Saigon (23 page)

Joseph, glancing sideways at Lan, saw her delighted smile fade slowly into an expression of unease as the ecstatic cheering continued. The rigid set of her head and shoulders betrayed her inner tension, and Paul, noticing this, took her hand in his in a little gesture of reassurance. A moment later, however, Joseph saw her withdraw it and she sat silently between them, staring fixedly at the court while the French spectators all around them glared stonily at Kim’s gleefully cheering supporters. 

Winning the game had increased Kim’s confidence, while the heavy fall had shaken the Frenchman, and when the match resumed the Annamese began to Flight the ball with ever greater accuracy. Each point that he won was greeted by his countrymen with renewed bursts of cheering, and many of the French colons began to scowl and mutter irritably among themselves. Kim won the next game, then the following two more easily to level the set at four-all, and again his supporters cheered him wildly. 

In the ninth game Kim served his heavily cut services with great care, his face a mask of concentration. He dropped the ball short over the net again and again, then made the rattled Frenchman scurry to the rear of the court with delicately struck high lobs. With the rhythm of his powerful, free-swinging game broken, Pinot began to make error after error; the rallies stuttered and jerked in erratic patterns robbed of their traditional European flow, and Kim won that game and the next one easily to take the first set six-four amidst a new storm of delirious Annamese applause. 

In the second set the pattern of the early part of the match was completely reversed. To hysterical cheers from his countrymen, Kim raced to a five-love lead, dancing nimbly around the court, stroking the ball artfully in unexpected directions to make the perspiring Frenchman appear leaden-footed and foolish. Pinot, growing red-faced with embarrassment, began shaking his head and muttering to himself between points, and the watching French colons fell silent, sharing visibly in the humiliation of their champion. Lan and her brother Tam, sensitive to the tension that was growing among the spectators, ceased to applaud their brother’s points and sat silently beside Paul and Joseph, their faces serious and apprehensive. 

At the start of the sixth game the increasingly desperate Pinot crashed to the turf again during an unsuccessful dive to retrieve a deftly flicked passing shot; when he rose to his feet he was limping badly and clearly doomed to lose. Kim, taking full advantage of the injury, continued to dart nimbly about the court, tapping and patting the ball with infuriating accuracy just beyond the reach of the handicapped Frenchman, and when he arrived at match point with another delicate drop shot, the Annamese in the crowd made more noise than ever. 

In an effort to clinch the match Kim spun his service wickedly, then followed it with a new flurry of cunningly weighted wrist shots; another jerky rally ensued, and in the tense silence a monocled Frenchman in front of Joseph stood up suddenly and waved his arms at the umpire. “C’est honteux!” he yelled in an exasperated voice. ‘This is shameful! You must disqualify him! His play is anti-sportive.” 

Other Frenchmen in different parts of the crowd, as though relieved that some lead had at last been given, leaped to their feet too, shouting complaints about Kim’s “unsporting” use of balles amorties —the “deadened” ball—and his service coupé—his heavily cut serve. 

Yells of “Disqualify him!” rose from French throats in all corners of the stands, and on the court Pinot stopped suddenly in the middle of the rally and turned -an agonized face towards the umpire. Kim, his features stiff with concentration, chipped the ball accurately past the immobile Frenchman and, throwing his racquet ecstatically into the air, ran towards a large group of Annamese at the courtside with outstretched arms. The French umpire, however, shouting above the growing pandemonium, called a “let” and tried to order Kim back onto the court to replay the point. 

“Sales Francais! Sales Francais!” suddenly screamed an Annamese close behind Joseph and Lan. “Filthy French! Filthy French! You can’t stop and replay the game just because you’ve been beaten by one of your ‘slaves.’” 

Joseph turned his head in time to see two enraged Frenchmen rise from their seats and knock the Annamese down. 

- “All the French are dogs!” yelled another youth close by, struggling to climb across the seats to assist his fallen friend. “Even on the tennis court you wantonly to oppress the Annamites!” 

Women began screaming in panic as struggles broke out all over the stands; in the seat behind Joseph a French fist crashed into the face of an Annamese and a flurry of blood from his broken nose splashed Joseph’s white suit. Another French spectator in the same row began grappling with Tam, and seeing this, Paul lunged to his aid. 

“Get Lan away from here, Joseph, please!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Take her home!” 

