Saigon (22 page)

“I don’t think so.” Joseph answered quickly, almost before his companion had finished speaking. He was vaguely aware that Chuck’s death had produced in him a desire to shine in his father’s eyes in his place, and that awareness still embarrassed him. He had thrown himself into sports activities at Harvard with a physical bravado which he often suspected might never have declared itself in the shadow of Chuck’s athletic brilliance; he had become an outstanding member of the football squad and one of the leading swimmers and tennis players of his year, and to his surprise he had found himself able to shoot game without compunction when his father invited him to accompany him on his regular hunting trips. But even these successes had done little to change the nature of his relationship with his father, and for some reason he hadn’t been surprised or especially disappointed. In the end he had seen the futility of trying to re-create a mirror image of Chuck’s talents — but this realization paradoxically hadn’t entirely removed the irrational compulsion to do so. “I think, like Chuck, I’m not cut out for politics either,” he said at last, adopting an airy tone to conceal his sensitivity on the subject. “And, anyway, my younger brother tends to be the apple of my father’s eye these days.” 

Paul’s brow crinkled in a frown of inquiry. “Do you have a younger brother, Joseph?” 

“Guy was something of an afterthought, I guess,” said Joseph hurriedly, staring down into his glass.” He’s ten now. He was born at the end of that year Chuck died. It helped my father a lot, I think, in getting over the tragedy. Stopped him brooding too much.” He stole a quick look at the French officer’s face, but saw no sign that he had read any special significance into this information. 

“And did he make a complete recovery himself? — your father, I mean.” 

Joseph nodded without looking up. “He lost an arm, as I expect you know. But he’s a very determined man --— stubborn, even, I suppose you could say. He still shoots with his one good arm and not badly either. Uses a very light rifle, of course, and never goes for anything bigger than deer anymore. He felt badly at first, I think, that he wasn’t able to do more to save Chuck. It seemed to worry him for a long time that Chuck acted so much out of character. My brother was courageous as you say, but never foolhardy. For a while my father seemed almost to blame himself that he hadn’t reacted quicker after Chuck insisted on chasing the wounded seladang into the thicket against his orders.” 

Paul leaned forward suddenly in his seat and took a quick breath as if to speak. Then he changed his mind and lifted his champagne quickly to his lips instead. 

Joseph, who had been twisting the stem of his glass distractedly as he spoke, looked up in time to see the French officer’s embarrassed expression, and there was a moment of unease between them. “But what about yourself, Paul?” he said, to bridge the silence. “What’s been happening to you since we last met?” 

The Frenchman shrugged arid grimaced to hide his discomfort. “Much and little — the rather dull life of the colonial soldier. I left Saigon to go back to France — to St. Cyr — soon after you left. After my three years there, my first posting was back here, in Tongking, at a place called Yen Bay. I went to Africa in ‘thirty-two for a three-year spell and came back to Saigon again at my own request only six months ago.” 

“So you were here during the troubles of ‘thirty and ‘thirty-one then?” asked Joseph eagerly. “Some reports of the uprisings got into our newspapers.” His brow wrinkled with the effort of recollection. “Wasn’t there some kind of mutiny at Yen Bay?” 

Paul nodded slowly but didn’t offer to elaborate. 

“I was talking to one of your countrymen on the boat coming here— he said it was all a storm in a teacup. ‘Some of Joe Stalin’s Bolsheviks trying to exploit a couple of bad harvests’ I think was how he put it. He said they tried to foist a few hollow revolutionary formulas on the credulous natives but didn’t get very far. Does that sound right?” 

Paul shook his head and leaned forward again, lowering his voice so that they shouldn’t be overheard. “It was much worse than anyone in the outside world ever knew, Joseph. There was a lot of unnecessary bloodshed. It all came as a great shock to me. The revolt almost succeeded at Yen Bay. The rebels butchered half a dozen of my brother officers and I saw for myself for the first time just how deep the hatred for France really is among many Annamese.” 

