Opium (28 page)

“No more scars?'

“I try to stay out of trouble.”

“If you want to stay out of trouble, then you should stay away from other men's wives.”

“I tried to. It didn't work. She wouldn't stay away from me and now I don't know what to do. What would you advise?'

“I thought you were the adviser?'

“Only on agriculture.”

“I would advise you to forget about her.”

“Tried it. It doesn't work.”

“You should try harder, believe me.” They walked for a while in silence, away from the house. “What do you want from me?'

“What can you give me?'

“Nothing.”

“Then perhaps there is something I can give you.”

“And what is that?'

“Hope.”

"Hope?'

“Hope for a better life. Don't try and tell me you're happy. It's clear that you're not. You deserve a better life than this.”

She started to walk faster. “So not only do you fix cars and advise on the agriculture, but also you read palms. You are truly a man of many talents.” She had not meant to sound so bitter, and her own belligerence surprised her.

“I didn't mean to offend you,” he said.

“I am not offended. I am scared. Yes, I needed you that night. But I should not have done it. It was wrong. I wronged him, and I wronged you. It was selfish of me.”

“You say it was wrong, but it was the rightest thing I've ever done.”

She whirled around to face him. “Please. Please, just go away.” Americans! Everything was so simple for them. You walk in, take another man's wife, just because of one night? She reached up and touched his cheek with sudden tenderness. “It was a beautiful night. You are a wonderful lover and a very gentle man. But I have a son and a husband.”

He was about to say something else but she put her finger to his lips.

“Please, no more,” she said, and walked quickly away. She looked back just once, saw the glow of his cigarette in the dusk. When she reached the bend in the river, she ran all the way back to the house.

***

The sun had dropped down the sky, turning the mirror of the Mekong to pools of gold and throwing a sudden dusk over the valley. Noelle was surprised to hear shouts and laughter on the back veranda. Baptiste was home, playing in the garden with Lucien in the gathering gloom. The boy was perched on his shoulders and Baptiste was pretending to be an aeroplane.

“No more,” he shouted. “It is too dark to fly! I have no landing lights!'

“Please!' Lucien shouted, bobbing up and down. “Once more!'

Baptiste relented. “All right, all right. Are you ready for take-off? Full throttle. Release the brakes. Away we go!'

He launched himself off the veranda steps and leaped into the garden. Noelle's heart was in her mouth. If he fell, the boy would be thrown headlong. But of course he did not slip, he landed on both feet, Lucien shrieking and giggling on top of him.

“Bank twenty degrees to port!' he shouted and whirled around the mango tree at the bottom of the garden. The servants stood around laughing and clapping.

He almost ran into a badminton net strung between two lime trees. “Mountains!' he shouted, and sidestepped left at full tilt, leaping over a rattan basket of weeds. “Turbulence!'

The boy bounced on his shoulders, laughter hiccoughing out of him.

“Ready to land?' He swept up the veranda steps, saw Noelle and stopped, breathing hard. “Chèrie!'

Noelle felt something squirm inside her. Oh, how she had loved this man and still did, sometimes, damn him. “Teaching him to fly already?'

Baptiste grinned sheepishly. “He's a little heavy on the controls,” he said. Lucien had clenched handfuls of his father's thick black hair to steady himself.

He was his father's son, the same thick black hair and deep blue eyes, accentuated by long thick lashes. Put an eye patch on the little boy and he would be a miniature version of the man. She hoped he had not also been blessed with his father's temperament.

“Almost time for his supper,” Noelle said. “Or do you plan to teach him night flying?'

“No night flights allowed in Laos,” Baptiste said. He lifted Lucien off his shoulders. “Time for you to eat,
mon petit chou
.” He kissed the child as he lowered him to the ground. Lucien wanted more and howled.

Chao shushed him and led him inside. The gardener and the cook boy melted away into the shadows.

Noelle and Baptiste stared at each other in awkward silence.

“Did you enjoy your walk?'

“It was pleasant.”

“You look wonderful,” he said. There was the old fire in his eyes tonight.

She took a step towards him. If I throw myself down these steps into his arms it will be over, she thought. Perhaps we can leave this misery behind. Can you really forget about all those nights he left you alone while he got drunk with his taxi girls? Even the night Lucien was born, God damn him! Do you still really believe he knew nothing about the plan to murder his best friend?

Can you really ever trust this man again?

“I thought we might dismiss the servants early and have dinner alone tonight.”

Noelle shook her head. “I am very tired, Baptiste. Perhaps another night.”

He shrugged and brushed past her up the steps and through the house. She heard the front door slam and the Packard's tyres squealing as he drove back into Vientiane.

***

Dale heard a timber creak on the veranda and was instantly awake. He turned on the kerosene lantern beside the bed and listened. The door opened an inch, footsteps padded across the floor. He opened the drawer beside the bed and his fingers closed around the grip of his Smith and Wesson.

She stood at the foot of the bed, both her hands raised in the air. “I am unarmed. Do you want to search me?'

“A few hours ago you said you never wanted to see me again.”

“I lied.”

She pulled her dress over her head. She was naked underneath. She pulled the braids from her hair, and tossed her head. “You like what you see?' she said.

“I liked what I saw from the very first time.”

She crawled across the bed, until she was kneeling over him. He reached up and touched her cheek. “I think I'm in love with you,” he whispered.

