Chapter 2 — Puppets Under the Lights

Diem My's business card sat on Minh Long's desk for three days straight, with no one in the house touching it, as if everyone implicitly understood that it was something he needed to decide for himself what to do with it. Every night when he comes home from school, Minh Long sees it in the same place, in the upper right corner of the desk, next to the long-off lamp, with the words "Tran Diem My - Head of the Water Puppet Club - Nguyen Du High School" neatly italicized, with a small phone number below.

You didn't call. Don't throw it away either.

Tuesday morning, when passing by the small lake area in the school yard on the way to class, Minh Long saw the club practicing, earlier than usual. This time there were not just a few people like last time, but nearly a dozen students stood around the edge of the lake, holding old wooden puppets, while others stood soaking their feet in the shallow water, trying to keep their balance on rubber boots while moving their hands to manipulate the puppet pole hidden under the water's surface.

Mr. Phuc, who he recognized as the Art teacher who often taught the class next door, stood on the shore, holding a notebook, with a pensive look on his face. "You guys try to keep a more even rhythm," the teacher said, his voice patient but somewhat helpless like Diem My. "I know it's difficult. This technique of hiding the pole requires a lot of practice to get used to it."

Minh Long stopped behind a large almond tree, far enough away that no one would notice, but close enough to hear every sentence clearly. He saw a junior boy, perhaps new to the club, holding a puppet of Mr. Teu — a familiar symbol in water puppetry, round face, grin — trying to make it bob up and down on the water surface as if he were smiling, but the stiff movements made the puppet look like it was convulsing from the cold rather than having fun.

His grandfather once said that the Uncle Teu puppet is the most difficult of all to control, not because of its complicated technique, but because it requires the operator to be really happy, really comfortable, so that fresh spirit can be transmitted through the string, through the pole, to the lifeless wooden face. "A puppet can't lie, my child," he once told him with a smile, "it only repeats the exact mood of the person holding the strings."

Looking at the other boy straining, his face contorted from trying too hard, Minh Long almost burst out laughing, but that smile faded as soon as he realized he was standing there, intently observing something he swore he would never touch again.

"Don't use wrist force, Binh," Diem My told the boy, her voice a bit tired after repeating the same mistake many times. "It must be... I'm not sure how to describe it properly. Let me look up the video of the Dao Thuc group."

She took out her phone, opened a video recording a performance by a professional water puppet troupe, showed it to the whole group, clumsily tried to analyze each frame, pointed at the tiny screen to explain something that should have only been completed in a few minutes by a knowledgeable person standing next to her.

Minh Long stood looking at that scene longer than he thought, his hands tightening the strap of his school bag, a feeling of both familiarity and strangeness arose in his heart - the feeling of someone standing on the outside looking in at what was once his whole world, now becoming strange and painful at the same time.

The class bell rang, interrupting his thoughts. Minh Long quickly turned around and walked away, not noticing that Diem My, while raising her head to find a better way to explain to her student, caught a glimpse of a familiar figure hidden behind the eagle tree, and a small ray of hope flashed in her eyes.

During recess that day, Tuan Anh found Minh Long who was sitting alone in the corner of the yard, holding two bottles of sugarcane juice he had just bought at the canteen. "Hey, I heard you watched the puppet club practice this morning?" he asked, handing a bottle to you.

"Who told you that?" Minh Long asked again, a bit startled.

"Hanh, class 12A2, is the cousin of one of the kids in that club," Tuan Anh smiled, sitting down next to his friend. "Our school is small, everything spreads quickly, you know."

Minh Long sighed and did not deny it. "I just happened to pass by."

"Yes, by chance," Tuan Anh nodded, his voice full of meaning, causing Minh Long to glance sharply at his friend. "Okay, no more teasing you. But, what do you think? Did they practice well?"

Minh Long was silent for a moment, his fingers twirling the bottle of sugar cane juice in his hand. "Not good," he finally admitted, his voice low. "They're making mistakes in the way they hold the pole. At this rate, even if they practice for a year, they won't get better. They'll just repeat familiar mistakes."

