One well meaning relative spoke to me recently of how my novel was like my baby. Considering I am happily childless, I think this relative somehow conceives my writing, or literary creation as a sort of substitute for a child. In as much as they understand the long term process and efforts involved in producing a novel, I see the comparison as positive. Similarly, there is some truth in the allegory given that as much love and passion feeds into a creation process as into caring for a child. Both also take many years. But these similarities aside, it alarms me that people would compare a work of fiction to a real human being.
My Novel is not my Baby.
I can speak for other writers who actually have children and who know the difference. They have children precisely because a novel is not a substitute for a child. Enough said there.
But it goes further. Your flesh and blood baby ultimately becomes their own person, a person with their own personality, their own thoughts, capable of their own creation, living and breathing their own individualism. Parents do contribute to a child's upbringing but people are unique, driven to meet their own goals and make their dream come true.
So the comparison is skewed because that baby, you see, is me grown up and that novel, is my dream come true. In no way does the baby equal the novel. The novel is the dream.
Genetically speaking and as far as social development goes, a parent has influence over who their child becomes. Some influence. But you do not create your child's personality.
Whereas I create characters from nothingness, I give them thoughts, traits, personality and idiosyncrasies. I make them say what I will. Unless you are some god, you can not control what your child says.
While you have a strong influence on their upbringing and can finance their education, you do not control your child's desire to learn, or their destiny. Whereas as far as both my subconscious and conscious minds are concerned, and except for marketing or publishing concerns, I have complete control over my characters and their destiny.
You may bask in your child's glory as he or she grows. You may for example, feel good from their achievements and from being associated with them. I can not bask in the glory of my novel. My novel does not achieve anything by itself. It is I who achieves it.
You remain a separate entity from your child. You may feel for them and or connect with them on a spiritual, physical and emotional level, just as many people do whether they are related or not, but you are separate entities. Your child is after all, a person.
But I am not separate from my novel. I am its complete creator, my mind has poured into its pages, dreamt up visions, given a destiny to each of its characters. True, it exists now, without me. But it remains fully tied to who I am and what I imagined.
If as an adult your child succeeds in life, then most of the time, people will acknowledge their effort, not yours. They are separate from you. Yet you will feel happy for them. It is a fact that mirror neurons are more likely activated when we identify with a person. And your mirror neurons will be happily stimulated when this child, who resembles you, feels anything positive.
But if my novel is appreciated, people will acknowledge my efforts. There are no mirror neurons here, no sense of empathy. There is only my pride and my ego. Now that does not mean I am incapable of feeling for others, just not with a book.
I felt I needed to say this. My novel is not a substitute for a human being, it is very much what it is. My work.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Gothic Escapades
At the age of six, one of the first books I ever read were sexy Gothic comics that my mum hid in a drawer beside the lounge coffee table.
Don't get me wrong, I liked my weekly delivery of the Mickey Mouse magazine with its latest goss on Walt Disney animated features, its princess character stickers and glow-in-the-dark phosphorescent gimmicks (can you tell I grew up in the early 80s?). But as a six year old, I was more titillated by images of lesbian vampires flaunting their moonlit breasts under black silk capes and preying on unsuspecting blonde damsels in laced corsets.
One day, as I slinked past the coffee table and slid a couple of comics back inside their secret drawer, my dad spotted me. He was shocked. Determined to put a stop to this debauchery, he scorned my mum.
"Did you see what Laura just did? Don't you realise she's reading those comics? You'll have to hide them somewhere else next time..."
I shot my mum a nervous look. I really didn't mind getting into trouble. But if she hid these books, all the pleasures of my little six year world would vanish...Did I mention I read those comics deep under my bed sheets, with the aid of a torch? (I tried to use a phosphorescent boomerang for lighting but it just didn't give off enough lux...or photons, as I discovered years later during an engineering course.)
So I watched my mum, terrified of her reaction. Would she get mad? Would she become one of those she-devils I had seen her become during her legendary fits of temper and whose nemesis I sought in my Gothic comics?
It was the strangest thing. My mum did not blink. I think she just shrugged her shoulders, ignored my dad's protests and continued to read.
I owe her that I think.
