by Jack Twist
Chapter 11
The throb of the helicopter registered so slowly with my tired senses that by the time I had scrambled out into the open it was out of sight beyond the treetops. The sound seemed to come from over to the side and it may well have missed us anyway. Still I swore as I looked around. It was just after 9 am and sunlight poured into the narrow valley making the white water sparkle. Some of that perception of malevolence in the forest had receded with the shadows but I hurried back to the shelter.
“Oh my God! Oh no!”
I climbed across the rocks to the cave and found Abbie bent over the baby who had now begun to cry. She was brushing her hands frantically along the baby’s stomach which lay exposed because the cloth had come loose. Gathered in a grotesque little heap on the baby’s lower stomach was a collection of black ants, feeding on the remains of the umbilical cord.
I helped Abbie remove the more stubborn ones and she clutched the crying baby to her chest. “Poor baby. Oh, poor baby. Let’s get out of here.”
“Is she okay?”
Out in the sun she held her out to see. The baby stopped crying to look at her. “I think she’s okay. It gave me such a fright. I thought they were eating her alive. Oh, my poor baby.” And she held her close again.
She washed her in a gentle flow at the stream’s edge and then I held her while she dipped the little piece of clothing, wrung it out and laid it on a dry rock. I held the crying baby aloft for further inspection. We got her to drink some more water eventually and it seemed to calm her. She settled back in my arm again and her cries abated.
Abbie was looking around. “Doesn’t it make you feel small.”
“Yeh. Let’s get going.” I saw the hope in her eyes as she reached for the baby but she had hardly taken hold of her when the cries started. “Me?’
“No. She can just get used to me. Give me a break. You little jerk.”
We set out along the tributary creek and as we moved through the tall trees and overhanging branches the baby stopped crying. But our movements the night before had been made in such a hurry we recognised nothing. We agreed to try to find our way to the grassy patch with the big tree where we had stopped and rested, but darkness distorts the look of any terrain and with no tracks to follow we had no idea where to leave the creek.
Abbie fell over at one point and landed on her sore knee again. She put the baby down gently, clutched her knee and groaned with such naked misery that I could have picked her up and carried her. Instead I took the baby.
Eventually we left the creek to find ourselves in a clear stretch that seemed more tree-covered than we’d imagined it should be, but then, around midday, we stumbled onto what looked like our tree from the early morning.
Abbie threw down her handbag and dropped to the ground. When she had taken a drink from my water bottle she said, “Here. You must need a break. Give her to me.” When she took the baby she started to cry again.
She tried feeding her using the corner of cloth dipped in the mixture, but she wouldn’t take it. She just cried. I put my back against the tree and rested the rifle in my lap. The noise went on, piercing the jungle stillness.
“Oh, for God’s sake what is it then?” She took the cloth away.
“Maybe if you try the breast again?” Her glance at me was suspicious. A view of her open top might have been of personal interest to me in other circumstances, but not here. “I’m only thinking of the baby, and the noise.”
The baby cried on. “It’s so messy. Oh, okay, Goddamn it. Would you look the other way?” She was upset. I moved myself around a little. “Oh, I’m sorry. Can you help?”
She held the baby and I poured the mixture and after some initial refusals the baby sucked, and then stopped immediately to voice her disapproval.
“Oh, what now? I’m gonna finish up smelling like some old nanny goat. Oh, let’s try the cloth again, huh. This is embarrassing.”
I sniffed the bottle containing the goat’s milk. Whatever milk there was in the mixture had gone off, or was close. I emptied the bottle onto the ground.
“Well,” said Abbie. “Let’s try some water again, with the cloth.”
I took the baby while she did up her top and prepared the cloth and water bottle. There were struggles and cries but Abbie persisted until the baby had taken some. Quite suddenly, the cloth still in her mouth, her eyes closed. Abbie smiled at me and then pulled at the front of her flying suit. “I am getting so sticky.”
The sleeping baby lay back in my arm. “I think it’s best if we keep moving, while she’s asleep. Okay?”
“I guess.”She held out her arms.
“Ah ... maybe I should carry her again.”
“Well, you can’t carry everything all the time.” She folded her arms, frowning at the sleeping baby. “You’d better give me the gun.”
“What do you know about guns?”
“They go bang. I’ll be careful.”
I didn’t like the idea, mostly because I was afraid of what might be in the jungle. “No. No, it’s too heavy.”
“One thing I do know about guns is that an M16 Armalite is not too heavy.”
“Well, you look pretty tired anyway. Maybe we should rest a bit longer. Let the baby get to sleep properly.”
