The Madwoman of Thu Duc – Part 6

The day had cooled a little, but it was still very hot, and I knew that, for those recently arrived from cooler climes, this made eating difficult. The cook had prepared us a very simple dinner. Iced tomato and cucumber salad, and then chicken with mushrooms and rice, cooked in a clay pot – one of M. Chin, the cook’s, specialties. A Chinese dish that seems to suit the French palate well.

We ate out on the upper verandah to catch as much evening breeze as possible, and I encouraged Etienne to remove his jacket when he remarked that there was very little breeze to be had.

For my part, it was perhaps the first time in many months that I actually tasted my food. For a long time I had simply eaten to live, paying little attention to how the dishes tasted. Perhaps because I was concerned for him, I noted that everything was very well seasoned but that the casserole was a little too heavily salted. Nevertheless, the salt would do Etienne no harm in this heat.

We ate without speaking, but occasionally I glanced up from my plate to see Etienne looking at me in a curious manner. Each time, when our eyes met, he quickly looked away. Finally, as Lan cleared the main course, I felt compelled to speak.

“Are you well, Etienne?”

“Certainly.” His reply was abrupt.

“Are you certain? It seems as if there is something on your mind.” It was then he met my eyes and forced a polite smile. “If you are uncomfortable or unwell, you must… you must say so.”

“I’m perfectly well!” The words shot out harsh and clipped.

I nodded and we sat in stony silence as Lan brought us green tea and lime sorbet. I smiled in appreciation of the effort the staff had made for Etienne’s arrival.

“Lan, please tell Ong Chin that the food was very good, and we thank him for the sorbet. I know he takes a lot of trouble to make it.”

Lan pursed her lips and giggled. “It’s not Chin who turns the handle on the glace machine, Madame. It’s me! That machine is an instrument of torture.”

I smiled. “Well, thank you then, Lan. But…have you tried the sorbet? It’s very delicious. You and Mai must taste some.”

A rough shudder shook Lan’s reedy body and an expression of something close to fear came over her face. “Oh, no, Madame. It is dangerous to eat cold things. They make you sick.”

It was then I noticed Etienne’s look of puzzlement. “It’s folk wisdom here. Cold food or drink is frowned upon in Chinese medicine. They believe it interferes with the flow of energy in the body.”

Once Lan had retreated, silence again descended on the table. Only the sounds of the crickets and bats accompanied the rest of our meal, punctuated from time to time by the tinkle of spoons against the glass cups.

“I apologize…for my earlier…” Etienne did not finish.

“Please don’t. It is entirely understandable. You’re tired and unused to the heat.”

“Well… yes. That is true. But also…” a shadow crossed his handsome face, then he shook his head as if to clear the thoughts from it. “I have the most maddening ringing in my ears.”

“It’s the quinine. How much have you been taking?”

“500 milligrams, once a day.”

I dropped my spoon in surprise. “But that is far too much! That is the dose for treatment of malaria, not for its prevention!”

“That’s what the army doctor in Marseille prescribed before I embarked.”

Good lord, I thought. Almost a century in possession of their colonies and Mother France still didn’t have the slightest idea what they were about when it came to actually surviving them. “300 milligrams is more than enough. And if you take care to cover up at night, you can do without it in the dry season. The house is sprayed often and the nets on the beds are soaked in citronella. The rainy season is a different matter. We must be more careful then. How long…” There seemed no way to phrase the question politely. But Etienne understood.

“There’s no need to be delicate about it. We never discussed it in our letters. I have a position at an engineering firm waiting for me upon my return in June. I must be back in Nimes by then.”

I nodded, attempting to hide the swell of desperation I felt within. It was only the beginning of April. How was I going to hide the despicable creature I had become for two whole months?

“Would you…will you take a glass of brandy or Poire?” I asked, attempting to cover a momentary rise of panic. “Then, perhaps, we could play a game of cards, if you wanted.”