Such bliss. Antoine and I spent the following days getting to know each other as we wandered through Vientiane and along the Mekong River, enjoying the cool season’s temperate days, free from unexpected downpours and crushing humidity. I showed him the covered market, my favorite Buddhist temples, and little out-of-the-way neighborhoods with interesting houses and shops—all places I’d planned to show Bridgette, places filled with memories of Bounmy. In the evenings we shared dinners with Catherine and Julian over lively conversations that covered everything from the growing world depression and French politics to the local temple fair that we’d attended with Mali on Monday night.
It amazed me how effortlessly my brother slipped into my world, as if he’d always been part of it. He was far more at ease with new people and situations than I was. Mali was smitten with him, treating him with the same reverence she reserved for Julian. I’d find him early mornings in the kitchen chatting away with her in Lao, sometimes drying dishes and putting them away in spots that were hard for her to reach. She would beam at me, patting my arm and saying what a nice boy he was. I kept waiting to find flaws—an annoying personality trait or a selfish lack of consideration. Perhaps we were both simply on our best behavior for the moment.
Life began anew with Antoine, the stars and earth realigning to replace our painful past and set us on a happy path forward. We talked for hours without artifice, laughing, occasionally becoming teary-eyed over the loss of our parents and a normal childhood. We had fourteen years to catch up on. It broke my heart when he told me I was the first person to hug him since he’d been a small boy at the orphanage. Our souls shared an unspoken connection, originating from our French and Lao roots, uniquely intertwined and bound together. Neither the Assistance Society nor the Lao or French communities, with their disdain for our mixed heritage, could destroy the link between us.
Antoine insisted we make going to France the following year our first priority. Marguerite helped us assemble the numerous documents needed for university and scholarship applications, while Antoine kept me on task filling out forms and writing essays, which I could have happily put off to another day.
On Friday I took Antoine to meet Maîtresse Durand, my first time returning to the orphanage. As we entered the courtyard, my body became nearly paralyzed with a thousand memories of Bridgette, Director Bernard, and my long afternoons gazing out the branches of my old friend the tamarind tree. Lucienne and Madeleine met us in the entry hall and nearly swooned when I introduced my brother. I laughed as Antoine’s cheeks turned pink.
Maîtresse welcomed Antoine with uncharacteristic warmth. “It does my heart good to meet you, Monsieur Dubois, and to see you and Vivi together.” She sat us down and proceeded straight to business in her usual efficient manner. “I contacted the headteachers at a number of schools and scheduled interviews for both of you on Monday afternoon,” she announced, handing over a paper with names, times, and phone numbers. “Really the meetings are more of a formality. Monsieur Rochefort at the Collège Auguste Pavie is intrigued by your training at the lycée in Saigon, Monsieur Dubois. He feels you’d be an excellent addition to their staff. And, Vivi, now Monsieur Bernard is gone, several of the schools would be happy to hire you, but I think the best fit is the French/Lao elementary school for girls. Madame Gagnon is a lovely person who you’ll find a delight to work with. And the children are adorable.”
There seemed little need for further discussion. How could we ask for more? I knew her intervention was penance for all the ways she’d failed me and Bridgette over the years.
I thanked Maîtresse repeatedly. She took my hand as her eyes became watery. “Bridgette would be so happy for you.”
The following week, Antoine and I mailed our applications to two universities in Paris and one in Lyon. I insisted we ask a monk at Mali’s temple to bless them first, then Antoine suggested a stop at Sacred Heart to light candles and say a prayer. I conceded, willing to try anything that might help.
“Do you think we’ll be accepted?” I asked for the third time that morning.
“Of course. We both excelled in school, and the French education system is one of the few benefits available to the métis.”
I nodded. “How ironic that they’re willing to send us to study in France when our existence is such a source of embarrassment.”
A wry smile crossed his lips. “They want us to become productive and loyal supporters of France and the colonial government.”
“Whatever the reasons, I’m grateful. I’ll treat us to lunch to celebrate our new teaching positions and mailing our applications.” On Monday we had been enthusiastically received at our interviews and hired on the spot. Everything was falling into place.