Don't get me wrong, I liked my weekly delivery of the Mickey Mouse magazine with its latest goss on Walt Disney animated features, its princess character stickers and glow-in-the-dark phosphorescent gimmicks (can you tell I grew up in the early 80s?). But as a six year old, I was more titillated by images of lesbian vampires flaunting their moonlit breasts under black silk capes and preying on unsuspecting blonde damsels in laced corsets.
One day, as I slinked past the coffee table and slid a couple of comics back inside their secret drawer, my dad spotted me. He was shocked. Determined to put a stop to this debauchery, he scorned my mum.
"Did you see what Laura just did? Don't you realise she's reading those comics? You'll have to hide them somewhere else next time..."
I shot my mum a nervous look. I really didn't mind getting into trouble. But if she hid these books, all the pleasures of my little six year world would vanish...Did I mention I read those comics deep under my bed sheets, with the aid of a torch? (I tried to use a phosphorescent boomerang for lighting but it just didn't give off enough lux...or photons, as I discovered years later during an engineering course.)
So I watched my mum, terrified of her reaction. Would she get mad? Would she become one of those she-devils I had seen her become during her legendary fits of temper and whose nemesis I sought in my Gothic comics?
It was the strangest thing. My mum did not blink. I think she just shrugged her shoulders, ignored my dad's protests and continued to read.
I owe her that I think.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Australian Films: Past, Present, Future
If you mentioned Australian cinema ten years ago, the average local audience would be left uninspired by lacklustre, slow-moving images depicting social realism and dysfunctional communities. To put it bluntly, one of my fellow film students once claimed that “nothing actually happens” in Australian films.
That is not to say there was anything inherently wrong with Australian films in that period, or that they were tedious (or maybe they were), but not having the mythical scope of Picnic at Hanging Rock or the cult of Mad Max or the irreverent, nationalistic pomp of Crocodile Dundee, the average film produced ten years ago were somewhat short on escape and entertainment quality. They were for the most part, non-genre films.
Mad Max: the good old days of Australian cinema
Our government agencies sought to encourage and produce films with high Australian content, focusing on the Australian condition, whatever that means. To some, Australian films appeared to be a vague quest for some elusive Australian identity. What actually happened is that most of us became indignant of and rejected what we were being told, via moving images, was our 'national identity'. Alternatively we simply shrugged off those films. To really get our attention, Australian films had to dress up, feature over-the-top singing and resemble lavish arthouse creations like Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Strictly Ballroom and Moulin Rouge. But all in all, in the genre department, we remained lacking.
As a result, for years, we’ve maintained the clichéd opinion that Australian cinema is not worth our attention and that we can not possibly compete with the big budget US genre film. But a change has arisen. A change that most of us are unaware of.
The first thing I want to clear up is that we have talent. That’s right. Here, in Australia, we have amazingly talented genre screenwriters and directors. Not just actors. But since we’re on the topic, let’s talk about actors. Most of us, have noticed that in the actor department, we are blessed. Our actors seem to make it big in US and other foreign productions. Nicole Kidman, Rose Byrne, Russell Crow, Mel Gibson, Geoffrey Rush, Hugo Weaving, Abby Cornish, Heath Ledger Chris Hemsworth and Toni Collette are only a small sample of the talent which Australians can be proud of. So why can’t we make films? And most importantly, why can't we be proud of our films?
Well the real problem is that when we do make a good film -and by a 'good film', I think the audience means a compelling genre film and not some commentary on Australian identity- we are for the most part, completely oblivious about it. What I mean is that the average Australian audience has not a clue when the film they have just seen is actually an Australian film.
For two reasons.
Firstly, recall that we do notice the success of our actors. In fact, the average viewer is only ever aware of actors and can not identify a screenwriter or a director. So if a film had at all been written by an Australian and directed by an Australian, most of us wouldn’t bloody know. Instead, we readily identify the big production company logo, Paramount, Lionsgate and Canal+ along with the heavy US marketing and for some reason we take it for granted that the film that has just taken our breath away couldn’t possibly be Australian. So there you have it, perpetuation of an existing attitude through lack of information.
Ironically, when a film is indeed funded by Australia and is officially proclaimed as an Australian production, our media avidly follow its progress with a curious blend of national pride and pessimism. It’s as if subconsciously, there is this whishful thinking, a desire for our fellow Australian to fail, only because they dared to have a go and we didn’t. We make such fuss about Australian productions, becoming overly critical, nitpicking for every fault in the narrative only to confirm our already established opinion that “we can’t make films”. Think back to Baz Luhrmann's Australia and the wave of mixed responses it inspired.
