Le Colonial (24 page)
T
he April weather in Saygun was erratic. Even with the rain pour- ing down, the heat was sweltering.
For two weeks, Xuan had not noticed the weather. She lived in anticipation. Soon she too would sit in the rose garden, sipping imported white tea from a gold cup and wearing a pearl necklace. No longer would she be dressed in the blue uniform of a servant. With her beauty, the matchmaker had assured her, Xuan would lead a life of luxury.
The old matron filled her head with wonderful stories of court life as well as gossip about other concubines. Xuan envisioned herself wrapped in fine embroidered clothes, with her own private apartment and a succession of ladies-in-waiting and eunuchs. In exchange for this opulence, she would have to meet the prince’s every need.
“What must I do?” she asked the old lady. Even if she taxed her imagination, she could not fathom what a master and his mistress did behind the red curtain of matrimony. She wondered what she could do to please him. Over the past two weeks, she had learned so much, yet understood so little.
“Never deny His Highness. Your body and your soul must belong to him the moment you enter his bed.” The matchmaker batted her rheumy eyes and cackled. The years had drawn her smile downward. “Remember, child, never look directly at the prince. It is one thing to be his trusted chef and another to merit his love.”
“What do I do behind the red curtain? Is there a song or a dance he would want me to learn?”
Again the woman laughed. “My wisdom is costly. For a girl of your station, I have but one bit of advice. Patience, child! As with all things in life, you must allow nature to be your guide.”
Her mind invented fantasies that her body ached to experience. Each day, a terrible excitement consumed her. Each night, under the matchmaker’s scrutiny, she feared sleep, afraid to reveal an unpleasant habit that she herself was unaware of. Her head whirled with thoughts of the prince, Henri, the poverty of her past, and the possible wealth of her future.
Inside the western wing of the fortress, the living quarters of Prince Ánh, it had just begun to grow dark. The weeping willows that flanked the palace’s moat quivered in the wind.
Clutching a basket of food in her arm, Xuan walked on the familiar path. Slanted shafts of rain pricked her cheeks. She did not bother to wipe her face. It was more important that she deliver the prince’s supper on time.
Outside Ánh’s chamber stood two sentries at attention. Their faces gave a hint of recognition. Each day at the same time, she met them there, guarding the entrance, so formal that she never could gather enough courage to speak. One of the guards would take her food to another servant, who would test for poison before he served it to the prince. While His Highness dined, Xuan had to wait outside the heavy doors, never allowed to look at him.
This evening, something felt different. The food-taster was nowhere in sight.
The sentries bowed. One of them said to her, “You may enter, madam. His Royal Highness is waiting.”
The shock of the guard’s message weakened her legs, and the sentry offered her his arm. Adjusting her blouse, she glided through the doors before he could change his mind.
The living room of Prince Ánh’s apartment was ablaze with lanterns of various sizes and shapes; many of them were suspended from the great carved and painted beams that supported the ceiling. The rain knocked on the tile roof with a relentless clatter. Humidity hung on the wooden columns like fish scales.
Beyond an oval arch was the bedchamber, perfumed by scented candles. On an ornate bed with a wooden canopy draped with many layers of silk, Prince Ánh reclined on a red quilt. His face was turned from the light. She had never thought she would see him again alone. Up close, he was larger than she remembered; his shoulders wider, his face more angular.
She placed her basket of food on a table, loosening the top tray from its handles. Every object in the room was made of gold or porcelain or ivory, rare and exquisite, reflecting the lanterns’ light. Unlike her, each item occupied its rightful place. She saw her image, multiplied in an array of light and shadow, and the sight choked her with disappointment. Her clothes were plain and disheveled. The rain had drained the color from her face and made her pale.
Her hands shook, spilling some sweet-and-sour quail-egg soup onto the inlaid table. To her horror, it dripped onto the sandstone floor.
“I’ve been waiting. What has taken you so long?”
His voice made her jump. She stood clutching the rattan handle of the basket, her back to him. His movement made the bed creak. Looking down, she caught a glimpse of his foot, dark and slender, as he crossed the floor. His fingers encircled her arm, spinning her so that they stood facing each other.
“Ah, you have become such a beautiful girl,” he said, a statement of surprise more than a compliment. “I can see why the bishop has expressed his concerns about your future.”
Never look directly at him.
