there was no need to discuss its provenance or price. âIs there a problem?â
âOf course not. Yes, a thousand taels.â There was no point in negotiating. He had already been deprived of anything with which to bargain. âYes, I will pay.â
âThen get out of here.â With that, the man retreated into a corner of the hut. He was not that far away, but he was invisible. Percival hurried towards the open door, stumbled out of the hut and squinted into the light. He thrashed his way through the bamboo, swatted aside insects and vegetation that grasped at him. From the direction of the sea came a surprising cool gust. He opened the door of the Peugeot, sat down in its furnace heat, and placed the key in the ignition.
Safely in his car, Percival felt a surge of defiance. The manâs display was theatre, sheer dramatics. Dai Jai was fine. That thug had taken Percival for a fool, easy prey. Why would anyone harm the boy if he wished to obtain a ransom? Perhaps he should go back to bargain, to show he was not a sucker. The sum was more than twice the value of Chen Hap Sing. The shack was a short walk away, he could go back. Surely he could get the man down to seven hundred and fifty, or to fix a price in dollars. It would be easier to obtain the dollars. He should go back. The wind rustled the bamboo leaves. Percival did not get out of the car. Instead, he started the engine, put the Peugeot in gear, and allowed it to go forward. He told himself that Dai Jai was safe, that it was all about the price, nothing more.
CHAPTER 6
PERCIVAL GUIDED THE CAR OUT THROUGH the bamboo, past the graveyard, his fingers seized on the wheel. He turned onto the road, a rope of ochre dirt that wound through the forest. As if driving itself now, the car gathered speed, followed the path. Percival saw before him a line of dry blood, the skin of a shaved head split open, water falling drip by drip. He rolled the window down, greedy for fresh air.
He forced himself to focus on the trees, a comforting green curtain of leaves. As the car crested a hill, he caught sight of a dark shadow above in the canopy. The Peugeot glided past an old French army watchtower high on stilts. When they had driven to Cap St. Jacques for family holidays, Dai Jai had often asked to stop so he could climb one for the view. One of his school friends bragged of having done so and had dared Dai Jai to do the same. Percival had always refused to stop, telling Dai Jai that there wasnât enough time. He did not tell his son that it was often to the watchtowers that villagers had been taken for night-time abuses by the black-skinned soldiers whom the French marooned in these remote places. Screams travelled farther from a height. It would be bad luck to visit such a place. Following the withdrawal of the French army from Vietnam, the stations soon became obsolete. As the next war found its rhythm, the Americans fought differently, jumping from place to place like grasshoppers in their helicopters. Percival noticed his hands aching, willed them to loosen.
Around a bend, the road folded down once more out of wild jungle, into the marching rubber trees. In the very early years of the school, before the departure of the French, when Percival was scrabbling for a few students and a little money, they drove along this road in an old Deux Chevaux. The low hills had strained that car, so Percival drove with one eye on its temperature gauge. They stayed in a single-room beach cottage so small that, when lowered, the mosquito net covered not just the bed but the entire floor. In the evenings, once Dai Jai was asleep, Percival and Cecilia sat on the verandah, listened to the surf, allowed themselves to gradually disappear into dusk. They drank rice beer and, using a charcoal brazier, cooked skewers of fresh squid and prawns that Percival bought from the fishermenâs baskets for a night-time snack.
Ceciliaâs family fortune was gone soon after the
âOf course not. Yes, a thousand taels.â There was no point in negotiating. He had already been deprived of anything with which to bargain. âYes, I will pay.â
âThen get out of here.â With that, the man retreated into a corner of the hut. He was not that far away, but he was invisible. Percival hurried towards the open door, stumbled out of the hut and squinted into the light. He thrashed his way through the bamboo, swatted aside insects and vegetation that grasped at him. From the direction of the sea came a surprising cool gust. He opened the door of the Peugeot, sat down in its furnace heat, and placed the key in the ignition.
Safely in his car, Percival felt a surge of defiance. The manâs display was theatre, sheer dramatics. Dai Jai was fine. That thug had taken Percival for a fool, easy prey. Why would anyone harm the boy if he wished to obtain a ransom? Perhaps he should go back to bargain, to show he was not a sucker. The sum was more than twice the value of Chen Hap Sing. The shack was a short walk away, he could go back. Surely he could get the man down to seven hundred and fifty, or to fix a price in dollars. It would be easier to obtain the dollars. He should go back. The wind rustled the bamboo leaves. Percival did not get out of the car. Instead, he started the engine, put the Peugeot in gear, and allowed it to go forward. He told himself that Dai Jai was safe, that it was all about the price, nothing more.
CHAPTER 6
PERCIVAL GUIDED THE CAR OUT THROUGH the bamboo, past the graveyard, his fingers seized on the wheel. He turned onto the road, a rope of ochre dirt that wound through the forest. As if driving itself now, the car gathered speed, followed the path. Percival saw before him a line of dry blood, the skin of a shaved head split open, water falling drip by drip. He rolled the window down, greedy for fresh air.
He forced himself to focus on the trees, a comforting green curtain of leaves. As the car crested a hill, he caught sight of a dark shadow above in the canopy. The Peugeot glided past an old French army watchtower high on stilts. When they had driven to Cap St. Jacques for family holidays, Dai Jai had often asked to stop so he could climb one for the view. One of his school friends bragged of having done so and had dared Dai Jai to do the same. Percival had always refused to stop, telling Dai Jai that there wasnât enough time. He did not tell his son that it was often to the watchtowers that villagers had been taken for night-time abuses by the black-skinned soldiers whom the French marooned in these remote places. Screams travelled farther from a height. It would be bad luck to visit such a place. Following the withdrawal of the French army from Vietnam, the stations soon became obsolete. As the next war found its rhythm, the Americans fought differently, jumping from place to place like grasshoppers in their helicopters. Percival noticed his hands aching, willed them to loosen.
Around a bend, the road folded down once more out of wild jungle, into the marching rubber trees. In the very early years of the school, before the departure of the French, when Percival was scrabbling for a few students and a little money, they drove along this road in an old Deux Chevaux. The low hills had strained that car, so Percival drove with one eye on its temperature gauge. They stayed in a single-room beach cottage so small that, when lowered, the mosquito net covered not just the bed but the entire floor. In the evenings, once Dai Jai was asleep, Percival and Cecilia sat on the verandah, listened to the surf, allowed themselves to gradually disappear into dusk. They drank rice beer and, using a charcoal brazier, cooked skewers of fresh squid and prawns that Percival bought from the fishermenâs baskets for a night-time snack.
Ceciliaâs family fortune was gone soon after the
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