Australia: 'Not good enough' for some
The reality is that in the last couple of years, many successful Australian directors and screenwriters saw their genre creations brought to life and receive positive acclaim but only because they were endorsed by large US production companies. It was not Australian money perhaps, but it was Australian talent. One has to only see the success of directors such as James Wan (Saw I-IV & Insidious) and the Spierig Brothers (Daybreakers) or even, the impressive Australian screenwriting duo, Shane Krause & Shayne Armstrong who, together with Australian director Russell Mulcahy penned the upcoming $30 million Bait 3D, to appreciate that a lot “does happen” in Australian films to stir enough interest.
Which brings me to funding. This is indeed the second reason why we are often not aware that a film is Australian-made. For years, Australian genre film productions simply could not raise the level of financing that an average US production attracts. Instead, they relied on foreign investors to harness the talent and skills of its citizens, yes, right here, on the Gold Coast. An example is Arclight's Bait 3D, which was shot last year on the Gold Coast and which Screen Australia only partly funded.
Engulfed by the mighty buzz surrounding US production companies, the average Australian film writer and film director or gaffer even, simply does not get the standing ovation due to them by their fellow Australians. Most of us are too blinded by the Hollywood neon lights to recognise our own. This lack of knowledge perpetuates the long standing myth that Australia can not make films.
But things are changing. Firstly, in the last three years, Australian Government funding in the film industry has increased threefold from $136.7 million to $412.1 million. But there is another reason why we now have enormous potential for competing in the international genre market.
The micro-budget. The box office success of horror film, Insidious, produced for a mere $1.5 million confirms what many producers and directors already know, that a bigger return can often be made from low-budget productions. Indeed, Reuters recently named Insidious as this year’s most successful film. It has so far made over $65 million worldwide. What does this mean? It means that for a budget of $1.5 million, our talented directors and screenwriters had no need to seek funding offshore. Indeed, Australian director, James Wan and Australian screenwriter, Leigh Whannell may not have had to rely on foreign funding to see their creations brought to life. We could have funded Insidious ourselves.
In fact, following the surge in the value of the Australian dollar and the need to continue to attract foreign investors, the Australian Government has instituted a change in its Screen Production Incentive. This includes the proposed reforms to the Producer Offset. This change is mostly designed to continue to attract foreign investors despite our expensive dollar but it also makes it particularly attractive to local film investors. In addition, the purchasing power of our dollar is such that we can easily send production teams overseas and shoot films at a more economical cost with the potential for a higher return on our investment.
I had to blurb about finance there, much to your disgust. The reality is that film is not art, it's business. Only this time, business aligns itself perfectly with Australian film potential. Provided of course, we appreciate the value of the micro-budget and continue to believe in our genre films.
Now before, I said that we could have made Insidious. Could have. But the question remains, would we, in Australia, have liked this film as much?
It's a potent question. One that could be equally applied to all forms of art and innovation in Australia. It drills into the very core of our long-standing tall poppy syndrome. Indeed, who the hell do we think we are? And are we ready to recognise the Australian talent for what it is or does it need to be forever cloaked in a foreign logo for us to appreciate it?
That is not to say there was anything inherently wrong with Australian films in that period, or that they were tedious (or maybe they were), but not having the mythical scope of Picnic at Hanging Rock or the cult of Mad Max or the irreverent, nationalistic pomp of Crocodile Dundee, the average film produced ten years ago were somewhat short on escape and entertainment quality. They were for the most part, non-genre films.
Our government agencies sought to encourage and produce films with high Australian content, focusing on the Australian condition, whatever that means. To some, Australian films appeared to be a vague quest for some elusive Australian identity. What actually happened is that most of us became indignant of and rejected what we were being told, via moving images, was our 'national identity'. Alternatively we simply shrugged off those films. To really get our attention, Australian films had to dress up, feature over-the-top singing and resemble lavish arthouse creations like Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Strictly Ballroom and Moulin Rouge. But all in all, in the genre department, we remained lacking.
As a result, for years, we’ve maintained the clichéd opinion that Australian cinema is not worth our attention and that we can not possibly compete with the big budget US genre film. But a change has arisen. A change that most of us are unaware of.
