bodies of the immortals dancing in and out of the clouds. Through this elegant portal only family members and honored guests would pass. Servants and vendors used the two side doors, which were modest in size and made of simply carved wood.

Ven stopped to look at her new home. Under the indigo moonlight, its outline glinted as though made out of sapphire. Never in her life had she been in a place so magnificent. It was a miniature palace, from the golden roof, decorated with a bold ceramic dragon at each corner, to the red sliding panels of its doors. In front stood five massive granite columns, embossed with carved dragons. The veranda held an ornamental vase balanced on a wooden stand large enough to hide an adult. Inside grew a eucalyptus twisted into the shape of a phoenix, which reached its wings to the sky as if to take flight.

They turned onto a side path, and through a window of opaque parchment, Ven was surprised to see that the main living room was aglow. The light of oil lamps flickered on the silhouettes of two men. They leaned over a desk in serious discussion. Curious, Ven stepped closer. She could hear their urgent whispers, though she could not make out what they were saying.

Song slipped in next to her. “The master is meeting with Master Long, the town mayor.”

“Did my father-in-law entertain a lot of overnight guests because of the wedding?” Ven asked.

The girl shook her head. “No, the master doesn't allow overnight guests, except for a few important people and, of course, his fishing crews. Master Long did not come for your wedding. He sometimes comes after dinner, and he and the master stay up talking until dawn.”

“How often do they meet?”

“It varies,” Song replied. “Our master and the first two mistresses are seldom home, but when they are, they entertain several guests. For example, Master Long was here four nights already this week. Occasionally, two other men accompany him.”

“What do they talk about?” Ven asked. Her eyes were glued to the shadows on the screened window.

“I don't know. I assume it's about the master's business.”

“What kind of business does he have?”

Song looked up at Ven with a fearful expression. “Please, Mistress—”

It was the first time that Song had addressed Ven with a title. She listened as the maid continued, “I beg you, don't ask me any more questions. Your in-laws would not hesitate to discipline me severely if they found out I was telling you these things.” The girl turned away and hid behind the curtain of her hair.

Ven knew she should give up her prying and make herself subservient in the eyes of others. But inside she felt a touch of rebellion, and as isolated as she was in this strange house, she could not let go of the subject. She touched the girl's shoulder. “I am scared, too,” she admitted. “You and I are of the same kind. We are both women. And we are slaves under this roof. But unlike you, I do not receive wages for my service, and to others I am still an outsider. For those reasons, I need your help. Please tell me about these people before I meet them, so that I can avoid mistakes. I promise I won't get you into trouble.”

Song sighed. “I see that you know as little about them as they know about you,” she said. “The master and his first two wives earn their living from the sea. Master is the captain of the largest fishing boat in this town. Most of the men in the village work for him as his sailors.”

“What about Third Mistress? What does she do?”

“Third Mistress is like a water lily, beautiful but fragile. Before she was married to our master, she was an actress in a Chinese opera troupe, which performed in the big cities. She was sold into this house when she was fourteen. I learned this from Old Che, the family's cook. She was handed over to settle a debt the owner of the troupe had with the master. He loves her beyond reason. He treats her like a Buddha statue and never lets anyone or anything so much as touch her fingernails. Ever since she was blessed with a child, and nearly died giving birth to him, Master Nguyen has allowed her to handle the household while he is away at sea. That child is your new husband.”