Saigon (4 page)

“So how do all you French sex maniacs manage to preserve your sanity then?” 

“Ah,” said Paul, raising a didactic finger. “You obviously haven’t heard of the noble institution of the congaie?” 

“No,” admitted Chuck, “I haven’t. What is the congaie?” 

“The congaie is the house girl, the houseboy’s sister — or sometimes even his wife. Peasant girls from the countryside mostly.” He flourished his hand around the rest of the gathering. “See how few wives there are in the colony. Most French colons come here alone — for the congaie. That’s why there are forty thousand métis in the colony.” 

“Métis? What are they?” asked Joseph quickly, anxious not to be left out of the intriguingly adult discussion. 

“People of mixed race, mon ami — half French, half Annamite. In French they are called poules-canards, you understand? ‘Chicken-ducks,’ neither one thing nor the other. They get left behind when the French colon goes home to France. If she is lucky, the congaie and her métis children are passed on with the furniture to the next occupant of the house. If not, too bad. Nobody worries. ‘C’est Ia vie coloniale,’ they say and shrug their shoulders.” 

“But your mother makes sure you keep clear of the congaie, I’ll bet,” added Chuck, laughing again. 

“My mother is unfortunately dead,” said the French boy quietly. “She drowned in an accident four years ago.” 

“I’m very sorry,” said Chuck hastily. 

The French boy dismissed his apology with a little motion of his hand. “But in any event I don’t admire those of my countrymen who treat the Annamese congaie so badly. 1 came to Saigon eight years ago when my father was in the army. After my mother died he decided to stay on and make a living hunting, so I’ve grown up here with Annamese boys and girls of my own age. Perhaps I have a different point of view from the older generation” He glanced up for a moment towards the senator and Jacques Devraux, “I don’t always see eye to eye with my father for instance about the way things are done here.” 

Joseph tugged at his brother’s sleeve suddenly and nodded across the room. “Look, Chuck, there’s the man we met on the boulevard tonight.” Chuck followed his gaze and saw the stoop- shouldered Frenchman, dressed now like all the others, conversing with a smaller, pallid man with dark-ringed eyes like his own. “We saw some prisoners being beaten,” explained Joseph, turning to Paul Devraux, “but he told us not to feel sorry for them. He said all Annamese were idle and good-for-nothing.” 

The French boy glanced at the man for a moment, then shrugged. “He and his friend are typical representatives of the old guard. See the dark half-moons beneath their eyes? That’s the sure sign of the habitual opium smoker. I have met your ‘friend’ once — his clothes always smell musty from the fumes. I believe he’s an inspector of mines or some such” Paul Devraux lowered his voice and leaned closer to the two Americans. “And as it happens opium is not the only vice of that particular pair. When they leave here they will probably stroll down the Rue Catinat to the riverside. On the quay opposite the Café de Ia Rotonde you’ll see poor Annamese boys parading there for such men, with rice powder on their faces. Or they will pick a young rickshaw coolie and ride around all night watching his little golden rump bobbing in front of their eyes — and beat him if he refuses their advances.” The French boy pursed his lips suddenly in an expression of disgust. “Those types are far too common. The men who come to the colonies from France are not always of the best quality. Let’s not talk anymore about them.” 

“Then tell us a bit more about the natives,” said Chuck lightly, sipping his champagne and glancing around at the little groups of Annamese who were tending to draw closer together as the babble of noise from the French around them grew louder. “Who exactly are the slant-eyed oriental gentlemen who’ve come among us in their gaudy silk dressing gowns and funny hats?” 

“We call them ‘collaborateurs’ but the Annamese who don’t want anything to do with the French call them the ‘licensed pirates.’” 

“Why ‘licensed pirates’?” asked Joseph with a mystified smile. 

“When our mighty French warships sailed in here sixty years ago the old Annamese scholars kept their distance. But we were very cunning — we bought loyalty. The lower-ranking mandarins who agreed to work as interpreters were rewarded with big tracts of good rice-growing land in the Mekong delta, and the idea soon began to catch on that collaborating paid. Over the years collaborateur families have become very rich. Because they’ve been good boys we’ve helped them extend their landholdings and they lease it back to their own peasants at exorbitant rates — that’s why their own people call them pirates.” Paul Devraux paused and nodded across the room. “Take the Tran family over there who’ve just been introduced to your father, for instance. They’re very big landowners—— probably worth quite a few million piastres.” 

