The Silk Merchant’s Daughter

by Dinah Jefferies

  ‘Of course. You’re her only aunt. You were there when she was born. That means something. Think how much she chuckles when she’s with you. But now, Sylvie, how can I ever put my faith in you? You must see what you’ve done.’

  Sylvie gave a small nod. ‘I feel so alone. I always have. And the world is so dangerous now. I feel it coming in on me and I’m frightened.’

  ‘But you’re not alone. You were never alone. Now come on, dry your eyes. We have to plan what to do.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Nicole. I sometimes feel as if I don’t know what I’m doing. Like there’s someone else inside me.’

  Nicole held out her arms. Sylvie stood up and, as they hugged each other, Nicole felt her sister’s heart thumping and her chest heaving with sobs. It seemed as if Sylvie’s heart might break. Struck by her sister’s remorse, Nicole wanted to believe her and it was clear Sylvie was struggling, but the fragile trust between them had been damaged. She wanted to leave right away with Celeste and wait for Mark in France, but how could she abandon Sylvie in this state? They’d have to leave together. And, even if she wanted to, how could she choose between her sister and the man she loved?

  While Sylvie left to try to get them a passage out of Hanoi, Nicole went to the Cercle Sportif, the sporting and social club that had always been such a pillar of their French colonial society. There were often soldiers at the pool and it was the best place to pick up the real news while they were off guard. With the baby in the pram, she walked there. The temperature was rising and soon Hanoi would be sweltering. Consumed by anxiety, Nicole glanced up to check the sky; there was always a chance of rain or drizzle at any time. A few heavy black clouds lurked in the north, but with a bit of luck they wouldn’t reach the city. Far worse than the clouds was the increase in the number of planes circling overhead.

  Nicole asked the attendant to keep an eye on the baby while she swam a couple of lengths. Afterwards she lay in the weak sunshine to dry off, watching the army officers whoop and splash as if there was nothing to worry about. When they got out one of them looked at her with narrowed eyes and offered her a cigarette.

  ‘Thanks, but no.’

  ‘Your baby? Or are you a nanny?’

  ‘My baby.’

  ‘You don’t wear a wedding ring.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said, feeling defensive.

  ‘Would you like to come to my place for a drink?’ he said with an eager look. ‘You can bring the baby.’

  She looked at him: one of those empty, facile men who think they’re doing you a favour with their interest. ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Well, do you mind if I sit with you?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll be heading home in a few minutes.’

  He pulled up a chair and threw himself into it. ‘Lord, but I’m tired!’

  She sized him up. ‘How’s it going at Dien Bien Phu?’

  He drew on his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. ‘I’ve come back for treatment. Had an infected injury.’

  ‘So what’s it like out there?’

  ‘The enemy have thousands of peasants who drag supplies and machinery through impossible mountain ranges. Things aren’t going our way. I’d say it’s only a matter of days.’

  ‘We’re going to lose the war?’ she asked.

  He sighed deeply and reached out a hand to touch her arm.

  Nicole flinched.

  ‘Good God, girl!’ he said, and touched her ringless finger. ‘You surely can’t be fussy. I could get you a flight to Saigon for your trouble.’

  ‘I’d rather pay.’

  He laughed. ‘You mean it, don’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll need two.’

  ‘Well, I admire your spirit, but the price is high.’ He told her how much and scribbled his name on a scrap of paper. ‘If you decide you want them, call at the Métropole early tomorrow morning with the money. I’ll have tickets for you on the midday flight.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Though she had expected it, she felt sick at the knowledge that the French were now facing certain defeat. She believed the Vietnamese had the right to govern themselves, but would have preferred a graceful acceptance by the French and a dignified retreat, followed by a peaceful handover of power, like the British in India. She knew things hadn’t gone well during the partition and many blamed the British, but why such a long drawn-out battle here? And a war that had been so hungry for rape and murder. Or were all wars like that? Once civilizing restraints were no longer in place, anything seemed to be fair game, no matter how cruel.

