I could tell she was about to ask me what cartilage was, but she paused and laid her head against my arm instead.
“I remember that it rained every day,” she whispered, “and that Mademoiselle DuPont would tell me not to play in the elevator or I would be trapped inside and have to live there forever. In the elevator. But no one lives in elevators, do they?”
“It did not rain every day,” I corrected her.
“The bread in Paris was tastier. But I like rice, too,” she said loudly, and then pressed her lips together when she realized her volume.
“Enough of that, mes chéries,” said Victor, implying our English. “We’re arriving.”
Annamite men and women, most in their straight-cut traditional clothes, moved in a wave to make room for our car as we pulled up right under the station clock. Lucie smiled at the rickshaw coolies staring at us, and I turned to greet the porter who had approached the car, opening the door on Victor’s side before Lanh had even turned off the engine. The man, whose eyes were friendly, though cloudy with age and cataracts, greeted us in Annamese and helped Lanh remove our bags from the trunk.
“Please be careful with that one. The handle needs to be repaired,” I told him quietly, not wanting Victor to hear me. I knew he wouldn’t be pleased that I had accidentally brought a broken suitcase on the journey. I could have blamed a servant, but it was something I never did, which was why they were so loyal to us.
“He doesn’t speak French,” Lucie said, stepping in front of me, translating what I’d said. The porter smiled at her and took the case into his arms instead of holding the crooked handle.
I reached into my purse for a tip but was interrupted by the stationmaster, who barked at the man to keep moving and hurried over to greet us.
“Madame Lesage, I saw the car and was hoping you were inside,” he said, executing a quick, polite bow. “And your husband, of course,” he added when Victor opened his door and nodded at him. “And Lucie,” the stationmaster said, slipping her a piece of hard candy from his pocket. “The most intelligent child in Indochine.” He added a phrase in Annamese, and she answered readily, pointing at her father behind her.
“Let me help you inside,” the stationmaster said to me, ushering us in and shooing off the line of weathered men hawking food, fortunes, and shoe shines.
As I passed under the archway, I took a slow, deep breath, something that had become a ritual. The air changed a few inches from the train station. It was richer, as if the smells of the rest of the country had been brought up to Hanoi by the steam engines but weren’t strong enough to make it farther into the city and mix with us.
“You’re very kind to escort us in,” Victor said politely to the stationmaster as we all walked, a tense half smile on his face. “But we will be fine from here,” he said. He stopped and gestured to one of the waiting areas. “We wouldn’t want to pull you from your duties.”
He handed the man a few coins and nodded at him in a way that implied we didn’t want to be bothered again. The man disappeared as quickly as he had come, managing a subtle wink at Lucie as he backed away. Victor was not a particularly tall or physically imposing man, but there was something in his demeanor that brought him an enormous amount of respect and obedience. Perhaps it was the scent of money.
“It’s just part of his job,” I murmured to Victor as we sat on the wooden benches.
“Yes, and he’s very good at it,” he said, smiling at me, his black hair slicked neatly with pomade. “But I need to get back to these papers. I don’t have the patience for small talk today—except with you, mon coeur,” he said to Lucie, who was hovering in front of him. Victor could have looked Annamite from the back, too, but he carried himself too rigidly—a posture that marked out well-bred Europeans in the colony. And from the front, his glacial-blue eyes gave him away instantly.
Lucie was still standing, shifting her weight from one thin leg to the other as if she were trying to float. When I realized it was because she didn’t want to dirty her dress, I stood with her and kissed the top of her head, warm from just the few steps in the unforgiving sun. “You do know there’s a half day’s train journey ahead?” I said. “You’ll have to sit sometime.”
“Those benches over there look a bit cleaner,” she said, pointing and pulling my hand. “May we sit there instead?”
I nodded yes, and we turned to the east side of the station, Lucie leading the way. We had almost reached the row of more modern benches when she was suddenly struck by a boy who was rushing toward us. She tumbled back, her body forcefully colliding with the wooden bench.
“Careful, boy!” my husband shouted after he heard me gasp, leaping up and pushing the child off of Lucie.
The boy, a shoeblack, grinned, not bothering to look at her, and suggested a shine, pointing at Victor’s brogues.
“After this!” Victor snorted, pointing at Lucie and shouting out the few insults he knew in Annamese. “You’re lucky I don’t have you banned from the station.”
He shooed the child away with one of his rolled-up papers, hitting him across the back.
I held Lucie by the shoulders. She was looking down at her dress in horror. On the upper part of her starched white skirt was a black checkmark-shaped swoop of shoe polish.
“Maman!” she cried, staring at the stain. “He ruined my dress,” she whispered, tears quickly forming in the corner of her eyes. “I can’t go on the train like this,” she said, sobbing.
“No, Lucie, no, don’t cry,” I said, embracing her, but making sure to avoid the stain. “I’ll take you to wash it. We can scrub it out, don’t worry, chérie.” I patted her on the shoulder.
“Take her to the washroom,” said Victor, stroking Lucie’s head comfortingly. “I’ll wait here.” He gestured to the bench closest to the bathroom.
I nodded and pushed Lucie the few steps to the door.
When we were inside, and luckily alone, Lucie pulled her skirt up and looked at the mark.
“Are you sure it will come out?” she asked, dropping the fabric and wiping at her tears.
“Of course,” I said brightly, reaching for a hand towel. I wet it and soaped it up before starting to scrub.
We watched as my right hand moved back and forth and I tugged at the garment with my left. But all that did was spread the black stain, so I crouched down on the floor, hoping to get a better angle. It was not going to be easy to remove.
I scrubbed as hard as I could and listened as her sobs quieted. When I looked up and smiled at her, happy that the mark was turning gray, black spots started swimming before my eyes and I had to bend my head quickly down to avoid falling over.
“Maman?” I heard her say, but her voice sounded far away.
“I just feel a bit faint,” I said, standing up carefully. Feeling dizzier, I gripped the sink and closed my eyes, letting my head drop heavily forward. With my eyes still closed, I turned on the water. I placed one of my hands under the stream, keeping the other on the sink for balance.
When I felt a little steadier, I bent down and drank from the sink, lapping the cool water in large gulps. I stayed like that for a few moments, feeling as if my thirst would never be quenched.