The Silk Merchant's Daughter (18 page)

The shop was the first place they’d look for her, so Nicole quelled the bubbling sense of euphoria at being free, and got on with what she had to do. She glanced around at all the things she’d made and done. It was hard being in her shop again and knowing she had to leave it behind. Despite an intense feeling of loss, she worked rapidly, picking up the house keys, binding up her hair, and then changing into Vietnamese dress. In the little bathroom at the back she quickly splashed her face while holding on to her nerve.

At the last minute she dashed upstairs and pulled out the antique purse; her little emblem of the past. It made her feel connected. Should she take it in her bundle? She hesitated for only a moment and then slipped it in. While she had the purse with her the ancestors would keep her safe. On an impulse she also slid in the only photograph she had of Mark. She longed to stay in the shop and wait for Trần there, but it wasn’t safe.

It would be tricky to spend the day waiting, but she knew the back alleys leading to the lake and, more importantly, the hidden spot where she had lain with Trần beneath the trees and bushes. She’d wait there and come back through the alleys later.

So she spent the day hiding by the lake and, in the late afternoon, at the time the shops would be shutting up, she covered her head with a scarf and came back to find Trần. Fewer people were about than usual – a warning sign that the street might be under surveillance – so she slid into a dark alley opposite her shop. Frightened that Trần might have been caught, she poked her head out to look, but when a couple of
French officers passed by she ducked back into the shadows. She had no idea how long she’d have to wait. An old lady peered up the alley as she passed and Nicole stepped further back, concealing herself in a doorway.

When she saw O-Lan come out of her own shop, Nicole held back for a moment but couldn’t restrain herself. As she watched her friend peer through the window of the silk shop, she pulled the scarf further over her face and slipped across.

O-Lan turned round, smiling when she saw Nicole. ‘Where have you been? The shop has been closed for a week. I’ve missed you. Were you ill?’

Nicole shook her head, took O-Lan by the arm and drew her across the street. ‘Can we talk in the alley?’

‘Why don’t we go inside your shop?’

‘I can’t.’

They quickly crossed the street and passed into the shadows.

O-Lan held Nicole’s arm. ‘What’s going on?’

Nicole couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. ‘I’m going north with Trần.’

O-Lan’s face fell.

‘Why do you look like that? I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘Trần is passionate, idealistic and –’

‘A good man,’ Nicole interrupted.

‘Yes, but …’

There was a pause.

O-Lan clasped her hands together and Nicole was taken aback by the look of solemnity in her friend’s eyes. ‘The party is everything to him. He will sacrifice you if you get in the way.’

Nicole shook her head. ‘He’d never do that.’

‘You are too trusting.’

‘But I thought you sympathized with the Vietminh?’

‘I never said that.’ O-Lan’s tone was dismissive, her eyes full of reproach.

‘So whose side are you on?’

‘Nicole, I haven’t taken sides. I love my family. And I don’t care whether they are with the Vietminh or supporting the French.’

‘But wouldn’t you hide Trần if he was on the run?’

O-Lan looked upset. ‘I hope it will never come to that. Please, Nicole, do not go. Look at your lovely shop. It is the prettiest in the whole of Silk Street. What will happen to it?’

‘I’ve thought of that.’

O-Lan gripped her hand. ‘And? Are you not tempted to stay?’

Nicole felt a twinge of regret. ‘It’s not that I want to leave.’

‘Please don’t then.’ O-Lan paused and reached out to her. ‘And what about your father and Sylvie? I know you’ve had problems but you love them. They are not your enemy.’

‘If not them, then who?’ Nicole shook her head. ‘Lisa told me what happened when I was born and I can’t forgive them. I don’t belong with them. Even if I stayed, for my shop, I’d still have to deal with Sylvie, and I’d have to see my father and Mark – I just can’t.’

‘So you’re running away?’

Nicole shook her head. ‘No. I’m going to help a worthy cause.’

O-Lan shot her a disappointed look, tears shining in her eyes. ‘You are wrong. You persuade yourself, Nicole, but it’s not the truth. You don’t even know who the enemy is. It’s not good enough.’

‘Come on, don’t be so down.’ Nicole smiled at her friend. ‘I don’t want to fall out with you.’

