Three days after our meeting, Bounmy sent a letter. I was afraid to read his words, afraid of my weakness. If he begged me to return to him, to reconsider living a half-life as his mistress, would I agree? Part of me longed to be convinced, to embrace his love at any cost, as my mother had done for my father. If only the overwhelming agony would cease. He professed his deep and enduring love for me, but in the end, it was merely an apology for an impossible situation. A final goodbye.
Days and weeks folded one into the other, and October drifted into November. I mourned for Bounmy and our baby, for everything Kham had stolen from me, the death of my parents, and the end of a childhood spent waiting for a reunion that would never come. Once more the loss of Bridgette assaulted me, reopening the wound that had never healed. The depth of my losses seemed unbearable.
When Bridgette had died, work had filled my days, providing a brief reprieve from my grief, while the attentions of Julian and Bounmy had distracted me from the pain. Now the hours passed without shape or purpose. Each morning brought the heavy burden of remembering anew. Secluded in my room, or sitting in the garden, my thoughts wandered, trying to make sense of it all, creating scenarios where things would somehow end differently. What if I had heeded Catherine’s warnings and parted from Bounmy before it truly began? But I would have always wondered what might have been. I’d had an inexplicable attraction from the start, which grew with each meeting. The truth remained that given a second chance, I would make the same choices, even if they brought me to this dismal conclusion.
A jumble of irrational thoughts and rants filled my journal. I had been born under an unlucky star, damned by a Catholic God for my parents’ sins. Perhaps it was my Buddhist karma reflecting unforgiveable errors in a former life. How had I merited this terrible destiny?
Dreams invaded the night, so lifelike they could hardly be distinguished from waking hours. My heart thrashed against my ribs as Kham tried to overpower me again and again. One night, my anger sought revenge with images of Kham being dragged away in chains while I stood by laughing. Another time my imagination invented a happier outcome—Bounmy’s family wanted him to marry me rather than his fiancée—my love and I would leave for France, where my parents waited for us.
In more lucid moments, I understood that somehow I must put the past behind me and find a fresh start. But it felt like I was rowing a boat upstream, trying to make it to safety, only to be pushed back by swift and unrelenting currents.
Catherine left me to my solitude, offering a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen when needed. Mali fed me bowls of rice porridge and teas laced with turmeric and lemongrass to restore my spirits, lighting incense and praying for me at the Buddhist temple every evening. Thankfully, Julian had not returned home yet to witness my misery. I couldn’t bear to be reminded of his predictions that Bounmy would break my heart, to acknowledge he had been right.
I received a short note from Antoine, thanking me for my letter about our parents and saying he regretted he couldn’t visit until the end of January and hoped I would be able to cope until then. I still had the promise of reuniting with him, but in darker moments, I feared that he, too, might disappoint. How could I trust anyone again?
The monsoon season had ended, bringing mild and pleasant days, which helped clear the fog from my brain. The injuries to my body had healed, even if the emotional scars remained deeply etched in my heart. My love for Bounmy became something intangible, a painful memory no longer part of this world.
I gradually emerged from my isolation, chatting with Mali in the kitchen and sharing dinners with Catherine and Marguerite. Marguerite provided the latest gossip and amusing stories to divert my attention, keeping the mood light, while asking Catherine and me for advice on her wedding plans. She and Charles would wed on New Year’s Day—a new départ in the new year. Her excitement was contagious.
On returning to Vientiane, Marguerite had met with an attorney, who affirmed that trying to bring legal charges against Kham would be pointless. She’d been stewing over how to harm Kham’s business. Then one night she arrived for dinner, bursting with excitement.
“I have the most astonishing news.” She raised her gin and tonic in the air, as if making a toast. “The Customs Bureau director met with the Resident Superior on Monday to deliver an audit of River Transport’s financial accounts, showing tax evasion and other irregularities. It seems Kham has been pocketing more than half the import taxes he’s collected on goods from out of the country rather than submitting them to the colonial government.”
I bit my lower lip, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction over the news. “I knew they were hiding something.”
“And that’s only the half of it,” Marguerite went on. “When the auditors discovered his misdeeds, Kham tried to bribe them to keep quiet.”
“The man is a complete fool,” Catherine said.
“And much worse!” Marguerite said. “Since Kham is part of the royal family, the colonial government doesn’t want to embarrass the king by sending him to jail. They asked Prince Phetsarath to negotiate a deal. A steady stream of wires back and forth with the king and his chief advisors finally produced an acceptable settlement. All of Kham’s assets have been seized and the back taxes paid, and the king has transferred River Transport’s charter to another family member in the royal court. Kham will be moving to a remote district in the kingdom of Luang Prabang as a lowly administrator.”
