He gives half of the cakes to the guard and watches him go to the other side of the patio. The night watch requires two people but during the day one is enough. He chose him for the day watch, because once in a while he needs to leave the room, to escape, by walking aimlessly on the trodden paths surrounding the temple that lead into the woods behind it or to the mountains on the other side.
“I am like a prisoner. I don’t eat stale rice, but my compulsory labor is many times more arduous than the work given to other unfortunate inmates.”
During those aimless walks with the chubby guard at his side, he feels his sadness somewhat alleviated. All that he is reluctant to share with others, he is able to share with the guard easily and without calculation. Yesterday just that very guard had gone down to the village of woodcutters to visit the family of the deceased and then returned to tell him everything. Right at the start, he had recommended to Le exactly how much money should be put in the envelope when the president would go to pay his respects. That fellow’s awkwardness told him what he predicted was on target. The envelope was large but the amount of money was quite meager. He asked Le to arrange for an additional amount and gave it to the heavyset guard to take down to the village.
The guard having left, he realizes his own misstep: people could question his special concern for the unfortunate family of that woodcutter, when every day thousands of people die in the war, of bad luck, of diseases. He, the president of a country, should have as his primary concern the interests of the entire people and the fate of the country; for what reason should he be so concerned about one individual? This is wrong and a failing in the quality of his responsibility, or a weakness in his ability to think and to decide. An excessive curiosity comes only from an idle, lazy life or from a brain in malfunction. An excessive curiosity is a flaw that should be overcome by all ordinary men, and even more so with him, the supreme leader of a nation.
All of a sudden anger oppresses him, visible on the pale face of a traveler. An elderly man, both stranger and friend, looks at him with frowning brows and says:
“What meaning to all this? All this subtle questioning and necessary caution fit for an old king in a dark cave? What meaning to concealing a wounded heart and an imprisoned mind?”
And he suddenly realizes that this stranger in front of him is none other than himself smiling a sad and teasing smile. Without looking at him, he replies:
“You are right! I indulge this curiosity because I want to, because the position of national president no longer preoccupies my soul, because the sufferings of a father force me to look straight at my sins, because all the regrets of a husband compel me to consider that woodcutter as a mirror reflecting my own conscience. I have the right to regret; I have a right of redemption; a right to love whom I want to love; and therefore, the call of my conscience is justified.”
His eyes follow the soldier, who appears smaller and smaller on the road down the mountains until he totally disappears behind rugged stones and mountain tea bushes. And the streaks of white clouds, gossamer like butterfly wings, gently weave around the mountaintops, haphazardly concealing the spring sun.
“My beloved! I know that everything fell apart; that the boat was shattered beyond repair with its planks bobbing on the waves; that the felled trees can never grow anew; that those in the ground can never find their way back. But I still want to probe my own mistakes to their depths, facing your ghost and never forgetting the lives of the two children. I will not and need not stand before any earthly tribunal, but I have to face you before a tribunal in the next world. I know that you will be waiting for me there.”
The other man turns around, stands directly before him, and looks at him with condescending eyes. His pride bruised, the president’s temples burn hot. He looks straight back at the one who taunts him. This time he realizes he looks just like him, like twins; worse, like two drops of water — from the body frame, the skin tone and hair color, the gestures, the clothes, to the eyes. The only thing is that the other’s face is indifferent, the “I don’t care” kind of indifference of a samurai who is ready to toss away his sword under the moon to satisfy some dream and then perish.
“Why do you still demur in belated regret, in hopeless repentance?”
“Because I am a person like millions of others. I cannot escape from the need of a father, of a husband, to love and to be loved. It’s a legitimate entitlement.”
“But you did choose to deny those ordinary feelings. It’s you who accepted emasculating a normal man’s life to please your comrades, those who gave you the great role of Father of the Nation but who assassinated your wife and destroyed your children’s chances in life, and also with that acceptance you gained access to all the conveniences that came with your grand role as the nation’s great, respected elder.”
“No, no, I never accepted that. Everything happened behind my back, in the dark. I was betrayed.”
“If that was true, then you must have fallen into one of these two types: one who is overly trusting or one who lacks good judgment. Both types share a common denominator: lack of intelligence; bluntly speaking, simple ignorance.”
“Maybe…maybe I was stupid; very stupid. One thing about this humiliation is that my mistake was recognized too late.”
He munches on the cakes to alleviate the bitterness of this last thought.
The morsel of the traditional bean cake is so sweet that he has to wash it down with piping hot tea. Then the thought of using sweetness to dilute the bitterness in his soul brings up a sour smile. Now he is reminded of fallen dynasties, gold spilling out, jade broken; so many garments and crowns, so many splendid costumes that will eventually just rot away, like corpses that are food to maggots. Those who lived in the red towers and polished chambers of the past, who had many times polished pearls or drunk nectar out of deer horns to nourish their beautiful bodies or to decrease the astringent taste of their souls. The dramas that come with power are as old as the earth. The only difference between kings of old and him today is the way they are named: the kings are those who inherited power from their forebears as people inherit wealth from their ancestors as gifts. But he, he has no inheritance — neither material nor spiritual. He is one who gained a throne with only his empty hands, who made a lake with drops of water. His only asset was the admiration and love of the people. That is his legacy! It is also his prison!
THE STORY OF WOODCUTTERS’ HAMLET
The road leading to Woodcutters’ Hamlet curves like a chicken’s intestines.
“Woodcutters’ Hamlet”—people still call it that without knowing whether its name is outdated, or, to be more accurate, whether its name is consistent with the facts. In reality Woodcutters’ Hamlet is not a small hamlet but a village proper with ample lands and many residents. One time, its leaders thought about changing its name from Woodcutters’ Hamlet to “Victory Village,” but that proposal didn’t get anywhere because the locals were too familiar with the old name, as were people in the surrounding areas.
Woodcutters’ Hamlet was founded, how many generations ago it was not clear, by three families headed by three brothers who had left their birthplace in old Bac Ninh province to come up to seek a living by cutting wood. The history of this migration is somewhat of a mystery, and it has become more mysterious over the generations from when the hamlet had a mere twenty residents. Woodcutters’ Hamlet became a large village with three neighborhoods and more than two thousand inhabitants, who make a living not only by cutting wood and selling charcoal, but also by planting dry rice and wet rice, and by producing other farm products like honey and noodles, and by growing tea plants. Its history is passed down on moonlit nights with the sound of mortars pounding flour to make cakes, on house patios with women sitting around fires kneading bread while the men sit smoking pipes and drinking tea while chatting.