and looked at Sinh. “Do you remember one evening, one of the first we spent together, where you helped a young French woman with her son?”
“I think so,” said Sinh, seeming unsure.
“The four of us were walking near your apartment in Pigalle, and a young woman’s little son suddenly ran out into the street. You darted off after him, grabbed him by the arm before he was flattened by a truck, and delivered him to his mother. But when you gave him to her, your hands brushed against hers and she flinched, jumping backward. She actually jumped. Do you remember that?”
“Now I do,” he said thoughtfully. “She had clearly never touched the skin of a jaunier before. Maybe she thought my skin color was contagious.”
“Yes. I thought that—that she’d never touched even the hand of an Asiatique. It could have remained very uncomfortable, but you smiled at her, and explained that you were a student here, and that you loved Paris and were thankful to be allowed to study here and then did something with your hat to make her son laugh, and we all parted five minutes later like dear old friends.”
“Most people have good hearts,” he said thoughtfully. “They just need to be reminded that our differences are charming instead of menacing. I hope to always be charming instead of menacing, even when it comes to politics. I believe in fighting with the voice, the pen, never the sword. Unless it’s in self-defense, that is.”
“But you accomplish that. That’s just what you do,” I said as we walked on. After a few moments of quiet, I paused in front of the large windows overlooking the park. “Just by being you, you remind the world, or at least everyone you meet, that our differences aren’t menacing. That they’re wonderful.”
“That’s a rather thoughtful thing to say,” he said, putting his hand kindly on mine for a moment. “It’s really quite unfortunate that you’re married and that Khoi has to marry someone back in Indochine, one of these days. Even an unofficial diplomat like me can’t fix that reality.”
“Please don’t remind me,” I said, gazing out at the beautiful city below us. “I’m so enjoying living this dream for now.”
“I won’t remind you again. But I do have a favor to ask you,” he said, matching my gaze. “It’s a question really, since I’m so good at asking them, according to you.”
“Please do ask,” I said, smiling again.
“Watch over Anne-Marie for me, will you, Marcelle?” Sinh said, tilting his head back a bit. “She needs watching over. Just this morning I found her eating ice cream in her bathing costume on the couch.”
“I’d laugh if it didn’t sound so like Anne-Marie,” I replied. “But aren’t you the one who looks over her? I feel like she looks over me rather than the reverse. I don’t know if she would welcome the change.”
“I do, and I’m happy to, but I have to travel home for a month. And with the journey, that means three months in total. I’ve been avoiding going home since I fell in love with that utterly delightful creature, but I can’t say no to my mother forever.”
“I’ll watch her, of course,” I said. “If she’ll let me.”
“I think you’ll find that she will,” he said, leaning against the window.
Sinh sailed for Indochine two weeks after we spoke, at the end of March. He promised to write to all of us. He told us that the letters might take a month to arrive, though, so we shouldn’t worry. Two months later, we hadn’t heard anything. Khoi and I fretted. Anne-Marie was distraught.
“Khoi, send a telegram,” Anne-Marie said to Khoi one evening when she’d joined us for dinner in Khoi’s apartment. She had clearly been with her parents, as she was wearing a dress and was also quite drunk. “To his father,” she clarified, putting her hands on Khoi’s shoulders. “He will respond to you. He must know of your family.”
At this point, both Anne-Marie and I knew that all the important Annamites, and even many of the French in the country, were acquainted with Khoi’s father’s family, the Nguyens. It was the most common last name in the country, but they were the silk Nguyens, who had spools of thread hand-painted on the porcelain dishes in each of their homes. Khoi kept a small set of such plates in his kitchen, tucked behind his extensive whiskey supply. I’d come across them one day, and Khoi admitted that all the