  As she imagined how it would feel to leave the country she loved, she thought of her journey after escaping the camp – how she’d travelled down through the tiny hamlets in the north on her own, how in the open she’d been forced to cross narrow bridges over mountain streams and how she’d scratched around for food and shelter in abandoned villages. Though she had been frightened most of the time, she’d seen the rural beauty of the north in a way she could never have imagined, and the trees, so many trees in a million shades of green.

  She thought of Huế. It was still her favourite place in the world. She so wanted to give her daughter the kind of experiences she’d had when they’d lived by the river. Apart from one, of course. She thought of the way she used to watch the water and sky turn purple at night and smiled at the memory of spying on the robed monks chanting at their tiered octagonal temple overlooking the Perfume River. They never noticed her there – or if they did, they never let on.

  The officer by her side stood up. ‘Anyway, I have to leave. Nice to meet you.’

  Nicole prepared to leave too, and a little later she wheeled the pram round the lake, sniffing air smelling of water and flowers. She glanced around at the broad French streets and tree-lined boulevards and felt shaken by how much she had grown to love Hanoi’s gentle serenity. She went to the bank and found that Sylvie had already closed her shop’s business account.

  It was time to feed Celeste, who was now wide awake and beginning to cry. Nicole put a palm to the baby’s forehead. She felt too hot. Once they reached the house the clouds had blackened and the beginning of a storm was rolling over, setting off the hundreds of city dogs, whose howls would continue to echo long after the storm was spent. At home, the house was silent. Nicole prised up the floorboard, gathered together the cash, her passport and Celeste’s birth certificate, and added them to her purse with the money from selling off the family belongings. She stuffed some nappies and some of Celeste’s clothes into an already half-packed carpet bag and left it in the hall while she waited for Sylvie.

  Luckily the storm passed quickly. At teatime, after Celeste had been changed – the little girl didn’t seem to be hungry – Nicole wheeled the pram out through the conservatory to a sheltered spot under an old apple tree, hoping the fresh early-evening air might help her daughter feel better. The sun had come out and it was a little bit brighter.

  She aired Celeste’s comfort blanket. When they left, her baby would need it.

  The garden, no longer cared for, was tangled and overgrown, apart from the area around the washing line. After she’d pinned up the blanket she checked the back of the baby’s neck. Still a bit too hot and, though her daughter was asleep, it was a restless kind of sleep. She touched the child’s burning cheeks and took off the coverlet. She’d take her inside and cool her down with a wet flannel in a moment. First she needed to see if anything remained in Lisa’s old vegetable patch. Even if they flew to Saigon the next morning, they still needed to eat tonight. Food was scarce and they’d had to make do with endless lentils, the odd scrawny chicken and what root vegetables they could still dig up. She knelt in the damp earth and concentrated on poking about with a trowel, only realizing someone had entered the garden when she heard a cough.

  Still kneeling, she twisted round and saw movement on the had other side of the garden where she’d left the pram. Sylvie had picked up Celeste and was gently rocking her with one arm. Her sister’s friend, André, stood at h
er side. What was he doing here?

  ‘She’s not very well. I’ve only just got her off to sleep,’ Nicole said as she got to her feet. ‘Can you put her back down?’

  Sylvie took a step forward. ‘Do you want to go inside?’

  Nicole was taken aback by the solemn look on her face and spotted a small suitcase on the ground between her sister’s feet.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ Sylvie said, and Nicole noticed her eyes looked red.

  ‘What?’

  Visibly, Sylvie drew in her breath and held it for a moment before she spoke. She glanced at André. ‘Something terrible has happened. Our army is now in retreat. The French garrison at Dien Bien Phu is about to fall.’

  ‘I heard that at the pool. Do you know any more?’

  Sylvie shook her head. ‘Only that Giap, the Vietminh general in command, has surrounded French positions using a huge network of trenches and tunnels.’

  Nicole stared at her sister.

  Sylvie gulped. ‘They are overpowering us, Nicole. I didn’t think it would happen so suddenly. I thought we had time. But they have as good as won.’

  ‘I’ll get our things.’