“Were you involved directly yourself, Paul?” asked Joseph anxiously. 

Paul nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.” He was scanning the crowded boulevard again, his face set in troubled lines. “I suppose I was lucky to escape with my life. I got a shoulder wound which still bothers me from time to time.” He massaged the top of his right arm unconsciously as he spoke, and Joseph realized that he had noticed a stiffness in Paul’s movements whenever he picked up his glass. “But perhaps the worst thing of all was to find Annamese I’d befriended suddenly transformed into the screaming enemy.” 

“You mean your own native soldiers?” 

“No—worse than that.” He paused and looked back at Joseph. “Do you remember our hunting camp ‘boy,’ Ngo Van Loc?” 

Joseph nodded. 

“Well, Loc and his two sons turned up among the rebels wielding machetes and yelling for my blood along with everybody else’s 

Joseph stared in disbelief. “You mean those two little boys we played with in the camp?” 

Paul nodded grimly. “It turned out that Loc and his wife had been working for one resistance movement or another for years. My father, you see, when we met you, was doing a bit of undercover work for the Süreté Générale, and they had been planted on us. My father became a full-time Süreté officer when the troubles came along and he’s deputy chief of the whole organization now, based in Hue.” 

“What happened to Loc and his sons?” 

Paul looked at Joseph for a long moment with a pained expression on his face. “Hoc, the younger boy, was captured and executed publicly later by guillotine along with a dozen other rebels.” 

Joseph shook his head slowly from side to side in horror at the thought. “It seems unbelievable, Paul.” 

“Sad to say, that’s not the whole story.” The Frenchman rubbed the side of his jaw in a little gesture of agitation. “My father noticed some papers missing from his desk one day and found them in the servants’ quarters. Loc was away at the time, so his wife was taken off to prison for questioning.” He paused, clearly distressed by what he was saying, and glanced out into the street again. “She died later in prison— from ‘ill health,’ the police chief said. So you see, the Ngo family had grounds not to love us at the end of all that.” 

“What happened to the father and the older boy?” 

“Loc joined the Communists later and was eventually wounded in a rebellion somewhere in the north, I think. He was captured and shipped off to the prison island of Paulo Condore eventually with thousands of other Communists four or five years ago. I don’t know what happened to Dong.” 

“Has all this left you feeling bitter towards the Annamese, Paul?” asked the American quietly. 

The French officer sipped his drink without pleasure and sat back in his chair with a faraway look in his eyes. “Strangely enough it’s perhaps had the opposite effect. I wanted to get as far from here as I could after the troubles quietened down at the end of ‘thirty-one — but in Africa I found myself thinking about the Annamese more often than the Africans.” His face creased in thought as he searched for a way to convey complex feelings he perhaps didn’t fully understand himself. “This place and these people, I discovered, had somehow got into my blood. I can’t really explain it. Whatever it is, it made me ask to be sent back.” He looked at Joseph and smiled ruefully. “It might seem crazy to you for an army officer to think this way, but I suppose I feel France has done a lot of things wrong here in many ways — and they could and should be done better. There have been improvements already, of course. The Popular Front coalition in Paris has legalized the Communist Party here and they are starting to free political prisoners from Paulo Condore. There are even four Communists on the Saigon city council now. That is only a beginning, I know He shrugged by way of admitting his inability to explain his own feelings more fully. “There’s maybe not much I can do on my own — but here I am anyway 

Joseph smiled, feeling himself warm to the French officer’s honesty and frankness. ‘1 think I understand, Paul. Now that I’m here, I can see that I’ve always wanted subconsciously to come back. Although I’m not involved in the way you are, I find there’s something fascinating about the country and the people.” 

“So there was more truth in my joking than I knew,” said Paul, grinning again. “You really have been drawn back by the memory of those naked Moi bosoms after all, eh? Or are you married already?” 

Joseph shook his head, grinning in his turn. “No, I’m not married yet.” 

