The Silk Merchant's Daughter (15 page)

Things had begun to darken. Just occasionally gunfire really could be heard, and the atmosphere in the town had changed. You had to watch where you walked and who you spoke to. Though hens still squatted in the dusty street and cats stretched out to enjoy the sunshine, Hanoi had become a place of shadows. Most of her spare time Nicole would sit on the little wooden sofa upstairs at the shop, trying to find something to do. Other times she gazed into the distance, straining to hear soldiers’ voices or the tread of army boots. Trần never phoned though she had hoped he might; of course, he believed the French had all the phones tapped. For him the only means of communication was personal contact and, as he was away in the north, she had no idea what was happening.

Nobody had come to talk to her about the tunnels and it was a few weeks before she saw Trần again. One afternoon when she was about to close the shop, she’d pulled down the shop blinds and was standing at the door with the keys in her hand when she saw him. She noticed straight away how thin he was. He looked terribly exposed as he removed his neck scarf and wiped his face with it. The birthmark on his neck stood out, his head was shaved and, when he held her, she could feel his bones. She stood in the doorway, with her eyes misting up, the relief so intense she forgot there might be someone watching.

‘We need to go in,’ he said, pulling her inside.

‘Of course.’ She came to her senses and locked the door.

He reached in his pocket and took something out. To her astonishment he handed her a bar of chocolate.

‘Chocolate!? Trần, where have you been? I didn’t know if you were alive or dead!’

‘I was in Bac Can. It’s one of the centres of the resistance. You should see it, Nicole.’

She glanced out at the street. ‘Let me close the door, then tell me.’

But he didn’t stop talking. She continued to listen but thoughts kept running through her mind. His eyes glittered and he spoke in a rush, telling of the intellectuals who had joined the cause, the actors and actresses, the singers and musicians. He said the Vietminh had stockpiled rice and hidden it in the mountains, reserving it for when it would be most needed. There were factories in caves where they made everything from soap to ammunition.

‘After the French bombed Bac Can in 1947 we spread into the mountains. They thought they could wipe us out by capturing our leaders and annihilating the army. It didn’t work.’

‘So what is happening now?’

‘War is happening now,’ he said. ‘The peasants are with us too. The French will soon be facing a crushing defeat.’

‘Why did you not get in touch? I really thought you might be dead.’

‘It was too dangerous. The Americans were watching you closely.’

‘Mark?’

He nodded. ‘You know the CIA are working closely with the French now, exchanging intelligence about our movements? The CIA teach others to lie and deceive. They call it tradecraft. You can’t trust him. Close the shop permanently. Come with me, Nicole.’

‘I can’t fight,’ she said and, horrified by the picture he was painting of Mark, she felt her life split in two.

‘If you stay, he will manipulate you. You can perform. We have several travelling theatre groups, teaching the people through their shows.’

‘Propaganda?’

‘You could call it that. I call it educating the masses. There’s nothing like music to inspire the peasantry. Why squander your life trying to be someone you are not? Come with us.’

‘Was that the only reason you came to the show? To see if I could sing?’

‘I believed you could sing. I brought someone with me to prove it to him as well. He is a composer who writes wonderful songs based on traditional tales. The troupes travel the countryside performing to army units and in the villages too. Sometimes they perform plays. Like wandering minstrels but with a message.’

‘To inspire hatred of the French.’ She shook her head. ‘I am half French remember.’

‘I’ve told you. There will be a time when you will have to choose.’

‘I can’t turn my back on my family. Anyway, it doesn’t make sense. The Vietminh wouldn’t accept me.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘I think you’re wrong.’

He held out a hand and they went upstairs so that he might rest. She’d arranged a spray of jasmine in a vase by the bed and the room was sweet with its scent. He took off his boots, then lay down on his back and closed his eyes. She lay down beside him and expected him to fall asleep straight away.

