Bounmy was already waiting for me when I arrived ten minutes early. The leaves of a kapok tree swayed above him in a gentle breeze, sending flutters of sunlight across his head and shoulders, as if sprinkling him with gold dust. He wore neatly pressed khaki pants and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The sight of him, hands in pockets, gazing out over the great expanse of muddy water, left me yearning for something I couldn’t quite define. I wanted to be by his side.
He turned toward me, a generous smile spreading across his face. My breath caught in my lungs as he bowed in a nop. “Mademoiselle Dubois, what a delight to see you.”
I nodded, awkward and unsure, afraid of any movement I might make or word I might utter that would be wrong or embarrassing or ridiculous. “Monsieur Savang.”
He eyed my new outfit. “You look very pretty.”
“Thank you.” I glanced down the riverbank where dozens of boats, large and small, had anchored. “It seems busy today.”
“It’s Visakha Bousa, bringing people from up and down the river to town.”
“Mali told me. I’d never heard of the holiday before.”
“How remarkable. Didn’t the orphanage teach you about local beliefs and customs?”
“Maîtresse took us to the Lao New Year parade on Pi Mai a few times, but nothing else.” I could hardly tell him that Maîtresse called Buddhism a superstitious, pagan religion and insisted it would be sacrilege to go near a Buddhist temple or learn about the beliefs.
“Visakha Bousa celebrates Buddha’s life, from birth to enlightenment to death. It’s one of the most important holidays of the year for Buddhists. Everyone goes to the temples to pray and make offerings. After dark, the monks have a candlelight procession through town. We could watch it this evening after we get back.”
“I’d love that.”
He nodded toward the riverbank. “I have a pirogue waiting. I thought we’d ride upriver and stop for a picnic.” He indicated one of the longboats bobbing in the water below. The insubstantial-looking vessel of wooden planks was about twenty feet long and only wide enough for two passengers in the middle. The front and back ends narrowed and curved up, barely accommodating one person.
“I’ve never been on the river before.”
“Truly? Mademoiselle, your life has been much too sheltered. We must change that.”
I hesitated for a moment before taking the hand he offered. His grip felt warm and reassuring as he carefully helped me down the slippery steps carved into the muddy riverbank. Four Lao men, wearing sarongs, loose-fitting shirts, and wide-brimmed straw hats, manned the oars. They bowed and held the hull steady as we climbed in and sat on the wooden bench at the center under a rattan cover. Bounmy released my hand once we had settled, and I missed his fingers curled around my palm.
The men pushed off, rowing upstream with long, even strokes, laboring against the current. One stood at the back, using his oar to both propel us forward and steer our course, while the other three crouched in the front rowing with their oars off the sides. The boat hugged the shore ten feet out, navigating around occasional tree branches and swirling eddies. The distance to Siam on the opposite shore appeared vast from our vantage point low in the water. Outlying villages of wood-and-thatch houses perched on poles came into view through river reeds and stands of palm and mango trees. A larger longboat with an outboard motor passed nearby, creating a wake that rocked us from side to side. I held my breath, gripping the edge of the hull.
“I don’t know how to swim,” I admitted in a small voice.
“Don’t worry. I spent my childhood swimming in rivers and ponds,” Bounmy said. “If you fall in, I’ll save you.” His easy confidence helped allay my fear.
I sat back as we glided along in peaceful silence. Bounmy seemed content to listen to the sound of the oars slicing through the water and waves lapping against the hull, sometimes splashing us with a few drops. A cascade of gray-tinged clouds drifted above. There was a dream-like quality to the moment, and I thought how extraordinary it was that this man wanted to spend the afternoon with me. I studied his profile, drawn to every detail, from the small mole at the side of his left eyebrow to the way his thick hair curled around his ear.
Bounmy pointed out a fisherman in a cone-shaped hat crouched in a tiny skiff, casting his fishing net off one side. Four women knelt along a rocky stretch of shore, scrubbing clothes on the stones, while behind them shirts, pants, scarves, and sins hung over tree branches drying. The shoreline became steeper and the trees thicker.
“Tell me about your job,” Bounmy said at last. “I hope Kham is treating you well.”