What an incredible struggle it was to keep her eyes downcast! She focused on a hanging scroll on the wall, then shifted her attention to his embroidered robe, his thin neck, a flash of his pinkish tongue, his flaring nostrils. A nagging stubbornness took hold of her. Unable to resist, she lifted her gaze and encountered a pair of dark, blinking eyes.
His brows furrowed. He squeezed her chin and turned her face away.
“If I catch you looking at me again, it will be the last thing you’re ever going to see.”
Though his voice was deeper now, she still heard the petulant tone that had been his everyday mode of expression when they were children.
His fingers tightened around her jaws, making it impossible for her to speak. Slowly he loosened his grip, but she did not dare to move. Too frightened to look at anything, she shut her eyes. He pulled her toward the bed. She stumbled against a piece of furniture. In her new sightless world the only thing she could discern was the lantern light, thick and red. The prince gave a push, and she fell on top of the red quilt. At the same time, she felt his hands at her waist, and then they were pulling her pants past her ankles.
Xuan fought the urge to scream.
His hand caressed her abdomen.
“Open your legs!” came his voice somewhere above her face. She could smell tobacco on his breath.
She felt his hand, clammy and rough, pry into her. Crying soundlessly, she groped for the quilt. In her mind she screamed out for her mother, and then for Henri. But her breath was forced from her lungs as he stabbed her again and again. Sticky fluid dribbled on her face—the stench of tobacco was stronger now.
With a sigh, he collapsed on top of her.
“I am finished,” he said. His words were no longer angry. “You may open your eyes.”
She rose, brushing her hair from her face.
The cement floor felt cold under her feet as she stepped into her pants and tried to repair the broken string that held them together.
Prince Ánh lay on his back. He was holding a piece of white cloth, which he had placed underneath her. It bore a smear of blood—the evidence of her maidenhood.
She was astonished by what had happened. The mystery curtain had finally lifted. He was the curse of her new opulence. Within her flesh there was a place of pleasure where he could feast, without warning. His clutching hands gave her no time to prepare herself to surrender. She only knew the act was over when he had salivated on her face during his climax. Now that she had nothing left for him to take, she could feel he wanted her to disappear.
They listened to the downpour together, yet remote from each other. She was feeling her own emptiness, and he, his contentment.
The sight of herself in a mirror intensified her humiliation. She gathered the trays together and rearranged them inside the hand basket.
“I am hungry, but the food is cold,” said the prince matter-of-factly. “How long would it take for you to prepare another meal?”
She reached for the basket of food.
“Do you hear me? I told you I am hungry,” he repeated.
She drew a breath and turned to face him. “Do I still have to cook for you?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked, doing nothing to hide his slick nakedness.
She lowered her eyes to the table and retrieved the scattered chopsticks. Through a gap between the door panels, she could see the moving shadows of the guards. She wondered how much of her disgrace they knew.
The prince was close to her. She could feel his hand on her hair. His breath was hot on her neck. She dodged, but he pinned her in his embrace.
“You will continue to cook for me,” he whispered in her ear.
His fingers crawled on her skin, reaching under her breastband. His voice came soft and low. “My kingdom is under attack, and my family is in exile. It is your duty to share my sorrow. But once we reclaim Hue City, your loyalty will be rewarded. Now, feed your prince.”
With his scent clinging to her like a ghost, she left his bedchamber.
In the courtyard the two guards fell to their knees when they saw her slip through the doors. Bamboo hats concealed their faces. Xuan stood, bent forward, her hand holding her clothing together. More than anything, she wanted to be alone.
One of the sentries, who was wrapped in a raincoat made of palm leaves, asked, “Where are you going, madam?”
“To the kitchen,” she replied, and hurried past him.
“Please wait!” the guard called, reaching for a parasol. “I will escort you there.” To his partner he said, “Stand your post. I will return shortly.”
Xuan protested. “You don’t need to protect me. I can go by myself.”
“No, madam. It is my duty. From now on, someone must be with you at all times.”
“Why so formal?” she argued, pulling herself away from him. “I am just going to the kitchen. This is something I always do. You’ve seen me many times coming and going. Just let me be.”
She ran down the wide steps. Rain slapped her in the face, awakening in her the shock she had tried to suppress. But before she could react, the parasol floated over her head and shielded her. The guard followed in silence.
