The Headmaster's Wager (36 page)

When the hand-shaking and card-trading was done, Percival looked over to Jacqueline and saw her gathering up Laing Jai's toys. When Percival reached her, she stopped briefly, pecked him on the lips, said that she had to rush Laing Jai to school or else he would be late, and that if Percival went to the apartment she would be there soon.

Laing Jai asked, “
Baba
, will you be at home to play after school?”

“Yes,” he said.

He went to the apartment and waited, fuming. Why did it take her so long to return? When she appeared, she said nothing. She closed the door, brought her lips to his, her hands already at his belt. He had planned to first ask what she had been discussing with Peters. Now, he felt his annoyance fade. She was here with him, after all, and so why should he be jealous of her sitting innocently on a patio with an American man? Her hands were already within his clothes as he undid her blouse buttons. She led him to the bedroom, where they sweated into the afternoon.

Afterwards, they lay naked. Jacqueline slept. Percival lay awake on his side, watching the rhythmic movement of her chest. His body had been satisfied, but this did not completely erase his worry. The shutters were closed against the bright sun, and the gaps between the slats admitted bright knives of light into the apartment. His mouth was dry, his throat swollen. Since meeting Jacqueline, Percival had not been with other women. When he went out to gamble, even if a welcoming smile beckoned, he left alone and returned to his lover's bed. It had never before occurred to him to doubt her faithfulness.

Percival eased himself up and went into the kitchen. He opened the freezer, its hum becoming louder. He took the tin ice tray, which clung to his sweat and stung his hands. He thought of snow, something he had never seen. He twisted the tray angrily, loosened the clear, cold cubes into a glass, filled it with water, and drank it empty. He poured more water into the same glass. Behind him, the sound of her feet, the cool of her hands on his back, and he turned. He put the glass on the counter, his hands on the crest of her hips, then closed them around her back. “I used to believe that a man and a woman were destined to be unfaithful.”

She put her hands around his neck to draw him into a kiss. “You don't believe that anymore?”

“I don't know what to believe.”

“Believe in us,” she said. “That's all there is.” She drained the glass and looked at the kitchen clock. Every afternoon, Jacqueline listened to the Voice of America. She went to the radio in the living room now, turned it on. The crackling voice said that after a delay of several days, a thorny issue of the delegates' seating arrangements in Paris had been resolved. A suitable round table had been found to accommodate the mission heads of the American, South Vietnamese, North Vietnamese, French, Chinese, and Russian participants. Negotiations would resume. The first issue they would consider was a possible ceasefire, although presently the bombing of North Vietnam continued.

Percival asked, “Was it last year or the year before that there were rumours of secret peace negotiations between the Americans and the North Vietnamese?”

“Both. Some say there is hope this time,” said Jacqueline, though she looked more worried than optimistic.

The report went on for a while. There was no news, only speculation—the concessions that would be sought by each side, the leverage to be applied, the political leaders and their temperaments, words spoken again and again until they circled back upon themselves. Percival reached over and turned off the radio. The silence echoed.

“What are you doing?” Jacqueline asked.

“Do you listen to the news with him?”

“With who?”

“When I am in Cholon, does he come here?” Percival had intended to sound angry, and instead heard his own fear.

“Who are you talking about?”

“How well do you know Peters?”

“You were jealous this morning at the Cercle.” Her eyes softened. “You found Mr. Peters and me talking. You imagined something, but what you see is all there is. He is more your friend than mine.” Jacqueline reached out and took Percival's hand to pull him down to the couch with her, but he resisted.

“Then what did Laing Jai mean?”

“By what?”

“When he spoke of going to America.”

“Sit with me,” she said. “I want to hear this.” She reached over and turned the radio back on. She folded her legs up, rested them sideways. He looked at her soft breasts, and now wished that she was clothed. Percival went into the bedroom and slowly got dressed.

When he came back, the radio was still on. Jacqueline said with a nervous edge in her voice, “It's always the same words, the complications in the way of peace, though everyone claims they want it.”

