Chapter 6 — Puppets Under the Lights

Part II — Old Puppets

On Thursday, as promised, Minh Long brought a small cloth bag containing a few basic tools — a small pair of pliers, a few hand drills, fine sandpaper, and a small box of leveling lead that he found in his room's closet, left over from helping his grandfather work in the past. He went to the area behind the equipment room that Mr. Phuc mentioned, where there were two old carpenter tables covered in dust, placed close to the wall.

Diem My was waiting there, along with Nam, the student whose Teu puppet had its center of gravity shifted. "We cleaned the tables," Diem My said, pointing to two tables that were now much cleaner than Minh Long imagined. "If you need anything, just ask, we'll go get it."

Minh Long put down his tool bag and began the familiar task that he thought he had forgotten how to do - carefully removing the paint covering the belly of the Teu puppet, revealing the hollow wooden cavity inside where the lead balance was hidden. His hands, even though he hadn't touched a carving tool in eight months, still remembered every movement precisely, as if his body held memories better than his mind.

"When did you learn this?" Nam asked, curiously observing Minh Long's every move.

"Since the age of seven," Minh Long replied, without raising his head, his eyes still focused on the lead being adjusted to its position. "My grandfather started letting me hold a carving knife from then on, even though at first it was just simple lines on scrap wood."

"You must be very talented," Nam said, his voice full of admiration.

Minh Long smiled slightly, a sad smile but not as heavy as before. "My grandfather is one of the most respected artists in this area. Many professional water puppet troupes also invite him to be a technical consultant for major plays."

He reattached the lead piece to the correct position, glued it in place, and then reapplied a thin layer of paint to hide the correction marks. "It's done, but you have to wait for the paint to dry for at least a day before trying it. You can try again tomorrow."

Diem My picked up the puppet and looked at it carefully, her eyes full of admiration. "Seeing you do it so easily, but we've been struggling all week not knowing where the problem lies."

"It's not easy," Minh Long said, wiping his hands on an old cloth. "I just know where to look. The technique of applying balanced leads has its own rules, depending on the size and weight of the puppet's head. If you don't know the formula, it can take a week to figure it out, and it can still be wrong."

After finishing fixing the Teu puppet, Minh Long spent the rest of the afternoon observing the group practice, noting down every mistake in the notebook he brought with him. He noticed that most members made the same basic mistakes — holding the pole too tightly causing stiff movements, not knowing how to coordinate breathing with hand movements, and especially lacking understanding of the "body language" of different types of puppets.

"Each puppet has its own personality," Minh Long explained to the group as the practice session neared its end, standing on the lake shore looking down at the attentive listening faces. "The Teu is cheerful, agile, its movements must be fast, decisive but gentle. The dragon is majestic, its movements must be slow, winding purposefully. If you control each animal with the same type of movements, they will all look the same, losing the unique soul of each character."

The whole group listened silently, a few people even hastily wrote down what Minh Long had just said. Teacher Phuc stood from afar observing, his eyes could not hide his satisfaction when he saw that his student, although still hesitant, was still gradually regaining the confidence and passion he once had.

The training session ended, everyone gradually dispersed, only Minh Long and Diem My remained to collect their equipment. "Thank you for today," Diem My said as they both stowed the puppets in the locker next to the lake. "I see people becoming more motivated, not only because of learning new techniques, but also because of the feeling that someone really understands and cares about preserving this profession."

"I'm just doing what my grandfather taught me," Minh Long replied, his voice humble but no longer as defensive as before.

"No, it's not just that," Diem My shook her head, her eyes serious. "You also know how to communicate. Not everyone who is good at a skill knows how to teach it to others. You have a pedagogical talent, Minh Long."

Minh Long didn't know how to respond to that unexpected compliment, just bowed his head and continued working, but in his heart, a warm feeling spread, different from the familiar emptiness he had been carrying for many months.

On the way home, the two walked together for a while as usual. Diem My told him the reason why she loved water puppetry - not because her family had any tradition in the profession, but because once, in sixth grade, she saw a water puppet troupe touring her maternal village, and the image of wooden puppets gliding on the water under shimmering lights was so deeply imprinted in her mind that she decided to learn the art, even though there weren't many places in the city that taught it properly.

"Back then, I still thought there was real magic," she said with a laugh, "I kept wondering how inanimate wooden puppets could move so vividly. Later I found out it was thanks to the technique of controlling poles and strings hidden under water, but I've never forgotten that magical feeling."

Minh Long listened, feeling an unexpected sympathy with this girl - they both loved this art in different ways, but shared a deep appreciation for its beauty. "My grandfather once told me the same thing," he shares, "that the beauty of water puppetry is that it turns seemingly inanimate things — wood, paint, water — into a soulful story. He said it's the greatest miracle people can create with their own hands."

Diem My smiled, her eyes sparkling under the sunset. "I think your grandfather would definitely be very proud to see you continuing to pass that magic on to others."

Those words made Minh Long's heart sink a bit, but not because of pain like before, but because of a warm feeling mixed with gentle regret, a feeling he gradually realized could exist side by side with nostalgia, without needing to exclude each other.

Returning to the familiar intersection, the two parted ways as usual, but this time, before turning away, Diem My turned back and added, "This Saturday we plan to practice in the morning. If you're free, please come. There's no pressure, just an invitation."

Minh Long nodded, no need to think for too long like before. "I'll try to come."

Walking home alone, Minh Long looked up at the gradually darkening sky, the first stars began to peek out from behind a thin layer of clouds. He thought about this afternoon, about the feeling of holding the carving tools again, about the admiring eyes of the club members, about the story Diem My had just told, and realized that this was the first time in eight months, a day passed that he did not feel burdened by pain, but instead felt a feeling of relief, almost happiness, although still fragile and he did not dare to completely believe in it.

That evening, while sitting at his desk, Minh Long took out his notebook, flipped through the pages of notes from the afternoon, re-read each technical error he had listed. He began to sketch out a small plan, dividing the practice sessions into skill groups — one session focusing on how to hold the pole, one session focusing on breathing, another session devoted to learning about the unique personalities of each type of puppet. He wrote carefully, with clear bullet points, as if he were preparing a real lesson plan, something he had never thought he would do for anyone before.

Halfway through writing, he stopped, leaned back in his chair, looked up at the bookshelf where the small carp puppet and Diem My's business card were still lying next to each other. He remembered what his grandfather said in the past, that teaching a profession is also a way to preserve the profession, sometimes even more important than being good yourself. "If you only keep a job in one person's mind, sooner or later you will lose it, my son," he once said, his voice thoughtful, one evening when the two of them sat on the porch watching the moon. "It must be passed on to others, even if just a little, for it to live forever."

Minh Long never really understood the meaning of that statement until tonight, when he was sitting here, diligently composing pages of notes to teach people younger than him what he had worked so hard to pass on. He felt, for the first time since his grandfather's death, as if he was doing something truly meaningful, something that made the pain of loss less heavy, replaced by a feeling of connection, of continuing a source that would never be interrupted if someone was willing to preserve it.

He closed the notebook and turned off the desk lamp, but before falling asleep, Minh Long still had time to think about the upcoming Saturday morning practice session, and realized that, unlike the previous times, this time he was really looking forward to it, not just reluctantly hesitating.