“Teapots made of terracotta” is a short story in work “Vang Bong Mot Thoi”. The story is about an older man who is passionate about tea, but his hobby of drinking is very elaborate. Water for making tea must be taken from the well of the temple on the mountain. Each time you carry back, you must have a pair of peach leaves to cover the water from the dust, from losing the cold from the deep ground.
The shade of the sun is almost to the top of the head. The monk of Doi Mai pagoda went straight back to his room. The old monk took off his hat and was about to sit down to eat when a child called outside the temple gate. A polite little monk steps up the three steps:
– Uncle, there is a son of Mr Sau to come in.
– So, you still close the temple door? I opened it quickly; no one had to stand in the sun for a long time. The gate of the temple should always be left open. From now on, you should remember: early in the morning, chanting the daily scriptures and calling the bell, you have to open the temple door, and in the evening, when you finish studying, the shelf will close. Otherwise, tourists from all over the world will call it.
After urinating for a while, a handsome young man about seventeen years old in a dark ao dai, with his legs slanted, with a tray in his hand, entered the monastery and bowed to the monk:
– Grandpa, my teacher, let me bring you a pot of early spring tea. And ask permission to go to the temple well to carry a load of water.
The old monk, who was used to these donations and loans, was under Mr Sau, laughing softly. On the dry face, the smile was nothing but warm and earnest. It’s just being gentle enough.
– Then what do you hold water with?
– Yes, family members stir the pot and carry the burden, still waiting outside.
– Who is the Buddha? On this sunny day, going from the upper village down to here to get water, Sau’s family has a lot of merits. I sat down to rest. Let the older man ask the uncle to bring the arrow to the well. I left early, and I’m sure I’m exhausted by now; A banana has just come down, and the older man forced him to take some Buddha’s fortune.
– Uncle, I still eat salty at home.
The monk of Doi Mai pagoda did not plead for more and smiled very kindly.
– Do you know Uncle Sau has been asking for water at this temple for several years? Almost ten years. Drinking Chinese tea like my teacher also has. Only water from the temple well will make tea. Sometimes I wonder what my teacher’s predecessor was like. Consider your teacher’s predestined relationship with this temple; it’s durable and unique.
Seeing a glimpse of the old servant who had finished carrying the water-carrying water, bewilderedly looking for himself and drenching the whole space in the middle of the temple yard paved with green stones, the son of Sau, with the slowness of a scholar sitting to talk to his disobedience, appeared family, immediately got up and begged for permission to go home.
“Old man, I have to hurry home because I have guests at home today to drink tea. Perhaps your teacher is at home waiting for the country to return.
The old monk also hurriedly followed the beggars to the outer steps. The monk pulled out a large-sized fan from his sleeve, spread the fan blades wide, tilted his head to block the sun, and told the young monk:
– He quickly ran to the garden and broke some peach leaves.
Then he kept his son Sau:
– Yeah, take it easy a bit. Drop a few peach branches with leaves into the pot of water; carrying the long distance will support the waves outside and come home; the water is still fantastic.
We begged for water to salute the monk. On the dry sandy road, the pot of water swayed in the quick footsteps of the old servant, dripping wet and dark stars on the pavement. Wet stars line each other over a long, zigzag path like a reptile’s path. If this summer noon is a night of the full moon, and if the gate of Doi Mai pagoda is a dug-out gate, those star drops have enough poetry to mark the way back to the world.
The old noonday sun burned the field’s surface at the foot of the hill, shaking the layer of air rising from the ground. Like a trail of smoke, the sun shines through the glossy greens of a row of quiet, tree-lined villages. Standing in the temple gate from high to low, looking down at his feet, the old monk squinted his eyes, looking at the bright sunlight. The people who begged for water were only a few black dots, each movement sending a faint cloud of dust behind them. Strong gusts of wind, many blows, brought the whole piece of dust into the gate of the tall temple. The monk thought of Grandpa Sau, sighing to express his regret for a life of sentient beings still entangled in the karma circle.
Uncle Sau has been travelling with the temple for a long time. Before, the old monk came to the abbot. The three Buddha statues of jackfruit wood placed on the pedestal and a few copies of the sutras printed on Mahayana paper belong to Mr Sau. The bell hanging above the staff house is also the older man Sau’s worship during the temple restoration. And every time the pagoda establishes a genealogical promotion, the older man Sau is at the top of the book. Doi Mai Pagoda is far from an isolated village on a hill, so it is less disturbed by the crowds. Occasionally, Mr Sau received the most special treatment among the guests who visited.