“It’s fine.” I didn’t want to complain about Kham’s indifferent, curt answers and unsettling stares. Nor would I mention his volatile temper with the other employees. “I’m sorting through office records, but first I had to clean stains and layers of dust from the furniture and floors. It was filthy.”
He started. “That wasn’t necessary. I’m sure Kham would hire a cleaning woman if you asked.”
“I don’t mind.” I explained how I was consulting with the other employees, asking questions and their opinions. “I want to develop a plan to improve the flow of paperwork and basic functions of the business.” I paused. “There is a bit of resistance, of course. I know the men find it difficult to work with a woman.”
He gave a small guffaw. “It’s a shock for them, especially when the woman is so young and beautiful.”
I stared at my feet, embarrassed yet pleased. “I want the men to think my proposals are their ideas, so they don’t resent me.”
“Very wise. I’m afraid most Lao men expect women to obey them without question, not examine their ways and try to change things.”
I tilted my head to one side, smiling. “And you, Monsieur Savang, how do you feel about women in the workplace?”
He grinned. “The French women in our office have enlightened me. It is a more interesting place with them there, and they’re full of excellent ideas.” He paused. “Many of the women I met in Paris held strong opinions on the subject as well.”
A wave of jealousy struck as I imagined him dining out with beautiful, sophisticated French women. “Did you meet a lot of women?” It was a stupid question that tumbled out before I could stop myself.
He shrugged. “Because of my father’s position in the royal court, I was invited to social events hosted by French ministers or my father’s acquaintances. It was my duty to attend. Some women seemed curious about meeting an oriental prince, making me feel like a novelty put on display for their amusement. It was uncomfortable.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t address you as Prince Savang?”
He laughed. “Absolutely. My life is complicated enough with family obligations and court formalities. It’s a relief to put that aside when I’m with you.” I wondered what these obligations entailed.
He hesitated a moment. “If it’s not too bold, may I address you as Geneviève? And please call me Bounmy.”
I loved the way he pronounced my name, the gentle sound of each syllable in his nearly perfect French. “My friends call me Vivi.”
“Geneviève is so lovely; I’d like to use that.”
“In my file at the orphanage, I discovered my Lao name is Sakuna. But it sounds so strange to me.”
“Sakuna is lovely as well.” He smiled. “But I still prefer Geneviève.” I could see he was not one to be easily dissuaded.
I glanced up shyly. “Do you mind if I ask you about growing up in Luang Prabang?”
“Whatever you want to know.”
I considered the endless questions, big and small, that had floated through my mind as I walked to work each day or drifted off to sleep at night. “What was it like living in a palace?”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but only the king and his wives and children actually reside in the palace. Our family lives close by. I share a home with my mother and younger sister.”
“And your father?”
“He lives in another house with his second wife and their children.”
I thought I detected a trace of sadness in his voice. The idea of multiple wives still shocked me. “How…how old is your sister?”
“Dara turned seventeen last month. She’ll be getting married in September. I also have two half-brothers, ten and twelve years old, and a half-sister who is seven.”
“What are your parents like?”
“Very traditional and strict, especially my father, but they are good parents.” He gazed into the distance for a moment, as if considering his next words. “When I was young, Father often took me hunting and fishing, using every opportunity to instruct me on my duties to the kingdom. It’s essential for him that I fulfill my role as eldest son.” He didn’t define this role, but clearly it weighed on him.
“What else do you like to do in Vientiane, besides visiting temples and saving young women from drowning?” I teased.
“I started playing tennis in Paris.” His mouth tensed. “But the Cercle has the only court in Vientiane, so I have to wait for invitations from French acquaintances to play.”
As I struggled with how to respond, a huge fish flew out of the water and nearly landed in the boat. I jumped up from my seat with a gasp, rocking the boat and teetering toward the water. Bounmy grabbed my arm and pulled me down onto the seat. “Be careful. The fish is gone.”
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. A chorus of birds chirped and squawked from the trees along the shore, as if reassuring me I was fine.
About an hour out, the pirogue rounded a small bend and the riverbank flattened out into a gentle incline, leading to a meadow.
“Let’s stop here,” Bounmy said, scanning the dark clouds congregating in the sky to the east. “It looks like rain soon.”
I had not eaten since Mali’s breakfast early that morning. As if on cue, my stomach let out a low rumble. “I seem to be hungry.”
