NARRATOR 1: Long ago, in a
palace by the Red River, there lived a great mandarin and his daughter, Mi
Nuong.
NARRATOR 2: Like other young
ladies of her position, Mi Nuong was kept indoors, away from the eyes of
admiring men.
She spent most of her time in her room at the
top of a tower.
NARRATOR 3: There she would sit
on a bench by a moon-shaped window, reading or embroidering, chatting with her
maid, and gazing out often at the
garden and the river.
NARRATOR 1: One day as she sat
there, a song floated to her from the distance, in a voice deep and sweet. She
looked
out and saw a fishing boat coming
up the river. She asked her maid,
MI NUONG: Do you hear it? How
beautifully he sings!
NARRATOR 2: She listened again
as the voice drew nearer.
TRUONG CHI: (singing in the
distance)
My
love is like a blossom in the breeze.
My
love is like a moonbeam on the waves.
MI NUONG: He must be young and
very handsome. (with a sudden thrill) Perhaps he knows I am here and sings it
just
for me!
NARRATOR 3: The maid’s eyes lit
up.
MAID: My lady, perhaps he’s a
mandarin’s son in disguise—the man you are destined to marry!
NARRATOR 1: Mi Nuong felt a
flush on her face and a stirring in her heart.
NARRATOR 2: She tried to make
out the man’s features, but he was too far off to see clearly.
NARRATOR 3: The boat and the
song glided slowly up the river and away.
MI NUONG: (softly) Yes. Perhaps
he is.
NARRATOR 1: All day long, Mi
Nuong waited by the window, hoping to hear the singer again.
NARRATOR 2: The next day she
waited too, and the next.
NARRATOR 3: But the voice did
not return.
MI NUONG: (sadly, to MAID) Why
doesn’t he come?
NARRATOR 1: As the days passed,
Mi Nuong grew pale and weak. At last she went to her bed and stayed there.
NARRATOR 2: The mandarin came to
her.
MANDARIN: Daughter, what’s
wrong?
MI NUONG: (faintly) It’s
nothing, Father.
NARRATOR 3: The mandarin sent
for the doctor. But after seeing Mi Nuong, the doctor told him,
DOCTOR: I can find no illness.
And without an illness, I can offer no cure.
NARRATOR 1: The weeks passed,
and Mi Nuong grew no better.
NARRATOR 2: Then one day her
maid came before the mandarin.
MAID: My lord, I know what ails
your daughter. Mi Nuong is sick for love. To cure her, you must find the
handsome
young man who sings these words.
(recites)
My love is like a blossom in the breeze.
My love is like a moonbeam on the
waves.
MANDARIN: It will be done.
NARRATOR 3: And he sent out a
messenger at once.
NARRATOR 1: Days later, the
messenger returned.
MESSENGER: (bowing) Lord, in no
great house of this province does any young man know the song. But I found in a
nearby village a man who sings it,
a fisherman named Truong Chi. I have brought him to the palace.
MANDARIN: (in disbelief) A
fisherman? Let me see him.
NARRATOR 2: The messenger
brought him in.
NARRATOR 3: The fisherman stood
uneasily, his eyes wide as they cast about the richly furnished room.
NARRATOR 1: For a moment, the
mandarin was too astounded to speak. The man was neither young nor handsome.
His
clothes were ragged and he stank of fish.
NARRATOR 2: “Certainly no match
for my daughter!” thought the mandarin. “Somehow, she must not realize . . . .”
NARRATOR 3: He gave his order to
the messenger.
MANDARIN: Bring the fisherman to
my daughter’s door and have him sing his song.
NARRATOR 1: Soon Truong Chi
stood anxiously outside the young lady’s room. He could not understand why
they’d
brought him here.
NARRATOR 2: What could they
want? He was just a fisherman, wishing only to make an honest living. He had
hurt no
one, done nothing wrong!
NARRATOR 3: At the messenger’s
signal, he nervously started to sing.
TRUONG CHI: (singing)
My
love is like a blossom in the breeze.
My love is like a moonbeam on the waves.
NARRATOR 1: In the room beyond
the door, Mi Nuong’s eyes flew open.
MI NUONG: (to MAID) He’s here!
How can that be? Oh, quickly, help me dress!
NARRATOR 2: Mi Nuong jumped from
her bed. Never had she so swiftly clothed herself, put up her hair, made
herself
up. By the time the song drew to a close, she
looked like a heavenly vision in flowing robes.
MI NUONG: Now, open the door!
NARRATOR 3: Mi Nuong tried to
calm her wildly beating heart. She forced herself to stand shyly, casting her
eyes down in
the manner proper to a modest young
lady.
NARRATOR 1: As the door pulled
open, Truong Chi shrank back, not knowing what to expect.