Joseph flung a protective arm about the trembling girl and forced his way through the milling crowd to the gates. Outside he hailed a passing malabar and sat wordlessly beside her in the little wooden carriage as the trotting ponies drew it sedately through the quiet afternoon streets towards the walled residence of the Imperial Delegate, north of the cathedral square. 

For a long time she sat staring in front of her without speaking, her fingers tightening nervously on the brim of the sun hat she held in her lap. Then at last she turned to him and smiled briefly. “Thank you, Monsieur Sherman, for being kind enough to take care of me. I’m sorry you had to see such ugly things happen. Unfortunately the hearts of many Annamese are filled with hatred.” She bit her lower lip and looked away from him. 

Sitting close beside the beautiful Asian girl in the tiny vehicle, Joseph felt a rush of tenderness sweep through him; while struggling in the unruly crowd with his arm around her slender shoulders, he had been deeply moved by her fragility. She had recoiled against him several times as he struck out to force a way past the knots of fighting men, yielding herself trustingly to his protection, and as he studied her profile in the malabar, the gentle exotic loveliness of her golden face seemed heightened suddenly by their unexpected intimacy. 

“I’m delighted that I could be of help to such a beautiful girl as you, Lan,” he said softly. “And I have to say that I envy Paul.” 

She turned to look at him with a faintly quizzical look. “Captain Devraux is a good friend, Monsieur Sherman — that is all.” 

“But he’s very fond of you—-he told me so,” said Joseph, smiling at her again. 

“My father admires him. He believes he’s a fine officer. He has great respect also for Captain Devraux’s father. He’s the deputy chief of the Süreté Générale.” 

Joseph’s face hardened for an instant at the mention of Jacques Devraux; then with an effort he smiled again. “I’m sure Paul is an outstanding officer. Perhaps if more Frenchmen were like him, what happened at the Cercle Sportif this afternoon could be avoided” 

The worried frown returned to her face immediately at his mention of the trouble. “My father will be very displeased,” she said, speaking almost to herself. “He didn’t wish Kim to enter the tournament at all 

“Please present my compliments to your father, Lan, will you,” said Joseph gently, trying to guide her thoughts away from the unpleasantness of the riot. “I’ve never forgotten his kindness in showing me the palaces of Hue.” He hesitated for a moment, then went on eagerly: “I would be very pleased to call on him, Lan. I’m writing about the History of your country and I would be delighted to have a chance to talk to him.” 

“How long will you be staying in Saigon?” 

“I’m on toy way to Hanoi to work in the archives there — but I can stay another day or two in Saigon.” 

“Then I’m afraid it will be impossible for you to see him.” She smiled apologetically. “We are all leaving first thing tomorrow for Hue. The emperor, Bao Dai, is to make his three-yearly Sacrifice to Heaven later this week, and my father is taking part in the ceremonies.” 

Joseph stared at her in surprise: then a delighted smile broke across his face. ‘What good fortune! I didn’t realize the ceremonies were due. I mustn’t miss them it’s over twenty years since the last Chinese emperor performed the Sacrifice to Heaven in Peking before the revolution — I could travel to Hue quite easily.” He paused, gazing excitedly at her, and suddenly in the confined space of the tiny vehicle he fancied he could detect the fragrance of perfumed jasmine on her skin or in her hair; they were passing through the dappled shadows of a street of banyan trees and the reflected flashes of hot sunlight playing across their faces inside the malabar illuminated her dark eyes and the beguiling Asiatic curve of her amber cheeks in a way that made his senses swim. “Would it be possible, Lan, for, me to watch the ceremonies with you?” he asked, unable to keep a tremor of excitement from his voice. 

For a moment she gazed back at him; the handsome American face, with its strong jaw and startlingly blond hair, was as strange and exotic to her as her own face was to him. The directness of his pale blue eyes and the unconcealed admiration in them caused a flush of warmth to rise to her cheeks without her knowing why, and she looked away from him quickly before answering. “I shall be with my family in Hue, Monsieur Sherman,” she said shyly. 

“But perhaps I could join you for part of the time,” he persisted. “I could even come a day before the ceremony and we could look at the palaces again together. I’ve never forgotten my last visit. I stood right next to the throne! And the Emperor Khai Dinh shook hands with me before we left. Every time I read about the emperors of China I saw him in my mind — and every time I pictured a mandarin I remembered your grandfather and your father performing the lam lay ceremony in the palace courtyard.” 