The first thing I want to clear up is that we have talent. That’s right. Here, in Australia, we have amazingly talented genre screenwriters and directors. Not just actors. But since we’re on the topic, let’s talk about actors. Most of us, have noticed that in the actor department, we are blessed. Our actors seem to make it big in US and other foreign productions. Nicole Kidman, Rose Byrne, Russell Crow, Mel Gibson, Geoffrey Rush, Hugo Weaving, Abby Cornish, Heath Ledger Chris Hemsworth and Toni Collette are only a small sample of the talent which Australians can be proud of. So why can’t we make films? And most importantly, why can't we be proud of our films?
Well the real problem is that when we do make a good film -and by a 'good film', I think the audience means a compelling genre film and not some commentary on Australian identity- we are for the most part, completely oblivious about it. What I mean is that the average Australian audience has not a clue when the film they have just seen is actually an Australian film.
For two reasons.
Firstly, recall that we do notice the success of our actors. In fact, the average viewer is only ever aware of actors and can not identify a screenwriter or a director. So if a film had at all been written by an Australian and directed by an Australian, most of us wouldn’t bloody know. Instead, we readily identify the big production company logo, Paramount, Lionsgate and Canal+ along with the heavy US marketing and for some reason we take it for granted that the film that has just taken our breath away couldn’t possibly be Australian. So there you have it, perpetuation of an existing attitude through lack of information.
Ironically, when a film is indeed funded by Australia and is officially proclaimed as an Australian production, our media avidly follow its progress with a curious blend of national pride and pessimism. It’s as if subconsciously, there is this whishful thinking, a desire for our fellow Australian to fail, only because they dared to have a go and we didn’t. We make such fuss about Australian productions, becoming overly critical, nitpicking for every fault in the narrative only to confirm our already established opinion that “we can’t make films”. Think back to Baz Luhrmann's Australia and the wave of mixed responses it inspired.
The reality is that in the last couple of years, many successful Australian directors and screenwriters saw their genre creations brought to life and receive positive acclaim but only because they were endorsed by large US production companies. It was not Australian money perhaps, but it was Australian talent. One has to only see the success of directors such as James Wan (Saw I-IV & Insidious) and the Spierig Brothers (Daybreakers) or even, the impressive Australian screenwriting duo, Shane Krause & Shayne Armstrong who, together with Australian director Russell Mulcahy penned the upcoming $30 million Bait 3D, to appreciate that a lot “does happen” in Australian films to stir enough interest.
Which brings me to funding. This is indeed the second reason why we are often not aware that a film is Australian-made. For years, Australian genre film productions simply could not raise the level of financing that an average US production attracts. Instead, they relied on foreign investors to harness the talent and skills of its citizens, yes, right here, on the Gold Coast. An example is Arclight's Bait 3D, which was shot last year on the Gold Coast and which Screen Australia only partly funded.
Engulfed by the mighty buzz surrounding US production companies, the average Australian film writer and film director or gaffer even, simply does not get the standing ovation due to them by their fellow Australians. Most of us are too blinded by the Hollywood neon lights to recognise our own. This lack of knowledge perpetuates the long standing myth that Australia can not make films.
But things are changing. Firstly, in the last three years, Australian Government funding in the film industry has increased threefold from $136.7 million to $412.1 million. But there is another reason why we now have enormous potential for competing in the international genre market.
The micro-budget. The box office success of horror film, Insidious, produced for a mere $1.5 million confirms what many producers and directors already know, that a bigger return can often be made from low-budget productions. Indeed, Reuters recently named Insidious as this year’s most successful film. It has so far made over $65 million worldwide. What does this mean? It means that for a budget of $1.5 million, our talented directors and screenwriters had no need to seek funding offshore. Indeed, Australian director, James Wan and Australian screenwriter, Leigh Whannell may not have had to rely on foreign funding to see their creations brought to life. We could have funded Insidious ourselves.
In fact, following the surge in the value of the Australian dollar and the need to continue to attract foreign investors, the Australian Government has instituted a change in its Screen Production Incentive. This includes the proposed reforms to the Producer Offset. This change is mostly designed to continue to attract foreign investors despite our expensive dollar but it also makes it particularly attractive to local film investors. In addition, the purchasing power of our dollar is such that we can easily send production teams overseas and shoot films at a more economical cost with the potential for a higher return on our investment.