“Why not? A rich handsome young bachelor like you must be highly sought after by the belles filles of America, no?” 

Joseph, embarrassed by the directness of the question, hesitated for a moment. “To be honest, Paul, I find most females too devious,” he said, trying to make light of the remark but not really succeeding. “1 don’t think I’ve ever met a girl yet I’d trust enough to marry.” 

“Ah, so the perfidious female is a common species in America too, eh?” inquired the French officer, laughing again. 

“Isn’t it a worldwide phenomenon?” 

“Perhaps, perhaps although of course the well-brought-up Saigon mademoiselle still likes to take her chastity to the altar.” He turned again towards the street to watch two slender Annamese girls parading past in high-necked gossamer-light ao dai. 

Joseph, following his eye, smiled. “Do bridegrooms here still do that trick with the white square of silk on the wedding night?” 

“Ah, you have an excellent memory, Joseph,” laughed the Frenchman. “You remember something of what I taught you. Yes, indeed, the Annamese still put a high price on virginity and fidelity.” He turned a mischievous face hack to his American companion. “Perhaps I should confess and come right out and tell you that the only reason I came back was to watch these delightful golden creatures drift past my yes every day on the gentle breezes of Saigon.” 

“It doesn’t surprise me,” replied the American humorously, “after what you told us about yourself the last time I was here.” 

‘I’m only half joking, Joseph,” said the French captain, leaning earnestly across the table to pat his arm. “Take some advice from an old man three years your senior — you could do much worse than carry off one of these Asian beauties for a wife. I’m thinking about it quite seriously myself.” He smiled broadly again as he tipped the remaining champagne into their empty glasses. “I’ll let you see for yourself what I mean, if you like. Tomorrow afternoon at the Cercle Sportif they’re playing the final of our annual tennis championships. It’s a mixed tournament now and in keeping with the spirit of the times an Annamese player has reached the final of the men’s singles for the first time. He has a very beautiful sister, and I’m escorting her to the match. Why don’t you join me? You’ll see how we’re going about making our mission civilisatrice work in the modern manner — and you’ll meet one of the loveliest girls in Saigon at the same time.” 

“All right,” agreed Joseph, smiling and raising his glass to his lips. “Let’s drink to that.” 

When they had drained their glasses, Paul smiled and held up an admonishing linger. “But this time I insist that the Amorous American be more discreet. I know our friendship, because of its special beginning, requires us to be utterly frank and honest with one another — but on this occasion please make no reference to escapades of the past. And there must be no attempt to share my stall this time.” He stood up, laughing loudly, and clapped Joseph on the shoulder. “Entendu?” 

“Entendu!” echoed Joseph, and shook him warmly by the hand. He stood and watched with a genuine feeling of affection as the evening crowds thronging the Rue Catinat gradually swallowed up the square-shouldered military figure. The French officer’s erect bearing made Joseph aware of how like his father Paul had become and suddenly he saw again in his mind’s eye that silent, mysterious hero figure awesome to the eyes of a fifteen-year-old boy, jogging stiffly upright in the saddle at the head of the pony train on their first enchanted ride through the jungle. The memory rekindled a new train of recollections that led back eventually to those terrible moments in the storm outside Jacques Devraux’s hut, and long after the crowds had dispersed from the boulevard outside his window Joseph lay awake in his room in the Continental Palace, wrestling once again with the strangely disturbing echoes of his past. 

On the afternoon of the tennis final Captain Paul Devraux had exchanged his military uniform for a civilian suit of white duck and a soft hat of the same color and Jose ph had difficulty picking him out among the similarly clad crowd of French colons thronging the trim lawns and terraces of the Cercle Sportif. The club, set in tree-shaded parkland adjoining the grounds of the governor general’s grandiose marble palace, was normally the preserve of the white colonial elite, but for the occasion of the tennis championship its normal regulations had been relaxed to admit non- members. Even so, as Joseph searched for Paul among the crowds he noticed that the young Asians present were well mannered and well dressed, obviously the offspring of wealthy Annamese and Chinese families. 