The Sherman brothers looked up to see the governor and their father talking to an old Annamese with a long gray goatee, who was wearing a black-winged Ming dynasty mandarin’s bonnet and a long embroidered gown of brilliant sea-green silk. They noticed that he kept his hands clasped inside the voluminous sleeves of his gown and rarely raised his eyes to the face of the governor or the senator. At his side a middle-aged Annamese dressed in a darker mandarin’s gown followed the conversation with a watchful expression. 

“The venerable-looking Annamese with the beard is unusually shrewd,” said Paul. “He has retained his post at the imperial court in Hue. The family comes from the central region of Annam, I believe. But his son, Tran Van Hieu — that’s him in the darker gown — lives here in Saigon as the court’s Imperial Delegate. This allows him to supervise all the family’s vast landholdings in the delta. That way the family keeps a foot in both camps.” 

“They don’t look much like American millionaires,” said Chuck facetiously. “Our tycoons back home tend to look a mite less submissive.” 

Paul Devraux laughed humorlessly. “It’s not surprising, is it, in the presence of dignitaries of the master race? The French government allows the Annamese almost no say at all in running their affairs. There’s a lot of discontent beneath the surface.” 

“But what happened to all that famous French liberté, egalite and fraternité that you fought your revolution for?” asked Joseph in astonishment. “Doesn’t that apply at all out here?” 

Paul Devraux gave a little hollow laugh but didn’t reply. Glancing up he saw the senator beckoning for his sons to join him. “I think your father wants you to meet the mandarins,” he said. “You’d better go.” 

“But what’s the answer to my question?” 

Paul Devraux grinned at him for a moment, then raised a cynical eyebrow. “Unfortunately, Joseph, the egalite and the fraternite get left at home. But in her colonies France reserves the right to take whatever liberties she chooses.” 

Nathaniel Sherman looked at his sons and beamed proudly as they joined the group around the governor. “May I have the pleasure, monsieur, of introducing my two sons,” boomed the senator, smiling into the wizened face of the Annamese mandarin while the governor’s aide translated for him. “My elder boy, Charles, and his young brother, Joseph. . . . Monsieur Tran Van Lung is a high official in the Ministry of Rites at the imperial court of Hue,” he added for his sons’ benefit. 

Joseph reached forward eagerly to shake hands, but the mandarin, after a moment’s embarrassed hesitation, closed his right hand over his left fist, clasped them to his gown and bowed his head towards Chuck and Joseph in turn. Only then did the American boy notice his extraordinarily long curling fingernails, the mark of a high-ranking courtier that would have made a Western-style handshake awkward and discomfiting for both parties. Flushing to the roots of his hair, Joseph dipped his head in greeting as he realized the more circumspect Chuck had done. 

“The Annamese never shake hands among themselves,” declared the governor as if the mandarin and his son were not listening. “Equals simply how from the waist with their arms at their sides. And the traditional form of greeting you’ve just seen” 

— he paused and grasped his left hand loosely in his right fist in imitation of the Annamese “is employed to denote respect from an inferior to a superior.” 

The casual offensiveness of the governor’s remarks was evident to the senator even before his aide finished his translation; he glanced sharply at the Annamese, but it was impossible to gauge their reactions from their impassive faces. “The American South where I come from is mighty proud of its good manners, messieurs,” said the senator, flashing them a smile of exaggerated charm. “But I think all of us here still have a lot to learn about civility and courteousness from your own ancient world.” 

The old mandarin allowed his eyelids to droop fractionally in acknowledgment of the American’s compliment when it was translated but otherwise held his face expressionless. The governor, who had only half listened to the senator’s response, failed to notice the barb in the remark. Nodding absently he opened the palm of his hand to gesture towards Tran Van Lung’s sea-green gown. “You might be interested, senator, to note that this robe is a unique piece of silk. Its pattern and hues are both very rare indeed. It was given as a personal gift to Tran Van Lung by the father of the present emperor, Khai Dinh.” The governor gestured towards the Annamese as if he were a museum exhibit. “Near the hem you can see the delicately embroidered imperial dragon in gold. Beautifully worked. The world has much to thank the Chinese ancients for, don’t you agree?” 

“Indeed I do, governor. And we also have Monsieur Tran Van Lung here to thank, do we not, for reminding us of the great and unshakable dignity of the Orient.” 

