June 15, 1931
Chère Bridgette,
Your last letter cheered me up considerably, when I am the one who should be brightening your days. I’m sorry to complain about my stupid job, which is nowhere near as terrible as your situation. At least today is Friday and I am getting paid tomorrow, so despite the way the men treat me, I hope Kham will keep me on.
I’m waiting, waiting, waiting, but still no news on my brother or my mother’s family. Surely I will hear again soon from the orphanage in Pakse, but the mail is incredibly slow. Bounmy expects his friend in Luang Prabang to write back within a month. I feel so sad about Madame Lansay and worry I hastened her passing in bringing up memories of my mother. Life is full of unexpected losses.
After Mass yesterday—too bad Director Bernard showed up to keep us apart again—I met Bounmy for the afternoon. Our third date! He hired a horse-drawn carriage to take us to an ancient wat a few kilometers out of town where we had a delicious picnic in the shade of a huge tamarind tree. The temple was sacked by the Siamese over a hundred years ago—along with most of the temples in Vientiane—and it lies in ruins, overrun with grasses and vines curling around and through the mossy rocks. In the center is a giant stone Buddha (as tall as three people), sitting cross-legged with one hand resting in his lap and the other hand pointing to the ground. Bounmy says it is one of several common Buddha poses, which represent different episodes in his life. This one is called the earth witness pose, indicating the earth as witness to his achieving enlightenment. I love the way Buddha stares out at the world unperturbed by the drift of time, eternally content. If only I could be this accepting.
He is very intelligent and wise—Bounmy, that is—and I’m learning a great deal about Buddhism and Buddhist art. I might become a convert. Wouldn’t Maîtresse be horrified!! I suppose you might be, as well. Bounmy is easy to talk with and a good listener, truly interested in what I have to say and how I feel. I am comfortable around him, both when we are sharing ideas and in silence. When his arm brushes against mine or he stares at me with those dark, searching eyes, my heart practically flies away.
As we wandered around the site, he took my hand and kissed it. Twice! But nothing more. He can be a bit reserved, even mysterious, so I’m not sure what to think. He said he enjoys my company and wants us to spend more time together, then invited me to have dinner next Friday. My heart melted. Why hasn’t he kissed me properly on the lips? My impulse is to throw my arms around him—don’t worry, I didn’t. Oh Bridgette, I am totally infatuated with this man, maybe even in love, but having only read about such feelings in novels, how can I be sure?
Several weeks ago, when Bounmy first asked to see me, Catherine warned me to be careful about appearing in public with him too often, as people might gossip—some might assume we are lovers (what a delicious word, even if it makes my cheeks turn bright red). Sunday, she mentioned it again, asking if I found it wise to see him so regularly. I realize she cares about me and doesn’t want me to be hurt or unfairly judged, but how can I follow her advice? All I want is to be close to Bounmy as often as possible. How could someone so lovely and kind end up hurting me?
Anyway, life at the house has changed dramatically since Julian arrived this month. At first I hardly saw him as he went out every evening with his friend André, but now he eats dinners at home, even when Catherine has other plans. We often end up walking in the back garden after our meal, speaking of anything and everything. Unlike Bounmy, Julian is never quiet or reserved! I enjoy his company, but I hardly have any time alone with Catherine or Mali these days (my Lao lessons have suffered).
You’ll like Julian—handsome, spirited, and with blue eyes that take your breath away. Probably every French woman in Vientiane under the age of forty, single or married, has a crush on him. He’s constantly making plans for us to do things together—tennis lessons, dancing at the club, and yesterday he announced we’ll be playing belote (a card game popular in France these days) every Thursday evening with Catherine and Marguerite. Soon I won’t have any free time left. Bounmy has made comments about Julian that make me think he’s jealous of him. I’ve tried to assure him that he’s only a friend, but I can hardly avoid Julian when we live under the same roof.
I have to sleep now so I can survive another day at work. Write whenever you have the urge, and I think your drawings are amazing. Who knew you had artistic talent?
Hugs and more hugs,
Vivi
I finished the letter and folded it into an envelope for Catherine to deliver the next day. The familiar guilt nagged at me as I hadn’t written as often as I wanted, being preoccupied with work, Bounmy, and now Julian’s demands on my time. While I was off living new adventures each day, poor Bridgette remained encased at the orphanage, trapped in time. Once she was free, I would make sure she discovered the world in all its wonders.
My days at River Transport grew more boring as the weeks passed and I continued probing the office’s dysfunctional practices: too many invoices and payments not properly recorded or somehow misplaced (purposely destroyed?). Sometimes goods were logged into the warehouse, but the subsequent receipt of goods delivered to the client showed smaller quantities. Where did items go? The accountants refused to let me touch the ledger recording customs taxes owed to the government.
My campaign to win over my coworkers had floundered, and suggestions for new record and filing systems had been repeatedly rejected. All they ever said was, “No, no, not necessary. Just file the papers we give you.” Little changed. Business went on as usual. It was a test of wills, and I was losing.
I finally cornered Kham one afternoon to explain my proposals for improving his business, expecting his support. He barely listened, shuffling through papers on his desk as I tried to get his attention. “I’m having trouble getting the other employees to welcome my suggestions,” I said. “Perhaps if you could encourage them—”
“Work it out yourself,” he interrupted, waving impatiently. “I don’t have time for this.” It didn’t make sense for him to be so indifferent when he was paying me to do a job.
I endured the obstinate, dismissive behavior of the others, even though it went against every fiber of my nature. What was it about my efforts that threatened them so? What were they hiding? I was determined to uncover the truth.
The only thing that kept me from falling into despair was my time with Bounmy—we now had regular dates on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons. He lifted my spirits and filled me with joy.
The last Friday in June, Julian showed up at the office for a meeting with Kham about shipping routes and rates for his proposed business. I’d never seen Kham act so obsequious with anyone—all smiles and friendliness. When they finished their discussion, Julian surprised me by insisting on taking me to lunch. We walked to Pierre’s, where he ordered us both a croque monsieur and a glass of white wine. As always, he listened to my complaints about work with a sympathetic ear, then managed to make me laugh and forget my unhappiness. It turned out that consuming alcohol at lunch was a terrible mistake, leaving me completely useless the rest of the afternoon.
Near the end of the day, Kham stopped by my desk. “How do you know Monsieur Courbet?” When I explained that his sister had been my teacher and now rented me a room in their house, a smirk spread across his face. He leaned in close, his sour breath wafting across my face. “Do you have many friends like Monsieur Courbet?”
I blinked several times. “I don’t understand what you mean.” His proximity and the implication of something inappropriate made my cheeks burn. I’d done nothing wrong.
Kham simply laughed and returned to his office. When I looked up later, he was staring at me with a nasty smile that made me recoil.