Phu Rieng, I’m more cautious. But I know whom I can always trust. I can always trust you.”
“Yes, you can,” I said, feeling a rush of love and pride. “You can always trust me.”
“Plus, it would allow you to see more of the country,” said Victor. “Take the train and spend a bit of time relaxing. We can set you up in a lovely hotel and you can contribute to our success here in a more concrete way. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Very much so,” I said. Victor knew that I wanted to feel useful, to exercise parts of my mind that I’d ignored since we’d married. The parts that only belonged to a working woman.
Haiphong. I thought about the commotion on the docks when our boat had finally anchored in the port city. I’d barely slept the night before, anticipating our arrival at dawn, as the captain had promised. When the boat started to slow, I expected to pull into the quiet of the Far East, greeted by gentle waves, the murmur of soft voices. Instead, we heard loud shouting and the bang of metal containers moved around on the docks. There were huge cargo ships, piled high with wares—from household goods to bags of dried rice—and men running shirtless on the decks and below, wrapping rope around large containers, others trying to pull them to shore. The few women appeared to be carrying loads of at least fifty pounds on their backs, weaving unsteadily between the men, trying to keep their balance. There was nothing quiet or gentle about it.
But this trip would be different. I was no longer a stranger to Indochine. It was starting to become my home.
FIFTEEN
Jessie
October 4, 1933
“Have you ever been to Haiphong?” I asked Trieu as I prepared for the journey. It was just past seven in the morning, but I was already dressed.
“Yes, I’ve been,” Trieu said. “With Madame van Dampierre. She attended a party at the opera house there, Nhà hát Tây—or the Western Theatre, in French—and Cam and I traveled with her since she insisted on bringing all the boys. I think what you are doing, traveling alone, is a better idea. It’s very modern for a woman to travel alone. A foreign woman especially.”
“Yes, I’m excited, but I’m a bit anxious about silly things,” I said, sure that my nerves showed. “Such as, what if I miss my train or can’t find the hotel that Victor has reserved for me?” I went on. “Part of me wishes he was coming along,” I admitted. “Though that doesn’t sound very modern of me, does it?”
“If something like that happens, then you just ask for help,” Trieu said, kindly. “And all the pousse-pousse drivers know the Hôtel du Commerce. It’s the prettiest in Haiphong. It’s even prettier than the Métropole here. They’ll expect that that’s where you’re going. Unless Lanh has arranged a car?”
“No, I asked him not to. I prefer to take a pousse-pousse. You can see so much more that way. Hear everything, too.”
Trieu nodded and looked at my outfit, my gray pants and short-sleeved white blouse with a slightly puffed sleeve, all cinched by a thin alligator-skin belt.
She pointed at my head and turned back to the closet, emerging with a hat, a bright geranium-colored straw boater with a narrow grosgrain ribbon that edged the crown. It was designed by Reboux and cost a pretty penny, but I hadn’t worn it yet, wondering if it was a bit much for a day hat. It was wide-brimmed, with a dramatic dip on the left side, but I had to admit it was striking.
“You should wear this,” Trieu said. “Un canotier en paille. I think it’s your prettiest straw hat. And you’ll feel confident in it. The color is something only a self-assured woman would wear. One who doesn’t get nervous.”
She placed the hat gently on my head, so as not to muss my waved hair, and I looked at my reflection in the mirror.
“Isn’t it pretty?” asked Trieu. “There’s something about the color that makes it even lovelier.”
“Yes, there is,” I said, smiling. I looked at it from all angles and then moved to my dressing table. I reached into a drawer and applied a bold lipstick to match, my hand trembling slightly.
“Beautiful,” she said approvingly.
When Trieu was gone, I checked my suitcase again and added one last thing to my handbag. Victor had left me an envelope with 1,000 piastres, the equivalent of 300 American dollars, in it. He