The governor looked keenly at the American for a moment, hut encountered only the senator’s disarming smile and turned away again. “Speaking of rare things of the Orient, senator, let me show you my most treasured piece of chinoiserie.” He touched the American’s elbow and moved off in the direction of a single Ming vase standing on a pedestal nearby. “It is from the Lung (Thing period, and I’m fairly confident that it is one of only two perfect examples of its kind left anywhere in the world.” 

It was clear from the governor’s demeanor that his invitation did not extend beyond the Americans, and the elderly mandarin remained standing apart with his son and his son’s wife. Chuck followed his father towards the pedestal where the wide-necked Ming vase, decorated with blue phoenixes and lotus sprays, glowed under a direct light, but Joseph hesitated. Seeing that the Annamese would otherwise be left abandoned, he remained beside them, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, searching his mind frantically for something to say. The face of the elderly mandarin above the long gray wispy goatee remained dauntingly blank, and Joseph turned in desperation to the younger Annamese, realizing that no formal introduction had been made with them. “I’m Joseph Sherman. I’m fifteen, six years younger than my brother Chuck, you know. He’s twenty-one. I have a sister at home. Her name is Susannah — but she’s only nine.” Relieved at having thought of something to say, Joseph gabbled his small talk in a rush of unpracticed French, stumbling here and there over his pronunciation. “Susannah is much too young of course for a big journey like this. She had to stay behind with one of my aunts.” 

The old Annamese, possibly hard of hearing, gazed unblinkingly into the distance above his head for a moment then turned and shuffled away, hut his son nodded gravely. “My name is Tran Van Hieu, and it is indeed a pity for your sister, Monsieur Sherman, that she couldn’t accompany you. I hope she speaks the language of France as well as you do?” 

Joseph laughed. “Nobody could speak it worse!” Infected by his laughter the wife of the younger mandarin smiled, and Joseph looked at her for the first time. Slender and demure, she wore a simple ao dai of brown silk, and the serene beauty of her delicate golden face belied her years. “Do you have sons and daughters, madame?” he inquired politely to draw her into the conversation. 

“Yes, monsieur, two sons and a daughter.” 

Joseph glanced hopefully around the room, “Are they here?” 

Tran Van Hieu shook his head. “They are still too young for such an occasion.” He waved behind him towards one of the French windows that led out to the formal gardens surrounding the palace. “They asked if they might come to see the a1aiS, but they had of course to remain outside in the gardens with their nurse where they can do no damage.” 

Joseph looked out through the windows and saw three small Annamese children dressed in traditional silk tunics like their parents walking on the lawns below the terrace in the company of a plainly garbed Annamese servant. 

“Would it be possible for me to meet them, monsieur?” Joseph hesitated, then laughed. “You see, I’m not allowed to drink any more champagne. My mother made me promise to have only one glass — and I’ve had two already.” 

The Annamese mandarin looked at Joseph’s eager face for a moment, then his eyes lost their watchful look for the first time and he smiled. “Pourquoi pas?” He turned to his wife, who was smiling too. “Why not?” he repeated and led the way to the French windows. Outside on the terrace he waved and called to the children, and a moment later they arrived panting and breathless at the top of the broad flight of marble steps. 

“This is Joseph Sherman. His father is an important visitor from the United States of America,” Tran Van Hieu told them in French. “That is an important country far away across the sea.” 

Remembering the earlier misunderstanding, Joseph kept his hands pressed to his sides. Smiling broadly he bowed stiffly from the waist and greeted each of the children in turn. “Je suis enchante de faire votre connaissance.” 

“Tam is twelve,” said the Annamese, pointing to the taller boy. “Kim is eleven, and my daughter, Lana, is just ten years old.” 

The girl’s serious little face was delicate, rounded, promising that she would soon flower into at least as striking a beauty as her mother; in an attempt to make her smile Joseph winked theatrically at her, but this made her draw closer to her mother and she continued to gaze gravely back at him with the curious, unselfconscious eyes of childhood. Her brothers had intelligent, mischievous faces, and they giggled and jostled one another constantly, refusing to stand still. The younger of the pair, Joseph noticed, held his arms unnaturally high across his tiny chest, and looking closer he saw a little bulge rumpling and moving beneath his silk tunic. “Are you hiding something interesting under your jacket, Kim?” asked the American, dropping playfully to his knees and pointing to the moving lump. 

