November 20, 1933
“A letter came this morning. It was brought by messenger from Hue,” said Khoi as I fell against him in the midday sun that illuminated his backyard, making the grass look electric.
“From Sinh’s father?” I asked, looking at it in his hand.
“No. From Anne-Marie,” he said, allowing himself to smile.
“From Anne-Marie?” I said, eagerly reaching for it. Khoi handed it to me and I shivered, looking down at the ink on the envelope. Sinh’s father’s address was in front of me, written in her beautiful, large looping hand. I gripped the page, bending my neck and placing my face against it. “Across an ocean and more and I swear this envelope smells like her, Khoi.”
He smiled at me and nodded.
“Does she know we found Paul?” I asked.
“No, of course not,” said Khoi, cocking his head. “How could she? Did the angels bend down and whisper it to her?”
“Then what did she say? Why didn’t she write before? It’s been years.” I looked at the envelope again and started to cry.
“Maybe she could sense it,” said Khoi. “That we needed to hear from her now. Maybe we are all still linked in that way, even without Sinh.”
I nodded, not able to stop my tears from falling.
“Let’s read it before we cry,” said Khoi, running his hand across my cheek. “For so long we’ve been afraid that she was dead. That she was gone like Sinh. And now, look, we have this. So don’t fall apart until we read it at least three times,” he said, carefully opening the envelope and taking out the pages.
“You read the last letter that made me cry,” I said, taking the paper from Khoi. “This time, I’ll do it.”
“I think it will be a happier letter,” said Khoi.
I started it, hoping he was right.
My dearest friends,
It has been a week now that I’ve returned to Paris and I finally feel strong enough to write to you. I’m sorry it’s been such a long while. I’m sure I made you think the worst with my silence, which I never intended. But in truth, I have been close to the edge many times since I last wrote. I’ve been in Italy, in Rome and Milan, which started out well, but this past year, I got quite caught up in some awful things. Violent protests, a few very dangerous decisions to try to push the fascists out of power. I had so much rage swimming through me, and it just refused to leave.
I had to flee Italy this year. I don’t think I would have lived much longer if I hadn’t. But I’ve found happiness since. I’m back in Paris, and I’ve taken up other interests. Now, I’m fighting to win the right to vote as much as I’m fighting for workers’ rights, and the anti-colonial movement. I’m very involved with UFSF, the French branch of the international alliance for women’s suffrage. I firmly believe that when women can vote, we can change the country, and the colonies. The women in UFSF are trying to convince me to be more reformist and less revolutionary, but don’t worry, they haven’t succeeded. I still wear a tuxedo most of the time, but they have insisted that when I attend their meetings, I wear a shirt underneath. I’ve agreed, for now. But I did also convince the president to take up the ukulele. Charming instrument. I refuse to let its popularity die out with the jazz age.
Our plan is to get a woman into the government in the next few years. Some of us are convinced that it will happen sooner than that, and maybe it will. Maybe that woman could even be me. Now that would cause my father to have a stroke, wouldn’t it?
I have not seen my family in two years. I wish things could be different, but there are some things which are not forgivable. What they did to Sinh is one of those things. If they ever want to try to right their wrongs, they can find me, but until then, I’ve decided to hold on to that part of my anger. But that’s all I hold on to. I’ve forgiven the man who shot Sinh. I came to believe that while he played the role of executioner, that’s all he was. I hope I’m right. Maybe one day, you will tell me you have the answer to that.
Sinh’s father told me the last time we exchanged letters that you two were both in Indochine still. It made me very glad.
I hope you will stay there and live Sinh’s life for him. But I also want you to come find me one day. My heart has been half empty for so long, but I know that when I see you again, it will feel less so. I have finally allowed myself peace. I hope you’ve done the same.
All my love,
AM
“Oh, Anne-Marie,” I said, running my hand over her initials. “How I wish you were here.”
“She’s right. It’s time for us to find peace, too,” said Khoi, resting his head on my shoulder. “We won’t stop trying to change things, but perhaps we can let ourselves breathe easier while we do.”
I thought of the picture of Anne-Marie and Sinh hanging on the wall upstairs. We could perhaps have peace, but we could never again get back that joy.
“Yes, perhaps,” I said softly. “But not quite yet.”
We lay against each other then and stayed quiet for a time. I thought Khoi had drifted off to sleep, but when a cloud came through and covered the sun, creating momentary shade, he started speaking again.
“We are not perfect people, you and I,” he said. “No one is. Even Anne-Marie and Sinh. I know we hold him up on a pedestal now, but he wasn’t perfect. We all have moments of weakness, of strength, of stupidity. But if we’re lucky, we have even more moments of love. We’ve had what feels like millions of those moments, and I know we have more ahead of us. We may not look it to outsiders, to your countrymen or mine, but we are, without a doubt, a perfect pair, despite our mistakes. We have been since the day we met. They were, too, but we are still together. Still alive. So we do deserve a little rest, Marcelle. Even you.”
“Even me,” I murmured.
Khoi did fall asleep then, but I was too restless to join him. Instead, I put Anne-Marie’s letter in my pocket and had my driver take me home.
When I walked inside, the first thing I saw was a letter on the ground. I bent down and saw that it was from Pham Dat. The stationmaster. I ripped it open: “I took your friend on a wild ride at the station today. She was on her way to Vinh. She never made it. You’ll be pleased by the outcome. PD.”
I read the words again. “She never made it.” What had he done to Jessie?
I had to get to the station.
I ran out of the house and got in my little car, ready to drive it myself.
I wasn’t a block from the house when I saw someone running at me, sprinting. I gasped and stepped on the brakes. I had nearly hit a woman. When she turned, I saw that she’d stepped close to the car on purpose. She came up to my door, and I rolled down my window.
“We need to talk,” she said. “Now. But not here.”
I nodded and pointed to the seat beside me. Pham Dat would have to wait.