Chapter 9 — Puppets Under the Lights

The opportunity came sooner than Minh Long expected, on a Friday afternoon when the group was practicing the simplified version of the "four spirits converging" scene that Minh Long had promised to teach. One of the two dragon puppets used for practice had a piece of its control pole broken in the middle of the session. The wood was rotten due to being used for too long and could not be repaired temporarily.

"I guess I have to stop this part for now," Diem My sighed, picking up the broken puppet to examine it. "Our school doesn't have any other dragon puppets."

Minh Long looked at the puppet in Diem My's hand, a thought flashed through his mind, making his heart beat faster. He knew that in the wood workshop behind the house, there were at least two dragon puppets that his grandfather had not completed, lying somewhere among dozens of other unfinished puppets. He also knew, this could be the perfect excuse, or it could also be too great a challenge, for him to finally step over the boundary he had set for himself over the past eight months.

"Maybe I know where the other dragon puppets are," he said, his voice shaking a little, "but I need time to think."

Diem My looked at him, immediately realizing that there was something unusual in his eyes and voice. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," she said softly. "We can put this part aside for now and practice other techniques first."

But Minh Long shook his head, a determination suddenly rising in his heart. "No. I think... I think it's time." He looked at Diem My, took a deep breath as if preparing to jump into a deep abyss where he didn't know where the bottom was. "Can you come with me? This afternoon, after practice."

Diem My was stunned for a moment, immediately understanding what he was trying to say. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice careful, not wanting to seem too excited about such a big decision for him.

"I'm not sure," Minh Long replied honestly, "but I think if I wait until I'm sure, I might never be able to do it. Besides..." he hesitated, "I think having someone with me will be easier than facing it myself."

Diem My nodded, her eyes filled with respect for the trust he had just placed in her. "Okay. I'll go with you."

The practice session ended earlier than usual, using the excuse that it was about to rain. Minh Long and Diem My walked towards his house, the familiar distance now suddenly became long in Minh Long's mind, each step was heavy with excitement mixed with fear. Diem My walked beside him, not saying much, just occasionally glancing at him with silent encouragement.

When I got home, luckily Minh Long's parents weren't home yet. He led Diem My around to the backyard, where the wooden workshop door still stood there, silent as it had been for the past eight months, the peeling paint looking even more desolate in the fading afternoon light. Minh Long stood in front of the door, his hands shaking, taking the key from his pocket - the key he had always carried with him for the past eight months without ever using it, as a silent self-punishment.

"You don't need to rush," Diem My said softly, standing back a step, giving him his own space.

Minh Long didn't answer, just put the key in the lock, his hands were shaking so much that he had to try a third time to turn it. The dry "click" sounded when the lock opened, a familiar sound that he had not heard for eight months, now ringing like a bell awakening a whole region of buried memories.

He pushed the door open, a musty air mixed with the characteristic smell of wood and lacquer rushed out, hitting him like a shock. Inside the workshop, everything remained as it had been the day he died — a dusty carpenter's table, scattered carving knives, and dozens of unfinished wooden puppets lined up along the shelves, some just rough blocks of wood, others nearly finished but missing the final coat of paint.

Minh Long stood in the doorway for a long time, not daring to step in, his eyes blurred. This was the first time he had seen this space again since that fateful afternoon eight months ago, when he walked in and saw him slumped over the desk, still holding the unfinished carving knife.

Diem My stood next to him, saying nothing, just quietly placing her hand on his shoulder, a steady presence in this fragile moment. Her silence, not urging, not asking, was what made Minh Long feel safe enough to finally take a step inside.

He walked slowly between the wooden shelves, gently touching each puppet, feeling the familiar texture of wood under his fingertips. He stopped in front of an unfinished dragon puppet. The body had been meticulously carved but had not yet been painted. The dragon's scales were carved with elaborate lines, surprisingly vivid even though it was just raw wood.

"This," he said, his voice hoarse, pointing to the dragon puppet, "this is the one you were working on when... when you died." He swallowed, trying to keep his voice calm. "He intended to make it for this year's village festival, but couldn't finish it in time."

Diem My stepped closer and looked at the dragon puppet with both respectful and emotional eyes. “It's so beautiful,” she whispered. "Even when it's not finished, it's still... soulful, somehow."

Minh Long nodded, his hand gently stroking along the wooden dragon's body. "He has his own way of carving, I've never seen anyone do it like that. He said each carving line must follow the grain of the wood, not force it, just like how he taught me how to control a puppet — don't force it, let it guide you."

He stood there, in the middle of a wood workshop full of memories, feeling a familiar pain welling up, but this time, it didn't engulf him like he imagined it before. Instead, it was mixed with a strange feeling of warmth — the feeling of returning, of standing in the space he had spent his life creating, and realizing that pain, while still there, was no longer the only thing he felt in this place.

"The dragon puppet you need to borrow," Minh Long said, turning to look at Diem My, his voice more steady, "should be over there." He pointed towards another wooden shelf, where there were two dragon puppets that were almost complete, with only a few small details missing.

Diem My followed him closer, carefully looking at the two puppets. "Are you sure you want to lend it to us? These are your grandfather's precious things."

"I think," Minh Long said slowly, as if convincing himself as he spoke, "he would be happier if he saw these puppets being used, alive, instead of lying frozen in here forever. He always hates waste, especially wasting things that can bring joy to others."

The two stayed in the workshop for a while longer. Minh Long showed Diem My some special tools his grandfather used to use, telling about the uses and history of each item, his voice gradually becoming more excited with each story. When the afternoon light began to filter through the small window, dyeing the entire wood workshop space in a warm orange-yellow color, Minh Long realized that this was the first time in eight months that he stood in this workshop without feeling the need to run away.

"Thank you," he said to Diem My as they both prepared to leave, carrying the borrowed dragon puppet carefully wrapped in a cloth. "I don't think I'll have the courage to do this alone."

"I'm so happy that you trusted me to come with you," Diem My replied, her eyes warm and sincere. "Today I feel like I've learned a lot more about you, about the real person behind the cold exterior you always show."

Minh Long locked the workshop door, but this time, when he put the key in his pocket, he felt it was no longer as heavy as before. That door is no longer a tomb containing pain, but has become a real door — a door he can open whenever he is ready, and close it when needed, at his own pace.

On the way to see Diem My out to the alley, the two walked slowly, neither of them was in a hurry to end the quiet moment they had just experienced. "You know," Diem My spoke up to break the silence, "just now standing in your grandfather's workshop, I felt like I was entering a living museum, a place that preserves not only objects, but also a person's life's love for the profession. I think not everyone is lucky enough to see such a place."

"I never thought about it that way," Minh Long admitted, "I just always saw it as the place where he died, where I last found him. But today, standing there with you, I started to see other things — the puppets, the tools, even that familiar smell of wood and paint — they were not only witnesses to his death, but also witnesses to the whole life he lived, loved, devoted."

Diem My nodded and smiled slightly. "Maybe that's what he wanted you to realize, somehow."

The two reached the beginning of the alley, where Diem My had to turn in another direction to go home. Before saying goodbye, she hugged the borrowed dragon puppet tightly in her arms, carefully as if she were cradling a real treasure. "I'll take good care of it," she promised. "And thank you, again, for letting me be a part of this important moment for you."

Minh Long watched her shadow disappear behind the corner of the street, his heart filled with an indescribable feeling of relief. He looked up at the sky that was turning the dark purple of sunset, took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, he felt as if he were standing at the beginning of something new and good, instead of forever lost in the shadow of what was lost.