His eager words poured out of him in a rush and she smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. “I love the ancient ceremonies of my country and I’d be only too pleased to explain them to you.” She hesitated, and her smile faded slightly. “But any invitation must come from my father.” 

“Don’t worry, Lan, I’ll come to Hue anyway.” He grinned delightedly again. “And could you do one other thing for me? Will you call me Joseph? ‘Monsieur Sherman’ is too formal, isn’t it, for two people who’ve already known each other eleven years?” 

“I will try.” 

She gave a little embarrassed laugh and turned her head away to peer past the sais as the malabar turned into the street on which the Imperial Delegate’s residence stood. When she directed him to halt before a red-painted circular moon gate in a high wall, Joseph clambered out first. She allowed him to assist her briefly as she stepped down onto the road, and again her hand felt as delicate as a child’s in his grasp. Moving gracefully beside him in her billowing costume of turquoise and white silk, she seemed suddenly to Joseph the embodiment of an almost divine femininity, both chaste and alluring in the same moment, and when she turned at the gate to thank him, impulsive words sprang involuntarily to his lips. 

‘Lan, since I’ve been here... I feel as if fate of some kind brought me back,” he said, stumbling over the words. “I’d forgotten about meeting you and your brothers at the palace. . . . But perhaps it was 

perhaps we were fated to meet again.” 

She blushed deeply this time, and he realized suddenly how foolish he sounded. .“Lan, I’m sorry,” he blurted as she turned away to open the latch. “That was a stupid thing to say — but I really hope we can meet again.” 

Before she closed the gate she paused and smiled shyly once more. 

“Whatever is meant to happen will happen, Joseph,” she said softly. “Au revoir!” 

“How can you say that I disgraced the family, Father — I beat the French champion fairly, don’t you understand?” Kim’s raised voice carried clearly through the open windows of Tran Van Hieu’s study to where Lan sat beside the lotus pool. For half an hour or more she had been daydreaming idly about the handsome young American who had brought her home; the memory of his smiling blue eyes gazing so intently into her own had left her feeling strangely excited, but the strident, high-pitched tone of Kim’s voice alarmed her, and she stiffened on the little stone seat and turned her head to listen. “I played according to the rules and I won,” continued Kim insistently. “The silver trophy is rightfully mine!” 

“The manner of your play offended the French deeply. It was unsporting and provocative — not in the tradition of their game as they play it.” Lan could tell from the slow, deliberate tone of her father’s voice that he was suppressing his anger with difficulty. “They are right to order you to replay the final, and I forbid you to employ those methods again.” 

“I can hardly believe my ears, Father! Are you trying to order me to ‘collaborate’ with Pinot in my own defeat?” Kim’s words came out in an incredulous whisper, and Lan had to strain her ears to catch what he said. 

“The disturbances in the crowd caused by your behavior have left a terrible stain on our family’s reputation!” said Tran Van Hieu icily. “I leave it to you to decide how best to ensure that there is no repetition of that disgrace.” 

“I’m not responsible for what was done by our people in the crowd,” protested Kim. “They were only responding to the blatant injustice of the French. I refuse to play again! I’ve won fairly and I’ve agreed to write a signed article for La Lutte attacking French oppression on and off the tennis court!” 

“You have always been determined to disobey me. You entered the tournament against my advice. You wanted above all else to defy me—and to make trouble in the process.” 

The rising note of anger in her father’s voice caused Lan to catch her breath, and she waited for her brother’s reply in an agony of suspense. 

“I can see it now,” said Kim at last with a little hollow laugh. “You must have been hoping for me to lose all along! That’s why you refused to come and watch. What a fool I was to think you might have been proud of me — proud that we’d at last won some genuine respect and admiration among our own people! You’ve never been proud of me no matter what I’ve done. And by win fling even a small victory over our French overlords, I’ve disappointed you once again, haven’t I?” 

“Yes! Because it’s always been your nature to seek success by defiance and confrontation. I’ve always tried to guide you and Tam as my father guided me — to have proper Confucian respect for your elders, for the sovereign and the governing authorities. Tam has learned his lessons well, but always you’ve chosen the path of the rebel— that’s why I’m ashamed of you!” 

