November 14, 1933
I sat rigidly on the couch in my living room and picked up the black handle of our brass telephone with a shaky hand. I put my finger in the dial, pushed it in a slow circle, and placed my request with the dame téléphoniste. Two minutes later, I heard his voice on the phone.
“Red here,” he said sleepily.
“Red,” I echoed, caught off guard by the fact that he’d answered his own telephone. The French simply didn’t do that. “This is Jessie Lesage,” I said.
“I know,” he replied. I could practically hear his smile. “The girl said as much. Nice of you to telephone me.”
“I’d like to see you,” I said, trying to make my voice sound easy, like his was. “Would you be able to meet me this afternoon for a bit?”
“Certainly,” he said, without even a trace of surprise. “My place isn’t too far from that row of palaces where you live. I’m on le rue Jacquin, across the lake. Why don’t you have your driver deposit you here? I’ll keep the bed warm.”
“No,” I said quickly. “How about La Taverne Royale?” It was one of the city’s most popular bars.
“Not my style, chérie,” he replied, yawning loudly. “Meet me at the hippodrome at four o’clock. There’s a horse I’m going to bet on. You can be my good-luck charm.”
Seven hours later, the Delahaye headed to the west side of the city. We roared past the narrow, closely packed streets where the locals lived, over the train tracks and toward the open spaces that began on the route du Champ de Course. After a bumpy twenty-minute drive, we turned sharply left and began to slow down. I rolled down my window for a better look. I could hear music playing faintly as the two-story pavilion where I was supposed to meet Red came into view. There were a few tented areas to the side of it, and in front was the racetrack, nothing more than cleared grass trimmed into an oval and surrounded by white wood-and-concrete barriers to keep the horses on course.
Lanh helped me out of the car, and I spotted Red in front of the pavilion, leaning against a slender column.
Feeling unsteady on my feet, I thanked Lanh and went up to Red, who kissed my cheeks familiarly.
“I didn’t know there was horse racing here,” I said, nodding at the track.
“There’s everything here,” he said, a half smile on his face. “Look up,” he directed, pointing to the pavilion’s second story. Dozens of Indochinese men were crowded together up there, facing the track.
“Want to join them? Live how the real people live?” he asked.
“You do not live how the real people live,” I replied.
“Quite right,” he said, laughing. “Come, let’s sit here, in the shade.”
We sat on the first level, our seats shielded from the sun by the roof’s deep eaves.
“The racing is better in Saigon,” said Red. “It’s right at Le Cercle Sportif. But there’s one horse here today, Midnight Blue, who is supposed to be a different sort of species. Part horse, part airplane.”
He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket, and I watched him study the odds for each race. A job as a railroad man would be a perfect cover, Victor had said. I looked at Red, his shirt collar wide open, a worn wool blazer draped lazily over his shoulders. Cover, I scoffed. Red could barely cover his chest.
I wanted to ask him if he knew about those men at Dau Tieng. If he had wanted me to see them, wanted it to affect me. To hurt me. But first, I had to address what had happened on the boat.
“I’m mortified about Ha Long Bay,” I said before the first race started, launching the conversation I’d been dreading for weeks. “Can we forget about it? And keep the details between us? I can’t believe I allowed that to happen. It was completely out of character for me, if you can’t already tell.”
“You’re going to have to adapt to this place one day, Jessie,” he said, pointing to the horses being brought to the starting line by their jockeys. “Chandoo is a way of life. People aren’t embarrassed by it here. It’s as natural as smoking tobacco, although so much more enjoyable. In fact, your government would like you to keep smoking opium so they can profit off your future addiction.”
“Red,” I said, watching his horse, Midnight Blue, who did almost look blue, trot elegantly to the starting line. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“The Pegu cocktails, then?” he said, his attention elsewhere. “Look at that magnificent animal,” he said. “I should have bet more money.”
“Red, please,” I said, my fears multiplying again. “Let’s just have this conversation so that we can get back to normal.” What would it take for me to feel normal again?
“Did I get you hooked?” he asked, still not looking at me.
“Red. I don’t give a damn about your cocktails. What I’m talking about is the kiss.”
“Whom did you kiss?” he asked, eyeing me mischievously.
“You! I kissed you,” I said loudly. “We kissed.”
“Jessie,” he said, leaning away, just as the race began. “What are you talking about?”
“Our kiss,” I said, louder than I meant to. “Our many kisses.”
“We did not kiss.” He placed his index finger on my lips for a few seconds, then removed it. “We have unfortunately never kissed. I know I was flirting with you, but it was all in fun. I am quite aware that you’re married. I’ve made some foolish decisions during my time here, but I’m not that stupid. I’m not going to seduce some Michelin’s wife.”
“Stop being like this,” I said angrily, my stomach queasy.
“Like what? Jessie, you and I never kissed,” he said, vehemently now, his eyes locked on mine even as the horses leapt forward at the crack of the starting pistol.
“Yes, we did,” I said, on the verge of shouting at him.
“Jessie,” he said, putting his hand on mine. “If you think we kissed while we were indulging in a little tar, it must have been a lucid dream—which I’ve been told happens. But in real life, it did not.”
“It did,” I hissed. “It did.”
Red jumped to his feet and cupped his hand over his mouth. “Run, you magnificent animal, run!” he yelled as Midnight Blue headed into the home stretch.