Once a month, the old monk kept the more senior man Sau to eat a vegetarian meal, and every time he said goodbye, the monk also sincerely gave the guest a Chu Mo orchid. Usually, every time they met, two older men would pull each other out to the well and talk for a long time. The monk looked at Uncle Sau’s shadow in the bottom of a deep well. The old monk’s shadow rarely remained in the image for long on the excellent well water mirror: now and then, a few drops of fresh water left the honeycomb vein, and the holy grail fell, the sound of popping. Old man Sau rested his hand on the wall of the green mossy greasy well, pointed his finger to the deep well near two poles and said: “This well is very precious in our temple. The water is lovely. Maybe I am addicted to Chinese tea because of the water from the temple well. I didn’t think about going far because I needed to bring water from this well to make tea. White monk, monk remembers this oath for me: “If my temple well runs out, I will immediately give it to no one who wants to ask for my special tea set. Only the well water is used to make a tea that never loses its flavour. But, older man, we don’t understand why this hill is so high that the water gathers. The terrain of this temple, it seems that you can still use martial arts…”. As if afraid that Uncle Sau talked about things that should not be discussed with a monk who had already avoided the work of life, the monk hurriedly changed the story about the jackfruit trees in the pagoda this year. Then drag Mr Sau to his room to use a week of water. According to a very lovely convention set out from the day we first met each other, for ten years now, whenever drinking tea from the temple, old man Sau also has the honour of making tea and specializing in tea instead of the temple.
These days, old man Sau must be busy with many things, so it’s been a few weeks without seen the scenery of the time drinking water to visit flowers so that the monk can click on the tongue to see the potted orchids in bloom. Reluctantly, I had to disconnect the plug into the baby bottle. These days, Uncle Sau only lets his family go down to ask for water from the well. And this afternoon, while quietly watching the two teachers and children of Mr Sau bring water out of the temple when returning, the old monk sighed and waited with the monks: “Old man Sau, if not passionate about the taste of tea train, passion to many mistakes, if he can quit, he will also become a monk at home. Fame and gain, he doesn’t care. Destroying most of the inheritance left by his father, he did not consider the wealth of money equal to a pot of Chinese tea. But one day, this older man will still suffer if there is no more Chinese tea. Buddha taught that wanting is suffering. Maybe in the four oceans of tears of sentient beings in the world of three thousand, there is not a big part of the tears of an older man who goes to his temple to ask for fresh water to drink Chinese tea. Namo amitabud!”.
Older man Six, today I like that strange guest. The stranger had just told the owner a fairy tale. After rolling the cup into the gums of the ancient plate a few times, the guest said:
“Once upon a time, there was a strange beggar. To do the job of a beggar is to hold a degree that he does not dare to consider anyone as ordinary anymore, so he also chooses each door and then comes in to beg. He only asked for rich houses and tried to make sure he could face the owner and then ask for anything. Once, he knocked on his cane and went to class in the middle of a rich man while the host and a few guests were having an early tea. Everyone saw him go up the steps and obediently sit at the foot of the column; everyone said nothing to see what the beggar was up to. He didn’t do anything; he just looked at everyone enjoying their tea. He sniffed his nose and also seemed pleased when inhaling the many hot tea scents dispersed in the room. Seeing that the old beggar’s face was not so dirty, the owner asked if he wanted to ask for leftover rice or soup residue, or moreover, he wanted to ask for sticky rice, like a man in the local dialect. He scratched his ear, approached, smiled and politely asked the owner to let him “drink Chinese tea!”. People think he’s stupid. But why not push him out and even call him over to the table for him to receive a cup of hot tea? He timidly apologized and offered to drink a whole new pot of tea. After speaking, he opened his beggar’s bag and carefully took out a pot of poisonous, damp earth. Seeing that it was also funny and strange, everyone lent him a tray of tea and gave him enough coal to fan a kettle of boiling water to see if he would joke around with them until he would accept it. He asked permission somewhere and then sat down to catch the word five, rinse the cup, specialize in tea from serving cup to army cup, looking beautiful. At this time, no one dared to call him a beggar, even though his clothes were torn like leeches’ nests. After drinking the first cup, drinking the second cup, suddenly he narrowed his eyes, smacked his lips, stood up, clasped his hands together, and said to the host: “As a beggar like me, you are honoured by you. have mercy, this coward has nothing to complain about anymore. It’s just that his teapot gives it the smell of rice husks inside. Therefore, the lower ones have not been very pleased with anything.” He bowed, warmed the cup, wiped the tray and returned it to the owner’s house. After wiping off his poisonous kettle, he blew it carefully, put it in his bag, took his hat, bowed to the owner and guests, and hobbled off with his walking stick. People think a madman doesn’t notice. But that afternoon, the whole family was terrified of the beggar because the owner had collected up to ten pieces of rice husk from the spilt teapot on the table.”