The wives and daughters of the French members all wore cool white dresses and carried white sun hats or parasols to protect their pale complexions from the glare of the hot afternoon sun, and as he moved among them Joseph found himself wondering if they were dressed in accordance with some unwritten club rule to distinguish themselves more emphatically, from the golden- skinned Annamese girls in their gaily colored ao dai. In his efforts to find Paul he had to peer beneath the brims-of sun helmets and felt hats worn by the Frenchmen, and in the end the grinning officer spotted him first. 

“I’m glad to see, Joseph, that you’re paying close attention to the fact that Saigon society has now become thoroughly democratic,” he said, arching an ironic eyebrow and glancing at the crowd around them. 

Although racially mixed, the gathering was still preponderantly white and privileged, and the American acknowledged his wry wit with a smile. “As much as looking for you I was trying to get a sneak preview of the dazzling oriental creature who’s head over heels in love with you.” He scanned the faces of several Annamese girls standing shyly nearby with escorts of their own race. “Where is she?” - 

“Wait a minute, mon vieux, not so fast.” Paul smiled and laid a cautionary hand on his arm. “That’s putting it a bit high. Perhaps I was too hasty last night. I didn’t say her heart was conquered and won beyond dispute. Momma and Poppa, as you would say, still have a big say in who their children marry here. Her father likes me, I think — he’s very pro-French. But the idea may not even have entered her head yet. All I said was it had entered mine. 

Courtship here still follows rigid rules of procedure — and the chaperon barrier still has to be broken down. Her mother always comes too, so far — or a friend.” Paul touched Joseph’s arm gently to draw his attention to a young Asian couple in their early twenties moving through the crowd towards them. “Or in this case, her brother.” 

Joseph glanced up to see a slender girl in a high-necked ao dai of pale turquoise silk walking demurely beside an Annamese dressed in European style. She carried a cone-shaped hat of plaited palm leaf and wore her long hair dressed tight at the nape of her neck in a simple clip that allowed it to be drawn in front of her left shoulder in a glossy black torrent. Even at a distance, the striking beauty of her golden face was apparent to the American, and a little murmur of admiration escaped his lips. “You weren’t exaggerating, Paul,” he whispered appreciatively before the couple came within earshot. “She’s lovely.” 

Paul obviously pleased, stepped forward smiling warmly. Raising the girl’s hand to his lips, he murmured a compliment in French, then shook her brother cordially by the hand. “May I introduce Joseph Sherman, a good friend of mine from the United States of America.” He spoke in French, smiling into the girl’s eyes, then turned back to Joseph: “This is Tran Thi Kieu Lan 

and her brother Tran Van Tam.” 

“Enchanté, mademoiselle.” Her fingers were as small and fragile as a schoolgirl’s in Joseph’s grasp, and his own hand seemed suddenly elephantine in comparison. Her cheeks were tinged with pink, either dusted faintly with rouge or from her own natural coloring, but otherwise, unlike the French women all around them, she wore no other makeup and the freshness and innocence of her young face caused Joseph to stare for a moment longer than he should have, and she dropped her gaze. In his anxiety to make amends he seized her brother’s hand with extra effusiveness. “Congratulations, Monsieur Tam, on reaching the final!” he cried jovially, clasping the elbow of the Annamese as he shook his hand. “I wish you good luck for this afternoon’s match.” 

“Unfortunately there’s no chance at all of my winning,” replied Tam, giggling loudly. “It’s my younger brother, Kim, who is the tennis player, not me. He’ll be here in a moment — he’s parking our car.” 

Tam’s sister and Paul joined in the general laughter, to Joseph’s discomfort, but after a moment’s embarrassment the American suddenly stopped and stared at them with an astonished expression. “Did you say your brother’s name is Kim?” 

The Annamese nodded, still giggling 

“Then if you are Tran Van Tam He paused and turned to the still smiling girl. “. . . and if you are Kieu Lan, your father must be Monsieur Tran Van Hieu, the Imperial Delegate.” 