“You like being someone’s shadow?” she asked.
“I only obey the prince’s order.”
His answer reminded her that her life was now changed forever. She wanted to disappear, to remove the whole incident from her memory. Henri had been right. She would now live only to regret.
For the first time, the thought of Mr. French brought her sadness. She longed for his warmth and sympathy. If she could see him one more time, she would tell him how much she regretted her mistake.
She let her hands fall to her sides and stared at the wet soil.
They turned a bend in the path. The wind carried petals of peach blossoms to circle at her feet. The garden, veiled in darkness, whispered a secret. She stopped, one hand pressed against her chest. Her instinct sensed his presence.
She took another step and paused, looking into the forest. The guard watched her studying the night. Xuan inched forward, and then to the sentry’s relief, she turned and walked to the kitchen.
A
man and his wife give each other their bones and flesh.”
Pierre, his back to the altar, lifted his arms wide, looking out at the multitude that stood before him. Tonight, in his black vestments, he led the Mass of the Presanctified, a service to end the commemoration of Good Friday. It felt good to preach again before a large public gathering. He had waited years for this opportunity, which had been granted by Prince Ánh. Brother João struck the gong. By quoting an Annamite proverb, Pierre knew he had captured everyone’s attention.
The grand hall around him was gloomy in the broad shadows of the stone pillars. After the weeks of unrelenting rain, the full moon had returned to dominate the sky. Its light, thick as milk, spilled through the windows of the temple. All the Buddha statues had been draped in lavender—a sight that pleased Pierre. At least on this day he didn’t have to look at the faces of the false gods. Besides the natural moonlight, the altar was lit only by a bronze candelabrum with fifteen burning branches. Above it hung a crucifix, also shrouded in purple silk.
The crowd, twice the number he had expected, was made up of three main groups. In the center were the Annamite converts, who had been taught the prayers in their own language because of their ignorance of Latin. A larger contingent of pagans, drawn by curiosity and the anticipation of a performance, filled the rest of the temple and its two annexes. Outside, the children clung to the bars of the windows, seeking a view of the spectacle. On Pierre’s left sat a few mandarins and members of the royalty, occupying three rows of chairs. The bishop saw his student, Prince Ánh, sitting proudly among his wives and concubines. His newest concubine, Xuan, clad in black silk, was by his side.
Pierre was troubled by the girl’s presence. How could the prince possibly have mistaken Pierre’s suggestion to marry her off for a hint that he should make yet another marriage? Ánh knew how his teacher felt about the practice of polygamy. Yet because of him, the Mass was now tainted.
“A man and his wife form but one flesh,” he said, raising his voice. “Even Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, true God and innocent man, has taught this with His own divine mouth.”
The prince folded his arms. Pierre hesitated. He could feel Ánh’s dark mood escalating. Should he change the subject of the sermon? He was a priest, after all. For so long he had compromised to retain the royal support. It was time for him to stand up for his belief, even if it meant upsetting Ánh.
He looked into the crowded room, searching for courage. Eager, innocent faces looked into his.
“At the beginning, God gave Adam only one woman, Eve, and he stayed with her until his death, for nine hundred and thirty years. The same God saw us crucify His only Son on this very eve, on a cross. But His Son was resurrected three days later. Why this miracle? It is because God is merciful and all-forgiving.
“Your own proverb carries the wisdom of Christ. Your law has affirmed that the mutual commitment between the husband and the wife is sacred. As long as one partner is alive, no other partner shall be taken. Polygamy, like divorce, is forbidden under the divine law. Christ has died for our sins. For our part, we must uphold His teaching.”
The converts followed his sermon with the recitation of one Our Father, seven Hail Marys, and one Glory Be. The prince, red-faced and indignant, perched on his seat.
It was time for the theatrical liturgy, which Pierre and the Portuguese monks had carefully rehearsed.
Pierre declaimed, “In his last moment, the Lord Jesus cried out: ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Then, bowing his head, he breathed his last. The earth was shaken.”
The converts stomped their feet. A wood floor had been built on top of the sandstone to amplify the sound. The rumbling noise reverberated through the old temple, making the candlelight tremble.
“And there was thunder and flashes of lightning that lit the darkness.”
