From now on they will no longer know what becomes of her.
Whether she's taken away from them, carried off, wounded, spoiled, they will no longer know.
Neither her mother nor her brothers.
That is their fate henceforth.
It's already enough to make you weep, here in the black limousine.
Now the child will have to reckon only with this man, the first, the one who introduced himself on the ferry.
···
It happened very quickly that day, a Thursday.
He'd come every day to pick her up at the high school and drive her back to the boarding school.
Then one Thursday afternoon, the weekly half-holiday, he came to the boarding school and drove off with her in the black car.
It's in Cholon.
Opposite the boulevards linking the Chinese part of the city to the center of Saigon, the great American-style streets full of streetcars, rickshaws, and buses.
It's early in the afternoon.
She's got out of the compulsory outing with the other girls.
It's a native housing estate to the south of the city.
His place is modern, hastily furnished from the look of it, with furniture supposed to be ultra-modern.
He says, I didn't choose the furniture.
It's dark in the studio, but she doesn't ask him to open the shutters.
She doesn't feel anything in particular, no hate, no repugnance either, so probably it's already desire.
But she doesn't know it.
She agreed to come as soon as he asked her the previous evening.
She's where she has to be, placed here.
She feels a tinge of fear.
It's as if this must be not only what she expects, but also what had to happen especially to her.
She pays close attention to externals, to the light,to the noise of the city in which the room is immersed.
He's trembling.
At first he looks at her as though he expects her to speak, but she doesn't.
So he doesn't do anything either, doesn't undress her, says he loves her madly,says it very softly.
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