I held my breath as the pounding of the horses racing past us made our seats vibrate. I didn’t exhale until they crossed the finish line. Midnight Blue came in second.
“Miserable idiot of a horse,” said Red, kicking the empty seat in front of him. “I hope he’s fed to the dogs later.”
I stared at him silently.
“Jessie.” His eyes had lost their usual gaiety, his mouth, which was barely holding his cigarette, turned down. “We didn’t kiss. We most assuredly didn’t. I’m sorry if you’re remembering things differently, but I’m certain.”
I was dangerously close to tears. “You kissed me, and then you insisted that I go to Dau Tieng. To visit Victor. And to see them, too. The dying communists. If you knew what was happening, why didn’t you intervene? Call the police yourself instead of sending me?”
“What?” said Red. “I don’t remember that, either. Who are ‘the dying communists’?”
I didn’t answer.
He looked back at his paper, then finally glanced at me again. “Haven’t you been to the plantations anyway?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Now I have.”
I looked down at my hands, Red’s eyes following mine.
“You haven’t had your ring fixed yet,” he said, touching my right hand with his. I pulled it away sharply. I knew that touch.
“The ring is irreparable,” I said quietly.
The next group of horses was being walked toward the line, and I watched as the jockeys fought to rein in their energy until the critical moment.
“I should be off,” I said, looking at Red. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“You’re not a bother,” he said, with a grin. I looked at his face, the curve of his lips. They were so familiar to me. He had to be lying.
“So long, Michelin,” he said as I gathered my bag and stood up. “Don’t worry, you’ll soon get the hang of this place. Maybe opium just isn’t the drug for you.”
I ran out of the building, ready to fling open the car door, but Lanh saw me coming and opened it first.
I crawled in and started to weep into my palms.
“Are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help?” Lanh asked, turning around to look at me.
I shook my head no, my face getting wet.
“Shall I take you to a doctor, madame?”
“Please, no,” I said, shaking my head again and pawing at my waistband, trying to find the bag with the shards of my ring in it. “I just want to go home.”
I thought of my experiences these past few months in Indochine. The nerve-racking day at the café. Marcelle repeating that awful word. Kissing Red. Smoking tobacco, which I’d managed to avoid even while growing up on a tobacco farm, and then opium, even going to a den on my own. Seeing the caked blood on the back of the dead communist’s head. Staring at the men shackled together at Dau Tieng, breathing in the nauseating scent of death. I thought I’d be able to handle anything, to be the helpmate Victor needed in this utterly foreign place. But I was failing. That was obvious to me now. I just couldn’t allow it to become obvious to him. He’d think I wasn’t being supportive, that I didn’t care enough about his career. Maybe he’d think my nerves had gotten the better of me and bring me back to Europe. I imagined a stint in the institution in Switzerland, then back to Paris, where Dorothy would surely tell him my secrets with glee. Victor would never be allowed to manage any aspect of Clermont-Ferrand. And he’d try his best to divorce his crazy wife and keep Lucie away from me.
Overwhelmed again, I cried until I had no tears left. When I looked up, I realized that Lanh was driving us around in circles instead of taking me home. After I’d finally quieted myself, I told him I was ready to go.
It wasn’t until our house was in view, our sunny home, that I spoke again. “Lanh,” I asked, “do you remember those posters you were describing to me when I was on my way to Haiphong? The ones advertising train travel and the one hundred stations?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, brightening.
“I know you saw them when you were a child, but have you seen any since? Around town or in the rail stations. Anywhere?”
“No, I haven’t,” he said after a short pause. “I don’t think I’ve seen one in fifteen years.”
I nodded again. Those men were wrong. Lanh had to be wrong, too. “Lanh,” I said. “Please keep this episode between us. I don’t want Monsieur Lesage to know. About anything.”
“Of course, madame,” he said, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. “Nothing that happens to you, in this car or out of it, is ever mentioned to Monsieur Lesage.”
When we pulled up to the house, Lanh helped me out of the back seat. I leaned against him as we made our way up the slate walkway. I needed to disappear for a few days. I needed my mind to go blank. But first, I needed my child.
“I would like to see Lucie,” I whispered as we reached the door. “She’ll make me feel better,” I said, imagining the warmth of her hand in mine.
“Of course,” he said as Trieu opened the door for us.
I tried to straighten when we walked in the foyer, to not make a spectacle in front of Trieu, but Lanh didn’t let me.
“Allow me to help you upstairs,” he said. “Then you can relax.”
“Lucie,” I whispered, looking in Trieu’s direction.
“Madame Lesage would like her daughter brought to her room,” said Lanh loudly as he helped me up the stairs.
“Miss Lucie is not home,” said Trieu, looking at me with concern. “She walked to the lake with a friend after school to sail their toy boats. Cam is with her.”
I looked at Trieu and then Lanh again and started to sob. Everything that I counted on to make me feel better was disappearing.
“Please,” said Lanh, holding my arm tighter. “Bring Madame Lesage a glass of water. And hot tea. Very hot. And something to eat. Quickly,” he added as he helped me upstairs.
When we got to the bedroom, he let my arm go and I shuffled inside my closet. I took off my clothes and then came out in my robe and slipped between the covers. I could feel Lanh’s presence. He was outside the door, waiting for me to tell him I was fine, but I felt as if I might never be able to say those words again.