Both boys immediately burst into peals of embarrassed laughter, and Tam ran shamefaced to his father’s side and whispered loudly in his ear in French: “Kim has brought Lan’s gibbon, Papa! I told him he shouldn’t, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” 

The mandarin chided his younger son in rapid Annamese and immediately the giggling stopped. Kim unbuttoned his jacket, and when the head of the frightened baby gibbon appeared, Lan let out a little cry of protest and gathered the tiny animal tenderly into her arms. 

“May I stroke him please, Lan?” Joseph spoke softly and leaned towards her. Not fully understanding his intent, she shrank away from him protectively and the animal, sensing her unease, began snickering and struggling in her arms. 

Joseph started back immediately, anxious to cause no offense, but the nervous gibbon, taking fright at his sudden movement, tore itself free and bounded from her grasp. The two boys. shrieking excitedly, chased it around the terrace, panicking it further, and to escape them it darted through the open doors into the palais. Tran Van Hieu and his wife stared after it aghast, and the boys, halting on the threshold, stopped shouting and fell silent. Lan’s face had turned pale with apprehension and she stood open-mouthed, one tiny hand raised to her check, her face trembling on the brink of tears. 

Their anxiety rooted Joseph to the spot for a moment; then, desperate to make amends for his clumsiness, he flung himself through the doorway in pursuit. Inside, the tiny creature skidded to a halt on the marble floor, terrified by the sudden din of the gathering. Joseph lunged toward it, but the sight of him terrorized the gibbon further, and it set off frantically towards the only visible refuge. 

The governor had moved his guests back from the illuminated pedestal to show the line and glazing of the Ming vase to its best advantage, and because he had turned his head in their direction to explain a point, he didn’t see the gibbon streak across the marble floor on all fours. His eye fell on it for the first time as it sprang onto the marble plinth and clutched at the neck of the vase to steady itself. The governor’s white-gloved hand Froze in mid- flourish and for a second he stared horror-struck at the chattering animal. Then he started towards the plinth with a cry of alarm, and the gibbon, sensing a threat, leaped two feet into the air and disappeared inside the vase. The darkness of the interior only increased the animal’s terror, and immediately it began to struggle frantically to free itself. The vase rocked back and forth on its base for an instant, then toppled towards the floor. Realizing he was too far away to save his prized possession, the governor could only stand and watch it fall, speechless with anger. 

Several nearby Frenchmen started belatedly to the rescue, but the guilty knowledge of his responsibility for the impending disaster had lent Joseph’s legs extra speed. He sprinted desperately towards the plinth and, as the vase fell, launched himself towards it in a lunging dive. His shoulder hit the floor with a thud that knocked the wind out of him hut he managed to get one hand under the vase at full stretch and slithered across the marble floor juggling the smooth-glazed porcelain above his head. He almost lost it as he came to rest, but at the last moment he twisted onto his back and with both hands pressed his prize thankfully against his frilled inside shirt front. 

In the hushed silence that followed he scrambled to his feet, his face and neck flushing scarlet. Reaching inside, he hauled the monkey out by the scurf of its neck and replaced the vase carefully on its pedestal. Then without a backward glance he fled towards the French windows, clutching the offending animal under his arm. 

The moment Joseph stepped out onto the terrace the worried faces of Tran Van I-lieu and his wife relaxed with relief. Their two small sons stood apart with their nurse, already contrite and tearful, but Lan clapped her hands delightedly and ran towards Joseph. The American boy apologized haltingly in French as he knelt to return the shivering pet to her, but once the animal was safely in her arms again she turned and fled shyly back to her father’s side without speaking. 

When the governor’s uniformed aide appeared silently in the doorway behind Joseph, he took in the scene at a glance and his face darkened with reproof. “The governor is ready to take dinner with his invited guests, Monsieur Joseph,” he said, pointedly ignoring the Annamese. 

Joseph smiled and apologized once more and watched as Tran Van Hieu shepherded his family off the terrace. At the foot of the steps Lan stopped for a moment to turn and stare back at Joseph. She was still whispering to the gibbon to soothe it, but her innocent face was puzzled, as though she could not quite grasp everything that had happened. Joseph smiled hesitantly and waved, but this embarrassed the little Annamese girl and she turned and ran as fast as she could to catch up with her parents.