The Silk Merchant’s Daughter

by Dinah Jefferies

  She got up from the log, stretched and went to get made up in the wagon she shared with three others. They’d already finished and she’d need to hurry.

  She loved painting her face, and only had her lips left to outline when the spell was broken by a new performer appearing at her side. She glanced in the mirror and froze when she saw his reflection. With growing unease she recognized Duong, the man who had relished showing her his knife all those months ago. He nodded, so she stood and, recalling Trần’s words about respecting her elders, gave him a scrupulously polite bow before leaving the wagon, heavy in mind and body.

  That evening the show went on as usual. Nobody said anything to her but she had the impression they all knew why the man was there and nobody was telling. She could see him observing her throughout the show and it saddened her that, despite all the months she had travelled and performed with them, the troupe still considered her an outsider.

  The next day she came across some members gossiping. The talk ceased once they spotted her and a chilly silence followed. The little knot quickly broke up, though one remained: her musician friend, Phuong, who was now in the process of restringing her instrument. Nicole tried to question her, but she shook her head and lowered her eyes. Nicole had the impression she’d wanted to speak, but could not. When you didn’t know who you could trust, it made you vulnerable and a careless word could mean disaster. If she wanted to find out what was going on, she would have to confront the man with the knife.

  As she scanned the area, she longed for Trần to be there and on her side, in the way he had once been. But Trần wasn’t there and she would have to tackle this on her own. She soon found the man sitting beneath a gnarled tree next to one of the caravans. She stood tall and made eye contact with him. It would have been safer to take it slowly, but the words spilled out.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  He tapped the side of his nose and lit a cigarette. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Where’s Trần?’

  The man didn’t speak, but blew the smoke out through his nostrils.

  ‘Is he all right?’

  He stuck out his chin and rubbed it. ‘I think you and I need a little time to get to know each other.’

  ‘And Trần?’

  ‘Are you a virgin?’ He narrowed his eyes and grinned.

  Nicole was not going to allow him to intimidate her. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Why are you so interested in the boy?’

  ‘He’s a comrade.’

  ‘Good answer.’ He coughed on the smoke. ‘But there’s a bit more to it.’

  She steeled herself not to react. The Vietnamese rarely showed their feelings, and she knew he was trying to provoke her.

  She shrugged. ‘I am loyal to the cause.’

  ‘We shall soon see,’ he said, then got to his feet and strode off.

  The underlying threat in his manner unnerved her and for the next few days she watched him. He had some kind of power, but with no idea what it was, or how he was planning to use it, she felt defenceless. The other troupe members were wary of him too, and it seemed none could risk taking her side. The feeling of unease grew and when she could not sleep for the heavy, oppressive air, she went outside to listen to the cacophony of night-time sounds rising from the jungle. Imagined dangers loomed disproportionately at night, so how could she tell if it was just her own fear or if the man really posed a threat?

  The next day, a small village nestling in a valley where they had stayed for one night was torched by the French. She had watched helplessly from higher up the mountain as the last curls of smoke broke up in the wind. Even women and children had been slaughtered and those who survived were now destitute. When she asked who would bury the dead she was shocked to be told they would not be buried; such outrages reminded the peasants of what the French were capable.

  As she was thinking about it, she caught sight of the man. She had not sought him out this time, but there he was sitting beneath a battery-driven lamp swinging from a branch. He pulled out a cut-throat razor, like the one her father used, and began whittling a stick, the blade gleaming in the light from the lamp.

  ‘Can’t leave me alone, can you?’ he said and winked at her. ‘I can help you out there. You’re available, aren’t you, like all French women? Don’t think I haven’t had the experience.’

  It frightened her more than his previous behaviour had done. She noticed his thick wrists and heavy shoulders. She’d stand no chance.

  The next day was foggy and cold. Their wagons passed through a village where they had to swerve to avoid a blanket of black flies feeding on the corpse of a woman who’d been thrown in a ditch. The woman wore the typical black costume of the female Vietminh and had been chucked away as if her life was nothing at all. Nicole forced herself to keep looking out of the back of the wagon and spotted a little girl partly concealed by the woman’s body. She was painfully thin, no more than five years old, and though her clothes were also black, around her neck was a bright blue scarf. At the sight of the child’s brown eyes, wide open and utterly blank, Nicole immediately thought of Yvette. With tears in her eyes, Nicole turned away. She could do nothing for them.

  A short while later, as the trail of caravans snaked along the mountainside, the road became little more than a ledge, so Nicole followed one of the wagons on foot. It wouldn’t take much for a wagon to tip over the precipice, and she felt safer walking. Soon after, Duong brushed alongside her and she caught sight of a satchel on his back. She had been waiting for him to make the first move, and wasn’t surprised when he grasped her by the elbow and began to draw her aside.

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Where is Trần? Is he hurt?’

  ‘Not that again. Tell me, are you truly loyal?’

  ‘Of course, surely you must believe me? The party demands obedience and I am obedient.’

  ‘Just words. But you can rest easy. I have been instructed to take you to Trần.’

