Chapter 1 — Puppets Under the Lights

Part I — Rejection

Vu Minh Long locked the wood workshop door behind his house, as he had done every day for the past eight months, without even looking inside. The old wooden door, with its peeling paint and rusty lock, now resembled a small tomb containing all that was left of his grandfather — dozens of unfinished wooden puppets, carving tools, and the distinct smell of lacquer still lingering somewhere in the air.

"Long, someone is looking for you," his mother's voice rang out from inside the house, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Minh Long walked in and saw a strange girl waiting in the living room, holding a thick file in her hand, her eyes both nervous and determined. "Hello, I'm Tran Diem My, head of Nguyen Du School's Water Puppet Club," she introduced, her voice quick as if she had prepared it in advance. "I know it's rude to be so sudden, but I really need to talk to you about your grandfather."

Those words made Minh Long stunned for a moment, the familiar feeling of unresolved pain welling up in his heart. "My grandfather passed away," he replied, his voice stiff. "If you want to talk about him, I don't think there's anything to talk about."

"I know, I'm sorry for mentioning something painful," Diem My said, her voice softening but not retreating. "But our club is in serious trouble. Your grandfather was the honorary advisor of the club for many years, the only person who still mastered the traditional puppetry technique that our school still retains. Since his death, no one in the club is qualified enough to teach new members, and if this situation continues, the club will have to disband next semester."

"So what does it have to do with me?" Minh Long asked, even though he already vaguely guessed the answer.

"I heard that you learned techniques from him since you were young, and are better than many veteran members in the club," Diem My said, her eyes full of hope. "I want to ask you to help the club, teach what you've learned. It doesn't have to be often, just a few times a week."

"No," Minh Long replied immediately, so decisively that even he was surprised by the toughness in his voice. "I have nothing to do with water puppetry anymore. Sorry, but you should find someone else."

Diem My was silent for a moment, her eyes could not hide her disappointment, but she did not argue further. "I understand," she said, her voice quiet. "Sorry for bothering you." She bowed and turned to leave, leaving the small business card on the table before walking out the door.

Minh Long stood watching her disappearing back, his heart mixed between a feeling of relief for having successfully refused, and a vague guilt that he did not want to admit.

That evening, when Hoang Tuan Anh, his best friend, stopped by to visit as usual, Minh Long recounted that unexpected encounter, his voice still a little annoyed.

"Do you refuse?" Tuan Anh asked, his voice somewhat surprised. "I think it might be a good way for you to... I don't know, deal with your grandfather's death in a lighter way."

"I don't need to 'confront' anything," Minh Long replied, his voice harsher than he intended. "I just want to leave things as they are."

Tuan Anh did not argue further, just looked at his friend with worried eyes, eyes that had become familiar since the day his grandfather Minh Long passed away, when his best friend seemed to have closed a part of his heart that no one, including himself, knew how to reopen.

That night, when everyone was asleep, Minh Long quietly walked out to the backyard, stood in front of the locked wooden workshop door, gently touched the rusty lock but did not open it. He stood there for a long time, in the dark, listening to the sound of the wind blowing through the door, imagining that he could still hear the familiar sound of his grandfather chiseling wood from inside, before turning around and going back into the house, leaving the door still closed as tightly as it had been for the past eight months.

He remembered the afternoons of his childhood, when his grandfather, artisan Vu Dinh Tai, often picked him up from school, took him straight to the wood workshop, placed a small carving knife in the hands of five-year-old Minh Long and patiently taught him each of the first strokes. "Puppet is not just wood and paint, my dear," he once said, his voice deep and familiar. "Each puppet has its own soul, and a good artist is the one who knows how to awaken that soul."

Minh Long grew up with such teachings, imbued with the technique of controlling underwater puppets even before he fully understood its profound meaning. He remembers the feeling of pride he felt when he was able to control a carp puppet swimming on the water for the first time in a small family performance, and remembers his grandfather's eyes sparkling with joy as he watched his grandson gradually grow up in his profession.

But all those beautiful memories now only bring a sharp pain every time he touches them. Grandfather died suddenly of a heart attack while working in the factory, a normal afternoon like any other afternoon, without any warning signs. Minh Long was the first to discover it, and that image, even though eight months had passed, was still clearly imprinted in his mind every time he let himself think about it.

From that day on, he no longer had the courage to step foot into the wood workshop, even though his parents had suggested several times that he should clean up that space, turn it into a storage room or rent it out. Each time, Minh Long objected vehemently, even though he himself did not have the courage to step inside. He just wanted everything to remain as it was, a way of preserving memories in his own way, even though it was somewhat contradictory and painful.

Returning to his room, Minh Long lay down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Diem My's business card was still lying somewhere downstairs but he hadn't bothered to throw it away. He wondered if the decision to decisively refuse in the afternoon was really what he wanted, or simply a familiar reflex of someone who was so used to avoiding everything that could rekindle the pain.

The next morning, on the way to school, Minh Long happened to pass by the small lake area in the school yard, where he vaguely heard someone practicing something from afar. Curious, he stopped to observe and saw a few students trying to control an old wooden puppet. The movements were clumsy and lacking rhythm, causing the puppet to jerk awkwardly on the water surface instead of gliding smoothly like it should.

Diem My stood next to her, patiently instructing little by little, even though it was clear that she herself did not master the technique well enough to completely correct the error. "It's not like that, you have to keep your hand rhythm more steady," she said, her voice a bit helpless. "But I'm not too sure. Maybe we should watch the old tutorial video again."

That scene made Minh Long stop, an indescribable feeling rising in his heart when he saw the technique that his grandfather had worked so hard to teach was gradually being eroded and distorted through the clumsy efforts of those who had not studied properly. He almost walked over to correct it out of reflex, but then stopped, turned around and left before anyone could notice his presence.

Throughout the entire class that day, the image of the puppet jerking on the water kept lingering in Minh Long's mind, mixed with Diem My's patient but helpless voice, making it impossible for him to fully concentrate on the lecture as usual.

During recess, Tuan Anh noticed his friend's unusually thoughtful expression. "Are you okay? You look like you're thinking really hard about something."

"I just saw the Water Puppet Club practicing this morning," Minh Long admitted, his voice a bit tired. "They did almost every basic technique wrong. Looking at it made me feel sorry."

"Then help them," Tuan Anh said, simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You keep saying you don't want anything to do with puppetry anymore, but looking at the way you just told that story, I see you care more than you think."

"It's not that simple," Minh Long replied, his voice quiet. "Every time I think about taking the puppet back, I remember him, remember the day..." He stopped, not having the courage to finish his sentence, even though Tuan Anh clearly understood what he was talking about.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything," Tuan Anh said, his voice softening, patting his friend's shoulder. "But I think, maybe avoiding him forever isn't the only way to keep his memory alive. Just think more, there's no need to rush."

Minh Long did not answer, just nodded slightly, his eyes still looking far away towards the school yard where the small lake was located, where not long ago he witnessed a precious piece of his grandfather's memory gradually being lost in the hands of those who were not capable of preserving it completely.