“He deserves much worse, but it’s better than nothing,” Catherine said, before giving Marguerite a sly smile. “Did you give the bureau the tip?”
Marguerite shook her head. “I wish I’d thought of it.” She turned to me. “Vivi?”
“If only I’d been that clever.” I puzzled over the possibilities. “It must have been Bounmy. I told him about my concerns over the company’s accounts, and he promised to make Kham pay for what he did to me.”
Marguerite shrugged. “All I could get out of the Customs Bureau director was that it came from someone Lao.”
Bounmy had taken his revenge. His last gift to me.
Marguerite took my hand. “Kham is leaving Vientiane immediately, and you’ll never have to see him again.”
Suddenly it was the first week of December, and I had no idea where the time had gone. It would be Christmas in three weeks, a holiday that had been particularly special for Bridgette and me, a rare moment of celebration at the orphanage. Each year a spindly pine tree had been cut in the mountains and hauled to the home. We tied red ribbons around the boughs and hung decorations fashioned from paper, scraps of fabric, flowers, and bamboo.
Catherine and Marguerite announced on Tuesday evening that we were going shopping the next day for new dinner dresses. “We’re taking you to the Cercle Saturday evening,” Catherine said. “Besides, you need something special to wear to Marguerite’s wedding, so why not get it now and enjoy it?”
I started to protest, but Marguerite held up a hand. “We refuse to let you mope around any longer. You must get on with your life, Vivi.”
“Think of it as a coming-out party,” Catherine added.
“How will I face the people who knew about my affair with Bounmy?”
“Who gives a damn?” Marguerite said impatiently. “Hold your head high, and dare them to say anything. Every French person in the colony has secrets.”
Catherine laughed with derision. “At least half the men keep a phu sao on the side. And many of the women are having affairs, as well.”
Her argument rang hollow given the numerous warnings she had issued about being seen with Bounmy and the harm it might cause to my reputation. But I didn’t argue, as she meant well.
Marguerite grinned. “We’re allowed a few mistakes when we’re young, Vivi. Heaven knows, I’ve had more than my fair share.”
“Look at my situation with Marcel. It couldn’t have been more public,” Catherine said. “But people forget. They’re too busy with their own problems.”
I had delivered Marcel Fontaine’s letter to Catherine on returning home from Luang Prabang. She hadn’t mentioned him since, but I’d glimpsed her reading it a number of times on the front veranda. I wondered if she wished he might convince her to picture a different outcome as well, to give their love another chance. It wasn’t my place to ask.
“The trick is to learn from our failures and not repeat them,” Marguerite said. “That’s the challenge.”
We were drinking tea after returning home from our successful shopping expedition on Wednesday when Julian sailed through the front door, sunburned and bedraggled. Catherine’s shoulders visibly relaxed. She had worried excessively the entire time he was gone.
“Good God, you look like hell,” Marguerite said.
“Thank you. It’s lovely to see you, too, Marguerite.” Julian grinned. “I’m just happy to be alive. There were moments when I doubted I’d make it.”
Catherine stepped close to him, then backed away. “I can’t even hug you. You smell like a pigsty.”
“A bath is definitely in order.” He stared at his own filthy, torn clothes. “I have scratches and bites all over my body.” His hair had grown long, and his face had sprouted a pale blond beard and mustache, too scraggly to be taken seriously.
Marguerite eyed him. “You’ve lost weight.”
“A slight bout of dysentery, but it could be worse; André picked up malaria.” Hearing the word sent chills down my back.
Julian gave me an uncertain glance. “Vivi, I’m happy to see you.”
I gave a tentative smile, feeling ill at ease given the strain between us before I’d left for Luang Prabang. “I’m glad you’re back safely. You must have many stories to tell.”
“I’ll bore you with them over dinner,” he said, heading upstairs.
“There’s a letter from Father on your bed,” Catherine called after him.
When I came downstairs at six, Julian and Catherine were sipping gin and tonics in the salon, deep in conversation. He looked like a different person after a bath and shave, his hair combed back. A white linen shirt set off his reddish tan and bright blue eyes, rendering him more handsome than ever. My feelings for him had been complicated from the start. At times I’d thought him spoiled and self-centered, and his jealousy of Bounmy and drunken outbursts had been inexcusable. Always I’d compared him to Bounmy, who I’d believed perfect, but neither one was what they’d appeared. Bounmy had failed me, while Julian had proven to be a caring friend, there for me when I needed him. I couldn’t help wondering what might have developed between us without Bounmy’s presence. There would always be “what ifs.”
Julian jumped up. “Vivi, let me get you a drink.”
I assumed Catherine had told him about my break with Bounmy, and what I’d learned about my parents’ deaths. We’d agreed she would tell him I’d quit my job because of the scandal over Kham’s tax evasion. Nothing more.