She’d been alone for too long and her body throbbed with the need for physical contact. Though she felt a bit awkward being so close, she was pleased when she felt him reach for her hand. He turned to face her and she gazed at the deep
exhaustion lines around his eyes. What happened next was not what she’d expected. Trần put an arm round her and pulled her to him. Then he opened her blouse, loosening each button deliberately slowly and continuing to watch her as he did. Excited by the desire she saw in his eyes, she sat up and removed her chemise, then piece by piece peeled off the rest of her clothes. He reached for her but she insisted he remove all his clothes too. When he had done so they looked at each other. She ran her fingertips over his ribs then, holding his hands, examined his blackened, broken nails and his body covered in scratches and bruises. He leant across and touched the hollow at the base of her neck. She’d thought it might be hurried, but he was gentle, and as she gave him her body, she acknowledged how much she had needed to be held. It was not passionate but the gentle lovemaking of friends.

‘This is my first time,’ she whispered and felt close to tears.

She traced the outline of the birthmark on his neck. ‘We’re both marked, aren’t we?’

He turned her round and kissed her back. When it was over she stretched out her damp body and lay next to him.

‘Comrades,’ he said. Then they lay in silence.

Afterwards she made a simple dish of rice and chicken, which he ate ravenously.

‘You are so thin,’ she said.

‘It has been hard.’

‘I don’t know what to do. If I go with you they will look for me.’

He shook his head. ‘If you don’t come they will watch you. You’ll see how much your precious family care. You can’t save everyone.’

‘I’m not trying to. And anyway, I’ve done nothing.’

‘You have been seen with me. It’s enough. I must go now but I’ll be back soon.’

‘Don’t go.’

‘I have to. It isn’t safe. I’ll come back in one week’s time, before you close the shop for the evening. That is my deadline. I hope you will have an answer for me. Either you come or this must be the last time we can meet. In the meantime, you can prove which side you are on by listening to your father and the American. Go home for a few days. See what you can find out about French plans.’

‘Mark is not party to French plans.’

Trần laughed. ‘Don’t be so blind. You believe he’d still be sniffing around here if he wasn’t? Be careful, Nicole. They all want to destroy us and will trample over you if you get in their way.’

An hour after he’d gone she regretted having sex with him. She didn’t love him, but had felt so alone she’d convinced herself it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She did care, but not in that way, and now she’d confused everything. ‘I don’t know where I belong,’ she whispered. Picturing herself back in the family home, she knew it was no longer there. As for Trần? He offered her nothing but exile.

Taken by surprise when Mark appeared at the shop door the next day, her heart gave a jolt. He was back to his usual self with that easy-going glamour she had fallen for from the start, and when he smiled at her, she felt the same longing. So that’s how it felt. She’d wondered how it would be if she were to be alone with him again and now she knew.

He wandered about the shop whistling, but she sensed something wasn’t right.

‘Are you looking for silk?’ she asked, knowing full well he was not.

He didn’t reply.

It was such a humid day that, despite a fan constantly
shifting the air, the atmosphere was still oppressive. Time stretched out as he ran his fingertips over the silk and glanced behind the tall shiny rolls of fabric banked up against the walls.

She’d been holding herself tight but relaxed a little, glad there were, as yet, no tunnels for him to uncover, but at the same time wishing there could be a reason for him to stay. ‘Then what is it?’ she said.

‘I want you to be safe.’

She stared at him, trying to figure out his intentions.

‘There has been talk,’ he continued. ‘Of a Vietnamese man you’ve been spending time with.’

‘What kind of talk?’

With his back to her, he shrugged.

‘What kind of talk, Mark?’

He turned to face her. He was big and tall, utterly American, and exuded masculinity. The contrast with Trần couldn’t have been sharper. It shook her, that difference.

‘Talk that you might be getting into something you will regret,’ he said, his eyes so clear she found it impossible to believe he could be anything other than candid. ‘Is it true?’

She didn’t reply.

‘I worry about you, Nicole. Surely you must see that? You would tell me if you’d heard anything of the Vietminh’s plans, wouldn’t you?’

‘I’m just selling silk.’

He raised his brows.

‘How is Sylvie?’ she said. ‘Is she back from her trip? I got the impression from Father she wasn’t well.’

‘She’s back. She just had a few emotional problems.’