  She stopped walking, tripping herself up on her boots. ‘I don’t believe you. I want to stay with the others.’

  He gave her a blank stare. ‘Believe me or not. You will soon see. When the road descends shortly it will fork. We shall linger at the back of the caravans and veer off to the left, while the rest will go right.’

  Her breath deepened. She must not show her fear. ‘What about my things? They’re in the wagon.’

  ‘You won’t need them. You can only take what you have on your back now. Flatten yourself against the side of the mountain and let everyone pass.’

  ‘And if I won’t?’

  He glanced down the edge of the precipice and sucked his teeth. ‘Mighty long way down.’

  Nicole did not know what to think. Nobody could survive a fall like that. If this was to be a death sentence, the few members of the troupe who might have noticed her with the man would simply claim they’d seen nothing. She could feel her chest rising and falling, and hoped he couldn’t see the early signs of panic. At the likely outcome, her mind went into free fall, but she had no choice. She’d have to do what he wanted.

  26

  Nicole and Duong walked from the highlands, where wild rhododendrons in the north-west gave way to the lower hills. There, monkeys, bats and flying squirrels leapt through the air while giant ferns reached for the sky. Where the dwarf bamboo sprouted up they had to watch out for yellow marsh water. If she hadn’t felt so scared it would have been beautiful.

  She was hungry too and, beneath what seemed like perpetual clouds, they ate dry biscuits and drank only the smallest amount of water. Hour after hour, she suspected he might be about to attack her and as they lay beneath a canopy of white blossom she longed to be wandering free in the streets of Hanoi. She could not think ahead, but kept one eye on the trio of vultures following their progress and the other eye on him, hoping all the time that the awful birds would not soon be swooping for their pre
y.

  At least it wasn’t too hot; it could only have been about twenty-five degrees. When they eventually padded over a deep carpet of lush grass on the edge of a clearing and reached bamboo fencing, they had been walking for nearly a week. Luckily the monsoon rains were a little way off or the whole week would have been hell. Her heart lifted as a silver pheasant rose from the undergrowth, its long white tail as elegant as any bird she’d seen. It looked as if they’d reached the outskirts of a village so at least there might be a chance of a bowl of rice and some kind of bed for the night. But as they drew closer and none of the usual signs of village life appeared, she began to work out that this was no ordinary village. Closer still, she saw guards with rifles placed at intervals. The place was eerily silent. She stopped walking and the man prodded her in the back.

  ‘Re-education camp,’ he said.

  Nicole had heard of these dreadful places, but had never believed the rumours. Now it looked like they might have been true all along. They were allowed entrance by the guards and, as she drew closer, the bleak appearance of the camp sent a chill right through her. From her months with the troupe she knew re-education was used as a means of revenge, repression and indoctrination. Thousands had been imprisoned with neither charge nor trial. And here the thin grey prisoners’ faces betrayed the awful truth. This was where French soldiers and wealthy Vietnamese mandarin families were brainwashed into obedience: men, women and children too. Forced to show gratitude for the harsh treatment meted out to them, they were also made to plead guilty to their so-called crimes. Most looked barely alive.

  ‘Those who do not comply are sent to a reprisal camp,’ the man said and smiled, clearly enjoying her unease. ‘Much worse.’

  Nicole’s throat tightened. Was he going to leave her here? As he walked her through the camp, she tried to catch the eye of a shackled Frenchwoman, but the empty eyes conveyed a loss more terrible than the loss of mere physical freedom.

  ‘Why am I here?’

  ‘I told you. I am taking you to Trần.’

  She gasped. ‘Surely he’s not a prisoner?’

  The man laughed and pointed to the other side of a clearing where a Vietminh was inspecting a line of gaunt French prisoners.

  ‘He is cán-bộ. In charge of re-education.’

  Her scalp pricked with apprehension. ‘A political cadre?’

  She watched as Trần called out one of the men from the line. The man held out a hand in front of himself as if to guide his steps, but he stumbled, and by the look of his blackened face, it seemed as if he might have been blinded. Trần stepped forward and she hoped he was going to help the man; instead he handed a rifle to a woman standing in the line. Nicole watched as Trần spoke to the woman and then pointed at the man. The woman shook her head. He pulled a small boy from the line who couldn’t have been more than five or six. The woman screamed and, hearing her voice, the man shouted out.

  Nicole took a step forward but her companion pulled her back.

  The reality of what happened next came crashing down on her. She searched for some clue in Trần’s face, watching in horror as he snatched the rifle back and called a guard who brought out two small bamboo cages. Nicole’s temples began to throb as one of the cages was put over the woman’s head and secured with rope. A plank of wood was attached to either side of the cage, pressing down on her shoulders. They did exactly the same to the young child. Nicole lost all sense of accurate time. It seemed to be taking so long, yet at the same time it was already over. Sickened by the naked fear in the child’s wide eyes as he was led away, she took in the weeping woman and the blind man on his knees, pleading in French.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The father has refused to become a new man. He is a reactionary who has violated camp rules.’

