by Le Tan Hien
Nowadays no one believes in the legends about painting on buffalo skin. Even I myself feel a bit dubious about this age-old story told by my father on Tet Eve in the Year of the Buffalo, long long ago. When I asked him about the truth of the account, he just said, "That’s a long story handed down from generation to generation. It might be changed a little each time it is told, but I still think that its contents are true enough."
My father has passed away, but whenever the Year of the Buffalo comes around after its 12-year cycle, I time and again tell my friends and children the tale with the conclusion, "You can take whatever you want from it, just don’t ask me whether or not it is true."
By now, another Year of the Buffalo has arrived so it’s time for me to tell the reader the story of a man who turned buffalo leather into a piece of tiger fur with his clever painting. Listen closely.
"The name of the village in our story is Bung. Owing to the fact that it lay close to the mountains, its inhabitants lived on the products of the forest and the field. They went hunting or chopped down trees to build their homes and grew rice, maize or other crops. Obviously, hunting game was much more difficult and dangerous than planting rice so it was also much more profitable and respected.
One day, a group of three youths, knives in hand, ventured into the mountains. Half a year later, they returned to their native village with a great fortune. It turned out that in the thick of the forest they grew poppies and produced opium. The ringleader’s name was Giang Thung and his younger sister was called A Thinh. Giang Thung asked his sister to join the illegal drug farming group, but she refused his request point-blank. "I would do anything you ask, except for trafficking drugs or doing something which harms others," she declared. After many days of unsuccessful persuasion, Giang Thung chased her away.
"Our parents have passed away. So I’m head of the family now. If you aren’t going to obey me or are going to work against me, you have to leave this house," he shouted at her.
"If you’re determined to grow that kind of narcotic plant, I’ll go away without even waiting for you to order me. You’ll soon feel the consequences," she replied.
After saying this, A Thinh left. Some rumour said that she became a bricklayer. Others said she married a well-known architect.
As for Giang Thung, he managed to convince two local guys to join his unlawful business. After several successful crops, he became rich. He bought expensive furnishings for his house. He was considered the mastermind of the operation while his two accomplices were regarded merely as well-paid helpers. Giang Thung and his two men soon became drug addicts. Every fortnight, they went to the district capital and walked the streets looking for prostitutes.
One day, Giang Thung said to his disciples, "I miss my sister very much and I feel sorry about all the things I said to chase her away. Can you both go find her and bring her here?"
"Truthfully, we don’t know where she is. When we find out, we’ll help you at once. What about the villagers? Some of them must know where she is now," one of them suggested.
"Surely, some of her old friends might," Giang Thung observed.
"Why haven’t you ever asked them about her?"
"Why would I ever do such a crazy thing? After I became wealthy everybody started avoiding me, even my old close friends. When they see me walking on the village path, they pass by me coldly as if I were a stranger to them. Shame on me! Worse still, no one is willing to help me even though I offer to pay them generously. It drives me crazy," he wiped the tears from his eyes and blew a puff of opium smoke up towards the ceiling.
"Try to find a way to solve this for me. If they won’t love me, I want the villagers to fear me and obey me," he said.
They lay down on the floor head to toe, forming a triangle, and smoked to their heart’s content. All of a sudden one of his lackeys jumped up.
"Dear me! I’ve thought out a wonderful scheme. It’s right here in our Bung village," he disclosed.
"What’s that?"
"Residents of this place only admire and obey those who are great hunters," he explained.
"Right you are," remarked Giang Thung.
"So, you must have lots of hunting trophies displayed all over your home. Then they would know you’re someone to be reckoned with."
"That’s it!" the boss said. "Money makes the world turn round, you see."
The next day, he provided his two men with a great sum of money and ordered them to purchase as many hunting trophies as possible and bring them home to intimidate the villagers. As a result of their successful trips, Giang Thung’s house looked like a museum of hunted game: deer heads, chamois horns, weasel leathers, wild boar teeth and stuffed pheasants all adorned the walls.
Locals began to show their profound respect towards Giang Thung when they saw his fearsome decorations. Some visitors readily obeyed his orders to do menial jobs without objection.
"We’re still lacking one important thing," he told his employees the next morning.
"What’s that, Sir?"
"A piece of tiger fur."
"We’ve thought a lot about it, but we’ve been unable to get one, Sir."
"Why not?"
"Because of the State policy to protect wild animals, Sir. Nobody dares to hunt them any longer."
"You must find one or else I’ll punish you severely. Here’s some more money," he said, sneering at them.
"If worst comes to the worst, we’ll offer you this plot," entreated one of them.
"What’re you up to?"
"We’ll make a false piece of tiger fur by drawing it on a piece of buffalo leather."
"Does it work?"