Old man Sau heard about it, liked it so much, patted his thigh, patted the guest’s thigh, and shouted:
– If that old beggar were born in this time, I would dare invite him to stay with me so we can have a good tea time together early in the evening. The house is primarily warm but precious.
“The ancients also made up such a fairy tale to amuse themselves by drinking a week’s worth of water.” But what do you plan to do with those strange things? We should consider it an anecdote.
– No, it can be like that. I’m sure this old beggar has spent a fortune in the Wuyishan tea forest, so he is so connoisseur and new that he can hold a stick. He must have drunk Bach Mao Hou tea and Tram Ma tea, Mr But, guest, we have to have a second pot of tea. Don’t listen to such an exciting story; only drink a pot together.
Then while Uncle Sau removed the tea grounds into a wide-mouthed waste bowl, drawing Lieu Ma, the guest lifted the kettle of damp pants, looked at it and complimented:
– Your warmth is very precious. Hot The Duc colour chicken liver. “First World Germany chicken liver; – second Luu Boi; – Third Manh Than”. Grandpa’s The Duc is very tall. I used my intense but moist Manh Than at home, so it’s not very tall.
Sau hastily poured all the boiling water into the kettle and raised the copper kettle to fly close to the guest’s face:
– Can the guest see warts in the heart of the copper pot? The vessel, they call the metal fire. If there is fire, the water will boil very quickly. That’s enough for five pyrotechnics.
Do you know the difference between old and new boiling water?
– Again, “fisherman label, label” again. If you look at a toothpick the size of a crab’s eye, it’s medium bubbling, and when a toothpick is the size of a fish’s eye, it’s old boiling water.
The host laughed and drank two more cups each. Uncle Sau sent the guest to the gate with a sentence:
– Occasionally passing through the hamlet, please invite the guest to visit me like an old friend. Every time we meet, we drink a few weeks of water. Ha, ha.
That year, the water of the Er Ha River rose to great heights. No wonder thousands of longan roots were planted on the dyke around the area; that crop produced strange results. The solid levee has broken. But at the end of the fast-flowing stream, Mr Sau’s house has yet to be swept away. When the water receded, at the brick gate intact, the two pieces of pink paper with double sentences stuck to the door were still entire, and the handwriting was still clear:
They are polite like fairies, rich like heaven, and whip their horses around in the willow alley.
I planted grass in the garden, scattered flowers on the ground, and called clowns to mix water in front of the verandah*.
The following year, the dyke welding of the mouth, which was not well welded, broke again. The brick gate of Uncle Sau’s house is still as inert as before. But this time, the couplets of pink paper, wind and rain have tarnished the ink colour, and the alluvial water has covered the text with thick horizontal mud lines.
The guest of that year – the one who told the story of a beggar who drank Chinese tea – had been away for a few years on business, and when he returned to that area, remembering Uncle Sau’s advice, he came to drink with the older man a pot of tea ship again. But the guest asked his house to come; the guest was sad when people told him that Sau’s house had already been sold. Seeing the earnest inquiry, the people of that area said to the guest: “If you want to find great Sau, you should go down to Cho Huyen. Pick up the right market on the eighth day, and you will meet anyway. That’s all we know.”
Yes, older man Six is very depressed now. Now it’s hard for the older man to take care of his meals, let alone drink tea. Occasionally, he would ask someone he knew for a few pots, which he considered very precious: he wrapped the paper tightly in his pocket and waited until he was alone to make a drink. Still in the habit of being stylish, sometimes when he went to play in someone’s lotus pond when the flowers were in bloom, he even tried to pick up a few stamens and put them in a pack of tea, if it was old mandarin tea.