She put her finger to his lips. “I am going to hell for you, I think.” She leaned across him to turn off the lamp. He gripped her hips, breathing in the sweet perfume and the softness of her skin. Just love me tonight,” she whispered, 'but promise me you will stop loving me in the morning.”

“Okay,” he lied.

Chapter 51

T
HE early morning mist shrouded the road, muffled the cackle of the geese waddling in front of an old farmer, and the soft ringing of the
siclo
bell, as its driver ferried an old wife to the market. Bonaventure took a bite from his croissant and chewed slowly, reflectively. Noelle toyed with her coffee.

“What brings you here so early, chèrie?'

“I need to talk to you.”

“Where's Baptiste?'

“He had to fly to Ban Me Thuot. He took off at dawn.”

He nodded. Six hundred kilos of opium, part of a consignment for Sammy Chen.

“How are things between you?'

“The same. '

“The same,” he repeated. Noelle pushed a curl from her eyes, and regarded him evenly.
Merde, ce qu'elle est belle!
Bonaventure thought. Even on this chill December morning, dressed impeccably in her long black leather coat and red woollen suit, she somehow managed to look half-naked. What was that? The way she moved, the way she spoke? Just like her mother.

If only I had an ugly daughter.

“I'm going to leave him,
papa
.”

“We have had this conversation before.”

“And I have always given in to you before. This time I mean it.”

The sun rose and the haze began to lift. A flotilla of ducks flew over, a perfect V formation. Two boy bonzes walked along the road, holding begging bowls.

“I will not permit you to leave him,” he said.

“I don't care what you will or will not permit. You do not have to take me back. You can always let your daughter and your grandson to starve on the street.”

“Don't try me too far.”

“That is exactly what I intend to do. Only now I am so desperate that I think this time my will is stronger than yours.”

Impossible girl! He should never have had her educated! She was too smart by half. He pushed his breakfast away. He had quite lost his appetite.

“You must try again,” he said.

“Papa, he has been unfaithful to me countless times. I cannot trust him and I cannot forgive him.”

“In the eyes of the Church you're married to this man for life.”

“Don't be such a hypocrite, you old goat! You don't give a damn what the Church thinks! You never have. You wear the Church like an old medal, you dust it off whenever it suits you!'

“You will not talk to me this way!'

“Papa, you lost the right to my respect when Jean-Marie Pepin died. Don't dictate to me anymore. I am leaving Baptiste and I am taking my son!'

Bonaventure was rattled. She meant it, the little minx. She was right, he would not let her starve for even an hour, even to teach her a lesson.

He heard the rhythmic clacking of wood on wood, as a Chinese soup cart stopped on the road outside and tried to attract customers. Steam from the shimmering brass pot rose into the air. Bonaventure watched the hawker, thinking how much simpler that man's life was than his.

“Give me a few days to think about this,” he said.

“Think about it all you want. I'm leaving.”

“What will you do, how will you live when I am no longer here to take care of you?' His fist slammed on the table.

Noelle did not even blink. “I can take care of myself.”

Oh, what was the point of arguing with her? She never thought about the future. He sat back in his chair and gave a long sigh. “You will have your way, Noelle, you always do. But you do not have to leave him. I will make sure Crocé is no longer a problem in your life.”

“I don't want him hurt.”

“What do you think I would do? I'm not a barbarian.”

Noelle raised one eyebrow, eloquent testimony to her opinion on that. Outrageous. He would have liked to put her over his knee. He threw down his napkin and stood up. “Just leave it to me. I will arrange it,” he said and stormed out.

***

Vientiane was changing rapidly. Two storey brick buildings were sprouting in the town centre, wreathed in bamboo scaffolding. Enormous two-tone American cars with big fins now shared the roads with the oxcarts and water buffaloes.

Since the crisis, the United States legation had been promoted to an Embassy. It was located in the same street as the national bank, and as Dale drove past he saw the manager's laundry fluttering on a line next to his reception room. He passed the Russian and North Vietnamese embassies and waved cheerily to the guards outside.

Buzzards roosted in the trees next to the embassy, waiting for scraps from the abattoir next door. Dale parked the car and walked inside, under the
Chinoiserie
of dragons that no one had ever thought to remove.

He found Gates in his office studying the survey map of Laos that hung on the wall behind his desk. It was dotted with coloured flags and markers that showed the relative positions of the
Meo
, the Royal Lao army and the Pathet Lao, as well as Air America landing strips. Once again the red flags had been pushed off the Plain of Jars. In another few months, when the monsoon ended, they would return.

Gates looked around as Dale entered, tapped his finger on the top right hand corner of the map. “Sam Neua,” he said, without preamble. “That's where we go next. They're taking heavy losses, and Vang Pao wants us to train more recruits.”

Dale nodded and sat down.

“Coffee?' Gates asked him.

Dale shook his head.

“What's the problem?'

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Gates frowned. “Shoot.”

“There's something ... it's been on my mind for a while.” Dale hesitated. He didn't particularly like Gerry Gates, but he was the only one in the embassy in a position to help him.

“I want you to get me back to Saigon.”

Gates made a sour face. “What the fuck for?'

“I just need to get out of Laos.”

Gates sat down, took out a packet of Lucky Strike, offered one to Dale, who shook his head. Gates took his time lighting up, giving himself time to think. “Okay, what's this about?'