I had to blurb about finance there, much to your disgust. The reality is that film is not art, it's business. Only this time, business aligns itself perfectly with Australian film potential. Provided of course, we appreciate the value of the micro-budget and continue to believe in our genre films.
Now before, I said that we could have made Insidious. Could have. But the question remains, would we, in Australia, have liked this film as much?
It's a potent question. One that could be equally applied to all forms of art and innovation in Australia. It drills into the very core of our long-standing tall poppy syndrome. Indeed, who the hell do we think we are? And are we ready to recognise the Australian talent for what it is or does it need to be forever cloaked in a foreign logo for us to appreciate it?
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Noosa Photography
I played around with Hipstamatic during Easter, strolling along the Noosa track that overlooks the ocean, all the way towards Hell's Gate. The glorious sunshine and dramatic scenery made for a happy Laura and memorable photos. I thought I'd share them.
 |  |  |  |
 |  |  |  |
 |  |  |  |
 |  |  |  |
 |  |  |  |
Sunday, April 17, 2011
The Scroll - A Vietnamese Uncanny Tale
Seers, Shamans, mediums, psychics, visionary authors and all those who experience precognition of what is to come, have long captivated me. They find their place in my novel, The Ming Storytellers but also in this short tale which I wrote when I was fifteen. This is based on a true story told to me by my grandmother, Phuong Lan. I've often thought it would translate well into a screenplay, perhaps in a Twilight Zone styled series based in Asia. For at its core, is the uncanny, that is, the ambiguous blur between the paranormal and the way we conceive our reality to inform it with an occultic meaning.
Here it is, slightly edited. I hope you still enjoy it.
The Scroll
Lost in profound reflection, Bao Lee tried to visualise images from the past. His wooden villa in the country of Thanh-Hoa and that vast plain stretching out beyond the shaded veranda, how he missed them. The double teak wood doors with their outstanding carved characters that would automatically greet any newcomer, they seemed barred and vanished forever. It was a spacious villa and the main room, adorned with European furniture and a gallery of traditional portraits was the most impressive of sights. Who would have thought that in Annam, the central part of Vietnam there lived a province governor who had established an exact replica of a French lounge? Who would have thought that his opulence would be short-lived? But one had to admit it would have made quite an impression on Trang Trinh, the day he came, the day everything was to change. Blessed be Trang Trinh.
When the doorman introduced the newcomer, Bao Lee raised one eyebrow. Before him stood a man of whom he had heard volumes. Once they were seated in front of each other, Bao Lee examined Trang Trinh. Yes, it was the young clairvoyant. Or so the people of Annam referred to him. He would spend hours examining palms, studying books on astrology, comparing the stars' positions to that of the planets and meditating mystically. Sometimes his words were merely spoken and not evidenced by eventual happenings but there were many times where his prophecies found themselves beneficial to the imperial court. The young man was no charlatan. No, he had rightfully earned his doctorate and his abilities in the occult were a pleasure to ponder.
After a ceremony of silent tea-drinking, Trang was brief about the purpose of his presence. His father, previously imprisoned for political reasons, was determined to escape and continue his movement. But Trang knew that if the escape failed, his father would be shot. This was why Trang had imposed on the honourable Bao Lee who he kindly requested to do a favour for his humble servant, to do whatever a province chief had the power to do and help liberate the venerable Phuong Trinh.
"You will not be at a loss," affirmed Trang reverently. "Please consider that if you agree, I will thank you more than twice." Several bows preceded his departure.
At the time, people came from a multitude of villages to plead for Bao's assistance. The need for money was the reason for most of these visits. How wise he had been not to refuse this time. What would have become of him if he had not sent out the money order to pay for Phuong Trinh's bail? Reflecting on this, Bao breathed heavily. He ran his palms across his chest, arms and scalp. Yes, he was all there, in one piece. Thanks to Trang Trinh.
It had begun with the mysterious scroll. The minute Bao Lee set his dark eyes on the sealed scroll of paper, he almost felt as though it would be key to the rest of his existence. Trang Trinh was still overwhelmed with joy from the thought of his father's freedom. The fortune teller could not help but tremble lightly with emotion as he held the rolled paper gently, presenting it to his benefactor with a tender gaze.