During the market sessions, Mr Sau sat down thanks to the plate stall of the same villager, displayed on the ground with up to a dozen kettles, but in the past, the price would have been piled up with compressed silver poles to show him and sold for one. One thing that everyone is surprised about is that he sold the earthenware in two layers. In the first few periods, he sold his whole body warm and sold it very cheaply. There is a lid for the tool to save. Once, with a smile, he leaned close to his relative’s ear: “That’s the way to get the price. Already have a warm body, so why not buy a suitable lid? Sell the kettle body cheap, and then it’s time to sell the lid; it’s time to sell expensive. That is the wisdom.”
Mr Sau laughed, then quickly turned around to talk to his customer, who was fiddling with colourful earthenware bodies, some in the shape of a strawberry basket, the other with custard-apple, figs, figs, and persimmons. He is telling a guest:
“I’ll find a cap for you anyway.” Every next session, there will be a lid anyway. No, that’s a fundamental kettle. If you don’t believe it, keep your warm face down on that piece of wood. Let the kettle turn upside down. Just look at the mouth of the faucet with the handle and the edge of the warm mug, all biting close to the face with a piece of wood. If you want to try it more carefully, drop it into a water basin, see it float evenly, and balance without strain; that’s the end of the kettle.
Comment on the beauty of traditional culture in “Teapots made of terracotta” by Nguyen Tuan
Nguyen Tuan is a writer who always aspires to find beauty and truth. With his talent, Nguyen Tuan has made beauty sublimate. And, of course, in his works, it is impossible not to mention the “Golden Ball of a Time” – a collection of unique short stories marking a long way to find his beauty.
“Glory of a Time” was written from 1932 to 1940, i.e. before the August Revolution. That was the period when Vietnamese society was still divided, and not everyone had the conditions and luck to receive the light of the Party. And Nguyen Tuan is no exception because there is no ideological light of the Party; he writes not patriotism, writing for the resistance war, but merely the ideal of finding his beauty never mind. But what beauty and truth are not easy to find in this age? Nguyen Dinh Thi once said: “In the life he lived, beauty and truth never matched.” That is why Nguyen Tuan can only go through the past and the beauty in his soul to find real and pure beauty.
The collection of short stories “Golden Ball once” has revived many good old customs and habits of the nation. The elegant pleasures, such as releasing poetry, playing poetry, enjoying tea, asking for words, etc., are recreated by Nguyen Tuan with his passionate attitude with extensive knowledge. Through the short story “The earthen pots” in the volume “Golden ball once”, we can clearly understand the beauty of traditional culture in his literature.
“The earthen pots” was published in Tao Dan magazine No. 8 (June 16, 1939) about Sau’s enjoyment of tea. An older man loves to drink Chinese tea, the water for making tea must be sweet well water up to Doi Mai pagoda to drink. In work, in a tumultuous society where a beggar can also enjoy tea, an older man falling into poverty still loves tea, and life always revolves around old earthen pots, where the art of beauty is still sublimated.
The Vietnamese, like the Chinese, have always had an elegant hobby: enjoying tea and teapot. It has become an indelible traditional beauty in the living habits of our nation. A great pleasure is not only in appearance anymore, but to feel the elegance of tea enjoyment, there must be a passionate and knowledgeable soul about the tea ceremony. That is the true beauty of traditional preservation, the preservation of the form and the value of the soul of the people who enjoy tea. In “Earth potts” by Nguyen Tuan, the essence of the tea ceremony is dug up.