O-Lan stared at Nicole and didn’t smile back.

‘Well, there it is,’ Nicole said. ‘You’d better go back inside. Trần will be here any moment now.’

O-Lan took both Nicole’s hands in her own. ‘Be safe, Nicole, and if you ever need me I will be here.’

Nicole’s eyes were damp and she felt uncertain as O-Lan walked away. Was her friend right? She had spoken so vehemently and it was frightening to think it might never be safe to return. But then she pictured her father in bed with another woman while her mother had been so vulnerable. Haunted by the image, the pain of it came rushing back, strengthening her resolve.

Suddenly someone had a hand over her mouth.

Certain it was one of Giraud’s men, Nicole froze. She heard a low chuckle and spun round, relief flooding through her when she saw it was Trần. His eyes were sparkling and he seemed very excited. They grinned at each other and she nearly laughed out loud. His eyes grew wide as he motioned for her to follow him but not speak. She’d already guessed not to walk beside him. Once they were away from the shop, he whispered the plan. They would walk to where they’d mount one of the buses used only by the Vietnamese.

An hour later they were squashed together on a bus heading out along the Red River Delta, where steam rose in waves from the surface of the water and the smell of rotting fish swept in through the open window. Nicole tried to close it but, rusted and jammed, there was no chance. She tried to think of anything but fish and, as the roar of the few cars faded, she felt a shiver run through her. As the landscape became more distinctly rural, she gazed out at the sampans and junks moving past riverbanks flanked by plum trees. A dozen or so geese flew by in formation, their slow measured honking a contrast to the harsh squawking seabirds.

Further on, and away from the river, the bus trundled past shabby hamlets where naked children played in the dust. She fell into a doze until, eventually, they came to a halt at a
jumble of huts protected by a bamboo hedge. How peaceful, she thought, until a shrill bird’s cry broke the silence.

‘We are here,’ Trần said as he rose from his seat. He smiled and she noticed that streak of childlike enthusiasm again. He lowered his voice and brought his mouth to her ear. ‘And your name must be Vietnamese. You must now be Linh.’

She grinned. ‘Spring. I like it.’

She followed him off the bus, then looked about at the houses, not much more than huts or shacks, with pointed roofs of plaited bamboo. A few people trudged down the paths, dressed in brown or dull green, their shoulder poles clicking as they transported vegetables and rice from one place to another. Swallows flew above, swooping and diving endlessly.

‘This way,’ he said and pointed to a small track between two huts. As he did so she felt as if he were pointing towards the future.

This was a fresh beginning, just as her new name suggested. She had high hopes of finally feeling she belonged, and at the same time it would be a chance to prove herself.

They skirted one-roomed huts built on stilts, where the smoke from cooking fires hung in the air. They dodged crowing roosters and chickens who, standing their ground, barely noticed them, though the various dogs on chains set off a terrible racket, barking and straining to get free. Despite that, Nicole thought again how unexpectedly peaceful it was. Naked babies slept on mats, young children ran about between the tethered goats and vegetable plots, while the older ones, sitting on the compacted earth, played stones or shot at birds with catapults. One or two stood up to call out to Trần, but watched Nicole with hungry eyes.

It felt unfamiliar and for a moment she had a little flicker of regret, feeling the absence of something, but it was quickly dispelled.

The village was a labyrinth. Washing hung from lines of string suspended across the courtyards, and the plots were packed with fruit trees and pumpkins. She glanced into the few huts not built on stilts, noticing the earth floor and glassless windows.

‘They must get cold,’ she said and glanced at Trần. He had stopped to speak to an old man with parched skin, who seemed burdened by something as he spoke.

Trần bowed then shook the man’s hand and turned back to her. ‘It is cold at night.’

Nicole noticed a menacing eye painted on one of the huts.

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘It’s an American idea.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘They know the villagers are scared of vampires and ghosts, so they get the French to paint an eye on a hut facing the home of a suspected terrorist.’

‘I still don’t get it.’

‘The villagers think it’s the eye of their ancestors, and will no longer support or hide the suspect. But we have our ways and means. This is a war of resistance.’

