I slept until almost nine the next morning, awakened finally by a pounding headache brought on by too many glasses of champagne. I pattered down to the kitchen in search of aspirin and something to settle my roiling stomach. Mali had left for her village, while Julian and Catherine were still asleep. I was making coffee when a soft knock sounded at the front door.
A slender young man, a head taller than me, stood on the porch, a large rucksack by his side. I knew immediately, even though his hair was the rich tawny shade of tamarind fruit, not black like mine. His nose, eyes, and the curve of his chin looked remarkably familiar, like a masculine reflection of myself in the mirror. Happiness burst from the depths of my soul, as if I had opened a hidden treasure chest to discover a cache of sparkling jewels.
My hand flew to my mouth. “Antoine.”
He stood very still and searched my eyes uncertainly. We had shared a lifetime of longing and wondering where we had come from, who our parents were, and if we were alone in the world. All of this was answered in an instant. Brother and sister. Twins. Family.
“Geneviève, I’ve found you.”
I threw my arms around his neck and held him close, a sob rising up from my chest. He drew in a deep breath, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. Slowly he exhaled and put his arms around me, patting my back. We remained this way, time standing still. I was afraid to let go, afraid he might be a dream that could disappear in a puff of smoke.
At last I pulled back and wiped tears from my cheeks as words spilled out. “I can’t believe you’re here. Why didn’t you write? You said it would be January. How did you arrive? How long are you staying?”
He grinned. “All good questions with long answers.”
“There is so much to talk about.” My hands trembled, and my heart felt like it might gallop right out of my chest. My twin brother was truly standing before me.
“I don’t know where to begin. But at the moment, I’m very hungry. Could we go somewhere for breakfast and talk?”
“I was fixing coffee, and there are rolls and other things. You drink coffee? You must, you work on a coffee plantation.” He nodded, and I pointed to a chair. “Sit down. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
I fixed a light meal, grateful to Mali for all the good things she had prepared for us to eat in her absence. Antoine devoured her sweet rolls, a generous piece of quiche, and slices of mango and banana. We glanced at each other in silence, floating in a surreal dream, the awkwardness of this initial meeting stretching between us like a vast bridge across a canyon. Slowly questions and answers flowed back and forth, and we began to relax, to feel our way to a connection.
“I took the ferry from Pakse five days ago. We arrived late last night, so I stayed on the boat. I wasn’t sure how early I should come.”
“Why didn’t you write and let me know of your arrival?”
He scrunched up his mouth on one side. “It was a last-minute decision. I could have sent a wire, but I decided to surprise you and be here for Christmas.”
“This is the best Christmas gift ever. How long can you stay?”
“As long as you’d like, since I’ve resigned from my post. I simply couldn’t continue working in those conditions. And being with you seemed more important.”
I bit my lower lip, thrilled by this announcement. “So, you’re truly here. For good.” He nodded.
Catherine and Julian emerged from the house, looking sleepy and slightly hungover. They started on finding a stranger next to me, and we jumped up.
“This is my brother, Antoine,” I said, the words strange and astonishing to my ears.
Julian grinned. “I could have guessed that. You look a great deal alike.”
Antoine stood and gave a nop, then shook hands with them both. “It is an honor to meet you. How can I ever thank you enough for taking care of Geneviève? You’ve been very generous and kind.”
Catherine put her arm around my shoulders. “She is very dear to us—part of our family now, and I hope you will be as well.”
“Please make yourself at home in the guest room for as long as you want,” Julian added.
Antoine and I retreated to the back garden, leaving Julian and Catherine to their coffee and breakfast. I dashed up to my room and retrieved the photograph of our parents and their letters.
Antoine studied the picture. “I see you in Mother. She’s familiar to me, but…it was so long ago. We were so young.” We compared sketchy memories of our early years in Luang Prabang, hazy, unformed images, subject to doubt and contradictions. It felt like trying to piece together a song from small snippets of a tune, the words long forgotten.
He remembered living with a family not his own. “Mother would visit. She always promised that the next time, she would take me with her.” He gazed at me, his eyes filled with sadness. “I’d often sit out on the front steps, waiting for her. Then one day two French women arrived. They said they were taking me to live in a nice place with people who would care for me. I thought they meant Mother, but they delivered me to the orphanage in Pakse.”
“I have a vivid memory of Mother promising to return when the tamarind tree bloomed. Did she say that to you?” He shook his head. “I always believed she’d brought me to the orphanage here in Vientiane, and that she meant the tamarind tree in the home’s courtyard. Then I discovered the Assistance Society had taken me from her in Luang Prabang. It wasn’t that tree at all. I keep wondering, where is it? Did I make it up?”
“Perhaps she was simply describing the time of year in a way you would understand, rather than a specific tree.”