They stomped their feet louder and clapped their hands, accompanied by Brother João’s gong and Brother Tiago’s drum. Soon the entire crowd joined in the clamor. Pierre smiled. He had successfully re-created the atmosphere of an Annamite operatic theater, with lines of dialogue exchanged between him and his congregation. He gripped the Bible until it hurt his fingers. He shut his eyes as he basked in the success of his strategy.
The heavy doors flung open. All heads turned and looked toward the entrance. Pierre jerked from his trance.
A tall man staggered into the temple, dragging a large wooden cross on his back. The children screamed. An old woman opened her toothless mouth and wept. In the front, two men fell on their knees and pounded their chests in supplication.
“It’s God’s messenger,” someone wailed.
Whispers and calls of protest drowned out Pierre’s demands for silence.
The bishop was dumbfounded. This extraordinary occurrence was not a part of his planned ritual. But even though he could not discern the man’s features, he knew who he was. That blond hair, those long, spiderlike limbs could only belong to his former novice, Henri.
What is he up to?
One month had passed since he had stormed from the temple. Pierre was buffeted by waves of shock, anger, and annoyance. He swallowed his impatience.
Henri took a few steps forward. His cross grated along the floor. No one spoke. The crowd parted, forming a center aisle. He stumbled and fell with the wood beams on top of him. His clothes were tattered and bloodstained. An unshaven face added to his martyred appearance.
“Father,” he pleaded, “forgive me, for I have sinned.”
He dragged himself a few more steps and fell a second time. Brother João dropped his musical mallet. Xuan gasped, pale with grief.
“Can you feel my pain? I ask for your forgiveness.”
His voice cracked, invoking more sympathy from the onlookers. Many offered to help him rise, but he struggled alone. He fell again, this time at Pierre’s feet. The bishop retreated.
The spectators resumed their stomping. Henri looked up at Pierre. His face was wet with tears.
“Please —” he whispered.
The bishop opened his arms, palms up toward the youth. “I forgive you,” he said to Henri, making the sign of the cross, “in the one name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.” To the crowd, he shouted, “I have washed away this man’s sins. Who will join him next in the light of Christ?”
Hands were raised. Several rushed forward and formed a line behind Henri.
Xuan rose from her seat.
“What do you think you are doing?” demanded the prince.
“I want to be a Christian, Your Highness,” she said, infected by the room’s excitement. Her body shook.
“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” said Ánh. “You will do no such thing.”
She turned to the bishop. “Please baptize me, Cha CA.”
“Come, my child,” Pierre said to her. “Make your vow to Lord Jesus Christ that you will become a Christian this Easter Sunday.”
The prince grabbed her arm and held it tight.
Pierre bowed. “Your Highness, everybody is equal in the house of the Lord and has the right to be christened. With all due respect, you are not a stranger to God’s miracles. My Lord saved your life and brought you unharmed to this city. With my prayers, He will continue to protect you for years to come. Please don’t try to interfere with a soul in search of salvation.”
Xuan tore herself from the prince’s clutches. Ánh brushed some invisible dust from his tunic and walked out, followed by his three wives and the rest of his retinue.
After the candles had been extinguished and even the most fervent converts had departed, the priests barred the doors. The temple resumed its dark and isolated mood. A solitary lantern cast its dim light through the cavernous hall.
Henri sat on the floor with his back against a wall. Brother Tiago tended his bruises. They talked to each other in whispers.
Pierre paced the room with angry steps. Conflicting emotions clouded his ability to think. Surely for him the event had been triumphant. At his urging, many had agreed to convert. But that scoundrel! How dare Henri use “the creeping of the cross” to interrupt his homily? No one had the right to perform a religious act without the bishop’s permission. Pierre hated nothing more than to be surprised. Clearly, his decision to accept Henri back into the fold had been forced. In front of the natives, he had had no choice.
“Your Excellency,” said Henri, pushing Brother Tiago’s hand away from his face, “when you said you forgave me, did those words come from your heart?”
“Hush, don’t speak now,” the old monk advised.
Pierre replied in a gruff voice, “I said it, didn’t I?”
Brother Tiago commented with exhilaration, “It’s a sign, Your Excellency. He is, after all, the Prodigal Son.”
Pierre flushed with shame. Very well, he would accept Henri with open arms, and even rejoice, for the novice who had been lost was now found. But under no circumstances would he trust the youth’s sincerity. With Henri’s rebellious nature, there was no guessing what he might do next.