“The ethics of Confucius promote exactly the kind of docile slave mentality that our French masters want us to have,” said Kim, his voice rising almost to a shout. “We’ll be their serfs forever if we listen only to those teachings.” 

The sound of her father drawing in his breath sharply at this blatant discourtesy brought Lan to her feet, her heart beating faster. Although the light was lading in the garden, through the open window she could see her father seated at his writing-table in front of two big red decorative wall silks embroidered in gold with the Chinese characters for “Peace” and “Harmony”; portly and graying faintly at the temples in his early fifties, he was wearing the dark gown in which he dressed every evening to perform his devotions before the family altar, and from the agitated movements of his head and shoulders she could see that he was fighting to control his fury. Tam stood at his side and Kim, still dressed in his tennis clothes, was glaring at them from the other side of the table. Fearing that they might turn and notice her. Lan stepped behind the foliage of a peach tree outside the window, where she could watch and listen without being seen. 

“You make your offenses graver by addressing me in this fashion,” said her father; speaking very quietly. “I suggest you go now and make preparations for our journey to Hue tomorrow. Perhaps observing the ancient ceremonial will remind you of our proud heritage arid bring you to your senses. Reflect on your words and your actions, and I will talk to you again in a few days’ time.” 

“I’m not coming to Hue with you!” Kim’s voice trembled as he spoke, arid Lan saw her father raise his head to look at him with a shocked expression on his face. “After what you’ve said tonight I see no point in concealing my real views from you any longer.” 

“So because of your devotion to the insane doctrines of Bolshevism,” said Tran Van Hieu, his voice icy with outrage, “you not only dishonor your father and your ancestors —- you are prepared to turn your back too on the country of your birth and all that it stands for!” 

“No! That’s not true! To love your country you don’t have to love a gilded tailor’s dummy performing ancient rituals that have lost all their meaning! You don’t have to spend hours watching mandarins acting as clothes hangers for multicolored robes. Our people detest the corruption of the mandarins, don’t you see? If the French had not come here, the tide of history would long ago have swept away the emperor and his depraved court —just as it did in China twenty-five years ago.” Kim’s face had turned pale and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as his impassioned words poured from him. “The people know that the emperor and his mandarins are mere puppets who dance obediently when the French governor of Cochin-China or the Resident Supérieur in Hue pull their strings. They know they have no real power on the Colonial Council or the Council of Ministers. They know well enough that the collaborationists have been richly rewarded for their betrayal of the people. The peasants hate absentee landlords like us, don’t you understand? We’ve become nothing more than usurers and speculators battening on their misfortune 

The speed with which Tam moved surprised Lan, and the soi.ind of his open-handed blow striking Kim’s face made her flinch even in her place of concealment. Kim rocked on his feet but recovered quickly and stood his ground, glowering fiercely at his brother, For a moment it appeared that Kim would retaliate; then he relaxed. 

“That, I know, is what my esteemed father longs to do to you,” said Tam, his breathing ragged. “But he’s too loyal to his code of honor which detests loss of control. So I gladly do it for him.” 

“You wouldn’t dare to do it outside this room,” said Kim in a low voice. 

Tam hesitated and glanced uncertainly towards his father. 

“That’s enough, Tam!” Tran Van Hieu waved his elder son aside. “Your brother has forgotten that the wealth and position he so despises enabled him to go to France to be educated. He forgets it was in France that he discovered this new ‘faith.’ He forgets or he’s too hotheaded and foolish to see that a weak country like ours must proceed cautiously. While our people are politically immature like him, the protection and guidance of France is greatly preferable to less scrupulous rulers from China —or even fascist Japan.” 

“If you had the father of Le Loi, I’m sure you would have advised him to ‘respect’ the Chinese invaders he so gloriously defeated in the fifteenth century,” said Kim, his voice now openly contemptuous. “You teach me to respect the great heroes of our past — but forbid me to emulate them. I know in my heart that the only course for a true patriot today is to become a revolutionary!” 

“And you will become the savior of our country singlehanded, I suppose.” 

“The savior will not be one, but many,” replied Kim confidently. “The Communist Party of Indochina supported by all the oppressed peoples of the world and led by Nguyen Ai Quoc will set us free. I hope that I’ll be able to play my part in that way, yes, I will try to become my country’s savior.” 

“Nguyen the Patriot is dead,” said Tam flatly. “It was reported in the Communist newspapers of Moscow and Paris.” 