"Thank you. Thank you," he said, bowing deeply. "May the path where you walk on be sprinkled with the most fragrant lotus petals."
Bao Lee reached to grasp the odd gift and better examine it. The parchment's surface felt smooth although somewhat tarnished because of the low quality. He was about to let open the wax seal when Trang Trinh placed a firm hand on his arm.
"Promise me! Promise me that at exactly half past noon on the third day of the fourth lunar month next year, you will take the scroll outside with you. Only then will you read the content of this letter."
Taken aback, Bao Lee said nothing. Then reluctantly, he nodded to honor the promise.
During the following three months, Bao Lee nearly forgot about the letter. He spent his working days normally, enjoying the cool of the evening without wondering about the scroll's message. Besides, his cousin whose house had recently crumbled in ruins from ravaging termites needed his assistance and busy days kept him away from the yellow paper resting on his bedside table. The doorman, his only companion, had left him and even though there seemed none to keep him company, Bao Lee ignored his growing curiosity. Being alone had no influence on him. It did not until the end of the year.
During the few weeks preceding the new year, Bao began to feel the first effects of unsatisfied curiosity. At first, the nagging in his chest was left unnoticed but as the days progressed, Bao's bedside table became the centre of his attention. He was ceaselessly roaming around the room even during his working hours, blowing the dust off the faded paper even when it was a product of his imagination. He might have known the dimensions by heart. The colour, he would have recognised it amongst a thousand sunset hues, but how he longed to read the mysterious contents of that scroll.
After returning from a New Year function in the late month, Bao Lee had had his share of promises. So what, he thought. If I read the letter at midnight tonight or at noon on the fourth month, what difference does it make? What will Trang Trinh do then? Curse me? The man is poor and his occupation is one which depends highly on coincidences. What if I read the scroll tonight?
Outside, the moon shone gloomily permitting only a timid light to penetrate the bamboo screens. Bao ran upstairs sweating with excitement. He would have taken three steps at a time had the stairs not made a sinister creaking sound under his mass. Thoughts hastened in his tortured mind, as he made it to his room, panting furiously. Bao lit the oil lamp on the bedside table but in his frustration, knocked it to the floor. Cursing himself for his clumsiness and forgetting the scroll for an instant, he bent low to pick up the lamp. Horror. The sight that greeted him filled him with repulsion. Channelled within the thin intervals of the wooden flooring was a thin procession of termites. He hated those insects. Was it an omen? Bao poured the remaining of his hot tea into the wood intervals. Slowly the nauseating urge to satisfy his unanswered questions disappeared and he replaced both scroll and lamp in their respectable place.
The second month saw a different man in Bao Lee. If Buddha advised patience and loyalty from his followers, Buddha's wishes would be granted. He began to attend more to business duties, granting aid to the poor farmers in the district and often suggesting innovative ideas to the leading agriculturists. The state of the province was improved and a strict barrier was erected between Bao and the scroll. But he still wondered about what he would see when the fourth month came. What if the message was an unpleasant one? It may even mean another omen. Bao frantically buried the disturbing thoughts to the back of his mind. And where was Trang Trinh all this time? No doubt, he was now laughing over the mischief that he had created in his province chief. And although the disturbing hypotheses were numerous, Bao Lee never touched the scroll until the time arrived.
The calendar showed clearly that it was the third day of the fourth month. The date was given an incredulous stare from Bao Lee. He had waited so long. He wondered what the outcome of the day would be. He spent three morning hours in profound meditation bowing to the Buddha sculpture in the main hall. At lunch, he sat before a lacquered table and began to eat the steamed carrots he had prepared. Each bite seemed to take years but he held on.
In a few minutes Trang Trinh's gift would hold no more secrets. Gone would be the insatiable pangs in his chest. Gone would be the conflict in his soul. Gone would be...a nearby clock struck the half hour. Bao Lee stood, solemn. He began to contemplate the green sight from his dining room window. How beautiful were the plains reaching towards the distant mountains. It was a long, appreciative glance.
He looked at his watch, remembering Trang Trinh's instructions: "Take the scroll outside with you. Only then..."
Outside? Well, why not.