"Then why don't you tell them?"

"Because it's none of my business," Minh Long replied, his voice stiffening like a reflex. But as soon as the sentence ended, he felt it was strangely empty, like a line he had repeated so many times that he no longer believed in itself.

Tuan Anh didn't say anything more, just looked at his friend with understanding eyes, then switched to another topic, talking about the weekend's soccer match, the upcoming Chemistry test, everyday trivial things that helped Minh Long temporarily forget the heavy feeling that still lingered in his heart.

In the afternoon, on the way home, Minh Long passed the grocery store at the end of the alley, where Mrs. Sau, an elderly neighbor who had known his grandfather for many years, was sitting in front of the door fanning the coolant. "Is Long coming home from school?" she said in greeting, then added, her voice filled with nostalgia, "Lately I've been missing your grandfather Tai so much. In the past, every time the village had a festival, your grandfather would bring out puppets to perform for the whole neighborhood to see, it was so much fun."

Minh Long just smiled awkwardly, nodded and quickly walked past, not wanting to prolong the conversation that might bring back the memories he was still trying to avoid. But Mrs. Sau's words kept echoing in his head for the rest of the journey, recalling images of bustling village festivals, the sounds of drums and bells echoing on the lake, and his grandfather, in simple brown clothes, standing behind the curtain, controlling the puppets as they glided gracefully as if by magic.

Returning home, Minh Long passed by the backyard, where the wood workshop door was still locked tightly as usual. He stopped for a moment, looked at the rusty lock, then shook his head and entered the house.

That night, while cleaning his desk, he accidentally dropped Diem My's business card on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, Minh Long looked at the italicized text for a long time, his fingers gently rubbing the surface of the hard paper, before placing it back on the table, this time in a different corner, closer to where he still sat and studied every night.

He didn't know whether it was a sign that his resolve was wavering or not, only that for the first time in eight months, he thought about water puppetry more than once in the same day, and the feeling, though vague, wasn't quite as unpleasant as he thought it would be.

That night Minh Long had a dream, a short and fragmentary dream, in which he saw himself standing in the warm water of the puppet lake, holding a red painted carp puppet, and his grandfather's voice rang out somewhere very close, gently reminding him: "Be gentle, child, let the water lead the puppet, don't force it." He woke up in the middle of the night, his heart beating fast, and it took him a long time lying still in the dark to realize that he had just cried in his sleep, his cheeks still wet.

The next morning, as he washed his face in front of the mirror, Minh Long looked at his own reflection, his eyes still dark from lack of sleep, and wondered if this pain would stick with him forever, or at some point, it would soften into something that could be carried, the same way people carry a scar that has healed but is still marked on the skin.

He didn't have an answer, but for the first time, he allowed himself to ask the question seriously, instead of hastily brushing it aside like all the times before.

On the way to school that morning, Minh Long deliberately went around the other way, avoiding the lake area where the club often practiced, telling himself that it was only because he did not want to be late for school, not because he was afraid of having to face the torn feeling that scene always evoked in his heart. But when he passed the turn leading to the backyard, he still couldn't help but glance in that direction, only to see calm water, no one in sight, this morning's practice session was probably canceled or postponed.

The feeling of disappointment that flashed through his heart made Minh Long surprised himself, and he entered the classroom with a more chaotic mood than ever since the afternoon Diem My came to his house.

During the Literature class at the beginning of the hour, Minh Long could barely hear a word the teacher said, his mind kept floating somewhere between the image of a boy named Binh trying to control the puppet Uncle Teu and Diem My's patient but helpless voice at the edge of the lake. He opened his notebook, intending to take notes, but the pen kept stopping in the middle of the page, and when the teacher called out his name to ask questions, he stood up in surprise, faltering for a long time before answering a short defensive question, causing the whole class to laugh a little while he blushed and sat down, blaming himself for letting his mind be so distracted just because of a practice session that he had no intention of participating in.