Colonel Mang said to me, “Many American soldiers have returned.”
“I know.”
We both sat quietly as Colonel Mang enjoyed his cigarette. I wasn’t particularly uneasy, and so far this seemed like just a random stop and question, a case of profiling, but I really didn’t like being on the answering side of an interrogation desk.
Colonel Mang asked me, “And what is this interest in coming back to Vietnam?”
I replied, “I’m sure each man has his own reason.”
“Yes? And what is your reason?”
Well, I was working undercover for the United States government to investigate a strange murder case. But Colonel Mang didn’t need to know that. In fact, this question had Zen overtones to it, so I replied, “I think after my visit here, I’ll know the answer to that question.”
He nodded appreciatively, as though this was the only possible answer.
Colonel Mang now got down to specific questions that needed non-Zen answers. He asked me, “Are you staying in Ho Chi Minh City?”
I replied, “I’m staying in Saigon.”
This honked him off, and he informed me, “There is no Saigon.”
“I saw it from the air.” Why do I piss people off? What is wrong with me?
Colonel Mang fixed me with a cold stare and said, “Ho Chi Minh City.”
I recalled Mr. Conway’s and the Frenchman’s advice to be firm but polite. How can you be both? But I backed off and said, “Right. Ho Chi Minh City.”
“Correct. And how long are you staying there?”
“Three days.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Rex.”
“Yes? The American Generals’ Hotel.”
“I always wanted to see where the generals stayed.”
Mang gave me a little sneer and said, “They lived in luxury while their soldiers lived and died in the jungles and rice paddies.”
I didn’t reply.
He continued his political education lesson and said, “Our generals lived with us and shared the hardships. My general had no more rice than I did. He lived in a simple peasant’s hut. Your generals at An Khe base camp had air-conditioned house trailers from America. I saw these with my own eyes when we liberated the south. Did you not see these at An Khe?”
“I did.”
“And there was a golf course for the officers.”
“Only nine holes,” I reminded him. “And your snipers and mortar guys made it a tough course.”
He actually laughed, then got himself under control and said, “And I am sure you cooked better food for the officers.”
“No, everyone got the same food.”
“I do not believe that.”
“Well, it’s true. Ask the next veteran you speak to.”
Colonel Mang didn’t want any of his prejudices upset, so he changed the subject and asked me, “What rank did you retire with?”
“Warrant officer.”
“Yes? So, how much did they pay you?”
Recalling that Mr. Conway said the average Vietnamese made three or four hundred dollars a year, I was a little embarrassed to reply, “About forty-five hundred dollars.”
“A month. Correct?”
“Right. You already know this, so why are you asking? And what is the purpose of these questions?”
Colonel Mang did not like my retort, but like most Vietnamese, he kept his cool.
He hit an intercom button and said something in Vietnamese. A few seconds later, the door opened and Pushy came in.
Colonel Mang and Pushy exchanged a few words, and Pushy handed Mang the stupid snow globe, that being the only thing in my overnight bag that had obviously confused him.
Mang examined the snow globe, and Pushy said something, so Mang shook it and watched it snow on the Vietnam Memorial. He looked up and asked me, “What is this?”
“It’s the Vietnam War Memorial. A souvenir.”
“Why do you have this with you?”
“It was a gift at the airport.”
“Yes?” He stared at the globe and shook it again. I would have laughed, but Mang might think I was laughing at him.
Mang said, “Yes, I recognize this. The names of your dead are carved on this wall. Fifty-eight thousand. Correct?”
“That’s right.”
He informed me, “We have one million dead.”
I replied, “The north and the south each had one million dead. That’s two million.”
He said, “I do not count the enemy.”
“Why not? They were also Vietnamese.”
“They were American puppets.” Colonel Mang put the globe on his desk and said to me, “Please empty all your pockets on my desk. Everything.”
I had no choice but to comply, so I put my wallet on his desk, along with the envelopes in my jacket pocket, and also my pen, comb, handkerchief, and Tic Tacs. I held on to the addresses the Frenchman had given me.
Colonel Mang first went through my wallet, which held some American currency, credit cards, retired military ID card, with rank but no occupation, medical card, and my Virginia driver’s license.
Next, he went through the things from my jacket, giving the pen, comb, handkerchief, and Tic Tacs a cursory inspection. Then he opened the envelopes with American money, Vietnamese money, and traveler’s checks. Next he opened the envelope that held my airline tickets, then the envelope with my hotel vouchers. He studied everything and made notes on a piece of paper. As he was writing, he said something in Vietnamese, and Pushy replied. They both seemed interested in the amount of money I had, which represented a few years’ salary for both of them. Obviously, there is no justice in the world when the defeated enemy could return to the scene of his defeat loaded down with cash.
Anyway, Pushy said something sharply to me in Vietnamese, then repeated it, which made him laugh. The Vietnamese are worse than Americans in regard to their impatience with people who don’t speak their language. I tried to remember a Vietnamese word or two, like “Fuck you,” but I was tired, and it wasn’t coming back to me.
Finally, Pushy left the room and forgot to take the snow globe with him. Mang continued working on his notes, then looked up at me and said, “You have reservations at the Century Riverside Hotel in Hue, and the Metropole in Hanoi.”
I didn’t reply, and this seemed to tick him off.
He lit another cigarette and said, “Please take your things off my desk,” as though I had annoyed him by depositing everything there.
I gathered my wallet and envelopes, odds and ends, and put them in my pockets. I noticed that Mang held on to my passport and visa. I said, “If that’s all, Colonel, I’d like to get to my hotel.”
“I will tell you when and if we are finished, Mr. Brenner.”
That was the first time he’d used my name, and he wasn’t being polite; he was telling me he knew my name, my addresses in Vietnam, my departure date, and the contents of my wallet, and so forth.
He said to me, “You have some days between your hotel reservation in Ho Chi Minh City and Hue.”
“That’s right.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Certainly you will go to An Khe.”
I might have, but not now. I said, “If it’s possible.”
“It is not a problem. However, part of your old base camp is a restricted area, used now by the People’s Army.”
“Including the air-conditioned house trailers?”
He didn’t respond to that, but said, “The town of An Khe is not restricted. However, the brothels and massage parlors are all closed as are the bars and opium dens.”
“Well, that’s good news.”