Julian handed me a cocktail. “Catherine says you met your mother’s family in Luang Prabang, and that your brother will be visiting after the holidays. That’s wonderful news.”
I nodded. “I can hardly wait. I only wish he could come before Christmas.”
Mali came into the room to collect us, beaming at Julian. “Dinner is ready.”
To my relief, the table was set for three, as Marguerite had left to dine with friends at the club and André was not feeling well enough. Wonderful aromas rose from steaming bowls of beef curry, laab moo, fried tofu, green papaya salad, rice, and hot sauce—all of Julian’s favorites, now some of my favorites as well. After weeks of little interest in food, my stomach growled with a ravenous hunger.
“Mali, I can’t begin to tell you how delicious this looks,” Julian said. “If you could have seen the food we ate in the mountains. Absolutely horrendous!”
Mali patted his shoulder. “You must gain some weight. What girl will want you so skinny and weak?” She hurried off to the kitchen as Julian sputtered a protest.
I chuckled. “She’s been forcing food on me ever since I returned from Luang Prabang. She says I’m too thin for any boy to look my way.” I paused. “How lucky we are to have someone who cares for us so well.”
“Indeed,” said Catherine.
Without warning, my throat grew tight and tears threatened. They’d all been so kind, adopting me, a misplaced soul who belonged nowhere, offering a safe harbor. How desperate my life might be without them.
“How sick is André?” I asked.
“Not too bad. He’s been taking quinine and went to the doctor as soon as we got back.” Julian shook his head. “It might sound heartless, but after spending day and night with André for over five weeks, I need a break.”
Catherine sighed. “I suppose he was drinking, as always.”
“Of course. We ran out of gin after two weeks. All we could get was the villagers’ rice liquor. Deadly stuff.” Julian held out his wine glass. “I’m not swearing off alcohol, mind you, but I am a reformed man. Moderation is my new motto.”
“You’re finally growing up, little brother,” Catherine said.
I dished rice and beef curry onto my plate. “Tell us about the trip.”
“Quite an adventure. Or ordeal, depending on how you look at it. I might have given up weeks ago, but André was determined to keep going until we’d found gold.”
“Did you?” Catherine asked.
Julian shrugged. “It’s not clear. We brought back a handful of rocks with traces of gold running through them. Or it could be fool’s gold. We won’t know until André does the tests.”
“Where did you go?” I asked.
Julian rested his elbows on the table. “We rode horses to Vang Vieng and spent a night in a guesthouse, our last taste of civilization. The next morning we met our four Muang guides, and the trek began in earnest. We paddled up the Nam Song River in two flimsy pirogues that looked like they might fall apart any minute, especially when we ran aground on a sand bar mid-morning. A half-day out, we turned east, floating into smaller and smaller tributaries heading into the mountains.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he squeezed his shoulders together and described how tightly packed they were in the narrow boats. He gave a hearty laugh. “You should have seen André squirm at having to sit next to one of the half-naked Muang men.” Arms flailing, Julian described the dangerous eddies in the streams and the roar of water plummeting over rocky outcrops. “One day a panther stalked us for hours along the stream banks, as if waiting patiently to make one of us his next meal.”
Julian ran his fingers through his hair. “I lost all sense of direction. If anything had happened to our guides, I’m not sure how we would have made it home.”
“How far did you go in the pirogues?” Catherine asked.
“Quite a long way. Sometimes we had to carry them around rocks and other debris. I got dumped in the water twice. The second time I almost drowned, but one of the guides dragged me onto shore with his oar. For small people, the Muang are amazingly strong and capable. I have nothing but respect. When it was no longer possible to navigate the streams, our guides led us along the banks, clearing a trail with their machetes.”
His enthusiastic, animated stories, weaving together threads of adventure and daring, were quite endearing. It struck me how much I’d missed his cheerful company, how comfortable I felt in his presence.
“How did you know where to look for gold?” I asked.
“According to André’s mining books, the most favorable conditions are found where rushing water has removed silt from the stream bed and broken the rocks into gravel. Gold nuggets are often found in protected nooks where the water’s course has taken a sharp turn.”
“But there must be hundreds and hundreds of places like that in the mountains,” Catherine said.
“Exactly,” Julian said with a guffaw. “Like searching for a needle in a haystack. But André was undeterred. He completely ignores the fact that dozens of miners and fortune hunters have combed the forests and streams of Laos for years, each one sure they’d strike it rich. Even Prince Souvanna led an expedition last year. All that came of it were two tin mines.” He waved his hand in the air with disgust. “And now the price of tin has collapsed, along with much of the world economy.”
“What happens next?” I asked.