First, the author built up a Mai Doi temple at the “death gate” to escape the world, borrowing the words of the old monk there to tell about an old man Sau who loved to drink Chinese tea. Drinking Chinese tea with Mr Sau is not simply learning to imitate the noble beast, but a true passion, the high bar from within: “Our temple has a charming well. The water is lovely. Maybe I am addicted to Chinese tea because of the water from the temple well. I didn’t think about going far because I couldn’t bring water from this well to make tea.” That’s what Sau said while talking to the old monk by the well of the pagoda. How much must be noticed that even the water for making tea has insisted for more than ten years as a cool fresh drink on the distant Mai Doi Pagoda because of a week of tea inviting guests, despite the sunny noon of the day? Despite the mountain road, ask for a water load from the temple in the summer. As a matter of common sense, once the most beautiful thing has been found, people cannot easily accept another bad, temporary, more trivial thing; like old man Sau himself, once he tasted the water that he considered the most delicious at the temple well, no matter what, Mr Sau still could not lower his quality of tea but used another kind of water, he still waiting for his son to bring water back. Then he swore an oath to the old monk: “If the well of the temple runs dry, I will immediately give it to no one who wants to ask for my special tea set. Only the well water here is the tea that never loses its taste.” If the tea is delicious and warm but lacks standard water, what is the meaning of the tea ceremony?
Or, in the story of a guest, Sau laughed happily when he caught a soul who loves Chinese tea like him. As a strange, talented person created by ancient people to add more fun to a week of tea. The older man wished that the man in the fairy tale lived in this time; he would be willing to invite his friend to come home to enjoy tea together day and night. When he has found someone with the same soul who loves tea, whether a beggar or an older man, Mr Sau does not hesitate to invite them back to share his feelings. Finding a piece of the same soul, Mr Sau did not hesitate to think that this beggar must be a gentleman who lost his fortune because of tea, like the old man himself, with the lament of the old monk of Doi Mai Pagoda about Sau: “This old man Sau, if he is not passionate about the taste of Chinese tea, is passionate about many mistakes, if he can give it up, then it is fine to become a monk at home. Fame and gain, he doesn’t care. Destroying most of the inheritance left by his forefathers, he did not consider the wealth and money equal to a pot of Chinese tea.” People gambling and losing a fortune is something to blame, but if you can do this to this extent because of the tea ceremony, should you blame him or not? For Nguyen Tuan, it is a good thing, something he is always looking for, a beauty of the soul.
In Nguyen Tuan’s concept, beauty is aesthetic and must be associated with talent. Even the way the tea is drunk should be beautiful, and so should the tea drinker. The whole story “Earth pots” revolves around enjoying tea of the main character Sau; the author not only stops at depicting the appearance of beauty but also has to exploit the old man’s soul that beauty fully. Just enjoying tea is already a noble and elegant act, so where is the beauty in the soul of enjoying tea? Nowhere else is the soul of a tea drinker, be it a beggar or an older man who lost his fortune just because of his passion for tea. It is the erudition of their knowledge of the tea ceremony and the undying love of their souls that are the beauty of the soul that gives wings to traditional cultural beauty. So why did Nguyen Tuan bring this tea enjoyment to a temple? It’s straightforward, just because the souls of people who love the tea ceremony are calm, as the old monk said about Sau, if he can give up this hobby, then Sau is already a monk.
The people and actions in Nguyen Tuan’s literature are strange and unusual; they are estranged from the world and far away from the world. People are willing to lose their entire fortune just for tea’s sake, only to work around old earthen pots to make tea. His taste for tea was so elegant in the past. Still, now he is delighted with the teapots that acquaintances invite him to drink, satisfied with the tea bags hidden in the hem of his shirt… and still passionate about how to enjoy the full aroma of tea when Sau is still trying to pick some marinated lotus pistils into old tea when he visits someone’s lotus pond. The way Mr Sau sold the earthen pots that he loved and cherished, the ones that even in the past, people had thrown him a piece of silver, he didn’t even look at it; sell the kettle for a low price, keep the lid so that the person who loves the teapot will come back and be willing to pay a higher price, not just because the teapot is sold for a reasonable price. The story ends with the image of Sau earthenware for sale to a guest unfamiliar with Chinese teapots but still reaffirms his previous knowledge of the tea ceremony. But we can feel something dreary, sad of the distant and distant things of a talent of a beauty that gradually fades into the past and is only a shadow of a bygone era like itself. “Gone for a while”.
“Earth pots” Nguyen Tuan has aroused a beautiful traditional cultural beauty of the Vietnamese nation – enjoying tea – elegant pleasures. Both beautiful in the way of enjoying tea and beautiful in the soul of the person who wants it. An aesthetic beauty associated with talent.
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Excerpt: “Vang Bong Mot Thoi” – Nguyen Tuan
Comment: Vong – vnkings
Illustration: Trung Vo
