The Silk Merchant’s Daughter

by Dinah Jefferies

  ‘You came here just to question me about Trần?’

  Giraud shook his head. ‘Yvette is our shared interest. But your young man and his conspirators are our prime suspects. You were seen with him one evening. I think we both know when. How do you explain it?’

  ‘Why? What does it matter anyway? He’s not my young man, he’s just a stu–’

  Giraud broke in. ‘Time to tell the truth. We can do each other a favour.’

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘So? Tell me about it. You and him.’

  ‘There is no me and him.’

  ‘What were you doing with him? You might think I’m not on your side. But we want the same thing, don’t we?’

  Nicole swallowed. Trần couldn’t have had anything to do with the atrocity. He had been so kind to Yvette. And yet he had said the city would be under siege. Had it been a warning? Not knowing how to feel, she remembered how he’d also said he would open her eyes.

  ‘He told me his brother had been shot by the French.’

  ‘Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.’

  She shook her head. ‘He was nice.’

  ‘Anyone can be nice when they want to be. Even me.’ He laughed. ‘But you’re stepping into a world you don’t understand. Now, I help you, you help me. That’s how it works. The next time he comes to the shop, I want you to telephone this number. You do have a telephone there?’

  ‘The line was disconnected, but it’s all right now.’

  ‘So do we have a deal? You don’t need to speak, let it ring three times, put it down and do the same again once more.’

  Nicole gave the slightest nod while staring at the floor. The one thing she would not tell him was that O-Lan was Trần’s cousin.

  Giraud squeezed her shoulder and left his hand resting there. ‘That’s a good girl. I want us to understand each other.’

  Her father came back in with a glass of lemonade.

  ‘Nicole has agreed,’ Giraud said, moving away to light a cigarette.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Giraud?’ her father said as he handed her the glass and then patted her on the shoulder. ‘I don’t want you putting my daughter in danger. I’d prefer her not to go back to the shop at all.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Give it a few days while the American CIA place their undercover agents in the area. We will all be keeping an eye on Nicole.’

  Nicole glared at her father. ‘Who told Monsieur Giraud about me talking to Trần?’

  ‘Don’t be so quick to fire up, Nicole.’

  ‘In any case, I’m afraid we can’t reveal our sources,’ added Giraud. ‘Thank you for your cooperation.’

  ‘Well, as long as you can ensure her safety. I love both my girls very much.’

  Nicole glanced up at her father again and saw that his eyes were moist.

  18

  For a few days Nicole did not see Trần; nor did she want to. She had thought about it carefully. And the more she thought and tried to remember everything he’d said, the more she began to believe he might have been involved in Yvette’s death. The thought horrified her. And it wasn’t only a matter of Yvette’s death either, as several other innocent people had also lost their lives – the old woman with the black enamelled teeth for one. Many others had been injured, most of whom now stood about the street talking to anyone who’d listen. Many did listen, especially the wizened old women, hair scraped back in buns, whose only joy in life was gossip. The local people could not leave it alone and Nicole, knowing they all blamed the French, was aware of a shift in the atmosphere. Because of the general increase in tension, Nicole made every effort to ensure she wore Vietnamese dress and did not draw attention.

  Even though she didn’t want to speak to Trần, she knew she had to and, when she didn’t see him at the shop, she decided to walk around the lake to think. Once there, she was surprised to see the thin back of the still figure who sat gazing out across the water. She felt a flicker of fear and bit down on her knuckles to stop herself from crying out.

  Yet Trần looked so defenceless. Surely he could not have been responsible for Yvette’s death? But when he twisted round, the accusation her father and Monsieur Giraud had made came storming back. She felt the heat explode in her head.

  ‘How could you?’ she hissed.

  There was silence, her accusation hanging between them. The scene in front of her began to pulse, the green of the trees, the silvery lake, his solitary figure. It merged together and she felt dizzy. She couldn’t take one step forward. Not one step. She hesitated a moment longer but knew that she would have to speak or run.

  After a few moments he sighed. ‘I knew you’d think that.’

  ‘They told me it was you.’

  ‘They?’

  She stared at the ground, seeing nothing, before returning her gaze to him. ‘Giraud and my father. They laid the blame on you.’

  ‘You believed them? You really think that?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘I argued with them. I told them nothing.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Trần, did you do it?’

  ‘You have to ask?’ His eyes hardened and he stood up, taking a few steps towards her.

  She held out her hand. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

  ‘Before you judge, think about it. Why would we kill our own people?’

  She shook her head. ‘To discredit the French.’

  He kicked at the dead leaves lying on the grass. ‘Have you considered it might be the other way round?’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘On my mother’s life, I promise you it was not us. I would not have harmed a hair on the child’s head.’

  An image of Yvette with her plaits swinging as she ran made Nicole tremble. She folded her arms across her middle and hugged herself, bending over to gaze at her feet. ‘I can’t bear it. She never harmed anyone.’

  ‘I can’t bear it either, Nicole.’