She looked at the baby. “Before you trust her with an incompetent like me, you mean?”
“No. I didn’t mean that. It’s just ...”
“Yes?”
“Well maybe we should take advantage of the quiet. At least when she’s quiet she’s not telling everyone in coo-ee where we are.”
“Everyone in coo-ee? What’s that?”
“Anyone in calling distance.”
“Coo-ee?”
“Yeh.”
“Well apart from everyone in coo-ee I guess my knee could do with some more rest.”
We settled back against the tree. I had the baby in one hand and the rifle in the other. It felt no less ludicrous this time, but I cared less.
“When do you think I might be able to nurse the baby, papa san?”
“How’s your knee?”
“Bruised. Like my pride.” I passed the baby over as gently as I could but she started to cry as soon as she was lying back in Abbie’s arms. “Don’t say a word. I know. Everyone in coo-ee.”
I looked around, on edge, praying for the crying to stop and it didn’t take long. But even in the quiet every tree, every bush, every lump of grass looked to me like possible cover for North Vietnamese soldiers, Viet Cong guerrillas or even wild animals. And how long would I last in any sort of contact? Who would ever know what happened to us?
But I was beginning to wonder why we hadn’t been confronted already if there were enemy in this jungle. And why were there no tracks?
Abbie was looking down at the baby in her arms. Her face was sweaty and streaked with dirt and the cuts in her forehead were emphasised by the red in her face. She looked small. It made me want to appear calm so that I was better able to help her.
She caught me looking at her.
“You okay?”
It was a dumb question but she understood and nodded and gave me the faintest of smiles.
When we moved on again she took the baby. We trudged and climbed through the forest for hours. Sometimes we heard helicopters but they were always away in the distance and only once did we see any, and only for a few seconds. We might have stumbled into the original creek on occasions, the one where we first stopped, but as we climbed along beside it, recognising nothing and finding no jerry can, we lost heart and would then decide to leave the stream and look for another. The baby woke sometimes but she seemed to be weakening and cried herself to sleep quickly. Had I not been so tired I would have been more afraid.
On top of a ridge between two streams I climbed a tree, in the vague hope of seeing bamboo, rice paddies, even a road. Abbie sat down to rest and the baby slept. It had begun to rain which made the branches slippery and when I had climbed as high as I safely could I saw nothing b
ut trees that were even taller with branches too wide apart for climbing. The rain increased our depression. It fell slowly at first in big droplets, harbingers of further discomfort, increasing gradually until it became steady and soaking even through the canopy.
Hunger pains began to trouble both of us but we tried to put thoughts of food out of our minds by drinking water and Abbie reminded me that the baby had had nothing but water, since her birth. I replenished my water bottle at every opportunity. Abbie produced a packet of chewing gum and divided half the contents between us. I put all of mine in my mouth and even when the sugar was gone I chewed long and hard on the tasteless remains, opening my mouth to the rain to give it some sort of juice. When I finally swallowed it I felt empty again and drank more water.
It was approaching 5 p.m. and we were climbing the same section of creek we’d tried a number of times, trying to find some sort of break in the trees on the slope where I’d dropped the jerry can, when Abbie called out. I turned around. She had sat down with the baby and was pointing at a wet crumple of white paper amongst the undergrowth. It was a tissue she had used the night before.
“Come on,” I said. I pulled her to her feet. She looked so exhausted I took the baby in one arm. When she started to cry I didn’t care. We were, I believed, nearly out of there. Even the rain had eased.
We couldn’t find the jerry can or locate a likely section of the creek bank where we’d first arrived, so we made an estimate and started to climb. It was steep and I had trouble with both baby and weapon so Abbie took the baby. Her cries had become weaker but she persisted.
I was about half-way up the slope, well in front of Abbie, when I saw a movement up ahead. Someone stepped behind a large tree trunk. I jumped out of sight behind some small trees and scrambled back down the hill, signaling Abbie to take cover. We climbed into thick scrub.
“What?”
“Someone up there. Give me the baby”
“Why?”
But I was already taking her. “To shut her up.” I clamped her head against my chest.
“Be careful.”
“Listen! There’s someone up there. In black pyjamas. Come on. We gotta go.” I started to get up.
“You’re smothering her.”
“We gotta keep her quiet. Just for a minute. Come on.”
But Abbie reached for the baby and started dragging her away from me. She screamed as soon as she was released from my frantic grip.
I was beside myself. “Leave her here! For Christ’s sake. We gotta get outa’ here.”
“What?”
“They’ll find her. She’ll be alright. She’s one of them.”
Abbie was staring at me as she rocked the crying baby. She looked terrified but protective of the baby.