Percival sat down. “The soil in this country is red from all the blood that is soaked into the earth. When each war ends, another soon begins. The Japanese, the French, now the Americans, someone else in the future, so what does it matter what they say in Paris? The land itself bleeds.”

“You are so sure that these negotiations will not bring a peace?”

“I have no opinion,” said Percival. “Why should I?” Now, being clothed while Jacqueline was naked made him feel awkward.

“This war makes you rich,” she said.

“English is my business. It is how I eat. It is how you eat.”

“You Chinese think only of your business deals, but each time the flag changes, fresh pits are dug for the defeated.”

“I am a headmaster. My students translate rather than fight. They save their blood. Some of them manage to go abroad. Do you see me in a uniform? ”

“No, you don't think of the graves. Only the gold.” She stood and went to the window. She pushed up a slat in the blinds, peered out into the afternoon. “Fine, if that's your only concern. But do you ever think of us? What will we do, Laing Jai and I, if the flag changes again?”

“You mean the three of us?”

“Is it three?” She turned to him, still standing at the window. “Have you ever wondered why my mother sent me to study in your school?” Percival said nothing.

“I studied English to leave Vietnam. My mother thought of it before it became such a popular thing. She knew that it was best for people like me to leave.”

“Some go abroad,” said Percival.

“Yes. As should we. If you think of us as three, let's leave,” said Jacqueline, taking Percival's hand. “That's what I was talking to Mr. Peters about—how to escape. You ignore the dangers and make money. So the money is part of what traps you. But the Viet Cong tried to kill you four years ago. On the other side, you have friends in Saigon only as long as you give them piastres. You Chinese pretend that you stand apart, but your hands are in everyone's pockets, and theirs in yours.”

“Let's talk when you are more calm.”

“How can I be calm? I need to get out, and Laing Jai too. These negotiations may only allow the Americans to leave, not end the war. You know that. What will happen to us then?”

“We Chinese bend like the grass, and the wind blows over.”

“Spare me your cliché sayings. I am not Chinese. And Laing Jai isn't, either. After the Americans are gone, we will be the garbage the Americans left behind.”

“You worry too much,” Percival said.

“In Hue, did they not kill the foreigners first?”

“This is not Hue.”

“At least the Northerners shot the foreigners. Their Vietnamese brothers and sisters, they buried alive. What will happen to Laing Jai and me? How will they decide whether to shoot us or bury us?”

“If there is peace, then—”

“If these fat men in Paris find a way for the Americans to abandon us, the Northerners will soon conquer Saigon. Then you will have been the whore of the Americans, and I will have been yours.”

Percival said softly, “What is it you want?”

“To leave Vietnam with my son. That's what I've been talking to Peters about.”

“No,” he shook his head. “That would …”

“With you, too. I have asked Peters to see about exit permits. He is reluctant, because he wants your graduates for translators, but I've told him that Mak could run the school.”

“You asked him for papers? To go to America?”

“I've asked if he can get three visas. He says he may be able to.”

He had not thought beyond the next week or month. So what could he say to Jacqueline now? Without knowing how he had arrived at it, Percival saw now that he had settled for living and loving only in the moment. When he ventured to consider the future, it felt like an empty, blank space.

“We will always be together,” Percival murmured. He stroked her hair. He thought of Peters and his rubber smile. “But you must not speak to him anymore,” he said.

“That jealousy.”

“Please,” said Percival. “If he helps you, he will want something in return. I've seen how he stares at you.”

She drew away from him and laughed. “Don't be like a fragile boy. He looks at every
métisse
woman that way. Fine, that's his particular taste. The Americans are not so good at hiding their appetites, which makes them easier to read. You Chinese are no more virtuous, just more circumspect. He will help us. You have sucked their dollars for so long, but you don't know them at all.”

“Sucking money is your habit, not mine,” said Percival.