  Still rocking the baby, Sylvie seemed less agitated than she had been for days. ‘No. You don’t understand. I’ve only secured one ticket. I have a taxi taking me to an American armoured vehicle, travelling in a convoy tonight to the port at Haiphong. From there I’ve arranged a berth on a naval liner, hopefully leaving in two or three days for France.’

  ‘One ticket?’

  ‘It’s only me who is leaving. It was virtually impossible to get even one ticket for the convoy. They’re taking out officials and army only.’

  ‘I don’t understand. You mean you’re leaving me and the baby behind?’

  Sylvie shook her head. ‘I know it sounds crazy but I thought Celeste could come with me. I don’t need an extra ticket for a baby.’

  Nicole’s brow creased. ‘You’re serious?’

  Sylvie nodded. ‘Think about it. Look at her colouring. Bright blue eyes and sandy hair – you know she’ll never survive once the Vietminh arrive.’

  Nicole gazed at her baby. Her sister couldn’t believe this was the right thing to do. ‘But I’ve arranged flights to Saigon.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘A soldier I met at the pool.’

  Sylvie snorted. ‘And you believed him? Nicole, you must decide now. I have to go. The taxi won’t wait.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ Nicole felt her heart pumping. ‘Celeste isn’t well, Sylvie. She has a fever.’

  ‘This is the best way for her. You look Vietnamese. You’ll get by. She would not. You said so yourself.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean –’

  As Sylvie tightened the blanket around Celeste, her hand was shaking.

  ‘You said you wanted a way to get Celeste out of here. That’s what I’m offering to do. But there’s no time to lose. Please, Nicole. Let her go. It’s now or not at all.’

  As Nicole stole a look at André, he picked up Sylvie’s case. She felt her chest constrict. ‘You can’t separate us like this. You’re my sister.’

  ‘Did you think of that when you lied about my letter and slept with Mark?’

  Nicole stared in disbelief. ‘You want to take my child because of that?’

  ‘Truly, no. I really could only get one ticket.’

  ‘Come on, Sylvie. Why don’t we all go in our car? It would be better, wouldn’t it?’

  Sylvie shook her head slowly. The feather in her hat, perched on the side of her head, shivered in the breeze. ‘No petrol. None for private vehicles anyway. This is the only way.’

  Nicole thought quickly. Maybe Sylvie was right. She had no way of getting out of here except for the flight to Saigon. What if the officer had been lying about the tickets? She’d be completely stranded and then what would happen to Celeste?

  Sylvie turned to André. ‘Give her the envelope.’

  He passed it to Nicole.

  ‘The house in Huế is in your name now. You could go there, lie low for a while and then follow on when things calm down. I’ll be at our father’s flat in Paris. I’ve made this house over to the army, though much good it will do them. I wanted to sell up, but there wasn’t time. Now it’s worth nothing.’

  André stepped forward. ‘Best let the baby go, mademoiselle. The Vietminh would never allow her to live. You wouldn’t be safe either if she was with you.’

  Nicole was in tears now. She had to decide whether to trust some unknown officer to get her an aeroplane ticket or trust her sister with her daughter. Both were a risk, but she had to put her daughter’s safety first. Sylvie was going now. Who knew what might be happening by the morning. There might not even be any flights left to Saigon. She made a snap decision and came across to smother her daughter with kisses. She could hardly bear to do it but Sylvie was right.

  ‘I promise I will take care of her.’

  Nicole looked into her sister’s eyes and nodded, then stroked her daughter’s cheek, feeling the softness of her skin. After a moment she managed to speak. ‘There’s a bag of her things in the hall.’

  Sylvie turned on her heels, followed by André.

  Nicole stared after her, feeling numb. ‘Remember she’s not well,’ she called out with a break in her voice. She listened to the spaces between her own words. Was she insane to let this happen? The question went right through her but was left unanswered.