"Yes, it does, superbly, Sir. Many have done it so cleverly that nobody can recognise the true thing!"
"When we take the buffalo leather outside to paint it, everyone will see what we’re up to."
"We’ll invite a well-known painter to our home to carry it out secretly. He’ll stay here for as long as his work takes. How can others suspect?"
"Well, besides us the artist will know what’s going on. It could ruin me. Well, let me handle this problem later," Giang Thung replied after a moment’s thought.
A few days later, two horses returned to the house carrying three men and numerous boxes of paint tubes and brushes on their backs.
In addition to extravagant meals, Giang Thung promised to pay the painter generously if his work proved to be effective.
Day in and day out, the artist worked silently in the closed storeroom of the house. His food, drink and spirits were passed to him through a small hole in the wooden wall. In the mean time, Giang Thung paced to and fro outside, lost in thought.
"How long will it take you to finish your work?" Giang Thung asked the artist.
"Don’t worry. I’ll try my best to make it the real thing. It will take me at least three days to finish. But how important is this tiger fur to you?"
"It doesn’t matter at all. Just for fun," he said with a strained smile.
"I’m not sure how many pictures of this kind have been painted before. Of course, each one who’s hired me has done it for his own purpose. However, it can be used to threaten people to some extent. Nevertheless, I don’t pay attention to their aims. What I need is the money. I’ll take it home to support my family, that’s all. By the way, may I know your name so I can address you properly?"
"I’m Giang Thung. But you’re a bit inquisitive, brother."
"Far from that! Anyhow, it sounds a little similar to my wife’s name."
This first short conversation wouldn’t leave Giang Thung’s mind, he paced back and forth on tenterhooks.
On the third day of the painter’s work, Giang Thung told his two assistants to go to the district capital to take a break and spend the night there.
"As for the job at home, I’ll take care of it," he said. After they left, he took a shovel downstairs and silently walked to the empty space under the upstairs room, right below the seat of the painter, and began to dig and dig. The next day, when his employees came home, they found their boss proudly sitting on the armchair covered with a large piece of tiger fur, which had been so carefully and cleverly painted that nobody could possibly realise it was a fake.
Giang Thung had an occasion to try the miracle of his tiger fur.
"Both of you are requested to do these things for me: one shall massage my right leg, while the other shall lick the toes of my left foot. Obey my order right away!"
Immediately, the two labourers did as they were told. "How clever the artist has proved to be! Sorry for him!" Giang Thung said in a low voice.
"It looks like tiger fur very much, indeed! But where’s the painter, Sir?" one of them asked the boss.
"I let him go home."
"Where’s he gone? As a poor peasant, how can he find his way home?"
"Don’t worry about that. He can ask anybody the way to his hometown. Now, you two, go to the terraced fields," he ordered them. At once, they picked up their machetes and left home for the poppy fields without saying a word. When they passed the space under the floor of the stilt house, they saw a mound of dirt, but they did not know what it was.
Thanks to the armchair upholstered with tiger fur, his business was getting on well with every passing day and soon his fortune was growing by the hour.
Giang Thung stayed healthy and wealthy thanks to his miraculous chair for three successive years, the same number in days that it took the artist to complete his work. Suddenly one day it began raining so hard that the roof started leaking and droplets of water dripped from the ceiling onto the armchair. Immediately, it burst into flames. In just in a few hours, the museum-like house was burnt down completely, just a charred puddle in the rain. Giang Thung managed to survive the accident, rushing out just in time. He had barely escaped the house when the police detained him.
Our story would be unfinished if it was not for an unexpected meeting between Giang Thung and a fellow prisoner at the jail where the police had taken him.
"Why are you detained here?" Giang Thung was asked by one of the other jailbirds.
"Because I’ve grown poppies and sold opium. I didn’t listen to my younger sister’s advice. What about you, what crime have you committed?" he asked.
"I’ve cheated honest people, appropriated their conviction and money."
"Surely, you know the actual cause of your confinement."
"Of course, I do know that. It is similar to your situation to some extent. I failed to listen to an artist’s advice."
"An artist? What happened to you?" Giang Thung asked, trembling all over.
"It’s a long story and I’ll tell you later, but basically he painted a piece of tiger fur for me and told me absolutely not to let raindrops fall on it or else… You’re a newcomer here, so you may know his whereabouts. If you do know it, please tell me his address so that when I’m set free I can express my gratitude to him. His wife left him on the grounds that he didn’t take her advice not to grow poppies…"
Giang Thung broke into a cold sweat and his limbs turned to jelly. All of a sudden, he saw himself as a piece of buffalo skin disguised as a piece of tiger fur. The rain was coming down torrentially.
(from Viet Nam News)
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