The scroll in hand, Bao stepped outside his villa. The afternoon sun greeted him with a sudden glare. Nervously, Bao stepped down the veranda and accelerated down a grassy slope. The moment he had longed for had finally arrived. He inspected the seal and tore it off. With trembling fingers, he fumbled to unroll the scroll. His avid eyes widened, ready to devour each of the characters he would discover. But just as he raised the scroll towards the blinding sun, a sudden clamor behind him caused him to lose his grasp. The parchment fell to the ground. In an instant, the air was filled with dust and wooden particles. Succumbing to a violent cough, the astounded Bao, spun round only to witness the last wall of his mansion collapse to the ground. He realised that had he stayed one more minute inside, he would have been crushed to death.
Remembering the scroll, the trembling Bao reached forth to pick it up. Overwhelmed with a feverish wonder, as though he knew what he would find, he began to frantically unfurl it. Then, he gasped. In front of him was a blank parchment.
Here it is, slightly edited. I hope you still enjoy it.
The Scroll
Lost in profound reflection, Bao Lee tried to visualise images from the past. His wooden villa in the country of Thanh-Hoa and that vast plain stretching out beyond the shaded veranda, how he missed them. The double teak wood doors with their outstanding carved characters that would automatically greet any newcomer, they seemed barred and vanished forever. It was a spacious villa and the main room, adorned with European furniture and a gallery of traditional portraits was the most impressive of sights. Who would have thought that in Annam, the central part of Vietnam there lived a province governor who had established an exact replica of a French lounge? Who would have thought that his opulence would be short-lived? But one had to admit it would have made quite an impression on Trang Trinh, the day he came, the day everything was to change. Blessed be Trang Trinh.
When the doorman introduced the newcomer, Bao Lee raised one eyebrow. Before him stood a man of whom he had heard volumes. Once they were seated in front of each other, Bao Lee examined Trang Trinh. Yes, it was the young clairvoyant. Or so the people of Annam referred to him. He would spend hours examining palms, studying books on astrology, comparing the stars' positions to that of the planets and meditating mystically. Sometimes his words were merely spoken and not evidenced by eventual happenings but there were many times where his prophecies found themselves beneficial to the imperial court. The young man was no charlatan. No, he had rightfully earned his doctorate and his abilities in the occult were a pleasure to ponder.
After a ceremony of silent tea-drinking, Trang was brief about the purpose of his presence. His father, previously imprisoned for political reasons, was determined to escape and continue his movement. But Trang knew that if the escape failed, his father would be shot. This was why Trang had imposed on the honourable Bao Lee who he kindly requested to do a favour for his humble servant, to do whatever a province chief had the power to do and help liberate the venerable Phuong Trinh.
"You will not be at a loss," affirmed Trang reverently. "Please consider that if you agree, I will thank you more than twice." Several bows preceded his departure.
At the time, people came from a multitude of villages to plead for Bao's assistance. The need for money was the reason for most of these visits. How wise he had been not to refuse this time. What would have become of him if he had not sent out the money order to pay for Phuong Trinh's bail? Reflecting on this, Bao breathed heavily. He ran his palms across his chest, arms and scalp. Yes, he was all there, in one piece. Thanks to Trang Trinh.
It had begun with the mysterious scroll. The minute Bao Lee set his dark eyes on the sealed scroll of paper, he almost felt as though it would be key to the rest of his existence. Trang Trinh was still overwhelmed with joy from the thought of his father's freedom. The fortune teller could not help but tremble lightly with emotion as he held the rolled paper gently, presenting it to his benefactor with a tender gaze.
"Thank you. Thank you," he said, bowing deeply. "May the path where you walk on be sprinkled with the most fragrant lotus petals."
Bao Lee reached to grasp the odd gift and better examine it. The parchment's surface felt smooth although somewhat tarnished because of the low quality. He was about to let open the wax seal when Trang Trinh placed a firm hand on his arm.
"Promise me! Promise me that at exactly half past noon on the third day of the fourth lunar month next year, you will take the scroll outside with you. Only then will you read the content of this letter."
Taken aback, Bao Lee said nothing. Then reluctantly, he nodded to honor the promise.
