Tâm had never been in the midst of such opulence. The sofa was soft and velvety. The walls were covered with light gray wallpaper woven through with shiny silver branches and leaves. Silk, she thought. A low table with a glass surface and a highly polished wood base sat in front of the sofa. Two upright chairs, also polished wood, flanked it. Gold sconces with white tapered candles hung from the walls. Light gray curtains that matched the wallpaper filtered the light but didn’t keep it out, and a thick oriental carpet in the middle of the room picked up those colors and more. The portion of floor not covered by the carpet looked to be marble. Fresh flowers with white, yellow, pink, and blue blossoms were arranged in vases. How did Dr. Hằng become so rich? Tâm tensed her shoulders and contracted her body in an effort to make herself smaller, as if by taking up too much space she would somehow soil or contaminate the room.
A few minutes later Dr. Hằng emerged. In contrast to the luxury of the room, she wore a no-nonsense navy business suit, nylon stockings, and navy heels. Her hair was pulled back in a knot, and her makeup, while perfect, was less dramatic than it had been on the evening they’d met. Tâm rose and bowed.
Dr. Hằng smiled. “Please sit. I am delighted you called and so pleased to see you again, Tâm. You are well?”
Tâm nodded, at a loss for words. The elegance, the taste, the sense of casual wealth, were overwhelming. She swallowed and tried to hide the tea towel with which she’d been drying herself.
“Don’t worry. We’re all clammy and wet during monsoon season.” The doctor picked up a bell, which Tâm had not noticed before, and shook it. A silvery chime rang. “Let’s have some tea.”
The girl who’d opened the door for her came in. “Oui, madame?”
“Du thé, s’il vous plait, Marie.”
“Oui, madame.”
“Et des biscuits pour notre visiteur.”
“Oui, madame.” Marie turned and left the room.
“You speak French at home?” Tâm asked.
She nodded. “Est-ce que tu parle le français?”
“Non, madame. We only learned a few words at school.”
“Ah. I see. Many Vietnamese do speak French, you know. It is considered an asset. Especially now.”
“Why is that?”
Dr. Hằng smiled. “Americans generally do not speak French. Or Vietnamese, for that matter. It is a way for us to communicate when we don’t want to be overheard.”
“I see.”
Marie returned, carrying a silver tray that held a teapot, two cups, sugar, lemon, milk, and a plate of cookies. She set down the tray on the low table between them and withdrew.
Dr. Hằng busied herself with pouring two cups. “How do you take your tea, my dear?”
Tâm looked at her and shook her head.
“Ah. I understand.” The doctor picked up a lemon wedge and two cookies, placed them on the saucer, and passed it to Tâm. “This is French tea. A tiny squeeze of lemon sharpens its taste.”
Tâm had never drunk tea with lemon. It was not common in her village. Dr. Hằng had peculiar habits. As if she preferred French customs to Vietnamese, even though the French, defeated by Hồ Chí Minh at Dien Bien Phu, had finally abandoned Vietnam. Tâm took a small bite of the cookie. It tasted like a sweet, chewy coconut.
“A macaroon,” Dr. Hằng said. “They are French.” She sipped her tea. “Now, let’s talk. First, please accept my condolences. I cannot imagine the horror and grief you have suffered.”
Tâm looked down, as if doing so would keep her emotions under control. Her parents had taught her the display of feelings was not appropriate, especially with strangers.
“And I can see how hard you’re working to control yourself.”
Tâm didn’t know what to say. She looked back up at the doctor, who smiled kindly.
“It isn’t always a good thing to suppress them.” She paused. “Sometimes.” She paused again. “So. Cô Cúc told me about you. She is a fine woman. How did you find her?”
“A woman at the Binh Tay market gave us her name.”
She nodded as if that concurred with her information. “You also have a sister, I understand. But she is no longer working at the restaurant?”
Tâm shook her head. “She found another job.”
“And where will she work?”
“She will be a hostess at a nightclub.”
“Ah. I understand,” she repeated. A sympathetic expression came over her.
Tâm felt her eyes tear up. She blinked the tears back.
“Tell me, Tâm, were your parents Viet Cong?”
Surprised by the bluntness of the question, Tâm tried to put her thoughts in order. “I think they would have been, had they not been afraid it would put us in jeopardy.” She paused. “We had a brother. Five years old. After two girls, he was the prince of the family. My parents protected him.”
