“But who’s going to drink two boxes of whiskey?”
“Who said anything about drinking it? The idea is making contacts for the rec center. In Da Nang, this is how every transaction begins. Today it gets us on a chopper, but that’s a special case. A soldier of his rank isn’t allowed whiskey. Americans below the rank of corporal are only allowed to drink beer. If that bastard returns to his unit today, there’ll be an uproar. Let’s take a nap. We won’t be able to get off until the supply convoy’s mission has been completed.”
The sergeant stretched out his legs and leaned against a box. The helicopter engine started and they took off. A cool wind filled the cabin.
“Is it big, Da Nang?”
“Huh!” The sergeant responded indifferently without opening his eyes. “It’s like an island. Completely encircled by the enemy. Guerilla attacks every night. But your transfer to Da Nang will be good for you. Lucrative.”
“Lucrative?”
“C’mon, you’re here to make money, aren’t you?” the sergeant insisted. “You’re going to find yourself in the heart of the black market. Even when you’re just walking down the street, your pockets are going to fill up with dollars.”
Beneath the helicopter, the dark jungles of hell were slowly gliding by.
Footnotes:
2 Criminal Investigation Division
3 Military Police
2
Chan Te Shoan left through the main gate of the Lycée de Pascal at 65 Doc Lap Boulevard. She hung her head low, hiding her face behind her long hair. Lei had told her that morning before class that Pham Minh had dropped out of school and had come home the night before. Lei was a year behind Shoan, and Pham Minh, who had been studying medicine in Hue, was Lei’s older brother.
She didn’t know why Minh had quit school, but for some reason the news made Shoan uneasy. He was still too young to be drafted and anyway, medical students were almost always guaranteed deferments. But ever since Minh had left Da Nang for his uncle’s in Hue, the growing distance between them had been making Shoan anxious. Every few months Minh came for a short visit and each time confirmed Shoan’s fear that he was turning into someone else.
More than half of the seniors at her school had disappeared. Most of those who had married were now young widows. And it was not just the women of Shoan’s generation who were affected. There were many women from her neighborhood who, having lost their husbands, had gone to Saigon and become prostitutes. There were housewives selling their bodies to soldiers from the nearby posts while awaiting their husbands’ homecoming.
Walking toward the embankment of the Da Nang pier where Minh was waiting for her, Shoan felt a sudden urge to turn around and go home. In the distance she could see the white marble wisteria-covered walls of the ivory building that used to be the French customs house. Ahead, the row of open-air cafes. She walked beside the old iron railings just above the waterfront.
Even from afar she recognized Minh’s distinctive posture. He wore a white shirt and was sitting with his head drooped. One arm hung over the back of the chair and he had both legs propped up on the seat of another chair beside him. Hanging from his fingertips, nearly scraping the ground, was a burning cigarette from which curled a bluish smoke. Shoan passed through the chairs and as she came up behind him, Minh slowly turned his head.
“Hey, Shoan,” he murmured, squinting, as if dazed by her appearance.
Shoan was about to pull over a chair to sit down facing him, but Minh pushed forward the chair beside him.
“Sit next to me. You always smell so good; I knew you were here before I saw you.”
Shoan obediently took the chair he had been using as a foot prop. The breeze played with their hair. Naked children lined up on the embankment below and jumped into the sea one by one. The children’s innocent squeals of laughter and the constant splashing almost made the two forget the sound of gunfire that resonated through the neighborhood from time to time. Friends met up on bicycles. Minh and Shoan sat in silence in the occupied peace of an occupied city. Shoan watched the naked children, her eyes half-closed.
“When did you get back?”
She already knew but asked him anyway. It was her way to reproach him for not coming directly to see her upon his return the day before. Minh understood her intent and quickly replied.
“Yesterday, but I haven’t even been home. There were some people I needed to see. I called Lei to come downtown and we had dinner together. She’s grown. And she was very critical of our older brother.”
Minh often let himself vocalize his wandering stream of thoughts. Normally Shoan would have been eager to listen, but now she could not control her impatience.
“What about school?”
Minh froze, his arm half-raised, and gazed at her. Slowly he lowered his arm and answered with deliberate curtness, “Ah, I quit.”
With a questioning look on her face, Shoan stared at him.
“What book is that?” asked Minh, picking up a thin volume in French on top of the textbooks she had neatly placed on her lap. He read the title aloud.
“Louis Aragon. Les Beaux Quartiers . . A few miles away children are being mutilated by bombings, and the ghosts of this colony are teaching trash like this. I don’t have time to study an atlas of anatomy when the swamps and the rice fields are strewn with the bodies of my countrymen.”
Shoan took back the French text and laid it on her lap.
“The living can’t stand it, either,” she said quietly, but Minh turned and beckoned to a waiter.
“Garçon, what is there to drink?”
“We have Coke and lemonade, sir.”
“That’s it?”
The waiter looked blankly at Minh. “You haven’t had lunch yet, have you?” Minh asked Shoan.
“I’ll eat when I get home.”
“No classes in the afternoon?”
“Yes. Two hours after the siesta.”
“Then there’s no point in going home,” Minh said, looking up once more at the waiter. “Bring us two orders of bánh mì.”
The waiter wiped the sweat from his neck with a napkin and said, “We don’t have any. We do have crêpes made from C-rations, though.”
“What about noodles with nuoc mam?”
As a response, the waiter pointed across the street. The sun beat down and people, exhausted by the heat, were beginning their naps, sleeping in the shade with newspapers on their faces. A couple of rickshaw drivers sat by the curb, eating noodles from a street vendor. Minh was about to get up, but after a quick glance at Shoan he settled down again.
“Fine. Bring us something to eat and drink. Doesn’t matter what.”
“You seem nervous,” Shoan said.
“That customs house, this sidewalk cafe, people like us hanging around here, that idiot of a waiter. . it’s like it’s been this way forever.”
Minh gazed out at the ocean. Or he was averting his eyes to avoid Shoan’s.
“Shoan, I’ve. . I’ve made up my mind. At a time like this, I can’t do anything. Even if I’m still young.”
Inside Shoan there arose a strong urge to grab him by the neck and give him a violent shake. But she remained still. Disinclined for the moment to expand on what he had said, Minh remained silent as well. The waiter brought their drinks. Minh took a deep breath and exhaled.
“This is the first time in ages I’ve felt this light and refreshed.”
After a few sips, Shoan asked tentatively, “Where do you plan to go? Hue?”
“No. I. . don’t know where I’ll go yet.” Then, unable to contain himself any longer, Minh leaned in and whispered to her, “But I won’t be gone long. A friend from the jungle is supposed to meet me here.”