He reached out a hand to her but when she didn’t take it, he let it drop. And before he spoke again she saw a trace of something sad. ‘Nicole, I want you to know that you were right. I
am not a silk trader. But I had nothing to do with Yvette’s death.’

‘Then who?’

‘I have my suspicions, but it’s not something I can discuss. You must realize that.’

‘And whoever it was, there will be no consequences?’

‘Probably not.’ He paused. ‘It’s tragic when innocent people suffer but at times like this we are all at risk.’

‘Does it never occur to you to ask what you are fighting for?’

They remained silent as she gazed at him, but his eyes gave nothing away.

He shook his head. ‘Come home, Nicole. Your family miss you.’

‘And do you miss me too?’ She swallowed hard. All manner of intense emotions were going on inside her and she felt sure he could see them written on her face.

‘I miss you more than you know.’

She waited for him to speak again.

‘Nicole, we’re at war. I don’t sleep. I’m finding it harder to do my job and I’m worried for your safety. And in answer to your question, I am beginning to wonder what we are fighting for.’ He paused. ‘Please go home. Take my word for it. Close the shop.’

She sighed deeply. Going home now would fit in well with Trần’s request, but she felt completely torn. How could she ever pass on information about Mark?

‘Look, I’ll go back for a while, but I’m not going to close the shop.’

He held out a hand to her again and this time she took it. He pulled her to him as if he was about to embrace her, but even though she wanted to be held, she stiffened and he let her go.

‘I’ll go home a little later,’ she said.

Standing with his feet apart in the way that was so familiar
to her, he gazed at her and they both seemed to still. For a few seconds neither of them spoke, then he exhaled slowly. ‘Oh, Nicole.’

But what was going on behind those eyes? Had she ever really known him? There was something there that stirred her so deeply she hardly had a word for it, and it made her ache with wanting him. But after Trần’s damning accusations she felt uncertain and, needing to defend herself from her own feelings, she tried to conjure the Vietnamese boy’s face as a buffer.

‘If it’s because of Sylvie …’ he said, interrupting her thoughts.

‘If what’s because of Sylvie?’

‘The way you have been.’ He paused. ‘Your sister and I are not together, Nicole. We never have been, apart from those few times back in the States.’

‘But she said –’

‘She is not always as honest as you. Whatever her reasons, I’ve come to realize that she believes there is more between us than there is or ever could be.’

Nicole wanted to believe him so much but she had been hurt and couldn’t let herself go.

‘I feel so at ease with you, Nicole. Don’t you see?’

‘I think you’d better leave now,’ she said, trying to hide the catch that crept into her voice. Despite the notion that somehow he was the key to finding her real self, she was turning him away. ‘I said I’ll go home in a little while.’

He stepped away but he looked sad, terribly sad.

After he’d gone, she closed the shop and went upstairs where she pulled down the blinds, drew the curtains, lit a scented candle and then lay on the bed where she had so recently lain with Trần. Hardly able to fathom her own emotions, she felt drained. She was fond of Trần, yet when she saw
Mark her insides twisted into a knot. Even now. In fact, being with Trần had only served to intensify her feelings for Mark. But how could you really tell who was honest? It seemed increasingly impossible.

When she closed her eyes the longing to lie naked and feel Mark’s skin against her own consumed her. She had tried to tell herself they’d only ever been friends, but there had always been the hope of so much more, for her at least. She removed her clothes and lay under the sheet.

She thought of Trần: intense and idealistic. She believed much of what he said was true. The Vietnamese had been used and mistreated by the French for decades. The French might pretend altruism, but it had all been about self-interest. Why she cared so much about Mark was harder to fathom. Maybe because he wasn’t French and that meant there was something different about him. He could seem detached at times and she knew it was because he’d been wounded by his mother’s death, just as she had been. Trần was earnest but it was hard to identify what other feelings might lie beneath the rigidity of his beliefs. All her life she had been paying for her mother’s death and Mark brought those buried emotions to the surface in a way that did not frighten her. With him she felt unlocked and calm. Trần was not much more than a boy and she knew that the party, so intrinsic to his identity, would always come before everything else. Before his village, before his family and before her. And she knew that if she went with Trần, what had just passed with Mark might be the last words they ever shared.