NARRATOR 2: Then all at once he
found himself gazing on the greatest beauty he had ever known.
NARRATOR 3: He felt his heart
leap, and in that moment, he fell deeply, hopelessly, desperately in love.
NARRATOR 1: Mi Nuong could not
wait a moment longer.
NARRATOR 2: She lifted her eyes
to look upon her beloved.
NARRATOR 3: And in that moment,
her eyes grew wide and she burst out laughing.
MI NUONG: (laughs in
astonishment)
NARRATOR 1: A mandarin’s son?
Her destined love?
NARRATOR 2: Why, he was nothing
but a common fisherman! How terribly, terribly silly she’d been!
NARRATOR 3: Shaking with mirth
at her folly, she turned her head away and whispered,
MI NUONG: (whispering to MAID)
Close the door.
NARRATOR 1: The door shut in
Truong Chi’s face. He stood there frozen, the young lady’s laughter ringing in
his ears. He
felt his heart grow cold and hard.
NARRATOR 2: Truong Chi was sent
home. But he could not go on as before. Hardly eating or sleeping, he grew pale
and ill.
He no longer cared if he lived or
died.
NARRATOR 3: And so, he died.
NARRATOR 1: The villagers found
him on the sleeping mat in his hut. On his chest sat a large crystal.
VILLAGER 1: What is it?
VILLAGER 2: It is his heart. The
laugh of the mandarin’s daughter wounded it so deeply, it turned hard to stop
the pain.
VILLAGER 3: What do we do with
it? It is very lovely. Like one of his songs!
VILLAGER 4: We should put it in
his boat, and let it float down to the sea.
NARRATOR 2: At sundown, they set
the crystal in the fisherman’s boat.
NARRATOR 3: Then they pushed the
boat from its mooring and watched in sorrow as it drifted down the river and
out of
sight.
NARRATOR 1: But the boat did not
drift to the sea.
NARRATOR 2: It came to shore by
the mandarin’s palace.
NARRATOR 3: And so it was that
the mandarin found it at sunrise as he strolled along the bank.
MANDARIN: What have we here?
NARRATOR 1: The mandarin reached
in to pick up the crystal. He turned it over in his hand, examining and
admiring it.
MANDARIN: What a splendid gift
the river has brought!
NARRATOR 2: A few days later,
when no one had claimed it, the mandarin sent it to a turner to be made into a
teacup.
NARRATOR 3: He brought the cup
one evening to Mi Nuong’s room.
MANDARIN: (to MI NUONG, handing
it to her) A gift for my lovely daughter.
MI NUONG: Oh, Father, it’s
beautiful! I can hardly wait to drink from it!
NARRATOR 1: When the mandarin
left, she told her maid,
MI NUONG: It’s late, so you can
go to bed. But first make me some tea, so I can drink from my cup.
NARRATOR 2: The maid finished
her task and went off. Mi Nuong poured the tea, blew out the candles on the
table, and carried the cup to her window seat.
NARRATOR 3: A full moon shone
into the room, and looking out, she watched the moonlight play upon the river.
The scent
of blossoms drifted from the garden.
NARRATOR 1: Mi Nuong lifted the
cup to her lips.
NARRATOR 2: But just as she was
about to drink . . .
MI NUONG: (in surprise and fear,
staring into cup) Oh!
NARRATOR 3: She quickly set the
cup down on the bench.
NARRATOR 1: On the surface of
the tea was the face of Truong Chi, gazing at her with eyes filled with love.
NARRATOR 2: And now his sweet
song filled the room, familiar but a little changed.
TRUONG CHI: (singing)
Mi Nuong is like a blossom in the breeze.
Mi Nuong is like a moonbeam on the waves.
NARRATOR 3: And Mi Nuong
remembered those eyes she had seen so briefly through the open door, and she
remembered
her laugh.
MI NUONG: What have I done? I
was so cruel! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know. . . . I’m sorry. So
very, very sorry!
NARRATOR 1: Her eyes filled with
tears. A single tear dropped into the cup.
NARRATOR 2: It was enough. The
crystal melted away, releasing the spirit of Truong Chi.
NARRATOR 3: Then Mi Nuong heard
the song one last time, floating off over the river.
TRUONG CHI: (singing in the
distance)
Mi Nuong is like a blossom in the breeze.
Mi Nuong is like a moonbeam on the waves.
MI NUONG: (softly) Good-bye. . .
. Good-bye.
* * *
NARRATOR 1: It was not many
months more when Mi Nuong was given in marriage to the son of a great mandarin.
NARRATOR 2: He was young and
handsome, and she felt that her dreams had come true.
NARRATOR 3: Yet now, as she
gazed on a different garden and a different view of the river, she often still
heard the song of the fisherman echo softly in her heart.