Julian took a sip of his wine. “André’s optimistic it’s truly gold. If so, he’ll return and search for more deposits.” He relaxed in his chair. “But I’m not going out there again anytime soon.”
“Good,” Catherine said. “You must get back to organizing your import/export business.”
“Hah. To be feasible, there must actually be a market for trading goods. With the depression in the United States spreading all over Europe, no one is buying anything. My grand business plan is a failure before I even get it underway.”
“Surely you can find something else,” Catherine said cautiously.
Julian stared at his food, fingering the edge of his plate. “I’m thinking about returning to France.”
“What?” Catherine’s face paled. “But you’ve only just arrived. Whatever would you do at home?”
“Father has a friend willing to hire me in his wine distribution business.” He looked up. “No matter how bad the economy, the French never give up their wine. In fact, they drink even more!”
“I know it’s selfish, but I’ll be desolate if you leave.” Catherine’s voice trembled, as if she was going to cry.
“I hate to leave you, as well,” Julian said, reaching across the table to pat Catherine’s hand. “I’ll investigate what other options are available.”
Disappointment settled over me at the thought of one more person dear to me disappearing from my life. I cherished Julian’s friendship, someone I could count on. He had been my confidant, always there to lend support. There remained a deeper emotion, a spark that one day might flourish. Not now, but possibly in the future when he was truly over Lily and I recovered from the loss of Bounmy. If Julian returned to France, whatever possibilities might exist between us would vanish. Did he still believe he loved me or had that faded away?
The mood turned somber as we finished our meal. Mali came to clear the dishes. “I have coconut cream cake for dessert.”
“Wonderful. I’d love some coffee, please,” Julian said. He turned to Catherine and me. “Shall we go out on the veranda?”
Catherine stood up, sighing with defeat. “I’m rather tired and need to write a letter. I’ll see you in the morning.” She stopped to give Julian a kiss on his forehead. “Thank heavens you’re safely home.”
Julian and I settled on the veranda with Mali’s cake and steaming cups of coffee. He lit lemongrass candles on the table and near our legs to fend off voracious mosquitoes. The sky had turned velvety black, and we quietly contemplated the first stars flickering to life, serenaded by crickets and katydids and the occasional croaking frog.
“It’s lovely to be with you again.” His deep voice drifted across the space between us. “Vivi, I”—he hesitated, taking a deep breath—“I must apologize for my behavior before you left for Luang Prabang. Once again, I drank too much and said some inexcusable things.”
“You might want to work on changing that pattern.” I looked over at his profile and smiled. “But I forgive you. I know it was only because you care about me.”
“My pride was wounded. I was jealous and angry that you chose Bounmy over me.” He gave a chortle. “I sound like a spoiled brat fighting over a toy.”
I sipped my coffee. “You wanted someone to fill the void that Lily left.”
“In part. I had a lot of time to think, these past weeks out in the jungle. I know now that coming back to Laos to escape my grief over Lily was misguided. You can’t run away from pain.” We ate our cake in the flickering candlelight. “Although I care deeply for you, it’s different than my love for Lily.”
I had been a passing infatuation for Julian, a pleasant diversion in his time of grief and loneliness. But then, he had never captured my heart the way Bounmy had. It was a relief to discuss our situation without any more misunderstandings or false hopes.
Julian cleared his throat. “My motives in pursuing you were not all selfish. I wanted to protect you from Bounmy taking advantage of your inexperience. I knew you’d end up hurt.”
“Catherine must have told you it’s over. Bounmy knew from the beginning that he would marry someone his family selected. He offered only what suited his needs, without considering the consequences for me.” I stopped, debating if I should say more. “He broke my heart—as you predicted. And yet, I still love him.”
“Our emotions can’t be turned off like a water spigot. I’ll always love and miss Lily.”
“And I will always love Bounmy. But I have to accept that I’m not Cinderella.” I let out a harsh laugh. “There will be no fairytale ending with my prince.”
“You’ll find someone else, someone better who will love you completely.” Julian sat forward and took my hand. “We aren’t right for each other at this moment. You’re young and have much to learn and experience, and I need to find my footing back in France. But I am grateful for this time we’ve had together, the ways in which you’ve helped me see myself in a new light. I am a better person for knowing you.”
“Thank you,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Your friendship has been an important gift that I will always treasure.”
He laughed. “Don’t write me off completely, mademoiselle. If you and Antoine come to France next year to attend university, I hope to renew our friendship.”
“I’ll write once we make plans,” I said.
Julian put his face close to mine, grinning. “It is possible that one day my charms will overwhelm you, and you’ll fall madly in love with me.”
I giggled, my heart feeling lighter than it had in months. “We’ll just see then.”