During the following three months, Bao Lee nearly forgot about the letter. He spent his working days normally, enjoying the cool of the evening without wondering about the scroll's message. Besides, his cousin whose house had recently crumbled in ruins from ravaging termites needed his assistance and busy days kept him away from the yellow paper resting on his bedside table. The doorman, his only companion, had left him and even though there seemed none to keep him company, Bao Lee ignored his growing curiosity. Being alone had no influence on him. It did not until the end of the year.
During the few weeks preceding the new year, Bao began to feel the first effects of unsatisfied curiosity. At first, the nagging in his chest was left unnoticed but as the days progressed, Bao's bedside table became the centre of his attention. He was ceaselessly roaming around the room even during his working hours, blowing the dust off the faded paper even when it was a product of his imagination. He might have known the dimensions by heart. The colour, he would have recognised it amongst a thousand sunset hues, but how he longed to read the mysterious contents of that scroll.
After returning from a New Year function in the late month, Bao Lee had had his share of promises. So what, he thought. If I read the letter at midnight tonight or at noon on the fourth month, what difference does it make? What will Trang Trinh do then? Curse me? The man is poor and his occupation is one which depends highly on coincidences. What if I read the scroll tonight?
Outside, the moon shone gloomily permitting only a timid light to penetrate the bamboo screens. Bao ran upstairs sweating with excitement. He would have taken three steps at a time had the stairs not made a sinister creaking sound under his mass. Thoughts hastened in his tortured mind, as he made it to his room, panting furiously. Bao lit the oil lamp on the bedside table but in his frustration, knocked it to the floor. Cursing himself for his clumsiness and forgetting the scroll for an instant, he bent low to pick up the lamp. Horror. The sight that greeted him filled him with repulsion. Channelled within the thin intervals of the wooden flooring was a thin procession of termites. He hated those insects. Was it an omen? Bao poured the remaining of his hot tea into the wood intervals. Slowly the nauseating urge to satisfy his unanswered questions disappeared and he replaced both scroll and lamp in their respectable place.
The second month saw a different man in Bao Lee. If Buddha advised patience and loyalty from his followers, Buddha's wishes would be granted. He began to attend more to business duties, granting aid to the poor farmers in the district and often suggesting innovative ideas to the leading agriculturists. The state of the province was improved and a strict barrier was erected between Bao and the scroll. But he still wondered about what he would see when the fourth month came. What if the message was an unpleasant one? It may even mean another omen. Bao frantically buried the disturbing thoughts to the back of his mind. And where was Trang Trinh all this time? No doubt, he was now laughing over the mischief that he had created in his province chief. And although the disturbing hypotheses were numerous, Bao Lee never touched the scroll until the time arrived.
The calendar showed clearly that it was the third day of the fourth month. The date was given an incredulous stare from Bao Lee. He had waited so long. He wondered what the outcome of the day would be. He spent three morning hours in profound meditation bowing to the Buddha sculpture in the main hall. At lunch, he sat before a lacquered table and began to eat the steamed carrots he had prepared. Each bite seemed to take years but he held on.
In a few minutes Trang Trinh's gift would hold no more secrets. Gone would be the insatiable pangs in his chest. Gone would be the conflict in his soul. Gone would be...a nearby clock struck the half hour. Bao Lee stood, solemn. He began to contemplate the green sight from his dining room window. How beautiful were the plains reaching towards the distant mountains. It was a long, appreciative glance.
He looked at his watch, remembering Trang Trinh's instructions: "Take the scroll outside with you. Only then..."
Outside? Well, why not.
The scroll in hand, Bao stepped outside his villa. The afternoon sun greeted him with a sudden glare. Nervously, Bao stepped down the veranda and accelerated down a grassy slope. The moment he had longed for had finally arrived. He inspected the seal and tore it off. With trembling fingers, he fumbled to unroll the scroll. His avid eyes widened, ready to devour each of the characters he would discover. But just as he raised the scroll towards the blinding sun, a sudden clamor behind him caused him to lose his grasp. The parchment fell to the ground. In an instant, the air was filled with dust and wooden particles. Succumbing to a violent cough, the astounded Bao, spun round only to witness the last wall of his mansion collapse to the ground. He realised that had he stayed one more minute inside, he would have been crushed to death.
Remembering the scroll, the trembling Bao reached forth to pick it up. Overwhelmed with a feverish wonder, as though he knew what he would find, he began to frantically unfurl it. Then, he gasped. In front of him was a blank parchment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)