The Madwoman of Thu Duc – Part 2

I stepped down from the car and walked across the vast glaring expanse of the dock to where he stood. Quan, my chauffeur, followed closely behind with the open parasol.

“Dearest Etienne,” I said, as I approached.

The shock and hesitation on his face was so startling that, for a moment, I feared I had picked out the wrong person, but that was ridiculous – he was much like the photographs and unmistakable. And in a moment his expression resolved into a mask of pleasant joy, like an actor in one of those halting moving picture films.

“Claire? Oh, yes… it’s Claire!” He embraced me stiffly and kissed my cheeks.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

He was silent as he looked down at me again and the artifice of politeness slipped.

“Is there something wrong? Where is your luggage? Quan can fetch it.”

Not waiting for a reply, I sent the chauffer off to see to Etienne’s things and told him to pack them in the car. When I turned back, the smile was in place.

“No, no. Nothing. It’s just the shock of finally seeing you.”

I gave him a smile in return and took his arm. “And of seeing that I’m old and dried up in this infernal heat… Welcome to Cochin China, my dear.”

“No…” he spoke softly, but said no more.

We climbed in and sat quietly in the dark interior of the car while Quan loaded the luggage into the back. In the stillness of the air I could smell the scent of his hair oil and, faintly, the scent of camphor. A trickle of sweat appeared at his temple and travelled down the side of his handsome face. He wiped it away.

“No,” he finally said in the same soft voice. “You just look…well….” He stared ahead as Quan got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The muscle of his jaw was taut, as if he were suddenly, terribly angry. “You look very much like your sister.”

I wanted to laugh and say that it was hardly a surprise that I did, since we were twins, but there was something in the quiet sternness of his voice that changed my mind. Another fat droplet of sweat took the same route as the first and slid beneath his chin. Again he brushed it away with his hand.

I pulled a handkerchief out of my purse and offered it to him. “This is not Nimes. The heat is terrible, but you get used to it.”

He tilted his head in thanks, took the handkerchief and dabbed at his brow as we made our way down the river road, past the shipyards and the convent.

It was then I wanted to kiss him. The urge was so strong, so sharply demanding, I had to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself. It was the scent of him, I told myself. It reminded me of my husband. It was the dizzy remnants of last night’s opium. It was the breeze that came through the windows as we sped over the canal bridge by the zoo gardens. But in truth it was none of those things. It was the devil in my head, telling me that this is what I wanted. This is what I had waited for: his hands on my breasts, his mouth at my throat, the drops of his sweat that would spatter and burn on the skin of my chest as he thrust into me with insatiable hunger, for the savage bruises his hips would leave against mine.

“Quan! Stop the car!”

“Madame?”

“Stop the car now!” I yelled.

The chauffeur pulled over to the side of the road. I stumbled frantically from the car, knelt down beside a broad ditch next to a rice paddy, and vomited.

The violent retching helped. With each heave, the stays of my corset dug into my skin. When I finished, I looked up to see the acid green of the young rice in the field. So clean, so pure, so full of promise.

“Are you alright?” Etienne stood near me, offering me the handkerchief I had given him only a few minutes earlier.

I pulled the humid, stagnant air down into my lungs, expanding my chest to make the stays hurt.

“It’s nothing,” I took the handkerchief and wiped my mouth. Getting to my feet, unsteadily, I breathed again. “Just a fever. Everyone gets them here. They’re over quickly.”

He tried to take my arm, to help me back into the car, but suddenly I couldn’t bear the idea of him touching me. I climbed back in by myself and settled back in the seat. The sooner we got moving, the sooner we’d have a breeze in the car.