  ‘But why punish his wife and children?’

  The man shrugged.

  ‘What’s going to happen to them?’

  ‘They will be made to stand in the river for twenty-four hours.’

  She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. ‘The water is freezing. They’ll drown.’

  The man shrugged again. ‘Come. Let us join Trần.’

  Nicole folded her arms around herself, hardly believing Trần could have ordered this. The memory of nearly drowning in the Perfume River came back sharply. The terrible pressure, the booming sound of the river. Feeling as if her legs were made of stone, she forced herself to move. Now, more than at any other time, she wished she could simply return to her old life. When she reached Trần she could not keep the dismay from her voice. ‘I don’t understand. Why hurt the child?’

  He flicked a lock of hair away and wiped the moisture from his brow. ‘You saw those cages?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Those cages belong to the French. They have used them for decades. On men, women and children. Now let them get a taste of their own medicine.’

  She stared at him, trying to find the man she had known. How had he become so cruel? He returned her gaze and she remembered his gentleness with Yvette, but she could also see that his eyes, once so passionate about the cause, now seemed pitiless.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  She shook her head slowly.

  ‘Remember, Nicole. I said there would come a time when you would have to choose.’

  Her jaw stiffened. ‘I thought I had chosen.’

  ‘It is a choice that has to be reaffirmed.’

  ‘I’ve been with the theatre troupe for six months. If you don’t believe me now, you never will.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  Devastated by what she had seen, she knew she was on shaky ground, but decided the only way was to brave it out. She threw back her shoulders and spoke in a calm voice. ‘I am true to the cause, Trần.’

  He beckoned a group of his Vietnamese guards to come over. ‘We have many hundreds of French hostages now and gaining more every day. You can be useful to us.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  The men gathered round and nodded to each other.

  ‘You will soon see.’

  ‘Tell me now, Trần.’

  ‘Very well. You are to join the Bordel Mobile de Campagne.’

  ‘A mobile field brothel? You aren’t serious.’ She almost laughed.

  ‘We need information. You are French.’

  He smiled, and she reeled at the look in his eyes.

  ‘You mean it?’

  He glanced at the other men and one or two of them smirked. ‘I think it’s amusing, especially as it was your own father who, not so long ago, brought over hundreds of black girls from Africa to service the French.’

  ‘Not my father.’

  ‘Defending him now?’

  She recalled seeing her father with one of those black women and blinked away the image. Lisa had mentioned Giraud’s involvement too. Is that what her father had been doing? Procuring prostitutes with Giraud?

  ‘It is the truth,’ Trần said and smiled again.

  ‘I won’t do it.’

  ‘It has been decided. Now come. I will show you where you are to sleep. Tomorrow you will be cleaned up and taken to where you will volunteer for your task. Here is the clothing you will wear when you reach the French post. And remember, we shall know if you betray us.’

  For the first part of the night Nicole could not prevent her thoughts from churning. How naive to have thought she could keep the two halves of her life separate. Of course she’d had to choose. Of course. But horrified by Trần’s behaviour, she now felt that she’d picked the wrong side. It was as if the war had let loose a slew of monsters, and she couldn’t be sure if the brothel was a test or a trick. They were sending her into French-held territory, where she might divulge information about Vietnamese locations to save her own skin, and yet she was a wanted person, and that meant the French must surely imprison her. Trần had to know that.

  She tensed as she listened to the sounds of snoring rising from the tent next to hers, though it wasn’t much of a cover, simpl
y tarpaulin flung over four or five bamboo stakes. She crawled out of her tent, then glanced about, her breathing shallow. Lit only by a weak moon in an overcast sky, mist slid between the tents. Even the guards on duty had fallen asleep, but when she saw a dark figure her heart almost stopped.

  An owl hooted. She jumped. The man came closer and she saw it was Trần. He stepped forward, put a finger to his lips and motioned to her to follow him as he crept round the bamboo fence behind the tents, testing for a stake that had not been firmly hammered into the ground. Every step seemed deafening, the leaves and twigs echoing as they crunched underfoot. Though she saw no one else awake as they stalked the perimeter, her imagination ran wild as she thought she saw and heard things that were not really there.

  He found the loose spikes he had been searching for and lifted them clear of the earth, then ran his fingertips across her lips. ‘Go now, Nicole. Tomorrow they will look for you. You must get far away and quickly.’

  The loose spikes gave her little space, but maybe enough to push through on her belly. Did he really mean to let her go? What if it was a trap? The thought stuck. She’d have her back to him. He had a gun. Surely he wasn’t about to risk his own reputation?

  ‘Hurry,’ he said and gave her a little push. ‘Crouch down. Steal through.’

  He would say he’d shot her while she was trying to escape. At any moment she’d hear the shot.

  ‘Why did that man bring me here?’ she hissed.

  ‘The party suspect betrayal by mixed-race members. Now there are reprisals. You are not safe with the troupe. I had to get you away. Take this.’ He handed her a compass and her hands were shaking as she took it. ‘Head south. There are some French clothes in this bag.’