On our way to lunch, we turned down a quiet lane toward the river. Antoine glanced back briefly, then a second time. He furled his brow. I turned to find two men in dark suits walking a short distance behind us.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I think those men are following us,” he whispered.
“But why? Do you know who they are?”
“I’ll explain when we sit down to lunch. Don’t look back again.”
We picked up our pace, marching to the Quai Francis Garnier. I led Antoine to a little outdoor food stand along the river where I had eaten many times with Bounmy. We sat down at a table and ordered bowls of noodle soup.
I couldn’t help searching for the two men, but they were nowhere in sight. “Who do you think was following us?” I whispered.
He blinked a few times, as if uncertain how to respond. “They might be with the Sûreté Générale.”
“The secret police? Whatever would they want with you?”
“I had to leave the coffee plantation so suddenly because my complaints about the working conditions and pay for the laborers had raised suspicions. The owners and French authorities labeled me a troublemaker, and I believe they notified the Sûreté Générale that I might be a communist agitator.”
My throat caught. “But…but are you?” I sputtered.
“No, no. I became friends with a communist group of students in Saigon last year, and after I started working on the plantation, a local cell contacted me, soliciting my help. While I sympathize with their grievances and desire for a more equal society, I don’t agree with their methods or larger vision.”
Bounmy had spoken to me of unrest on the Bolaven Plateau and the Sûreté’s investigations. I’d never imagined Antoine might be involved. “Could they arrest you?” I asked, suddenly frightened.
“I’ve done nothing wrong; however, I’m sure they’re keeping an eye on me. They probably followed us today simply to intimidate me. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m taken in for an interrogation at some point to try to extract the names of communists I’ve met.”
“You’re terrifying me.” What other secrets could he be hiding? “Do be careful.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be a model citizen from now on. This will pass.”
“I hope so.” I gazed out over the sparkling water, busy with boats and people coming and going. Memories of my first boat trip with Bounmy flashed through my mind unexpectedly, and a stab of pain caught me off guard. Despite my efforts to bury him in the past, he remained with me more than I wished. As I traversed the streets of town, I constantly searched for him, hoping for, yet dreading, a glimpse of his face.
“You look sad,” Antoine said.
“I was thinking of Bounmy.” I had shared the basic history of our relationship and the reason for our unhappy ending without including intimate details or dark secrets. I could never reveal Kham’s attack, my lost pregnancy, or the yawning hole in my heart that would never heal.
“You must miss him a great deal,” Antoine said.
“At times.”
“I’m sorry he hurt you. If you tell me where to find him, I’ll beat him black and blue.”
I gasped. “Oh no. Don’t do that.” It was unthinkable that my brother could harm someone, especially Bounmy.
Antoine laughed. “I’m only kidding. I’m not a violent person, but I’d like to give this bastard a piece of my mind.” He took a sip of beer and softened his tone. “I imagine he loves you a great deal but is trapped by his family and royal status.”
“He didn’t love me enough to find a solution,” I said sadly. “And what about you? Given Lucienne and Madeleine’s reaction to meeting you the other day, there must have been a lot of girls interested in you at school.”
A shadow passed over Antoine’s face. “Not really. There was one girl, but…” His voice trailed off.
“Tell me.”
“Her name is Dông. We used to walk along the river after school and talk—always in a group, of course. She’s beautiful and sweet, but her family is wealthy, and they would never allow her to be with an orphaned métis. After school ended in May, they married her to a boy in another aristocratic Annamese family.”
Antoine looked up. “We can thank the French for taking over Indochine and fathering thousands of métis without assuming any responsibility for the consequences.”
The animosity in his voice surprised me. “How do they justify their actions?” I said. “They have nothing but scorn for their métis children.” I paused. “I don’t believe our father was like that. At least, I hope not.”
He sighed. “I realized early on that there were things I couldn’t surmount on my own, situations out of my control. The best way to fight injustice is to get a good education. The situation at the coffee plantation made me lose my way momentarily. But how could I keep quiet?”
I patted Antoine’s arm. “I understand. I was never one to hold back on what I thought, and all it did was get me into lots of trouble. For now, we must concentrate on our new jobs and saving money. I hope once we complete our university degrees and have a clearer understanding of how the world works, we can come back and try to improve things.”
“Let’s hope so.”