“Got it.”
“I needed to prove something to myself, not to Sam. Now I think I’m the person I want to be, and I’m ready to find the right person to be with.”
“Good.”
“Tell me what you think. Be honest.”
“Okay. I think you got it right last night when you were drunk. I also think that you came to Vietnam with the intention of staying only as long as it took for you to make Sam interested in you again. If he’d come here to get you, you’d have gone back with him long before you proved anything to yourself. But it was important for you that he come and see that you could make it on your own. So, bottom line, this was all for a guy. But I think you’re beyond that now.”
She didn’t say anything, and I wondered if she was annoyed, embarrassed, or stunned by my blinding insights. Finally, she said, “That’s about it. You’re a pretty sharp guy.”
“I do this for a living. Not advice to the lovelorn, but I analyze bullshit all day. I don’t have a lot of patience for bullshit, or self-justification. Everybody knows what they did and why they did it. You either keep it to yourself, or you tell it like it is.”
She nodded. “I knew I could trust you to tell me what you thought.”
“The question remains, What are you going to do next? If you stay here, stay for the right reasons. Same if you go home. My concern for you, Ms. Weber, is the same concern I had for the guys I knew who couldn’t leave here.”
“How about guys who stay in the army all their lives?”
“You mean me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Point made. So maybe I know what I’m talking about.”
“Why did you come back?”
“They said it was important. They said they needed me. And I was bored.”
“What’s so important?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what — when I’m out of here, we’ll meet someday for a drink in New York, Washington, or Massachusetts, and I’ll tell you what I discovered.”
She replied, “Make it Washington. You owe me a tour of the city. But first, make sure you get out of here.”
“Did it twice already.”
“Good. Ready to go?”
“First, tell me how you knew I was working for the army.”
“Oh… I guess someone told me. I guess it was Bill.”
“He had no need to know that.”
“Then I guess it was someone in the consulate. What difference does it make?”
I didn’t reply.
She looked at me and said, “Actually, I wasn’t asked by Bill to do a favor for the consulate. They asked me directly. The CIA guy there. He gave me a very sketchy briefing. Mostly your bio. Nothing about the mission. I don’t know anything about that. Only a few details about you.” She added, “The CIA guy said you were army Criminal Investigation Division, and this was about a criminal matter, not a spy thing.”
“Who’s the CIA guy?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” She smiled and said, “He gave me your photo, and I took the job right there on the spot.”
I asked her, “When did this take place?”
“Oh… about four days before you got here.”
The first time they sent me here, they at least gave me sixty days’ notice, a thirty-day leave, and recommended I make out a will.
I stood. “Is breakfast included?”
“If they don’t include soap, why would they include breakfast?”
“Good observation.” I called over the waiter and paid for breakfast, which came to two bucks.
We walked out to the beach road where about two dozen cyclo drivers were parked. They descended on us, and Susan picked two drivers, one of whom had an arm missing. We got in the cyclos, and Susan said, “Cho Dam.”
Her guy had the missing arm, and I said to Susan, “Ask him if he’s a veteran.”
She asked him, and he seemed first surprised at her Vietnamese, then surprised that anyone cared if he was a veteran. She said to me, “He says he is.”
As we rode up the beach road, Susan conversed with her driver, and I knew she was telling him that I was a veteran.
As our cyclos came side by side, she said, “He was a soldier here in Nha Trang, and he was captured when the Communists took the city. His entire regiment was imprisoned in the soccer stadium here, without food or water for many days. He had a wound on his arm that turned gangrenous.” She paused. “His comrades removed his arm without anesthesia.”
I looked at the driver, and our eyes met.
Susan continued, “He was so sick that he wasn’t sent to a re-education camp, so he was able to stay in Nha Trang with his family, and he recovered.”
I guess that’s the Viet equivalent of a story with a happy ending. Maybe I should stop taking cyclos, or at least stop asking these wraiths about their war service. I said to Susan, “Tell him I was proud to serve alongside the Army of South Vietnam.”
Susan relayed this to the guy, and he took his one hand off the handle bar and snapped a quick salute.
My driver was listening to all this, and he began talking to Susan.
Susan listened and translated, “He says he was a sailor at Cam Ranh Bay and had the chance to escape by boat as the Communists approached, but he left his ship to make his way back to his village outside Nha Trang. He was captured along the way by North Vietnamese troops and spent four years in a re-education camp.”
I said to Susan, “Tell him… America still remembers its South Vietnamese allies,” which was total bullshit, but sounded good.
So, we rode along the nice beach road under an azure sky, the smell of the sea in my nostrils, and the human wreckage of a lost cause propelling us on.
The street we were on dead-ended at a gated marketplace. We dismounted, and I gave each of the drivers a fiver, which made them very happy. At this rate, I’d be broke by next week, but I’m a sucker for a sad story. Also, I think, I was feeling some survivor’s guilt, which I’d never felt before.
We wandered through the market, and I got a chunk of mystery soap wrapped in tissue paper, and a bottle of American shampoo, whose brand, I think, they stopped making in ’68. Susan bought me a pair of Ho Chi Minh sandals, made out of tire treads, and I bought Susan a T-shirt that said Nha Trang is the lovely beach — Tell the dears at home.
Who writes this stuff?
Susan also picked up two silk blouses. She said, “This is cheaper than in Saigon. The silkworm farms and factories are in this area. I should come here to shop.”
“For the factories?”
She laughed.
We wandered around the outdoor stalls for about an hour, and Susan picked up a scented candle, a bottle of rice wine, and a cheap vinyl tote to carry the junk. Women love to shop.
We went to the flower section, and Susan bought branches of Tet blossoms tied with twine. She said, “For your room. Chuc Mung Nam Moi.”
We took cyclos back to the hotel, checked for messages, but there were none, then went to my room.
Susan tied the Tet blossoms to the mosquito net frame of my bed. She said, “This will bring you good luck and keep the evil spirits away.”
“I like evil spirits.”
She smiled, and we stood there a few seconds, looking at each other.
She asked me, “Do you want to go to the beach?”
“Sure.”
She took my soap and shampoo out of her tote and gave them to me. “I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready.” She hesitated, then left.
I got into my bathing suit, pulled on a gym shirt, and slipped into my brand-new Ho Chi Minh sandals.
I put my wallet, passport, visa, vouchers, and airline tickets in a plastic bag, wondering if the desk clerk would hold this stuff, or go to America with it.