Dr. Hằng said, “Yet in the end, it made no difference.”
Tâm couldn’t help it. Her eyes filled again. She had not yet had time to mourn her family. She’d stuffed her feelings down while she tried to protect Mai and lead them out of danger.
“And now your sister has left.”
Tâm nodded.
“Why?”
Tears silently rolled down Tâm’s cheeks.
“She rejected your help?” Dr. Hằng took a napkin from the tray and passed it to Tâm. “I know.” She soothed. “I know.” She was quiet while Tâm let the tears flow. Tears of grief that had been bottled up for weeks. Grief that would take a lifetime to manage.
“And yet, despite her defiance, you feel guilty about it, don’t you? You think it’s your fault. That you failed your parents, your family.”
Tâm looked at her. “How did you know?”
The doctor smiled and set her teacup back down on the tray.
Tâm took her time to pull herself together. “Why did you want me to visit you?”
“Why did you come?”
“I was hoping you could suggest a safe place I could move into. I’m in a refugee camp in Cholon, and there is fighting nearby. I’m living one step up from hell.”
“Yes. The fighting has intensified. And that will continue,” she said. “I can certainly help you find a new place, Tâm. But I think you want more than a room. I think you are looking for a purpose. A reason to go on. A way to turn the tragedy of your family and sister into something—constructive. Something good.”
How did this woman know the inside of her soul?
“Tết was a failure for the patriots who want to see Vietnam reunited under one government. We lost many fine soldiers. We need to rebuild our forces with committed individuals whose goals align with ours. I think you may be one of those individuals.”
“But I am just a girl. A student. What can I do?”
“What if I told you we have female fighting forces? Real Viet Cong patriots?”
Tâm’s mouth fell open.
“It’s true. The men call them the Long Hair Army. They are spread throughout our troops and are quite effective. Are you familiar with the Cu Chi tunnels?”
Tâm shook her head.
“Ah yes. Saigon is still new to you.” She picked up a macaroon from the tray. “I can arrange a meeting with someone if you want. Not the Long Hairs but other fighters that need help. If it goes well, they would train you and then decide your assignment.”
“Train me? To do what?”
“Whatever is necessary.” She nibbled the cookie. “We all have our part to play.”
“I-I don’t know. I never thought I—”
Dr. Hằng cut Tâm off. “I realize that. Which is why I want you to think about it. And while you do, you can stay here. My husband is in Paris on business.”
Her husband. Is that where their wealth came from? Was he a tycoon? Or did he inherit it from his family? Was he French? Or part French? Tam had so many questions.
“I have an extra room. I will make contact with the right people on your behalf. If you decide, after meeting with them, that this is not what you want to do, we will find you a room in a safe place.” Dr. Hằng picked up her teacup again. “But, if you believe in our mission . . .” She let the words trail off.
Tâm knew this was a test. What she said would determine her future with Dr. Hằng. She wasn’t sure how to respond. “My father bought a transistor radio a few months before the—before he died. We would listen to the news broadcasts together. He said the Communists were our friends, not enemies.”
“Why, if I may ask?”
“He said the Communists cared about poor people. That if they won, we would share the wealth that was previously held only by the rich. All people would be equal, and our suffering would cease.”
“Did you believe him?”
Tâm straightened. “He was my father.”
Dr. Hằng nodded. “He was a wise man.”
Tâm shifted in her seat. What does she want me to do?
“And he has a wise daughter.”
“May I ask you a question?” Tâm said.
Dr. Hằng nodded.
“The resurgence of the fighting around Saigon . . . Did you help plan it?”
Dr. Hằng laughed. “No. I don’t get involved in military strategy or tactics. But I can tell you we will never give up. And we will win. We have already triumphed over the U.S. president. This war is the reason why he won’t run for reelection.” She paused. “He knows we will win. If only his generals felt the same way.” She sighed. “They will. In time.”
Tâm let out a breath. “Why me?”
“We need smart people. Brave people. And you have proven you’re both.”
Tâm felt her cheeks get hot. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Think about the massacre, Tâm. Wouldn’t you like to make sure it doesn’t happen to a family in another village? Cô Cúc told me that you’re always reading. That the sciences interest you. That you were a scholar. There is certainly a time for thought. For ideas. And then there is a time for action. This is a time for action.”