  She glanced around the garden. How could it look so normal when it was possible she might never see her daughter again? We should have gone before, she thought. She’d known it was foolish to wait yet she’d stayed for Sylvie’s sake. ‘We should have gone before,’ she whispered, ‘we should have gone.’ Mark had told her to go but she had listened to Sylvie instead. Her throat was completely choked and she couldn’t swallow, but a cool breeze on her skin and another rumble of thunder galvanized her into action.

  She straightened up and ran after them.

  When she reached the hall she saw they’d left the front door open. She took in the scene instantly and flew out of the house, just in time to see André closing the taxi door on Sylvie and getting in himself. Sylvie and the baby were sitting in the back and Nicole could clearly see her little girl’s bright blue eyes fill with tears.

  As the car pulled away, she followed blindly, stumbling past anyone who got in her way. By the time they were too far off, she was forced to stop and gasp for breath. Her sister had been acting oddly for weeks, and at times had seemed almost unbalanced. Would she be able to look after Celeste properly? People were staring as Nicole gulped and spluttered. Everything in the street became blurred; people, cars, rickshaws folded into one heaving mass. Then, as night fell suddenly in the way it did, she sat on the ground and howled.

  38

  For a few minutes after she’d stopped crying, Nicole’s chest was so constricted she couldn’t breathe. Didn’t believe she’d ever breathe again. She clutched herself and rocked in silence where she sat on the pavement. Nobody stopped. She got to her feet and looked at the street full of people without seeing any of them. Eventually she managed to make it back home where, leaning against their front door, she ached with the need to hold Celeste’s warm little body in her arms. She gazed up at the dark clouds staining the sky in patches of purple then glanced across the street where she caught sight of a couple walking rapidly past on the opposite side. They both carried cases and, from the way the man was lagging behind and the harsh way the woman spoke to him, Nicole suspected the woman would have been running, had she been on her own. Nicole took a step towards them. What if she threw herself at their feet and begged them to help her find the convoy? Then she remembered Sylvie hadn’t mentioned where in Hanoi the convoy was leaving from. She held her throat. There was no air.

  After a moment she felt for the door handle and let herself back into the house. She gazed at the four walls of the hall, at the glass cupola, at the floor, and finally
at the phone, now reconnected and sitting on the hall table next to the drawing-room door. She wiped her face and forced herself to think rationally. She rang the police. They told her they had more important issues to deal with, like looting on the streets and losing the war.

  ‘But my daughter’s been taken to Haiphong,’ she pleaded.

  ‘By your sister, you said.’

  ‘Yes. But I need to go too.’

  ‘And she went with your permission?’

  ‘Well, yes. But my daughter isn’t well.’

  ‘Then it’s a family matter.’

  ‘Can’t you help me get to Haiphong? At least tell me where the convoy is leaving from.’

  ‘We don’t give out that information.’

  She slammed the phone down, then sat on the stairs with her head in her hands while every cell of her body screamed with the loss. Who could help her follow them to Haiphong at night? There had to be someone. She stood and walked back and forth, clinging to the hope Sylvie might change her mind and return.

  In the silence she heard the squeak of a rusty bicycle chain, some mother calling to her child and a siren in the distance. The prolonged hooting of an owl brought her back with a jolt. Other people were on the move so why wasn’t she? She switched on the radio and listened to the news. It was true. The French had as good as lost the war. They still held Hanoi and Haiphong and the road between the two cities, but it wouldn’t be long before the Vietminh would be scouring the streets. The news was followed by a recording of the Marseillaise. She remembered the times she had heard it in Huế when she was a child and then, thinking of Huế, recalled how the silvery sky used to hang so low over the icy-blue river you felt you could touch it. During a very long night her memories went on and on, but there were gaps too, whole stretches of time she couldn’t remember at all. She bit the skin round her nails until it bled, and as the light from the cupola signalled the change, she watched the first crack of dawn appear.

  With daylight, she felt more convinced that there must be a way to get to Haiphong. There was no point thinking of flying to Saigon now, and she was glad she hadn’t paid for the tickets. She’d use the money she’d raised to follow Sylvie. She’d take the car. There had to be somebody with petrol to sell. The railway would be out of the question, even if there were trains running. Everyone knew the line would be mined.