Seated at my desk, I am studying documents concerning one of the half-sisters of Catherine’s mother. A soft rattling sound pulls me away from my research, and I walk towards the window. Of course… it has begun to rain. Drop by drop, the rain makes the metal sing softly at first, then furiously. I am not hungry ; I shall settle into my armchair instead. The warmth of the hearth draws me into a state I know all too well, and I fall asleep.
On this 15th of May 1948, the heat is already firmly settled when I leave my room. May in Saigon is never timid : the sun imposes itself from dawn onwards, and the air, filled with unfamiliar perfumes, carries that heavy humidity which makes the foliage glisten and weighs down every step. And yet, the city seems animated by a gentle excitement.
I have been invited to the wedding of André Luya and Georgette Le Petit.
The ceremony is to take place simply at the Saigon Town Hall. Both have already travelled through the winding paths of life and have chosen the discretion of a civil marriage, far from unnecessary splendour. Yet simplicity does not prevent emotion.
The civil registry hall is cool and shaded. Ceiling fans lazily stir the air while the municipal officer, in a calm voice, reads aloud the articles of the Civil Code. André, elegant in his light-coloured suit, appears composed, though his eyes betray a certain emotion. Georgette, meanwhile, wears a light dress perfectly suited to the tropical heat. She possesses that quiet grace of women who have already lived, and who know how to recognise the value of simple moments.
A few signatures, a few smiles, exchanged congratulations… and already the small gathering disperses across the sunlit steps of the town hall.
But the true celebration awaits us elsewhere.
André invites us to follow him to La Cascade, his establishment situated in Thủ Đức, away from the city. The automobiles leave the broad boulevards of Saigon and follow the road crossing the countryside of Gia Định.
Little by little, the city disappears behind us. The rice fields shimmer beneath the light, the palm trees trace their supple silhouettes against the heat-whitened sky, and villages follow one another along the red laterite road.
After a journey that feels short because the countryside is so beautiful, we finally arrive at La Cascade.
The place truly deserves its name. Nestled within lush greenery, the establishment stretches around a colonial pavilion surrounded by wide verandas. Immense trees cast refreshing shade, and one can hear the murmur of water from a spring feeding a clear basin. It is a delightful place, where the people of Saigon and travellers alike come seeking rest far from the bustle of the city.
The tables are laid beneath the veranda. The meal happily blends the flavours of France with those of the country itself : fragrant fish dishes, poultry, tropical fruits whose colours burst beneath the light.
Conversations flow easily. People speak of business, journeys, and memories of France. Despite the uncertain times through which Indochina is passing, everyone seems eager to forget the worries of the world for a few hours.
I move gently closer to Georgette. She knows who I am and smiles at me. I mention the photograph she took in 1937 of her father with his second wife and children — her brothers and sisters. Her smile tightens slightly ; this second marriage was not particularly well received within the family, but let us move on. We are here to speak about her own marriage.
“Georgette, tell me about this day.”
“I could not have dreamed of anything better. Everything is magnificent. André and his friends organised a splendid celebration for us in this wonderful country that we shall soon be forced to leave.”
“Yes, the political situation is becoming extremely troubled, but let us not darken such a beautiful day. Tell me about yourself, Georgette.”
“I was born in Calais in 1907. I was barely nineteen when I married Pierre Hurez. We had a daughter, Jacqueline, my only child. We moved to Saigon. Our marriage was failing, and in 1946 we divorced. It was while frequenting La Cascade that I met André — a truly wonderful man.”
“This marriage brings you both comfort and happiness.”
“Indeed. André owns a rubber plantation at Loc-Giang in Cochinchina, and he is also the owner of La Cascade. For the moment we are wealthy… but shall we not lose everything when the government expels us?”
“I am sorry. Come, let us speak instead of this ceremony and these magnificent landscapes.”
“Until my final day, I shall remember this day ; the celebrations, the weddings, the gatherings held in this establishment in a place whose name is impossible to pronounce : in Thủ Đức, in the province of Gia Định. I shall hear the songs of the waterfall, I shall remember every face, and I hope with all my heart to remain in contact with these wonderful people.”
With a broad gesture, she pointed… but towards what? The guests? The crowded tables? The place itself? Suddenly, I understood it was none of those things : it was an entire life spent in this country that she had just embraced.
When the sun finally begins to sink, the air grows softer. Lanterns are lit among the trees and inside the great dancing hall. An orchestra begins the first notes of a jazz melody, and soon couples rise to dance.
I lift my eyes towards the sky. Storm clouds gather in the distance, as they so often do in May. Shortly afterwards, a warm rain falls softly upon the broad leaves of the tropical trees. No one complains. On the contrary, it brings a welcome freshness and makes the lanterns shimmer in the night.
The music continues, laughter bursts forth, and André and Georgette, surrounded by their friends, savour this suspended evening.
I am cold. The fire has gone out. Quickly — a log, wood shavings, paper, and a match. I hurry back to my desk ; I have beautiful things to write.
Georgette, Henriette, Victorine Le Petit (1907–1968)
Louis André Luya (1907–1969)
A rebrousse temps généalogie 