which is the largest of the plantations,” he said when the yellow building was finally out of sight. “That’s where you’ll start your visit.” He pointed to a glass bottle on the floor near my feet. “Cold water there. Should be nice and refreshing since it was on ice. Drink it when your stomach begins to feel even slightly sour, and try to look straight ahead when we are off the paved roads.”
“I’m from the country,” I said, looking out at the crowded road ahead of us.
“Not this country,” he replied and sped up. “We are heading east of the city,” he added, gesturing. “Would you like me to detour so you can see some of Saigon’s jewels? Notre Dame Cathedral? The opera house?”
“No, just to Dau Tieng, please,” I said, resting my head against the passenger window. I closed my eyes, putting my hand over my waistband so I could feel the little bag holding my ring. Assured of its presence, I let myself drift to sleep.
Three and a half hours later, I was roused by Jacques touching my arm. I opened my eyes, sat upright, and rolled down the window.
“We’re just arriving,” he said, pointing. “There, just beyond those trees, is Dau Tieng.”
I blinked a few times to get the sleep out of my eyes and saw a barrier blocking the dirt road. On either side were squat watchtowers and men in uniform.
“Are those military guards?” I asked, looking at them more closely as we approached.
“Yes,” he said, signaling to them out the window. “After what happened at Phu Rieng in ’27, the murder of the overseer, they were stationed here at the gates and all around the periphery of the land. We do have men who try to escape, and so many acres are hard to monitor. Nothing to be alarmed by. Just a precaution.”
“Why do men try to escape?” I asked as Jacques rolled his window back up.
“Oh, you know the nature of men. Some just don’t like to work. Some are homesick, some want to run off and be revolutionaries. But those are fewer and fewer these days,” he said. “It’s not like it was in 1930, I’m told. Or even last year. Your husband, in just a few months’ time, has things in firm control.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” I said, turning to get a better look at the military men after they’d waved us through.
We drove in on a wide dirt road, crossing an expanse far more open than I’d anticipated.
“All this is being replanted,” he said, following my gaze, “which is why it’s so bare right now. On the other side, there,” he said, pointing to a mass of sprawling one-story buildings, “are the coolie villages, the hospital, the orphanage, the canteen. And beyond that is more land that we’re clearing.”
We passed rows of short rubber trees, all spaced with the precision of soldiers on parade, not daring to grow out of line.
“Your husband is in his house,” Jacques said as the low buildings disappeared behind us. “I’ve worked on rubber plantations throughout my career, first in Brazil and now here, and this is the first time I’ve seen any family member from the company live on the plantation. He, and Michelin, should be applauded. It will make the difference in our success, I believe. In your success,” he corrected himself. “You’ve already invested so much in research. New technologies for planting and tapping. That is already paying off. And with low labor costs, you are still making money in the depression. It’s just the unrest that’s been a problem, after last December, and Victor is prioritizing that.”
“Yes, well, the Michelins are known for building loyalty in Clermont-Ferrand. It is time that they do the same here. I think Victor is quite capable—”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, interrupting in a voice that indicated he didn’t care at all about being rude, “but loyalty isn’t the problem. It’s communism. The men who find their way here and spread their lies to these uneducated men, advocating violence. That is the problem.”
“Victor mentioned as much,” I said, trying to remain pleasant. “But he already weeded one out, from what I hear. I’m sure he will have the problem under control soon, if he does not already.”
“One can never have it fully under control,” he said, turning the wheel sharply to avoid a dip in the dirt road. “But I think Victor can keep the spark from spreading into a blaze. The last