“How are you feeling today?” I asked Catherine as we ate breakfast the next morning. She’d been very quiet, hardly touching her pastry while drinking cup after cup of coffee and smoking nonstop. Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes told of a night of tears and little sleep.
She gazed out into the garden. “Depressed, angry—mostly at myself. I still can’t believe Marcel would do something so awful. He may drink too much, but he’s not like that.” She gave a sad half-smile. “I’ll recover eventually.”
“I wish I could help.”
“I’d prefer not to talk about it anymore.”
I bit my lower lip, wondering how to broach the subject of Sylvie, which weighed on my mind. “Did you know Sylvie Bisset? She left the orphanage two years ago,” I said at last.
“I met her briefly when I started working there.”
“She’s the friend I went to see yesterday.” I detailed what I’d discovered of Sylvie’s dismal circumstances working as a prostitute.
She frowned. “I’d heard rumors.”
“How could this happen?”
Catherine sipped her coffee, considering her response. “Perhaps she started dating a man and became his mistress, then he abandoned her.” Her voice was strained. “Men take advantage of young girls, particularly métisses, who are struggling on their own without family, trapped by society’s prejudices. Unfortunately, she’s not the only one to end up like this. It makes me terribly angry.”
“But why didn’t Maîtresse help? How could she let this happen?” Filled with indignation, I searched for someone to blame.
“I know she tried, as she truly cares for you girls, despite her stern manner.” Catherine sighed. “This is why I offered to rent you a room. You are such a dear person, and I couldn’t bear to see you subjected to the difficulties faced by Sylvie and others like her.”
“I don’t understand how she could lower herself to this point.”
“It’s hard to know what one might do when truly desperate, Vivi.”
I sat back in my chair. “I suggested she could live with Bridgette and me when we get a place, but she acted as if she was fine, said she’s making good money. She told me to leave her alone, that she doesn’t need my pity.”
“I’m sure she was humiliated to have you find her like that.”
“I want to help.” I looked up, full of anguish. “What can I do?”
“Allow her some time. Maybe when Bridgette is free, the two of you could talk with her again and convince her to try a different path.”
“This will devastate Bridgette. I won’t tell her now.” A puff of air escaped my lips. “Now I understand why Maîtresse told me to stay away from Sylvie.” Guilt crept in as I realized once more how fortunate I was to have Catherine’s support and guidance to ease my transition to a life on my own.
Catherine reached over and touched my arm. “Life is terribly unfair, chèrie. I’m sorry I don’t have any easy solutions.”
“Isn’t there anyone to stand up for these girls? It’s bad enough we’re taken from our mothers, often by force, and raised in an orphanage.”
“I agree, the lack of assistance and concern is appalling.”
My mind searched for ways to do something, but what influence or skills did I have to right these situations? Then it struck me, and I sat up, thrilled by the thought. “When I go to university in a year or two, I could study law and become an advocate to fight this unjust system. I could represent mothers trying to keep their métis children and aid those coming out of the orphanages.”
“Oh, Vivi,” Catherine said, a smile lighting up her face. “What an excellent ambition. You’d be perfect. I must warn you, women still face a great deal of discrimination, both getting into law school and practicing after. But I have faith in your abilities.”
A young Lao boy appeared at the gate and surprised us by scurrying up the garden path. He bowed deeply in a nop, then handed an envelope to Catherine, saying something in Lao I couldn’t catch.
Catherine handed it to me. “It’s for you. He was told to wait for your answer.”
Mademoiselle Dubois was written in beautiful, fine strokes of black ink on thick, cream-colored linen paper. Even so, the thought crossed my mind that it might be an error. Surely the message was intended for someone else, someone grander than me. My heart skipped a beat—perhaps it was an answer to one of my inquiries about my family? But those would come by mail.
Catherine insisted the boy sit on the steps out of the sun to await my response, and Mali brought him a glass of water.
I broke the wax seal and lifted out the note.
Chère Mademoiselle Dubois,
How nice to see you at Wat Pha That Luang yesterday. I apologize for not being able to speak with you longer, but I had official duties to fulfill. I have thought of you often since we met at Wat Sisaket, but I didn’t know how to reach you. Yesterday a French acquaintance was able to give me Mademoiselle Courbet’s address.
I hope you will not find me too forward, but I would enjoy seeing you again and hearing how your search for work is progressing. Did you take the job as an au pair? Would you meet me tomorrow in the afternoon for a walk and tea? Please invite Mademoiselle Courbet to accompany us if you would feel more comfortable.
I know this is rather short notice, so advise me if there is a more convenient date and time, perhaps the following week. Please return your response with the boy.
With best regards,
Bounmy Savang
I met Catherine’s curious gaze and read the note aloud to her.
“Would you like to see him?”
“Yes. He’s very nice. And he might be helpful in finding a job.”
She paused a moment, her expression dubious. “I suppose it would be acceptable if we invited him here for tea tomorrow. That way I can be present, but also give you some time with him.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement.
“I’ll ask Marguerite to join us.” She chuckled. “She keeps the conversation lively and is excellent at prying information out of people.”
“Oh, thank you.”
Catherine directed me to the top drawer of the escritoire in the library for paper and pen. The boy received my carefully composed invitation with more bows and disappeared out the front gate, taking with him my blossoming hopes.
I turned to Catherine. “I want to use a little of the Assistance Society money to buy a new dress. Everything I own is worn and ugly. Would you help?”
“Of course. You desperately need a new outfit.” She gave me a sly smile. “How perfect for your tea with Monsieur Savang.”
“I want to look my best.” I shrugged with pleasure. “And I need something nice for job interviews.”
She thought for a moment. “Chez Josephine is out of the question.”
