Nobody answered, not even the abbot whose French was by far the best at our temple. He slunk back into the prayer hall, took up a broom and started sweeping.

“My word,” she said. “They sent me here because your temple has such a fine reputation. Yet I cannot find one person who understands me.”

I don’t know what possessed my skinny legs to walk me forward, nor how I dared look her in the eye.

“We all speak French, Madam,” I said, “but we are embarrassed to attempt it in front of you.”

She walked toward me, her heels sinking into the dirt with each step.

“And why would you be embarrassed?” she asked.

“Because we are not perfect,” I said.

Despite the tightness of her dress, she crouched and wiggled her index finger in my direction.

“Come here, Little Prince,” she said.

I shuffled forward close enough to see the wrinkles under her makeup.

“Only in nature can we find perfection,” she said. “Man must settle for ‘good enough.’ And you are good enough for me. I choose you.”

And, just like that, I became her project. She made donations to the temple for extra tuition. She produced excellent counterfeit documents proving my links to the Lao royal family that gained me entry into the lycée in Saigon where she paid my fees. She attended my graduation and presented me with a second-class ticket on the Victor Hugo to France. In my pack, I had a letter of introduction from the governor general in Saigon to the director of Ancienne University and enough funds to cover my first-year expenses in Paris. Madam Loulou guaranteed me funds for every year that I achieved excellent grades until the day I became a doctor.

What she didn’t guarantee was that she would stay alive long enough to honor that promise. Even as I was journeying across the Atlantic my sponsor succumbed to consumption and was dead by the time I docked in Marseilles. It wasn’t until several years later that I learned of the background of my dear Madam Loulou. For many years, my sponsor had been the proprietor of one of the most popular whore houses in Saigon. She had amassed a small fortune mainly from the patronage of French army officers, one of whom was the aforementioned governor general. She had arrived in Vietnam early in the French campaign and in a city with more brothels than drain holes, she quickly made a name for herself. This was achieved, not from the beauty of her girls but from their unique skills. Madam Loulou had trained each one in the ancient art of fellatio. You might say she’d become a celebrity by word of mouth.