Those were the obvious reasons. In reality, their reasons should have been of no concern to anybody. But in life, differences create envy, whether you like it or not, whether you speak openly about it or conceal it. Even before the curtain rose, village eyes eagerly scanned around, looking for this odd couple, as if their presence would cause the opera to succeed or fail.
“We don’t see either him or her! Perhaps they stayed home!”
“For sure they did. They don’t care to see a play in the countryside. There’s plenty in the city. Down there the theater is many times larger than our hamlet temple, and all the curtains are made of red velvet, very classy.”
“Why didn’t Master Quy invite a first-class opera troupe for the villagers to enjoy? It might be expensive, but it’s only once a year. People would pinch their budgets to afford a ticket.”
“Even if we had invited them, they wouldn’t have come. The road is too long and bumpy, and all the props and velvet and brocade curtains need to be transported in special cars. You would have to pay a lot for just one trip.”
“OK, if you’ve only got wooden chopsticks, use ’em; don’t go crazy asking for velvet and brocade curtains, for what?”
“You talk with your dick. Everyone has skin and flesh; everyone likes to eat their rice with fish. Only the crazy refuse new and tasty dishes.”
“No, you’re the one who talks with his dick. You want some, but have no money. Empty pockets longing for good food! Under the circumstances, shut up; talking just puts you to shame.”
“Enough, gentlemen; I ask you all, it’s New Year’s Eve, no arguments. The festivities are about to start, what’s the point of fighting anymore?”
They all backed off. Women pinched and squeezed their husbands to calm their hot tempers. Then the sound of drums gave a cheerful welcome. The two panels of the red stage curtains, dotted with holes made by roaches, slowly drew open and female singers in loose costumes floated onto the stage like the five tinted winds:
“I come up to the temple and see thirteen little novices, fourteen monks, and fifteen nuns.”
The band behind the stage struck up a tune. A flute hit a high note over the two-string zither; the sound of the flute and the drum carried the beat. Life’s now smiling face lets people temporarily forget oppressions and emotions.
Two hours later, the opera drew to a close.
Villagers stood around for a long time in front of the stage longing for more. The entertainment had ended much too quickly. And after the fun, sadness is always on duty. It was only eight p.m.; there were still four more hours before the old year ended, four more hours until they could light firecrackers and start their banquets. Four more hours to endure the everlasting quietness of the isolated mountain terrain, after being soaked in an atmosphere filled with the lights, colors, images, and sounds of the opera. It was quite oppressive and extremely difficult to endure. People stood around and watched as performers dismantled the stage and packed away their costumes and props. Suddenly, longing filled their souls; a vague realization of something missing brought heartache. There was only life worn out like a piece of cloth down to its bare threads.
While the crowd was still lingering about, Quy had taken care of compensation for the professional troupe. He said to Miss Vui:
“Now I have to take the troupe to get chicken congee before they return to the district town. The villagers still linger and are not ready to leave. If it’s OK with you, could you please invite them to your house before the end of the old year? It’s only once a year; we need to provide them with an evening of hospitality.”
“Right away; no problem for me. Will you come later?”
“I will come if every task is finished.”
“That’s all right, take care of your duties,” Miss Vui answered. Then she approached the crowd and said:
“If you are not ready to leave, I invite you to come to my house to have tea and eat New Year’s candies. Wait for the New Year then return home and bring certain good fortune to your house.”
“Fantastic! You’re really the best.”
“Did you make the candies or buy them?”
“I bought them in town. The watermelon and pumpkin seeds are top of the line; I guarantee their quality. The tea is the fragrant Hong Dao brand — for real!”
“Who’ll come with me to Miss Vui’s?”
“You don’t have to advertise! Whoever has legs knows how to use them!”
Nobody voiced it out loud, but everybody knew that the gathering at Miss Vui’s house was to be a second performance for the New Year’s Eve celebration: following the traditional opera would be a romance about a mismatched couple. Because they were the wealthiest in the hamlet, because they lived differently from the rest, Mr. Quang and Miss Ngan were a target for all the gossips. Gossip has always been a spiritual food unique to villages, as well as a poison that permeates humanity’s bones and marrow.
That night, the subcommittee secretary’s house was bright with a storm light. She had bought this light after convincing herself that she had become someone of importance, having risen up as if she were a hamlet VIP. But compared with Mr. Quang, she was still a lightweight going up against a heavyweight. Nonetheless, it was a source of pride that not many women had the right to savor. Besides, she thought that the way to her success had been paved by her father and so she wanted him to be proud in the spirit realm. Thus, in Woodcutters’ Hamlet, she had been the second person after Mr. Quang to have a four-horsepower generator, a storm lamp, and all the objects that are indicative of prosperity. For people in the region, after a nice house with a large patio comes a horse carriage, both assets and means to make money; then after a horse carriage, the biggest dream is for a household generator to water the yard and the fields, and to light up the storm lamp during the New Year holiday. That New Year, Miss Vui also had bought three porcelain tea services from Hai Duong, the kind that have a large teapot with brass handles. She used them to serve tea to her guests. One teapot could contain two liters of water and each brewing used half a bag of Hong Dao tea. The villagers were overwhelmed, for in the countryside people tend to be frugal. The average family could make one bag of Hong Dao tea last for at least ten days.
In the bright light of the storm lamp, the shiny new porcelain teacups, small and large plates of candied lotus seeds, watermelon seeds and pumpkin seeds, and all sorts of candies and cookies were displayed upon two large tables placed next to each other under a flowery tablecloth as at a wedding. A warm and festive atmosphere spread through the two sections of the house where the villagers sat close by one another according to their neighborhood or their kinships. Such atmosphere made people easily excited and openly expressive. They spoke loudly like horns and drums, from the story of Mrs. Coi’s daughter-in-law in the upper section who had triplets to that of Mr. Tu, the drunkard in the lower section who had intentionally hit his buffalo calf to cripple it and thus have a reason to butcher it; from the story of the actress who played Thi Mau with breasts so small that each time she moved, the rubber lining in her bra went up and down in such a hilarious manner, to the story of Mr. Huan’s daughter in the next hamlet who conceived a child out of her uterus and was brought down to the district clinic, costing them lots of money but to no good end: the baby was stillborn…