“Heh!” said a voice from above. And then we were staring at each other. The baby’s cries had grown faint. “This what you’re after?”
I picked up the M16 and edged out from under the branches. An arm protruded from behind a tree, holding the jerry can. “I found your gas can.”
“Yeh?” I called out. I still couldn’t believe it. “Well, thanks. Would you mind bringing it down here? There’s a woman with a baby.”
“You put that Armalite away.”
“Yeh. It’s alright. I have.”
“It’s okay!” Abbie assured him.
I watched him descend through the trees and scrub and growing darkness and when he pushed the last clump of vines aside we were confronted by a thin, pale faced man of average height, not long out of his teens. Straight brown hair almost reached his ears. The black T-shirt over faded camouflage trousers didn’t conceal a lack of stomach, and he had no weapon. There was no smile. He looked more troubled than pleased with our presence. It was disconcerting. I wanted someone not only glad to see us but in a hurry to deliver us to Saigon. And someone with some aura of authority.
“Believe you dropped this last night.”
“Thanks,” I said, standing to take the jerry can from him.
“You mind tellin’ me what ya’ll doin’ here?”
We looked at each other a moment and I said, “We were on our way to Saigon and we were, well ... we came into the jungle … to wait for daylight and we got.... lost.”
“Carryin’ a gas can?”
We might have felt like trespassers. “It’s a long story,” said Abbie. “But what are you doing here? You’re not part of a search party?”
He considered thoughtfully before he said, “No, ma’am. Ain’t part a’ no search party.” He looked at us, one at a time, with unabashed distrust.
“Oh. Well, who are you with?”
“Ain’t with no one.” I believe only our silence forced him to go on. “I have my own camp.” He stopped to think again. Then continued cautiously. “Just nearby. Near enough to hear ya’ll crashin’ through the jungle in the early hours o’ the mornin’. Baby cryin’ n’ all. Got so curious I came lookin’ and found your gas can. Couldn’t find you to give it back.”
“Yeh,” said Abbie. “We move pretty fast.”
“Thanks for holding it for us. We’ll need it. Our vehicle ran out of petrol.” I gave him some details on our circumstances. He seemed to need reassuring.
He nodded, as if weighing up the veracity of what he’d just heard. “So, you’re not from the army?”
“No.” Abbie sat among the branches rocking the baby who was now quiet. She
explained her position with the oil company. I was her driver, but not with the American Army.
“I thought it don’t seem right. When I heard the baby. But you said somethin’ about a search party?”
“We thought you might’ve been with one, looking for us.”
He assured us again that he wasn’t, in a way that made whatever he was doing here, alone, on the mountain, his own private business.
I suspected he was one of those outcasts of the American military we’d heard about. Although they were supposed to be drug addicts lost in the labyrinths of the cities, living on the edge and not caring any more. This man said he had a camp in the scrub, like a soldier. He wasn’t properly dressed as a soldier, and he could have done with more meat on his bones, but if he had turned his back on the military, gone on permanent AWOL, where were the signs of rebellion? His rejection of the American cause? Some sort of fuck the army statement? He had a faded bead necklace around his neck but dog-tags as well. Flowers would not have suited this guy’s hair, certainly not his manner. There was something too blank, almost troubled if not menacing in his eyes.
But, though he didn’t invite our confidence, he was American. And we needed help.
“We’re looking for the road to Saigon,” I told him. “Through Muc Thap, the village. Could you show us the way?”
His nod did not reassure us. He said I sounded ‘English or somethin’, as though whatever I was it could only be adverse to his situation. I explained my nationality and further details on how we’d finished up where we were.
He looked around, pushed a hand through his unkempt hair, considered deeply and turned back at us.
“Well, look. It’ll be dark soon. Comes real quick in the jungle. Maybe ya’ll wanna come back to my place. Have somethin’ to eat. With your baby an’ all.” The invitation still looked like something of a burden. But then he smiled at last. “Ain’t never had guests before.”
If I hadn’t felt so tired, and wary of his mood, I might have laughed.
“Your place?” said Abbie. “Guests? What about the war?’
“Yeh?” I added. “The VC?”
“Charlie don’t use this little ol’ mountain. Some boys come out from the village sometimes. Plant some stores, or somethin’. But I ain’t never see no one come for ‘em yet. The boys from the village know me. But I ain’t showed ‘em my place. Ain’t showed no one my place.”
“Well, thanks very much,” Abbie said. “But, you see, there’ll be a search party out looking for us.”
He considered again before answer
ing. “They won’t see much now, ma’am. And it’s dangerous to be out and about in the dark.”