  She lifted her head and, thinking over what he’d said, watched the birds flying across the lake. The moment went on and though she wasn’t looking at him she knew he had not moved. Eventually she turned back to him. ‘How can I believe you when everyone says it was the Vietminh who killed her? How can I trust you?’

  And now he did take another step towards her. ‘Because you have my word.’

  She looked at his face for signs of a lie, really looked at him. Everything about him was taut. He gazed back at her without blinking, defiant and determined. Then his face crumpled as if he too had been holding on to overwhelming sadness and only now could release a little of it. His eyes filled with tears and he looked so vulnerable it tore her apart. Yet still she never would have believed him, had she not seen her own father kill a man in cold blood. If her father could do that, what else might the French be capable of?

  ‘So who?’

  ‘The Americans, perhaps. We know the CIA have been sniffing around. We think they are in league with some key French people who are working to set up a third army in Vietnam.’

  ‘To fight against the Vietminh?’

  ‘Yes, trying to discredit us.’

  There was no arguing with that. She walked up to him and, gazing right into his eyes, hoped she could hide the fact that she already knew about the third army. ‘They want me to inform on you. Let them know if I see you.’

  She watched the tears appear again. Moved by his sincerity, she reached out. He was so young but already looked so frayed at the edges. She hated to see him waste his life in a hopeless cause.

  ‘Trần, why not forget all this? Go back to your studies. The Vietminh will never win against the French.’

  He took hold of her hand and squeezed.

  She felt a wave of uncertainty and, for a moment, didn’t know how to respond. Behind his strong beliefs and eagerness there was also something naive. Was he telling the truth? How could you tell? She reached for his other hand. They stood and she felt the warmth of his skin against hers. She closed her eyes and listened to th
e wind ripple the water. He coughed and her eyes snapped open. As he smiled, something passed between them, and she felt as if she’d known him for ever. He was like a Vietnamese brother. She couldn’t help but feel protective towards him, just as she couldn’t help loving her father, even after what he had done.

  ‘You promise never to lie to me?’ she said, even though she knew she would always have to lie to him about what had happened in the cellar.

  He touched a palm to his heart, and then to hers. After that he took hold of her hand and led her to a secluded area of trees and shrubs. He parted the branches and they crawled through to a small clearing completely covered by the canopy of leaves.

  ‘I never knew this was here,’ she said as she attempted to sit, but had to double over under the low hanging branches.

  ‘You have to lie down here. No space to sit,’ he said. ‘Come.’

  He reached out both arms to help her lie on the grass beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. There was the occasional screech of bicycles or the sound of a car. Mainly they listened to the birds and the leaves rustling in the breeze. She raised herself on one elbow and watched the pattern of the dappled sunlight on his honey-coloured skin.

  ‘You are not such a mystery to me as you were,’ she said. ‘I thought at first you were full of hate.’

  He smiled. ‘No mystery and no hate. I want what’s right for our people.’

  ‘And to be dominated by another country is not right?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What if you lose? There will be terrible reprisals.’

  ‘There are already reprisals. Think of my brother.’

  Nicole shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory, the fringe, the gurgle, the slump of the man. The look in his eyes just before her father shot him.

  There was a long silence before she spoke.

  ‘I used to gaze out on the moonlit Perfume River. During the war, I wasn’t supposed to open the windows but I couldn’t bear it. I felt I had to be free or I would have died.’

  ‘So you understand how I feel.’

  She nodded. ‘It frightens me, but I think I do.’

  ‘Then help us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Promise you will not speak of this to anyone. It is dangerous.’

  She breathed air drenched with the scent of earth and water, and felt roused by his vehemence, but was he blind to the truth? The French could not lose, but still it was exhilarating to feel so connected to the cause of the Vietnamese people. She knew she was betraying her family by feeling that way and, at the back of her mind, she understood she could be in very deep trouble just for being here with him.

  ‘We are opening up tunnels,’ he continued. ‘Through the shops in the ancient quarter.’

  ‘Underground?’

  ‘We open up the walls between the shops on the ground floor, an archway if you like, wide enough for one of us to pass through quickly. It’s a hidden network.’

  ‘Surely the tunnels can be seen?’

  ‘The owners block them from view.’

  Nicole frowned. ‘You want to make holes in my walls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what about the silk? Won’t it be stolen?’

  ‘Not if people understand you are with us. I will protect you. I promise.’

  ‘What about my family?’

  ‘Nicole, they are French and our enemy.’

  She sat up and bent her head forward to her knees, covering her face with her hands. She didn’t want to hear. It was too brutal to think of her father and Sylvie like that and, despite everything, she still loved them.

  ‘I’m sorry. There is no other way.’

  There was a long stretch of silence while she thought about what he’d asked her to do.

  ‘If you want to save your family, persuade them to leave for France,’ he said as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘It’s all you can do. The days of French rule are coming to an end.’

  Trần still lay on the grass, his hands behind his head. She dropped her hands so that she could support herself as she twisted round to look at him. ‘If I join your cause I will lose my family.’