“Good. I brought lots of food.”
We stepped onto the silty shore and traversed the meadow with its patchwork of wild grasses, stalks of yellow ginger, delicate wild orchids, and a scattering of palm and mango trees. One of the boatmen followed with a large picnic basket and quilt, leaving our provisions under a tree before returning to the boat. Bounmy spread the quilt out below branches covered in thick, glossy leaves, which formed a perfect umbrella, and tiny white flowers saturated the air with a sweet scent.
“What kind of tree is this?” I asked. “It smells like jasmine.”
“It’s a neem tree, or phak kadao in Lao. It has many medicinal uses, and new shoots are sometimes eaten in a Lao dish called laab. If you rub the oil from the leaves on your skin, it keeps mosquitoes away. Very handy.”
He opened the picnic basket, pulling out a thermos of tea, a baguette, slices of chicken, sausages, a pot of creamy cheese, and a variety of fruits. A small rattan container had sticky rice and another had fresh spring rolls. There were plates, cups, silverware, and napkins. I wondered how he had managed to arrange such a wonderful meal. Perhaps he had a servant for such things.
“It’s a feast.” I piled food on my plate, savoring every bite. My hangover and lack of sleep had left me ravenous. I glanced up, my mouth stuffed with baguette and cheese, and found Bounmy watching with amusement.
“I should have brought more food,” he said with a bemused smile.
I took a sip of tea. “Excuse me. It’s so good, and I’m terribly hungry.”
“I like a girl with a good appetite. Just leave me a few scraps.”
My cheeks flushed. “I don’t eat like this all the time.”
“Ah, so you say.” He put a spring roll on my plate. “It makes me happy to see you enjoy the meal.”
I giggled. “I try to please.”
“Have you heard anything from your inquiries about your parents and brother?” he asked.
His concern touched me. I explained about the letter from the orphanage director in Pakse who was trying to trace my brother’s whereabouts.
“That’s excellent news,” he said.
“Yes. I hope to hear back soon on how I might reach Antoine. The waiting is hard.” I sighed. “But on Friday, I received a response from the Assistance Society in Luang Prabang, stating their policy is not to reveal their charges’ past. I was terribly upset.” I paused a moment. “Then the strangest thing happened.” I told him of my two encounters with the elderly Madame Lansay, and how she’d known my mother years ago. “She was confused and thought I was my mother. It’s incredible I met her.”
He considered my story for a moment then shrugged. “Perhaps it’s your destiny to find this woman to lead you to your mother.” His words echoed Mali’s, with the acceptance of the most unlikely coincidence.
“Thanks to her I now know my mother’s family name is Thongsavat, and that my grandfather was an important man. Do you think I might find them in Luang Prabang?”
He looked a bit startled by this news. “I know of a family with this name. Let me write to a friend in Luang Prabang and see what I can find out.”
“I’d be very grateful.” I pulled off a piece of baguette. “I plan to go back next week to see if Madame Lansay remembers anything more.”
Bounmy stared at me. “Life gives us unexpected gifts sometimes.” After a few moments, he picked up a wad of sticky rice. “I had many wonderful meals in Paris, but I craved Lao food. We found only one Annamese restaurant with meals resembling anything close to those from home. But we had a tiny kitchen, so we learned to make simple dishes. A Chinese grocery sold most of the ingredients we needed.”
“How was your cooking?”
He sat up, holding his head high. “It turns out I’m quite a talented chef.”
“A prince who cooks. It’s impressive.”
“One day I’ll make a meal for you.” He glanced at my almost empty plate and smiled. “I have no doubt you’ll be an appreciative guest.”
“Now that Catherine’s brother, Julian, is back from France, Mali serves more Lao dishes, and she’s teaching me how to make some of them. I love Lao food, although some of it is too spicy. I don’t know how you get used to the heat.”
“Perhaps you must grow up with it.” He paused. “By the way, Monsieur Courbet stopped by my office Friday afternoon. I remember him well from the lycée in Hanoi.”
“He mentioned wanting to talk with you about the business he’s starting.”
“Yes, import/export. I fear the current world economic problems will make it a challenge, but our office will try to help.” He kept his eyes focused on his plate. “You share the house with him as well now. It’s not uncomfortable for you?”
