Read Online Finding the Dragon Lady by Monique Brinson Demery - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Monique Brinson Demery
Ads: Link
news with many of our friends. I told her, almost shyly, about the amazing coincidenceâabout how she had called me on that same morning and about how it had been difficult to get pregnant at all.
Madame Nhu was effusive. âMais, câest merveilleux!â Maaaarvelous! She almost sang her praise. âIt is exactly as I supposed,â Madame Nhu spluttered. âIt confirms what I suspected!â I wondered a little at all the emotion she was showering on me; it was a strange way to say congratulations, but what could I say other than, âMerciâ?
The situation was awkward and quickly got more so. Madame Nhu said the next words slowly into the phone, like she was sharing a secret with me.
âYou are an angel. You have been sent to help me finish the memoirs. And then everything will be revealed.â
I wasnât naive. I took much of what Madame Nhu said with a heavy dose of skepticism. I was no angelâbut memoirs? Finally, she held out the promise of personal detailsâwhere she met her husband for the first time, what their wedding was like, and what kinds of games she had played with her children. I fairly drooled at the thought. If she wanted to think that I had been sent by God, maybe it would encourage her to be more open with me.
The memoirs tantalized, especially when, as she proudly told me herself, they would âilluminate all the mysteries.â Madame Nhu had been an eyewitness to history making and political intrigue at the very highest levels. I was a little in love with the idea that somehow I had been chosen, if not by God, then by Madame Nhu.
I was flattered. It was impossible for me to separate out whether I actually liked talking to Madame Nhu or just liked the idea of talking to her. The feeling was simply thrillingâlike the early stages of a romance. She led me on, and I followed.
CHAPTER 6
The Crossing
I WAS THE PERFECT AUDIENCE FOR MADAME NHU . I was eager for her acceptance, I played by her rules, and I usually believed what she told me. Why should she lie? And her harsh judgment of her own early character made her all the more believable.
âI was still in the days of unconsciousness,â Madame Nhu mused to me about the young woman she had been on a December day in 1946. At twenty-two, still a young bride, she was a brand-new mother. After her wedding in Hanoi in 1943, Madame Nhu had followed her husband to his home in the city of Hue. According to ancient legend, the city sprang from a lotus flower in the mud. History instead grants all the credit for the 1802 founding of the imperial capital of Vietnam to one of Madame Nhuâs own ancestors, Emperor Gia Long. Seven kilometers southwest of the South China Sea in the center of the country, the city is Vietnamâs intellectual and spiritual heart. The two-story villa the Nhus rented from a family member was well situated in Hueâsmodern section. It anchored a corner of what was known as the Triangle, a bustling residential and business community named for its irregular shape, bounded by a canal on one side and the Phac Lat stream on the other.
From her front windows, Madame Nhu had a perfect view of the ancient capital. To the north, the vista on that chilly December morning looked as it did on any other day. The flag tower soared. The walls of the ancient citadel remained firmly rooted. The cityâs nine cannons, symbolic of Hueâs divine protection, were trained on nothing at all. Beads of dew gathered on their cold metal.
But the south side of the Clemenceau Bridge was strangely silent. The twisting alleyways were empty. By this time in the morning, there should have been a steady pulse of pushcarts and people. No boats were slipping up the An Cuu canal, no vendors sang out their wares, and no smoke from cooking fires puffed above the squat wooden houses that stretched to the city limits. Windows were shuttered and lockedâfor all the good that would do the people
Madame Nhu was effusive. âMais, câest merveilleux!â Maaaarvelous! She almost sang her praise. âIt is exactly as I supposed,â Madame Nhu spluttered. âIt confirms what I suspected!â I wondered a little at all the emotion she was showering on me; it was a strange way to say congratulations, but what could I say other than, âMerciâ?
The situation was awkward and quickly got more so. Madame Nhu said the next words slowly into the phone, like she was sharing a secret with me.
âYou are an angel. You have been sent to help me finish the memoirs. And then everything will be revealed.â
I wasnât naive. I took much of what Madame Nhu said with a heavy dose of skepticism. I was no angelâbut memoirs? Finally, she held out the promise of personal detailsâwhere she met her husband for the first time, what their wedding was like, and what kinds of games she had played with her children. I fairly drooled at the thought. If she wanted to think that I had been sent by God, maybe it would encourage her to be more open with me.
The memoirs tantalized, especially when, as she proudly told me herself, they would âilluminate all the mysteries.â Madame Nhu had been an eyewitness to history making and political intrigue at the very highest levels. I was a little in love with the idea that somehow I had been chosen, if not by God, then by Madame Nhu.
I was flattered. It was impossible for me to separate out whether I actually liked talking to Madame Nhu or just liked the idea of talking to her. The feeling was simply thrillingâlike the early stages of a romance. She led me on, and I followed.
CHAPTER 6
The Crossing
I WAS THE PERFECT AUDIENCE FOR MADAME NHU . I was eager for her acceptance, I played by her rules, and I usually believed what she told me. Why should she lie? And her harsh judgment of her own early character made her all the more believable.
âI was still in the days of unconsciousness,â Madame Nhu mused to me about the young woman she had been on a December day in 1946. At twenty-two, still a young bride, she was a brand-new mother. After her wedding in Hanoi in 1943, Madame Nhu had followed her husband to his home in the city of Hue. According to ancient legend, the city sprang from a lotus flower in the mud. History instead grants all the credit for the 1802 founding of the imperial capital of Vietnam to one of Madame Nhuâs own ancestors, Emperor Gia Long. Seven kilometers southwest of the South China Sea in the center of the country, the city is Vietnamâs intellectual and spiritual heart. The two-story villa the Nhus rented from a family member was well situated in Hueâsmodern section. It anchored a corner of what was known as the Triangle, a bustling residential and business community named for its irregular shape, bounded by a canal on one side and the Phac Lat stream on the other.
From her front windows, Madame Nhu had a perfect view of the ancient capital. To the north, the vista on that chilly December morning looked as it did on any other day. The flag tower soared. The walls of the ancient citadel remained firmly rooted. The cityâs nine cannons, symbolic of Hueâs divine protection, were trained on nothing at all. Beads of dew gathered on their cold metal.
But the south side of the Clemenceau Bridge was strangely silent. The twisting alleyways were empty. By this time in the morning, there should have been a steady pulse of pushcarts and people. No boats were slipping up the An Cuu canal, no vendors sang out their wares, and no smoke from cooking fires puffed above the squat wooden houses that stretched to the city limits. Windows were shuttered and lockedâfor all the good that would do the people
Similar Books