  He inclined his head.

  ‘You seem so sure about everything.’

  ‘I am. Thousands of peasants have joined us. They supply food, carry arms and look after the wounded. The Vietminh army are coming closer. Have you seen the number of French tanks in the streets? They are gearing up for a final battle they cannot win.’

  ‘You promise you had nothing to do with Yvette’s death?’

  ‘Believe me.’ He raised a hand and tilted her chin towards him. ‘I won’t betray your trust. And, as I said before, the Americans are trying to organize a third army to fight the Vietminh.’

  ‘The Americans hate us colonials.’

  ‘They hate communism even more.’

  ‘One question,’ she said. ‘Is the Vietminh really communist?’

  ‘We are nationalists, Nicole. The communist countries of China and Russia have been supporting us, and America is unhappy about that. The West has turned its back.’

  Nicole thought about it and felt the divisions were false. Surely there had to be a better way of deciding the fate of a country than through violence and war. ‘Why can’t we carry on living together?’

  ‘You know why. We’re not free. We have our own culture and it’s completely different to the French.’

  ‘My father loves this country. He was even married to a Vietnamese woman, my mother.’

  ‘Yet he seeks to maintain French domination.’ He paused. ‘Nicole, I wish I could say enough to steer you towards the truth, but I have to leave soon for the north. I might be gone for a few weeks but I will be back.’

  ‘And if I choose not to help you?’

  ‘Then we will not see each other again. But remember your true family may not be the one you were born into. My comrades are my family now.’

  She gazed at him. He looked so determined but she worried his convictions could only end in sorrow. She wanted to trace the contours of his cheek with her fingertips, the impulse so strong that he shifted slightly as if sensing it.

  ‘But think of this too. If you choose the French, you may not be safe at the silk shop. There may be people ready to hurt you if they suspect you know about the tunnels. And they know you and O-Lan are friends. They’d suspect her of telling you about them. You’d be putting her life at risk too.’

  ‘Is that blackmail?’

  ‘No, it’s reality. We need to get our country back. Whatever it takes.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ll be perfectly safe as long as you tell no one that I know about the tunnels.’

  ‘And what will you do in return?’

  ‘I will not tell the police about them.’

  19

  As autumn got under way, the streets of Hanoi were carpeted with red eagle tree leaves and before long it was the opening night of the show. Astonished that her life could carry on in the way it did, Nicole thought of Yvette every day. Now, as she made up her face in the tiny dressing room, she also thought of Trần. She began to see her meeting with him as one of those milestones, when you sense everything is about to change; if you allow it to happen, you know you’ll never be able to go back. Rather like the night her father had shot Trần’s brother and the certainties of her French life became blurred. One thing was clear: whichever side she chose, it would mean losing the other. If she turned her back on her family she’d lose them, and Lisa too. But she couldn’t help feeling drawn by the awakening of her Vietnamese side. She had been so touched by Trần’s hope for a better future. He’d spoken passionately, but also rationally, and now she had no choice but to question her own allegiances. What if he was right and it had been the French who were responsible for Yvette’s death? She shook her head, suspecting the truth would never be known.

  Trần had asked to come to the show, but with both Mark and her father likely to be present, she’d managed t
o dissuade him.

  As she put the finishing touches to her make-up as a woman of ill repute, she sniffed the air. Greasepaint! It was something she couldn’t explain, but from the moment she’d first held the little Leichner Grease Sticks wrapped in gold foil, her heart had flown. She sighed, slipped into her costume and went to wait in the wings. Her character didn’t appear until halfway through the first act, so she was able to peer through a slit in the curtain and watch the audience. Her character was not considered a good woman, but she had a heart of gold; Nicole loved the liberation of being somebody else, if only for an hour or two, especially when she so often felt uncomfortable being herself.

  At first she couldn’t see them, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of the auditorium, she made out her father sitting in the third row. She glanced to his left and caught sight of Sylvie sitting with a blond French soldier on her left and Mark on her right. As she watched Sylvie lean towards Mark, Nicole’s eyes began to smart. But she held her nerve. Nothing could be allowed to ruin her one chance to excel and, even though she had seriously considered Trần’s proposal, impressing Mark and her father still mattered to her.

  The chords of her first number began. She stepped out into the bright lights and began to sing. As she gave herself to the song, the world stopped turning. Aware of her voice soaring as it filled the entire auditorium, it was as close to joy as she had ever been. There was the music and nothing else, and the elation felt like a huge relief. At the end of prolonged applause, one glance at her father revealed him beaming with pride. Then, shocked to see Trần standing right under a single wall light at the back of the hall, her heart gave a little jolt. He wouldn’t be safe.

  After the interval she noticed Mark had left and only her father and Sylvie remained. It was too dark now to see whether Trần was still there at the back. She hoped he’d slipped away. The show progressed with a couple of lighting mishaps and a few prompts, but as first nights went, it was a great success.