Duong Huong - The Zenith

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…

Then some guy spoke up loudly: “Hostess: I have a bad habit of being hungry all the time. Is there any chance I can find a piece of cake or a minced pork roll?”

Miss Vui stood up and said, “Yes, right away.”

But the man’s wife protested: “You really are ungracious; can’t you hold out until midnight?”

The husband replied, “Why should I wait? I am hungry during the death anniversary dinner for my father but I should be full at New Year. We are neighbors and she has the kindness to invite us.”

The wife further explained: “The food is no big deal, but they will have to use a knife and cutting board; they will have to clean and wash their hands. It’s so cold!”

At this point, all the neighbors jumped in: “Leave him alone. If he is hungry, he cannot just sit there drinking tea and eating candies and cookies like all of you ladies.”

“That’s right. I agree. Hey, Miss Vui, may I have some wine? We men need to have some wine to feel in business. Our elders taught us: no drinking; no ceremony. I dare put it differently: no drinking; no New Year’s Eve. Who’s with me?”

“Me!”

“Me too.”

“Me also!”

“And me too, aunts and uncles.”

“That’s fine, nothing difficult. But among you ladies, who is willing to give me a hand?”

“Yes, me here. I shouldn’t have married a blockhead, so it’s payback time for me.”

This voice came from the wife of the greedy guy who had first asked for meat. Three other women, wives of those gentlemen who adhered to the belief that without wine you are not a man also agreed to help. The tea party was thus transformed into a sit-down dinner with minced pork rolls, wine, rice cakes, bamboo soup with spare ribs, braised pork belly, and pickled cabbage. Even though it was a spontaneous meal prepared within fifteen minutes, there were enough dishes so that the men could lift their chopsticks happily.

Two trays of food and two large bottles of wine were put on two large platform beds placed across from each other. The men excitedly dug in. Each table had six people for a total of twelve. Miss Vui placed a chair between the two beds so that she could pour wine on both sides.

“Ladies, feel free to drink tea and savor the candied fruits. I have to entertain the men,” Vui declared.

“Just take care of them; don’t worry about us.”

They said that, but the women brought over their tea and goodies to tag along behind their men and eavesdrop on the conversation. People never forget that this is the best part of the evening, after the opera, of course.