The lounge had no bar, so I sat at a cocktail table facing the door. I was supposed to be at the Immigration police station now, but I’d decided that they could wait. Actually, they could go fuck themselves.
A waitress came by, and I ordered a San Miguel, then made it two. The waitress asked, “Person join you?”
“Yes.”
She put down two napkins and a bowl of peanuts.
I looked at my watch and looked at the door. Susan wasn’t the kind of woman you had to worry about to accomplish a simple task like taking a taxi from the airport. It was the gun thing that had me totally bummed out. All it would take was a random ID check at the airport, a minor auto accident, or a routine police stop on the road, and we’d be talking about a shoot-out or an arrest for a capital offense. Despite my job, I’m not crazy about guns, but I could see why so many Americans were enthusiastic about their rights to bear arms.
This made me wonder what happened to the millions of M-16s we’d given the South Vietnamese army. I hadn’t seen one American M-16 carried by a cop or a military man since I’d been here; they all had their Russian AK-47s, which they loved during the war.
Maybe, I thought, there were millions of M-16s hidden by the former ARVN, buried in plastic out in the vegetable patch or something. But probably not. This was a country of unarmed civilians and armed cops and soldiers. The defeat was complete, and the chances of an insurgency starting was nil. I recalled the photographs in the Museum of American War Crimes, the mass executions of insurgent tribespeople and former ARVN. Hanoi didn’t mess around.
Where was Susan?
The beers came and the waitress put them on the table with two glasses. I signed a chit and gave her a buck.
I drank some beer and ate some peanuts, staring at the door and glancing at my watch.
I could hear the three guys at a table nearby, and I listened, to take my mind off worrying about Susan.
I could only catch pieces of the conversation, but I heard some military talk and acronyms, so I’d gotten that right. One guy said something about a dustoff, meaning a medical evacuation by helicopter, and another guy said, “incoming,” meaning unfriendly rocket, artillery, or mortar fire. The third guy said something about the “pucker factor going up,” which meant everyone’s sphincter was tightening with fear. They all laughed.
Definitely combat vets. I glanced at them, and I could see they were having a good time, old vets like myself, back to kick the beast in the balls.
I wondered if they felt as strange and disconnected as I’d felt on the roof of the Rex, and was starting to feel here in the nice cocktail lounge of the luxury hotel built on the bank of the Perfume River where the marines had been dug in, exchanging fire across the river with the enemy, who held the opposite bank. I think if you keep the patter and chatter going, you block out the sounds of the machine guns and rockets. But if you sat silently, as I was doing now, you could still hear the distant thunder as it receded in time.
Susan should have arrived by now, and I needed to check with the desk clerk. I stood and started toward the door.
Just as I reached the door, she appeared suddenly, and I almost bumped into her. I said, by way of greeting, “Where the hell have you been?”
“It’s good to see you, too.”
“I was worried about you.”
“Sorry. I had to freshen up.”
In fact, she was wearing one of the silk blouses she’d bought in Nha Trang, black pants, and sandals. She’d obviously showered and put on makeup.
“I rushed down here to meet you, and you’re up in your room taking a bubble bath or something.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I turned and walked to the cocktail table. I sat and drank my beer.
Susan sat opposite me and said, “Is this my beer?”
“Obviously.”
She poured herself some beer, took a few peanuts, and threw one at me. Hit me in the forehead.
She sat back, sipped her beer, and lit up.
She wasn’t saying anything, and she wouldn’t until I calmed down. I know women.
I said, “I could have gotten a massage if I’d known you were going to take your sweet time.”
She threw another peanut at me.
“We were supposed to meet here, right after—forget it. Where’s the heat?”
“Safe.”
“Safe where?”
“Under my bed.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No. And I’m not stupid either. I went out to the flower garden and buried it in a plastic bag.”
I calmed down a bit and asked, sarcastically, “Do you remember where you buried it?”
“Orange birds-of-paradise. I buried it while I sniffed the flowers.”
“Okay. And no one saw you?”
“I hope not.”
“And you wiped the prints clean?”
“Only mine. I left yours on the gun.”
I ordered another beer. I saw the three Americans glancing at Susan—leering, actually, and making comments. Men are pigs.
She asked me, “Any messages?”
“Yes. From K. He wants me to dump you.”
“Well, what difference does it make now?”
“None. Subject closed. Did you get a message?”
“No one knows what hotel I’m at.”
“I’ll bet they could figure it out real quick.”
She smiled. “Uh . . . duh . . . ? Hey, did you know this is the Year of the Ox?”
“I thought it was the Year of the Toronto Blue Jays.”
“I mean the astrological year. Stop jerking me around.”
“Sorry. Year of the Ox.”
“Right. It’s forecast to be a propitious year.”
“What does that mean?”
“Lucky. Good fortune.”
“You mean for everybody?”
“I don’t know. Sorry I mentioned it. You’re a pain in the ass.”