His question surprised me. Would this arrangement be considered improper in a Lao home?
“I hardly see him. He’s out late at night with friends, and I go to work early.”
He nodded and started to say something but stopped, instead holding out a bunch of longans. “Do you like these?”
“I love them.” I took four pieces of the small, round fruit. “As you can see, I like most everything.” I concentrated on peeling the thin, fuzzy brown shell to reach the translucent white flesh that covered a large black seed. I popped the fruit in my mouth, closing my eyes and relishing the burst of sweetness, then discreetly removed the seed from my mouth into my napkin.
“When I was young, my cousins and I had contests to see who could spit their seeds the farthest,” Bounmy said.
“My best friend Bridgette and I did that.” I put the seed back in my mouth and shot it out with all the force I could muster. “Was that too rude?”
“No. It’s a challenge.”
Suddenly, we were ten years old, spitting longan seeds into the field, laughing with abandon, taunting each other about whose seed had sailed the greatest distance. Childish delight consumed his face, his reserved manner momentarily pushed aside.
Billowing clouds the color of charred wood eclipsed the blue sky, and a crack of thunder erupted nearby. Gusts of wind whipped the tree’s branches into a frenzy.
“We’d better get back to the boat,” Bounmy said, packing leftover food into the basket. But as we stood, the heavens unleashed a deluge, as powerful as a vast waterfall spilling over a rocky crag. He grabbed the quilt and draped it over our heads, pulling me back against the tree trunk.
We huddled together under our improvised tent and giggled uncertainly. Rain splattered my legs and soaked my shoes. A flash of lightning and an almost simultaneous roar of thunder sent goosebumps down my arms, and I let out a small cry. Bounmy stepped behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
His warm breath grazed my cheek, sweet with the scent of longan, and my heart thudded against my ribs until I thought it might explode. He rested his chin on top of my head and let out a long sigh. “Geneviève, I think of you constantly.”
I longed to remain there, wrapped in his arms, our bodies spooling one into the other. I imagined turning my head and pressing my lips against his. Was this what he wanted? Was he waiting for a signal from me? But Catherine’s warnings, always present in my mind, held me back. I didn’t want to be misunderstood, to precipitate something I might regret.
Time became incalculable, seconds and minutes disappearing as we stood very still, breathing in unison. The quilt had soaked through, and water dripped down my face and back.
When the rain finally eased, as quickly as it had begun, Bounmy swallowed hard and stepped away, removing the wet quilt. Leaves dripped in a steady rhythm as light filtered through the clouds, now breaking apart and scattering to the west. It was like emerging from our own private cocoon. One I didn’t want to leave.
“Let’s make a run for it,” he said, picking up the basket. I took the wet quilt from his arms as we hurried across the soggy meadow. The crew jumped from under the boat’s cover to help us onto the boat. When Bounmy’s fingers slipped from mine, I felt untethered. What was this overwhelming desire to touch him, to feel his warmth against my skin? Did he feel the same?
He pulled a gold watch from his pants pocket and opened the cover. “It’s already four. We should head back if we want to see the monks’ procession at dusk.”
The pirogue slipped rapidly downstream on the swift current. We spoke a few times, remarking on a group of children splashing at the water’s edge, shrieking with delight. Bounmy pointed out a pair of white-and-gray birds wading in a sandy shoal, graceful creatures who stood nearly two feet tall with long spindly legs and sharp black beaks, their heads bobbing in erratic movements. He said they were called Great Thick-Knees, which made me laugh. I had little knowledge of native species, but I felt an affinity for these unusual birds and their halting, cautious movements, wary of all things unfamiliar.
At one point he searched my eyes with an uncertain expression, as if seeking an answer to a question he couldn’t quite ask, then he turned away. The words he’d whispered under the quilt swam in my head. I told myself to be grateful that he’d remained a gentleman, restraining himself from further advances, unlike Messieurs Simon and Toussaint. Yet, in truth, I desired more.
What could I expect from his friendship? Did he view me as an orphaned métisse floundering to find her future, simply someone he wanted to help? Or was I merely an amusement, a potential secret lover? Doubts crowded my mind as my emotions tumbled out of control toward a place where I feared disappointment and pain likely awaited.