“That’s the last place I will spend my money,” I agreed.
“Let’s start at À La Mode, as Madame Dupont carries some modestly priced items. If that fails, there’s always Wong’s Mercantile. When you have more time, I know a wonderful Lao seamstress who charges practically nothing and can make anything you want.”
“It would be heaven to have a new skirt and blouse.”
“Once you find employment, you’ll feel more comfortable spending your savings.”
She placed her coffee cup back on the tray and paused. “Vivi, I want to say a word about Monsieur Savang. You hardly know him, of course, but do be careful. If he is a royal prince, you should not expect too much.”
“What do you mean?”
“Depending on his family’s position in the royal court, he may not have a great deal of choice about his future and the women he sees.”
I found her words puzzling. “Are you thinking of the story Marguerite told about Prince Souvanna last night?”
“Exactly. You’re too young to be thinking of marriage—you’ve never even been on a date, for heaven’s sake—but keep in mind that it’s unlikely there would be any future with the prince.” She picked at the crimson polish on her nails. “And you must be careful being seen in public with him. People always assume the worst and love to gossip.”
“Whatever would they think?”
Catherine cleared her throat. “They might assume Monsieur Savang has taken you as his mistress.”
I sat up, shocked at the notion. “But why?”
“As we talked about earlier, many métisses without someone to guide them get involved in inappropriate relationships with men. You can see where it led Sylvie.” She crossed her legs. “I’m sorry to always sound so negative, but it’s not a fair world, particularly for the métis.”
I simply nodded, hoping Catherine didn’t believe I could ever fall so low. “I’ll be careful.”
Catherine and I both bought dresses at À La Mode under the attentive care of Madame Dupont. We posed in front of the mirrors and giggled as we tried on numerous styles and colors. It made me happy to see Catherine’s mood lighten, momentarily distracted from her troubles.
My new dress was the loveliest thing I’d ever owned, made of a soft crêpe in the brilliant green of a newly sprouted rice field. A cream-colored sash encircled the waist above a skirt that flared out into gentle folds. The bodice was cut in a modest boatneck with cap sleeves. When I twirled before the mirror, it sounded like a breeze rustling the fronds of a palm tree. It would be my talisman, a harbinger of good luck.
After our purchases, Catherine treated me to tea and chocolate éclairs at Estelle’s Patisserie. We chatted about fashions and what jewelry would go well with our new purchases. This was what I had always imagined of an older sister, a friend and confidante to guide me through life’s maze.
When we returned home, a disappointed sigh escaped my lips: once again there was nothing for me in the mail tray. I could hardly stand the wait.
I joined Mali in the kitchen, where she welcomed me with a big smile and asked if I’d help make prawns with coconut milk for dinner. I’d begun assisting her whenever possible, asking questions and writing down instructions. She’d taught me how to chop vegetables, select seasonings, and steam rice, while making me repeat the Lao words for different ingredients.
My enthusiasm bubbled over as I told her about our shopping excursion and described my new dress. “I’ll model it for you later.”
“It’s nice to see you so happy, Mademoiselle Vivi. And I’m sure it cheered up Mademoiselle Catherine.” We would never have betrayed Catherine’s trust by discussing her situation, but I knew Mali was well aware of what had gone on with Monsieur Fontaine. She had told me that most Lao servants who worked for the French were connected through family or friends, and they all gossiped and shared stories. There were no secrets.
I glanced over at Mali. “Did Catherine tell you we have a guest coming for tea tomorrow?”
“Oh yes.” She raised an eyebrow. “I understand a special young man is calling on you. I promise you a nice tea.”
“If only my friend Bridgette could be with us,” I said, thinking of her continued incarceration. But it was only temporary and held no comparison to Sylvie’s terrible existence, reduced to the basest form of living.
“Bridgette will be with you soon,” Mali said.
“It’s not that.” I couldn’t help myself from sharing Sylvie’s story. “I feel so awful for her and all the métisses who end up this way. If only I could help.”
Mali remained silent for some time. “There may be little you can do, especially if she doesn’t want to change.” She glanced over at me. “This may be Sylvie’s destiny, her karma for actions in a previous life. You can only hope she reaches a higher level of understanding that alters her future, if not now, then in the next life.”
“I tried to tell her she doesn’t have to do this,” I said. “But she got angry and slammed her door in my face.”
“I know you mean well, but she must reach this awareness on her own.”
I was grateful for Mali’s calm and easy presence, her willingness to listen without judging and to offer wise advice. If she experienced hardships from being away from her family or had other problems, she never complained. I wanted to be like her, unruffled and at peace with whatever unfolded.
Mali patted my arm. “Why don’t you come with me to the temple tonight? We’ll pray for Sylvie to be enlightened and see a better path.”
“Is it allowed?” I asked, surprised. “Will my prayers be heard, even though I was raised Catholic?”
“Of course. If your heart is pure, all things are possible.”
After dinner, we walked three blocks to the temple where the monks chanted their evening prayers. “They’re reciting part of the Pali Canon, the teachings of Buddha, to assist in their meditation,” Mali explained.
When the monks had finished and retired to their living quarters, we took off our shoes and entered the wat. We lit incense sticks and placed them in the sand-filled brass urn. I followed Mali’s lead, kneeling down and sitting back on my legs, putting my hands together before my chest and bowing my head. Three times we leaned forward to touch the ground then sat back again. The peace and quiet of the temple soothed me as I stared at the benign face of Buddha, silently praying that Sylvie would find the strength and will to change her life, to purify her thoughts and actions. Then I prayed that the truth about my family would soon be revealed. I was uncertain if a greater power was truly listening to me, but the possibility eased my troubled heart.