She got sulky, which gave me a minute to reflect on a few things. Married to another American. Karl was teamed up with the FBI for this case, so he must mean that Susan was with the CIA or State Department Intelligence. SDI people fainted at the sight of a gun, so that kind of narrowed it down to CIA. Of course, there could be another player out there, like Military Intelligence. In any case, this wasn’t quite like sleeping with the enemy, but more like sleeping with a business competitor. Either that, or Karl was messing with my head, and that wouldn’t be the first time. Karl could also be wrong, and that, too, wouldn’t be the first time.
Susan interrupted my thoughts and said, “I’ve made a reservation here for an early dinner. They have this huge Tet meal laid on. Then we’ll walk around the Old City and see the celebration—dragon dances, puppet shows, music, and all that. Then we’ll go to the cathedral for midnight mass.”
She had to be CIA—who else would be so arrogant as to plan my evening for me?
She said, “Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah . . . Look, let’s have the early dinner and turn in—”
“Paul, it’s New Year’s Eve.”
“No, it’s not. That was a month ago.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve here.”
“I don’t believe it. You only lose or gain a day when you cross the International Dateline. Not a month.”
“I think we should go to your room, and you shower, since you obviously have not, then we’ll get very comfortable in bed, then dress for dinner.”
I couldn’t find anything wrong with that, so I stood and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Can I finish my beer?”
“I have a mini-bar in the room. Let’s go.”
“Are you hot?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
She stood, we walked out to the lobby, took the elevator up to the fifth floor, and I led her to my suite.
She said, “Oh, this is very nice. They gave me a small room on the first floor overlooking the street.” She added, “Room 106.”
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She walked to the glass doors and went out to the long terrace. I followed.
The Perfume River was spanned by two bridges that connected the Old and New City, and alongside the closest bridge were the ruined remains of another bridge that had been destroyed, probably in ’68.
Across the river sat the walled city of Hue, known as the Citadel, the capital of the emperors. From this height, we could see over the Citadel walls and into the city, and what struck me was that about half the central part of the city seemed to be missing, replaced by open fields in which lay the outlines of what had once been buildings.
Susan said, “You see those walls within the Citadel walls? That’s the Imperial Enclosure, and within those walls are the walls of the Forbidden Purple City, where only the Emperor, his concubines, and the eunuchs were allowed.”
“So I’m not allowed in there, but you are.”
“Very funny.” She went on, “Most of the ancient buildings were destroyed in 1968.”
“I see that.” Somewhere down there, at noon tomorrow or later, I was to meet my contact. I hoped it wasn’t a woman.
Susan said, “My guide told us that the Americans bombed the city mercilessly for thirty days and destroyed most of the antiquities.”
I didn’t feel like defending the American use of overwhelming firepower, but I said, “The North Vietnamese army captured the city by surprise on Tet Eve, during the Tet truce. It took thirty days of bombing, shelling, and ground action to get them out. It’s called war.”
She nodded and said, “But . . . it’s such a shame.”
“The Communists went around with names and addresses of people they wanted liquidated. They shot over three thousand soldiers and civilians who were on their lists. Did your guide tell you that?”
“No.”
I looked off to the northwest and said, “My infantry company was dug into those foothills way out there on the horizon. We could see the battles raging in Quang Tri and Hue. We moved down from the hills and tried to block the escape of the Communist troops after they’d given up Quang Tri. Then we moved farther south toward Hue, and set up a blocking force to intercept the stragglers coming out of Hue so they couldn’t disappear into the hills.”
She looked out at the countryside to the north and west, and said, “So you were right out there?”
“Yes.”
“And the battle was going on right here in the city?”
“Yes. On this side of the river, right where we are now, the marines were dug in and controlled this riverbank and the New City.” I said, “Quang Tri is about sixty kilometers due north of here, right up Highway One, which you can see over there.”
“You should go to Quang Tri.”
“I think I will. I’ve come this far.”
“I’d like to go with you, if you want the company.”
I nodded. “This stretch of Highway One from Hue to Quang Tri was called by the French soldiers the Street Without Joy. The name stuck, and that’s what we called it, although some guys called it Ambush Alley, or Fucked Up Road One.”
She asked me, “Where is the A Shau Valley?”
I pointed due west. “Right over that mountain range, maybe seventy kilometers, near the Laotian border. It’s a very isolated place, more of a box canyon than a valley, surrounded by mountains, and socked in by clouds most of the year. It may be hard to get there.”
“I’m game.”
I looked at her and smiled. “Were you really boring once?”
“Boring and coddled. I used to throw a fit if room service was slow.”
I took a final look at the city of Hue, turned and walked off the terrace.
I went into the bathroom, shaved and showered.
Susan and I made love in the comfortable bed, then fell asleep.
We got up at six, dressed, and went down to the hotel dining room where New Year’s Eve dinner was being served, buffet style.
