Chapter 21 — Puppets Under the Lights

Part V — The Legacy Continues

Sunday, two days after the quiet conversation with his father, Minh Long woke up earlier than usual, a strange feeling urged him to get out of bed before the sun had fully risen. He dressed, went to the kitchen to get a cup of warm water, then quietly went to the backyard, standing in front of the door of the wood workshop that was in the process of being cleaned.

This time, he opened the door alone, without anyone accompanying him, without any urgent situation forcing him. He simply felt the need to face this place, alone, in his own way, before it truly disappeared from his life forever.

Inside, half of the puppets have been packed into cartons, the rest are still on the shelf, waiting for their fate to be decided. Minh Long walked slowly between the rows of shelves, gently touching each puppet, trying to remember every small detail, as if saying goodbye to old friends.

He stopped in front of the unfinished dragon puppet, an item he had not completed before his death, now still lying in the same position as the last time he saw it with Diem My. He picked it up, admiring the meticulous carvings, and a thought suddenly flashed in his mind — a thought he had never thought of before.

"What if I finish it?" he wondered out loud, his voice echoing softly in the quiet space of the wood workshop. He remembered all the techniques he had taught him, the afternoons they sat together, he patiently guided each knife stroke, each layer of paint. He wondered whether he had the ability to complete his grandfather's unfinished work, and if so, what it would mean for him in this situation.

He sat down at the carpenter's table, placed the dragon puppet in front of him, and began, very slowly and carefully, to review what was still missing to complete it—the final coat of paint, the scales on the tail that hadn't yet been sculpted, and the control wires that hadn't yet been installed. He took a pencil and began sketching out the finished plan on a piece of paper. His hands shook at first but gradually became more steady as he immersed himself in his work.

I don't know how long I sat there until there was a light knock on the door. It was his mother, standing in the doorway, her eyes filled with surprise when she saw her son working in the workshop alone. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice gentle, not wanting to interrupt something seemingly important that was happening.

"I'm planning on finishing this dragon puppet," Minh Long replied, not raising his head, still focusing on the sketch in front of him. "Yours was in the middle of work when... when you died."

His mother walked in, stood next to the table, looking at the dragon puppet with emotional eyes. "Do you think you can do it?"

"I'm not sure," Minh Long replied honestly, "but I want to try. I think, if this workshop is about to no longer exist, I at least want to complete something he hasn't finished yet, as a way to... to keep a part of him, in my own way."

His mother was silent for a moment, her eyes filled with tears, then she sat down next to him, gently placing her hand on her son's shoulder. "I think it's a nice idea, Long. Grandpa will definitely be happy to know you did this."

Mother and son sat together in the wood workshop all that morning, Minh Long focused on finishing the puppet, while his mother sat next to him, occasionally recounting her memories of his grandfather, of her first days as a bride, witnessing how devoted he was to his profession, and the nights he stayed up late at the wood workshop to complete orders for an important festival.

"Your grandfather was the most steadfast person I've ever known," she said, her voice full of nostalgia. "There were times when my family was also having difficulties, many people advised him to quit his job and find something more stable. But he never gave up, he always said this profession is not just a job, but a part of his soul."

Listening to those stories, Minh Long felt a deeper connection with him, a more complete understanding of who he was beyond his role as a teacher teaching him puppetry techniques. He realized that he was not only a talented artisan, but also a man who struggled and sacrificed a lot to maintain his passion, just like how his parents are now struggling with their own financial difficulties.

At noon, when the sunlight was already rising, Minh Long paused his work, looked at the dragon puppet that was one-third completed compared to this morning, and felt a small but genuine pride rising in his heart. He turned to his mother and spoke, his voice filled with a new determination. "Mom, I think I need to talk to dad. I want to ask if there is any way to keep part of this workshop, even if it's just a small corner."

His mother looked at her son, her eyes filled with both hope and caution. "I think it's a conversation worth trying, Long. But you also need to be mentally prepared that there may not be a viable solution. Your father has been trying to find every solution for many months."

"I know," Minh Long nodded, "but at least I want to try, instead of just sitting here angry and helpless. I think that's what you would want me to do—not to give up, but to find a way, no matter how small, to hold on to what's truly important."

That afternoon, Minh Long spent time cleaning up the corner of the workshop where he had just worked, neatly arranging the unused tools, and carefully wrapping the unfinished dragon puppet in a soft cloth to avoid dust. He also took the opportunity to take more photos of the workshop — every corner of the shelf, every puppet, every tool — as a way to preserve memories in case all future negotiation efforts were unsuccessful.

While taking photos, he accidentally discovered another notebook, smaller than the two technical notebooks he had found before, hidden carefully in a secret drawer at the bottom of the carpenter's table. He opened it and realized that this was his real diary, recording his thoughts and concerns about his career, his family, and even his future plans that he had not yet made.

One page, written just a few weeks before his death, made Minh Long stop and read it over and over again. "Lately, my health is not as good as before, but I still want to try to complete the dragon puppet in time for this year's festival. If anything happens, I hope Long will continue this unfinished work, not because of responsibility, but because of his love for the profession, if he can still keep that love."

Reading that, Minh Long couldn't hold back his tears. These tears this time brought both pain and deep comfort. He felt like he was, once again, sending a message across time to the moment he needed to hear it most — a permission, a trust, that whatever he decided to do with this legacy, as long as it came from true love, was the right thing.

He closed the diary, held it in his arms for a long time, then carefully put it in his pocket, taking it home with him as the most precious treasure he had just found during this tumultuous journey.

That night, after dinner, Minh Long reread the entire diary in his room, page by page, from the first lines written many years ago to the last lines near the day he passed away. He found in it not only thoughts about his profession, but also passages he wrote about him - about his pride in seeing his grandson become more and more skillful, about the secret worries of an old grandfather for the future of his only grandchild, about the dreams he cherished but had not yet realized, such as wanting to take the school club to perform with a water puppet troupe abroad.

Reading the last lines, where his handwriting became more shaky due to age, Minh Long felt a strange completeness in his heart. He no longer felt that the pain of loss was a bottomless pit, but now, it was like a river, with parts flowing fiercely, but also with calm parts, carrying silt to build up what grew on both sides.

He placed the diary on the bookshelf, right next to the little carp puppet, and told himself that tomorrow, he would find his father to talk, would find Diem My to apologize, would begin, step by small step, to mend all that had been broken in recent weeks, carrying with him the steadfast spirit that he had passed on to him through each page of that loving diary.