Chapter 8 — Puppets Under the Lights

It rained all afternoon the following Wednesday. The late summer rains suddenly poured down, making the practice session at the lake unable to take place as planned. Diem My texted the group, announcing the move to the indoor club room, where everyone could review documentary videos and practice a few dry pole holding techniques on land.

Minh Long went to the living room, a small room at the end of the functional building, containing a few shelves of old puppets, an old TV, and the musty smell typical of rarely used rooms. He immediately noticed that on the shelf there were a few puppets that he suspected he had seen in his grandfather's workshop, probably items he had donated to the club many years ago.

"It's raining so much today, I probably won't be able to go into the lake," Diem My said when she saw him walk in, his hair still wet with a few drops of rain. "We plan to review some documents about professional water puppet troupes, do you have any comments?"

"I brought along a few of his old notebooks," Minh Long said, pulling out two old leather-covered notebooks from his briefcase. "I found it in my room's drawer last night. He often notes down techniques, including a few sketches of how to arrange the poles and strings for each type of puppet."

The whole group gathered around Minh Long as he flipped through each page of the notebook. The pages were yellowed over time, his grandfather's neat handwriting was scattered everywhere, mixed with simple but detailed illustrations. Diem My looked attentively at each page, her eyes shining with interest.

"What is this?" she asked, pointing to a page with a drawing of a complicated system of wires connected to many small wooden sticks.

"This is the diagram for controlling the 'four spirits converging' puppet," Minh Long explained, his voice becoming more animated as he talked about the familiar topic. "A difficult performance, requiring four people to coordinate at the same time to control four puppets representing dragon, unicorn, tortoise, and phoenix, so that they converge in the middle of the lake according to the rhythm of the drum. My grandfather said this is one of the most classic performances, but it also requires the highest coordination between the artists."

"Sounds so exciting," one of the group exclaimed. "Can we practice this act for the performance?"

Minh Long shook his head and smiled lightly. "It's probably a long way off. It took my grandfather several years to master this performance. But maybe we can learn a simpler version, with just two puppets, to get used to it first."

The whole afternoon passed in a cozy atmosphere, everyone gathered around the pages of old notebooks, listening to Minh Long recount each story, each memory associated with the techniques recorded there. He told about the time his grandfather spent three months perfecting a phoenix puppet for a big festival, about the nights he and his grandson stayed up late at the wood workshop, the oil lamp flickering, while he carved and told him fairy tales to make him less sleepy.

"My grandfather has a saying that I always remember," Minh Long said, his voice low and full of nostalgia. "He said, 'A good artist is not the one who makes the most beautiful puppet, but the one who makes the audience forget it's wood.' At that time, I was young and didn't fully understand what he meant, but now that I think back, I see that it was probably the most valuable thing he ever taught me."

Diem My listened attentively, her eyes shining with emotion. "You know, listening to you talk about him, I feel like I'm also learning from him, even though I've never met him in person many times."

"Grandpa will probably like you," Minh Long blurted out, then suddenly realized the meaning of his words, his face turned slightly red. "I mean... he likes people who are truly passionate about their profession, no matter who they are."

Diem My smiled, not paying attention to his awkwardness, or perhaps she noticed but chose to politely ignore it. "Thank you for sharing these things. I think not only me, but the whole club are learning not only the technique, but also the spirit of the profession, thanks to you."

That day's practice session ended later than expected because the rain had not stopped. Teacher Phuc, who also stayed with the group, suggested that everyone stay a little longer and make hot tea for the group while waiting for the rain to stop. The atmosphere in the small living room became unusually cozy, the sound of rain falling outside mixed with the chatter and laughter inside.

"Do you remember the first time you met Mr. Tai?" A friend in the group asked Mr. Phuc, curious.

Teacher Phuc smiled, his eyes distant and nostalgic. "Remember? At that time, I had only been at school for two years. The Water Puppet Club at that time almost only existed on paper, no one knew any techniques. I took the risk and went to Mr. Tai's house to ask for his help, and he agreed without hesitation, even though I was just a young teacher fresh out of school, there was nothing to guarantee the club would last long."

"My grandfather often helped people like that," Minh Long added, his voice filled with pride and nostalgia. "He said, what's the use of knowing a profession but keeping it to yourself? The important thing is to spread it out."

Teacher Phuc nodded in agreement. "That's right. He was the one who saved this club from being dissolved from the very first days. Now seeing you, Long, following in his footsteps, I'm really moved."

The teacher's words made the atmosphere in the room quiet down a bit, but not a heavy silence, but a respectful silence, as if everyone in the room was together remembering a person who had passed away but was still present through what he left behind.

When the rain stopped, everyone left one by one. Minh Long and Diem My were the last two people to leave the living room, turning off the lights and locking the door together. Stepping outside, the air after the rain was fresh and cool, small puddles of water on the schoolyard reflected the street lights that had just turned on.

"Thank you for bringing my grandfather's notebook today," Diem My said as the two walked side by side. "I know it's probably not an easy thing."

"It wasn't easy at first," Minh Long admitted, "but when I saw people enjoying it, I felt happier than sad. Maybe it was also a way to keep him here, in a different way."

Diem My nodded, was silent for a moment, then said, her voice gentle, "I think, if one day you're ready, I'd love to see your workshop. Not to pressure you, just... I think that place must be very beautiful."

Minh Long did not answer immediately, just silently continued, a complicated feeling rising in his heart, between familiar fear and a new curiosity about whether he could, one day, really reopen that door, and if so, whether he wanted Diem My to be the person standing next to him in that moment. He didn't have an answer yet, but that question, unlike every time before, no longer frightened him, but was simply something he needed time to think through.

That night, after showering, Minh Long sat at his desk, flipping through his two notebooks again, this time alone, with no one around to keep him calm. He read each page slowly, realizing that there were small notes in the margins that he had quickly skimmed over in the afternoon - lines that were not related to technology, but were his petty thoughts recorded between drawings, like a silent diary.

"Teaching Long how to hide poles today," a note said, the handwriting was a bit shaky, perhaps written hastily. "He learns faster than I did when I was young. I just hope that in the future he will keep his mind for the profession, not need to be as good as anyone else." Another line, on the next page, reads: "Nguyen Du school club performed a test today, the kids are still clumsy but enthusiastic. Remember to tell teacher Phuc to find more people next to you, I can't help forever."

Reading that, Minh Long had to stop, put the notebook on the table, and cover his face with both hands for a moment. He never knew that he was worried about finding a successor for the club, never thought that he had secretly looked so far ahead, even before his death. It felt as if he was, in some way, sending a message through time, right when he needed to hear it the most.

He closed the notebook, held it in his arms for a long time, letting the tears fall silently without trying to stop them. But this time, those tears were not entirely of pain, but mixed with a deep gratitude, a feeling of being connected to his grandfather in a new way that he had never experienced since the day he passed away.

He thought about the question Diem My asked that afternoon, about wanting to see his workshop, and for the first time, that thought no longer made him cower in fear. Instead, he wondered, perhaps the time had come, not yet, but soon, for him to reopen that door, not to avoid the pain, but to face it fully, and perhaps, to share it with the person who had patiently accompanied him throughout this difficult journey.