Every seat seemed to be filled, and we sat at a small table for two near the riverside garden, which, according to Susan, was not far from her buried pistol.
Everyone there was a European or American, and I spotted the three guys I’d seen before. They were sitting at a table with a group of women, and I could tell by the body language that the ladies were not their wives or girlfriends. The guys were on their game, and the women were either entranced or faking it.
A band played elevator music, and the dining room was a sea of smiling faces, sparkling crystal, and hustling waiters. In 1968, I wouldn’t have thought this was possible.
One buffet table was laden with real Vietnamese holiday food, which had signs in several languages, so that everyone could avoid most of it. The other tables had make-believe Vietnamese food, Chinese food, and Western dishes. Susan and I ate like pigs, using chopsticks, knives, forks, and our fingers.
We left the hotel at nine and walked across the Perfume River via the Trang Tien Bridge.
The night was cool, and the sky had become clear. The moon was now a thin sliver that would disappear shortly, and the stars were brilliant. Thousands of people strolled along the tree-shaded embankment, between the river and the towering walls of the Citadel. The city was festooned with red flags, and many of the buildings were outlined in lights and Chinese lanterns.
The focus of activity seemed to be around the historic flag tower opposite the main gates of the wall. Entire families sat or walked, greeting one another and wishing each other a Happy New Year.
Susan said, “Fireworks are banned for individuals, but the city will probably fire off a few rockets like they do in Saigon. When I arrived in Saigon three years ago, fireworks were still legal, and on Tet Eve, the whole city sounded like a war zone.”
“I know that sound.”
Opposite the flag tower, the massive Citadel gates were open, and beyond the gates was an ornamental bridge, which led to the Emperor’s Palace. The palace was big, made of stone and red lacquered wood, and had a traditional tiled roof. It was all lit up with floodlights, and decorated for the holiday. I wondered how this place had escaped the bombing.
But then Susan said, “People and organizations from all over the world donated money to rebuild the palace in its original style.”
“Good. Let’s go in. I’ll donate a fiver.”
“You can’t go in tonight. See those soldiers? They’re turning people away. Must be a government ceremony or something.”
“I’ll give them a ten.”
“Forget it. You’re in enough trouble.”
So we continued our stroll along the embankment, then passed through a smaller gate into the city.
There were lots of people around, and we saw a dragon dance, and a few silly puppet shows set up in makeshift theaters. There were groups of musicians playing traditional music on stringed instruments, which was very whiny and irritating.
Most of the cafés and restaurants had closed, but we found a café owned by a Catholic couple who stayed open to get the Buddhist business.
The café was crowded with Viets and Westerners, but we found a table and had coffee.
I said to Susan, “This is nice. I’m glad I’m here.”
“Me, too.”
“You’re missing the Vincent party in Saigon.”
“There’s no place in the world that I’d rather be than here, with you.”
I said, “I feel the same way.”
We finished our coffee. There were no taxis or cyclos around, so we walked back across the Perfume River by the Phu Xuan Bridge into the New City where Susan said the cathedral was located.
From the bridge, I could see a big sports complex along the riverbank, with tennis courts, a swimming pool, and playing fields. Susan said, “That’s the Cercle Sportif. The old French sporting club. There’s one in Saigon, and in a lot of major cities. Used to be whites only. Now, it’s mostly Party members only.”
“Commies play tennis?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. Why not?”
“I’m trying to
picture Colonel Mang in tennis whites.”
She laughed, then said, “When no one is looking, the pigs walk on their hind legs.”
“So I’ve heard.”
We continued across the bridge, and suddenly there were flashes of orange light in the sky, followed by a series of explosions; I flinched, then realized it was sky rockets. My heart was actually racing, and I took a deep breath.
Susan looked at me.
I felt a little foolish and joked, “I thought Charles was back.”
She said, “That’s why I mentioned the fireworks before.”
As we came off the bridge, I started to cross the street, but Susan stopped me. “See that little booth on the opposite corner? That’s the police checkpoint. Avoid that corner. They sometimes harass Westerners, as I found out when I was here.”
“I haven’t been harassed by the police since Thursday night. I’m feeling neglected. Let’s go have an argument with them.”
“Please.”
We avoided the police booth and crossed in mid-block. As we walked, I said to her, “Maybe we can skip mass.”
She replied, “You should get down on your knees and thank God that you’re even here in one piece.”
It was a hike to the cathedral, and the city streets were starting to become deserted. Susan said, “Everyone is home now for the traditional meal.”
“Why don’t the Buddhists go to the pagodas for midnight mass?”
“I don’t think it’s called mass, and they pray when they feel like it.”
We arrived at the Cathedral of Notre Dame at about quarter to midnight, and there were still people arriving, mostly on foot. The majority were Viets, but there were a number of round-eyes as well.
The cathedral was impressive, but not old. It was, in fact, fairly modern, with some Gothic and Vietnamese touches. I assumed that whatever old churches had existed had been destroyed.
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