They went a little further out, trekking along a narrow path between luminous rice fields where herons pecked and boys lay asleep on the backs of water buffalos. After a short distance they seemed to head back in a semicircle to a different part of the village, where a kite hovered high in the sky. Trần paused and, shading his eyes, looked up at it, then carried on walking, only stopping when they reached a large two-storey house, adjacent to an orchard on the edge of the village.

‘Is this your home?’ she asked.

‘No, but it used to be my uncle’s.’

‘Used to be?’

Trần frowned. ‘It was his ancestral home. It has been requisitioned by the party. He was a landowner.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means he was given a fair trial.’

‘Why?’

‘He owned three fields and was a silk merchant.’

‘Is that all?’

Trần nodded.

‘So what happened?’

He shook his head. ‘He was turned out. That man you saw me talking to, he’s my uncle.’

She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. ‘The one who helped you receive an education?’

‘Change the subject,’ he said and walked up to the door. ‘Come, this is where we’ll stay until we get our orders. I have told them you’re Vietnamese.’

‘They don’t know I’m half French?’

‘No and let us keep it that way.’

‘Where will they send us?’

‘We are both to join a travelling troupe of performers. While you are in the show I shall be charged with talking to the villagers.’

‘To persuade them to join the resistance?’

‘That is right.’

The next day Nicole watched a stick-thin woman with a split-bamboo trap catching fish and shrimp in a small stream running beside the village. Nicole had barely slept, and the hard wooden bench she’d been given for a bed hadn’t helped.

‘What else do they eat?’ she asked Trần.

‘Fish, vegetables and rice. That’s it. Boiled, steamed, pounded into cakes. Always rice.’

The daily life of the women seemed to concentrate on taking care of the children, feeding the animals, trying to catch
fish and cooking. It was clear there was a definite hierarchy at play between the sexes; the women also had to fetch and carry water and do all the other domestic chores too.

‘Life is not easy,’ Trần said. ‘A drought will destroy the crops, a flood the same. They help each other. We all play our part.’

‘I see.’

‘No running hot and cold water here, Nicole.’

She frowned, feeling a bit insulted. She had not expected there would be. He led her to a hut where she was told to follow the lead of a woman who was chopping mulberry leaves to feed the silkworms. Another woman was removing cocoons and plunging them into boiling hot water.

As Nicole began work, they looked at her sideways but did not speak. Nicole felt ill at ease and shifted from one foot to the other.

‘It’s to kill the larvae, isn’t it?’ she whispered to her companion, hoping to show her knowledge. ‘The water.’

The woman nodded. ‘If we do not they will turn into moths. And moths would chew through the threads to get out of the cocoon.’

In another room Nicole spotted two women pulling the thread from the cocoons and spinning it into hanks ready to be woven into cloth. As she chopped the bunch of leaves, she thought back to the evening before. She’d been sitting next to Trần, while trying to keep up with the conversation in the hut. About eight of them had been huddled together, sitting cross-legged on the floor and smoking some foul-scented root. With a convincing accent her Vietnamese was good, but it wasn’t her first language. She had only been half listening while watching the flickering shadows cast by the flames of small wicks soaked in shallow bowls of oil. Trần had prodded her in the ribs.

‘Pay attention,’ he’d muttered.

‘Sorry.’

‘Smile at the leader. Look grateful. We are being put to work in the silk sheds until we get our orders.’

She had been surprised they weren’t immediately to set off for the north, but Trần said it was a test and she should simply obey and look pleased to do so.

Now as she chopped the mulberry leaves she lost concentration again and sliced the tip of her finger. Without thinking, she swore in French. The woman looked at her suspiciously and told her to find a rag to wrap round the wound.

It was only later on in the evening, after a supper of a surprisingly good shrimp soup served with soya bean loaf, that the full weight of what she had done sank in. The group had convened by the time she returned from the raised squatter toilet, the stink of it still clinging to her clothes. Although there was room for everyone it felt damp, crowded and intimidating. What she wouldn’t have done for a
café sua
, the Vietnamese name she must remember to use for a
café au lait
. The chilly atmosphere in the room grew colder as the leader began firing questions at Trần, speaking so rapidly she only managed to pick up some of the words. She heard her name mentioned twice, while at the same time the leader glanced her way. Trần, looking mortified, spoke more slowly but stuck up for her, explaining she was indeed half French but that she wholeheartedly believed in the cause.