The Music Trilogy Read Free

one corner towards the back, the little sculpture of Quan Yin seemed to stare at him. In the other back corner, an incense stick burned and the sweet smell enveloped him. His brushes, made by hand from horse, goat, and wolf’s hair, lay on one side of the vase. On another little table, by his side, were his small pots where the paints were ready and perfectly smooth. The colors were vibrant, each from a crystal or a precious stone, a gift from deep within Mother Earth. They waited, as if they had their own souls, for the paintbrushes to discover them. They, too, were on See-Fu’s quest.
    The village was dark and quiet, the majority of the inhabitants asleep. See-Fu sat motionless in front of his forum, his tools in precise formation, as only his mind could understand. He was meditating, analyzing how he should start. He just didn’t know how to proceed with his task—the one that would enable his daughter to become a happy bride. He just sat there, waiting, waiting. Nothing came to him.
    From the back of See-Fu’s house a soft melody rang out. It came from Lotus Blossom’s room. Her long delicate fingers plucked her qin. Her performance was ethereal See-Fu thought, a combination of earth’s gentleness and mysteries of the night. Every once in a while Lotus Blossom accompanied the harmonics with a song, an ancient love poem. See-Fu felt his entire body mellow as his daughter’s voice reminded him of birds and the melody painted the portrait of nature’s beauty where they had collected his ingredients. He smiled triumphantly and delicately touched the statue of his Goddess. He now knew. He remembered Quan Yin’s guidance: “When the music is played, your heart will be your eyes.”
    See-Fu said a grateful prayer. Quan Yin answered him: “The love of your soul will be displayed in your creation.”
     
    See-Fu focused his mind over each little pot. Even though he knew exactly where everything was he double-checked by passing his hand over each of the paints and felt each one’s distinct vibration. He took one of the goat-hair brushes and gently dipped the tip into one of the paints. He delicately held the vase with one hand and with the other he lifted the paintbrush, very much like a maestro waiting for his musicians. Then he applied the first brush stroke onto the white porcelain. Suddenly the baton with the goat-hair nib seemed to take on a life of its own, as if guided, and at the same time as if leading a great orchestra. See-Fu could hardly keep up, the pace was furious. As meticulously as he had prepared and arranged his paints, now he didn’t even have time to think as to where they were even placed. His hand dipped the different brushes into one paint, then the other and then another and another. He worked so fast that some of the paint stayed crusted on the vase, instead of being smooth and precise. This crusted paint would eventually turn into a novelty, and this enamel would become See-Fu’s trademark. He could feel his heart beating just like when he was a boy running through the woods, trying to get back home before the dark of night. He felt himself perspiring, and breathing hard. He tried to think of his next brush stroke, but it was futile. His hand worked faster than his brain, and he just let it happen. He was not one to interfere with divine intervention.
     
    The preparations had been painstakingly slow and difficult, but the painting of the vase was of lighting speed and finished by morning. See-Fu knew exactly when it was over, for the fury of the pace suddenly stopped, as did the music that played throughout the night (even though Lotus Blossom had long fallen asleep). He combed his hands over and above the vase leaving only a millimeter or air between his skin and the wet paint. His heart expanded with joy and pride. He lifted his head and saw Quan Yin smiling at him and then passed out at the foot of the table, his mustache making its own design on his face.
     
    When See-Fu woke up it was