Jacqueline pulled away from him and went towards the bedroom, stopped short, turned, “I will speak to anyone I want! Who else will speak for me and my son?” She disappeared into the room.

“There are other ways,” he called after her. He spoke into the closed door. “Mrs. Ling is getting into the departure business. She is selling
visas. If we need to, we can go to her. But why rush to leave when I'm making so much money? There is no peace accord yet, and I have waiting lists at the school. I could add more classes, and raise the tuition further.” He could hear her moving in the room, but no reply came. “Maybe I could send some money abroad, to Switzerland, or Singapore. Would that make you feel better? Until there is peace, nothing will change.” There was no answer. He went on, “If something changes, we will decide then. After all, with me gone, maybe Peters and Mak would split the school's profits. Why let Peters take my money and send us away?”

Jacqueline appeared and shot back at him, “Sending people away is
your
specialty.”

Percival felt as if a knife had entered him, had been plunged deep. He whispered, “What did you say? What are you talking about?”

“I'm sorry,” she stammered, the venom gone. “I didn't mean that.”

He had once confessed to Jacqueline his tortured doubts about sending Dai Jai away. Time had helped him accept what he had done. Now, what had brought this rebuke? Percival's words were fragile, his voice quiet. “I agree that we must think of Laing Jai's future. But I would be less than nothing as a yellow man in a white country.”

Now, gently, “How do you know that? Besides, it would be for your son. I will love you, rich or poor.”

Percival walked up to Jacqueline, circled her waist with his arms, put his hands on the small of her back and kissed her slender, arched neck. He was supposed to say that he was willing, that she was right and he would do it, but he remained silent. He ran his hands up her back. She stood very still.

Finally, he heard himself say, “Let's see what happens in Paris, first. I will do what is best for us. I love you.” She put her arms around Percival and kissed him. He filled his mouth with her, lest he say something that might frighten them both.

AS THE PARIS TALKS DRAGGED ON
with much spoken, little said, Percival and Jacqueline listened to the radio reports each afternoon. When the news was done, they went together to collect Laing Jai
from the American School. As they walked over, they tensely circled the topic of departure, Percival hoping it would fade along with the prospects of peace. When he saw them, Laing Jai broke away from his teacher, who kept all of her four-year-olds behind the gates for fear of kidnapping, until their parents or nannies arrived. About two weeks after he had enthused about snow, Laing Jai ran to Percival, saying “
Baba!
Let's go do something fun!”

“What?” asked Percival, lifting him into the air. “Anything. You choose, my beautiful son.”

“The zoo! Yes,
baba
, please!”

They began to walk the few blocks in the shade of tall acacias. Workers were whitewashing the lower part of the trunks with a paint that smelled of chalk and lime.

Laing Jai said, “They look like guards—in white boots! ”

“What do you mean?” said Percival.

“The trees.”

“Yes, you're right,” Percival agreed, and took his hand. Laing Jai had a flair for description. The zoo was a few blocks away. Percival and Jacqueline shared a silent relief to be all together, doing something.

“The zoo!” Laing Jai let go of Percival, turned and skipped a few steps to Jacqueline. “
Baba
is going to take us to the zoo!” He ran back to Percival. “Can I have cotton candy at the zoo?”

“Of course,” said Percival.

Near the entrance, a vendor with a metal drum spun sugar into floss, and Laing Jai delighted in the coloured treat. He asked to see the elephant. They ambled over, and watched the flapping giant give herself a bath from a water barrel. Then they went to find the peacocks, who were crazed by the sun and fanned their feathers in an agitated display. The birds pecked at one another irritably. Was it the weather, or were the birds in heat? Percival wondered.

There were many monks at the zoo that day, drifting and talking in their saffron robes. Was it a monastery outing? Something about them was purposeful. Some distance away, Percival thought he saw the one-eyed monk from Cholon, but then when Percival looked again, he was gone. It must be his imagination. Laing Jai pulled Percival's hand down
a path and called to his mother, “
Mama
, come, let's go see the tigers.”