Brother João, who had been standing near the barred doors, approached Henri. “The last time I saw you, you were adamant in your decision to leave the Church. Why did you come back? What happened during the month that no one saw you?”
Henri remained quiet.
“It’s obvious why he came back,” snapped Pierre.
Henri looked up.
The bishop raised his voice. “It was foolish of you to think a native girl would deny her heritage for you, a foreigner. And when she broke your heart, what did you do? You could have left this kingdom, returned to France, or become a sailor, and never come back again. Instead, you decided to plot revenge. Your wish to become a priest serves no purpose but to punish yourself and inflict pain on her. Side by side but unable to contact each other, you will exist in misery together. I cannot allow you to enter the priesthood for such a venal motive.”
Henri leaped to his feet. Fists clenched, he thrust his face inches from Pierre’s. “I never want to hurt her. I just want to watch over her.”
Pierre shrugged. “That has nothing to do with serving God. I am happy that you’ve decided to return to the church. But you are doing it for the wrong reason.” He pointed toward the entrance. “It is not too late for you to walk out. Your whole life is waiting. I promise you, you will love again. A year from now, you probably won’t even remember that girl. But if I have misjudged you, if you decide to stay because this is your true calling, you must renounce Satan and all his works. A priest is the minister of divine worship, and the highest form of our worship is sacrifice. You’ve shown none of that. You may not be a priest, but I might accept you back as a novice. You will surrender all your will to God and recognize my authority as your bishop. Make your choice now.”
Without hesitation, Henri fell to his knees, his hands clasped in prayer. “Lord, please help me find the strength to serve you.”
Brother Tiago breathed a sigh of relief.
Pierre lay on his cot, watching the night through the window of his cell. From the streaks of silver light traveling across his body, he could tell that it was past midnight. As usual, his mind refused to rest. He could hear the sound of footsteps splashing through the mud, hoarse voices drifting with the night breeze. Someone shouted his name. A guard mumbled. There seemed to be six or seven men speaking—their voices were undistinguishable.
He rose from his bed. The sound was coming from outside the main entrance. It must be important, as it wasn’t common for late visitors to disturb a monastery. He rushed to the door. Behind him, Henri and the Portuguese monks shuffled from their rooms. Pierre puffed out his chest and resisted the urge to reach for the door handle.
“Who is out there?” he asked, making his voice deep and commanding.
“It is I,” came the angry voice of Prince Ánh as he pounded his fist against the wood. “Open the door!”
The bishop pushed the doors open. The prince rushed past him, followed by the aroma of burning torches. The temperature was dropping. Pierre shivered in his robe. Under the awning of the temple, a palanquin waited, surrounded by six royal sentries.
He shut the doors and bowed. “Your Highness, what troubles you?”
“You and your terrible cult are the source of all my troubles,” shouted the prince. “I should never have granted you permission to preach. How could I be so foolish? For years you have been begging me until I gave in. You are supposed to educate me about Western civilization, not influence my people with your nonsense.”
“I am sorry, Your Highness. If you had sent for me, I would have come to your quarter. Whatever it was —”
The prince interrupted. “I am too angry to wait. Besides, the last thing I want is for you to be around my concubines. You have caused enough problems in my household already.”
Pierre cleared his throat. “Are you upset about Lady Xuan and her decision to become a Christian?”
The prince let his shoulders slump. The anger on his face was replaced by a frown of frustration. “She refused to enter my bedchamber because you condemned multiple marriages. She claims that she’s afraid of being cast into the underworld if she disobeys your law.”
Pierre turned to hide a smile in the dark.
Clever girl.
He could not help admiring her resourcefulness. He managed to keep his voice sympathetic. “She is not worth all this rage, Your Highness. Remember, you have others.”
Again, Ánh flared. “She is my property,” he shouted. “She has no right to refuse me. Cha CA, if you had any respect for my power, you wouldn’t have put me in this predicament. If any woman rejected me, I wouldn’t hesitate to put her to death. Except in this case, I do not want to offend your God. You are the wise one—tell me what to do.”
Pierre looked at Henri, who stood motionless between the two monks. “You must let her go,” he said to the prince.
Ánh seemed startled. Clearly that wasn’t the answer the prince had expected.
The bishop stood firm.
“Never!” was Ánh’s reply.