“They were wrong. He’s alive and the party is recovering,” rejoined Kim. 

“Then where is he now?” 

“That’s not important. What’s important is that he won’t be in Hue with you taking part in the futile charade of the Sacrifice to Heaven. He’s still working with many other comrades to ensure that the modern theories of Marx and Lenin conquer the antiquated ideas of Confucius.” 

Lan saw her father raise his head, his expression suddenly pained and sorrowful rather than angry. For a moment he looked at each of his Sons in turn. “There’s nothing more dangerous than to reject the past completely,” he said in a quiet voice. “The emperor is still important today as a symbolic focus of our culture and our national character. If our nation is to survive, we must try to combine the best of our Confucian ideals with the best of the new scientific teachings from the West. We must harmonize old things with new things and let the past and the present meet as equals. You’ve been won over, Kim, by the wild rantings of your uncle Lat. He’s obsessed by foreign ideas — but if we let our national sense become submerged in an ocean of foreign knowledge, we will lose the soul of the nation.” The mandarin employed the emotive Annamese term quoc hon with a sonorous gravity. “We’ve always retained our traditions although we’ve often lost our independence — first to China and now to France. If you and Lat sacrifice our national soul to Bolshevism in return for independence, you’ll find afterwards there’s nothing left of the true nation to revive. During the Red Terror of 1931 your ‘friends’ committed many atrocities, butchered hundreds of their own countrymen. They’ve shown they will not hesitate to tear out our nation’s vitals to ‘save’ it.” 

Kim stared in silence for a moment, his expression uncertain, as though some small part of him still intuitively respected the wisdom of his father’s words. Then his features contorted in a sudden grimace of irrational anger and he sprang forward and banged his fist violently on the writing-table. “You and Tam are blind — or you won’t see. The doctrines of Lenin alone can make our people free! Only Leninism can free us from the humiliation of kowtowing all our lives to the insufferable French!” 

Tran Van Hieu looked expressionlessly at his son. “You know well enough that the best Frenchmen — like Captain Devraux — have a deep affection for our country. Things are changing now. If we work quietly and methodically, the Emperor Bao Dai could become our first modern sovereign — advised by the French but governing with greater independent powers.” 

Kim snorted derisively. “The French will only ever use us, as we use the water buffalo. They love only the material riches they can wring from our soil.” His eyes blazed suddenly as he stared down at his father, then he thrust a hand into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out some crumpled banknotes. He smoothed out a ten-piastre bill between his fingers, then waved it in front of him. “This is the only thing for which the French colons have a deep affection. And you have the same deep affection for it too. All else is hypocrisy!” 

He turned the note in his hands and pointed to the engraved design portraying Mother France with her arms draped benevolently around the shoulders of two native Annamese. “Do you know what that picture is meant to convey? It shows a mother dragging her Annamese bastard sons to market— to sell them as slaves! And I’m the son of one of the middlemen who has grown fat on the proceeds.” He paused and with a dramatic sweep of his arm flung the banknote in his father’s face. “You may not be prepared to stop selling our people to France for private gain, but I am — I will no longer be a party to such shameful deeds.” 

Tran Van Hieu winced and closed his eyes as the banknote fluttered to rest on the table in front of him. When he opened them again his eyes fell directly on the engraving. For a long time he sat without moving. When he finally spoke, he kept his eyes averted from his son. 

“You will leave my house immediately,” he said in a barely audible voice. “And never return again as long as I live.” - 

From outside the window Lan clearly heard Kim’s sharp intake of breath. Beside her father, Tam stood motionless, like a wax figure, his face drained of all color. 

“The family and the nation should be one,” continued Tran Van Hieu in the same quiet voice. “If the family is lost, the nation will be lost too. In the end, Kim, if Bolshevism succeeds you’ll bring down ruination on your country, your family and yourself! Now go!” 

Lan could not prevent a little sobbing cry escaping her lips, and when Kim rushed from the room, she hurried up the steps into the house. She met her brother in the shadowy hall but he pushed past her without acknowledging her presence. Sobbing openly, she ran into her father’s study and found him hunched gray-faced in his chair. Kneeling beside him, she seized his hand and kissed it convulsively. In the doorway her mother appeared silently, having come from the back of the house where she had obviously been listening all the time. Tam went to her and she put her arms around him and drew him close; tears were already streaming down her cheeks too.