The Annamese girl nodded again, smiling at him in mystification. 

“Then we have all met before! Don’t you remember the day your baby gibbon almost broke the governor’s vase?” 

The smile faded slowly from Lan’s face and she raised a hand to her mouth as realization dawned. “You were the American boy who brought the gibbon back for us?” 

Joseph nodded delightedly. “Yes. You were just a little girl then.” 

Paul slapped Joseph on the shoulder and roared with laughter. “Bon Dieu! Of course! How did I ever forget your monkey-saving antics — the hunter who preferred to use a Ming vase to capture his trophies live, rather than a gun.” 

They all laughed again, but when the laughter subsided it was Lan who spoke. “It perhaps seems funny now, Monsieur Sherman, but at the time our father was very angry. We were scolded severely and made to kneel with our backs straight for more than an hour. My father often said if it hadn’t been for the young American saving the vase, our punishment might have been much worse — so you see, we’re very grateful for what you did for those three unruly children 

At that moment another young Annamese appeared behind them, carrying a hand case and a tennis racquet in a press. Of slighter build than the pudgy, overweight Tam, his face was set in a surly expression, almost a scowl, and he shook hands with Paul without cordiality. 

“Kim, who do you think this is?” asked Tam in an excited voice, gesturing towards Joseph. 

The younger Annamese looked Joseph up and down quickly, still without smiling, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Who is it?” 

“It’s Joseph Sherman, the son of Senator Sherman, remember — the American who rescued the baby gibbon you smuggled into the grounds of the governor’s palace. Now’s your chance to thank him.” 

Kim studied Joseph’s face intently for a moment, then offered his hand with exaggerated courtesy. “Without your intervention, Monsieur Sherman, I’m sure the governor’s precious vase would have been smashed beyond repair — and I, my father and my whole family would have been banished to the dark dungeons of Paulo Condore for the rest of our natural lives.” The glittering smile that flashed across the face of the Annamese did nothing to soften his sarcastic tone. “If it hadn’t been for you, perhaps, we should still be there now and today’s match and this reunion would not have been possible.” 

Tam shot an uneasy glance at Paul and forced a laugh. “The meeting might well have been possible, Kim — we would certainly have been released in the amnesty. The first boat sailed into Saigon last night, didn’t it? And another is due tonight.” He laughed uneasily again, watching Paul’s face as he (lid so. “So everything would have been all right in the end.” 

Paul laughed politely in return and patted Tam’s shoulder, but Kim’s face remained set in unsmiling lines. Without looking at the French officer he inclined his head once more in Joseph’s direction. “So thank you again, monsieur. Now if you will excuse roe, I must go and get changed for the match. Au revoir.” Without acknowledging the French officer, he turned on his heel and walked away in the direction of the dressing room. 

“I must apologize, Monsieur Sherman, for my brother’s strange sense of humor,” said Lan quietly as soon as her brother had gone. “He sometimes speaks without considering carefully what he says. And I think he’s very tense today. This match is very important to him.” 

Moved by her troubled expression, Joseph smiled reassuringly. “There’s no need to apologize at all, Lan. I understand perfectly.” 

“Like me, Monsieur Sherman. my brother enjoyed the great privilege of an education in Paris,” explained Tam with another anxious sidelong glance at the French officer. “We both studied law, but he chose perhaps to misuse some of his time with people who muddled his thinking. They dabbled with the outrageous theories of Karl Marx, Lenin and even Nguyen Ai Quoc. I’m not sure how seriously he took it because he still seems happy to enjoy the pleasures of the capitalist life. But his study of Marxism sometimes colors his thinking in ways very different from my own.” He turned to Paul directly and giggled nervously. “You understand that, don’t you Captain Devraux?” 