“Of course. I took her words too literally.” I told him of my vigils each year, watching from the boughs of the tamarind tree at the orphanage, seeking our mother’s face in the streets below, always hopeful.
An expression of pain flickered across Antoine’s face, then he put his hand over mine. “It’s a miracle we’ve found each other. I’m grateful you broke the rules and searched your file. It makes me furious every time I think of how the Assistance Society tried to keep us apart, when we had nothing else of our own in this world.”
“But now we have the rest of our lives ahead of us.”
He smiled. “We won’t let anyone separate us again.”
I touched Antoine’s arm. “Why don’t you get settled in your room, and I’ll leave you to read the letters and reflect on what happened. Call me when you’re ready to talk again.”
Antoine found me later on the front veranda writing a list of places in town I wanted to show him—mostly where Bounmy had taken me at one time or another. His expression was somber, and traces of tears stained his cheeks.
“Catherine and Julian are out shopping for dinner, and they’ve invited Marguerite and Charles to join us.”
He managed a smile. “It will be fun to meet Marguerite after the things you’ve written about her in your letters.”
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I will be. I’m content at least to know what happened and that our parents loved each other…and us. How tragic their lives ended so young, and that our mother had to suffer so at the end. The world can be very cruel to those who don’t deserve it.”
I took his hand. “We have each other and a family in Luang Prabang. They told me we’re welcome to live with them if we want.”
“Please tell me about your visit and what each person is like,” he said. “I shall write them soon.”
And so we spent the afternoon discussing our aunt and uncles, their families, and everything I could remember about their lives. I repeated the stories Aunt Chanida had shared about our mother growing up, small gems that linked us to a common beginning. We were no longer alone in the world.
Later, Catherine and Julian cooked a giant pot of cassoulet to welcome Antoine. Marguerite and Charles, floating in their happy bubble, arrived with great fanfare. Marguerite gushed over Antoine and grabbed his arm to sit next to her on the settee.
“Charles, you’d better be on your best behavior,” she threatened, “or I might run off with this handsome young man.”
I worried my twin would find my boisterous friends overwhelming, but he seemed unfazed by their attentions and a barrage of questions, listening intently and formulating thoughtful responses. I sat by quietly observing, feeling shy in the presence of this new being, my brother. I learned Antoine didn’t like to drink—he nursed one glass of wine the whole evening—and that his laughter erupted quickly, a hearty chuckle of unrestrained mirth. His strict training at the French lycée and boarding house in Saigon had polished his manners. If the conversation led to difficult experiences in his past—the way French classmates had taunted him, or the harsh treatment of indigène students by French teachers—he seemed philosophical about them, proclaiming they had helped build his character. Even when discussing the dreary conditions of the workers on the coffee plantation, he ended on a positive note with his hope that changes might soon come. I wondered if he was truly so easygoing and congenial, or was he simply trying to win over my friends…and me?
Throughout the evening, Catherine eyed Antoine and me with a contented smile. “Do you have any idea what you will do now you’ve found each other?” she asked once we finished our meal.
Antoine spoke up immediately. “Our first task is to apply for scholarships to French universities. I hope we’ll be able to go next fall.” He smiled over at me. “I’m so happy Vivi has the same ambitions.”
Julian nodded. “Excellent! And I’ll be in France to welcome you and help however I can.”
“You’ll need references for starters,” Marguerite said. “I’ll introduce you to the Resident Superior and enlist him to write glowing recommendations.”
“Of course I’ll write one for you, Vivi,” Catherine said. “And Maîtresse will as well.”
Antoine pushed his plate back. “I have two letters of recommendation from my teachers in Saigon.”
“You can stay here at the house, of course,” Catherine said. “Julian is leaving for France after the wedding, and I’ll be going to Luang Prabang through February. Mali will be happy to have you here, although she’ll be spending a few weeks with her family.”
“We need to find jobs and save money,” I said.
Catherine pushed her hair from her cheek. “You should both apply for teaching positions. They’re desperate for qualified instructors at the French/Lao schools, and the pay is decent. Now that Director Bernard is leaving in disgrace, he won’t be an obstacle. Maîtresse Durand will help arrange things for you.”
“Antoine speaks Lao and Annamese, which should help,” I said with pride. My fluency in Lao was still floundering, but I would redouble my efforts with Mali and Antoine to help.
Charles sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “What do you plan to study at university, Antoine?”
“Medicine. Eventually, I’ll return here and care for indigène patients.”
“You’ll make a fine physician,” Marguerite said. “And the need is overwhelming.”
“And you, Vivi, what is your dream?” Charles asked.
“I want to study law and defend those who have no power to fight for their rights.”
“She’ll be a force to be reckoned with,” Julian said, grinning. “I feel sorry for anyone who has to face off against her. They won’t stand a chance.”
Catherine held up her wine glass. “A toast to your successful futures. I have every confidence in both of you.”