The French officer smiled. “But of course, Tam. Don’t concern yourself. Today in Saigon everybody’s allowed to believe what they like — and there’s nothing illegal about studying Marxist doctrine.” He glanced about him and saw that the crowds were beginning to move towards the tiers of banked seats around the lawn tennis court that had been prepared for the final. “Come on. I think it’s time we were taking our places.” 

As they made their way towards the court, Tam glanced anxiously about him at the faces of other Annamese. “I know Kim went out of his way to invite a lot of people from the staff of La Lutte,” he said in an undertone as he fell into step beside Paul. “I hope they don’t intend to make trouble.” 

“Relax, Tam,” said Paul lightly, as he guided Lan into a seat between himself and Joseph. “Everything will be all right. Just enjoy the game.” 

“What is La Lutte, Paul?” asked Joseph in a whisper when they were seated. 

“A left-wing journal published in Saigon. Most of the writers are young Annamese intellectuals who favor Communism of one kind or another. Some are Trotskyites.” 

Joseph glanced around the stands that were rapidly filling to capacity with French colons and scattered groups of Asians. Twenty or thirty youthful Annamese were seated in the row behind him, but like the rest of their countrymen their behavior was subdued in the unfamiliar surroundings and they made no attempt to converse with the French around them. When the two players came onto the court, they applauded Kim enthusiastically hut they didn’t call out. 

As the players took up position on their respective baselines, there was a little amused buzz of comment among the French spectators about the difference in size of the players. The French champion, Jules Pinot, was a tall, muscular assistant planter from one of the tea plantations near Saigon, and because Kim was only of average height for an Annamese, he appeared small and frail in comparison. As they warmed up, the French player made it clear he was intending to make no concessions to his opponent’s diminutive stature; he served and drove the ball deep, forehand and backhand, using the full power of his broad shoulders, and Kim, who employed a heavily cut spinning serve, had to scurry about the court to return the ball with his more delicate, wristy shots. 

man looks very confident, Paul,” said Joseph after he had watched for a minute or two. “He plays a strong game.” 

Paul nodded, then directed a sympathetic smile at Lao. “Unfortunately Kim could not have met a tougher player. Pinot has Won this championship three years running. You can see that he does not expect to lose.” 

Lan watched the wiry figure of her brother for a moment; although they were still loosening up, his face was grim with concentration as he dodged back and forth across the court, scooping up the long, raking drives of the Frenchman. “Yes, I fear that Monsieur Pinot will prove too powerful for Kim,” she said with a little sigh. “But he is very conscious that he is the first Annamese to reach the final— he won’t give up without a fight.” 

The opening games conformed to her predictions, and from time to time between points she smiled resignedly at Paul and Joseph. The Frenchman raced to a three-love lead in the first set, his fast service and sweeping ground strokes swamping Kim’s defenses, and all around Joseph and his companions the French colons applauded Pinot with unbridled enthusiasm; on the rare occasions when Kim gained a point they clapped politely to show their sympathy with the underdog. The young Annamese, however, continued to contest each point with great tenacity. He darted swiftly from one side of the court to the other, never tiring of his fruitless pursuits, and as the set advanced he began to anticipate better the pace and direction of his opponent’s shots. He lost the fourth game to go four-love down, but the fifth game hung in the balance for a long time as he saved a series of set points with delicately cut returns which fell dead close to the net. The French player’s face darkened as he dashed forward from the baseline repeatedly to deal with these tantalizing shots, and by varying his direction cleverly, Kim was able to deceive his bigger opponent with increasing frequency. In trying unsuccessfully to prevent Kim taking the game with yet another cleverly lighted backhand, the irritated Pinot slipped as he lunged across the court and sprawled full length into the foot of the net. When he untangled himself and stood up, his white singlet was discolored with bright green grass stains, and the group of Annamese seated behind Paul and Joseph immediately rose to their feet, clapping and yelling their appreciation of Kim’s guileful first victory. Some waved folded copies of La Lutte above their heads, arid seeing this, Annamese in other parts of the stands got up to join in the noisy accolade.