by Robert Roth
Kramer dropped to his knees, gently pulling Tuyen down in front of him. Again her stare was sad and impenetrable. He leaned back on his elbow and looked up at her. With outstretched fingers, he combed the hair away from her face. Only then did he place his hand beneath her chin. Ever so gently, he moved her face to slightly different angles, as if examining the facets of a precious stone, trying to delve into its center and find the source of its radiance. “What is it you are thinking?” she asked. Kramer made no reply, and his expression told her that he didn’t know. “Your house is by the ocean?” He answered her with a slight shake of his head. “Is beautiful, no?”
Kramer realized that she was referring to the ocean, and also that his answer would apply equally well to her face. “When I see it, life seems very short.”
“You are young. You will live many years.” Kramer gave a quick, sarcastic laugh, and Tuyen asked, “Your father is how old?”
“Fifty-five, fifty-six.”
“You will live to be a hundred.”
Kramer burst out laughing as he fell back in the sand. “No! Please, no.” Tuyen also began to laugh and she said, “Maybe ninety.”
“Okay, that’s a little better,” Kramer answered, a smile still on his face. He reached out for her hands and placed them upon his chest. She leaned over him, strands of her hair hanging alongside his face. “Tell me about time again.”
“I say I cannot tell you.”
“Like you did last night.”
“I will tell you what I think sometimes. . . . When I am sad, time seems not to move. I see my life before me, and it seem very long. But then I think, if I kill myself, there will be time before I die, less than a second maybe, but this second may seem longer than many years, longer than all the time I would have live.”
Kramer sensed a fallacy in what Tuyen had said, but the words themselves and the manner in which she had spoken them made her idea soothing. “Do you really believe that?”
“Maybe is true. I do not know.”
He wanted to hear her voice, and mainly for this reason, he finally asked, “When you are happy, doesn’t it make you sad to know that time is moving so fast?”
“No, I do not think about this. If I am happy or if I am sad, is already happen, is —” she hesitated while trying to think of the right words.
“It’s in the past.”
“Yes, is already in the past. Many things have happen to me, many bad things. But I remember the times when I was happy. They cannot be made separate — are a part of my life which cannot be divided. The bad things, they too are a part, but is all one — cannot be divided. When I remember, the bad things they are there, not alone by themselves. Too they seem far away, not me —” Tuyen again paused while trying to think of the right words.
“They’re not as real. It’s as if they happened to somebody else.”
“Yes, sometimes. . . . I cannot believe they happen to me . . . sometimes. Sometimes I remember, but more than only the bad things.”
“And when you remember when you were happy?”
“Is like I am happy again. Everything I remember.”
“Like when you remember Paris and —” Kramer suddenly realized what he had said. His voice diminished to a whisper as he added, “Hue.” Tuyen knew immediately what he was thinking. She watched his troubled expression as he tried, but failed, to keep himself from asking her, “Will you remember last night?”
The slight hesitation before she said, “Yes, I will remember,” and the tone of her words made it clear to him that she could have added, “but not like Paris.”
Now sorry that he knew, Kramer wished only that there could have been at least some doubt in his mind. There seemed nothing for him to say, and Tuyen also remained silent. She had sensed what would happen even before she had spoken, knowing that he would somehow see beneath her words. The troubled look on his face made him seem even sadder than when she had first seen him, when he and Donaldson sat drinking in her bar, during those moments when the childish arrogance would slowly fade from his face leaving nothing but fear and doubt. Now, for the first time, it was she who reached out and touched his face. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked up at her, realizing that she again saw him as a child — not a scared, angry child, but still a child. It made little difference now, he knew this.
“You will walk back with me?”
He was still feeling some sense of loss; but it hadn’t been unexpected. He nodded and said, “Yes.”
He got to his feet and watched Tuyen as she climbed to the top of the sand dune. She glanced back towards him to make sure he was coming, then started walking again. Kramer stood watching her graceful silhouette. The sun glinted off her dress as she turned away; and suddenly, in one horrible instant, her image appeared to explode before him, a deafening barrage of rifle fire reverberated within his head, and a mutilated, bullet-riddled form, flesh flying from it, collapsed in front of him.
Kramer slowly dropped to his knees. He remembered. He had finally remembered. “I knew it,” he said in a dazed whisper. “I knew it. Now, I have to remember it now! . . . All of it!” Confused segments flashed through his mind. He tried to control himself, deciding to go over it minute by minute. Unable to rise from his knees, he called Tuyen. “Now,” he said with determination. The only way it was possible for him to start was by saying everything aloud. “Forest was talking to me. Forest was talking to me. Trippitt came over and asked who the Professor was. Forest was talking to me, then Trippitt asked — Professor, then somebody shouted, ‘Look! Out there. A Gook.’ ” Kramer remembered turning to see a figure walking across the rice paddies towards them. The figure staggered and fell. He got up again. Somebody yelled, “He’s NVA!” Kramer remembered being able to make out a tattered and mud-covered NVA uniform, and saying to himself, ‘He’s an NVA soldier. He’s trying to chieu hoi.’
Somebody yelled out, “He’s a chieu hoi.”
“Fuck it! Blow him away!”
“I’ll blow him away.”
“No!”
“No, don’t!”
“Wait!”
At first the men watched in silence as he staggered towards them. They lined the edge of the high ground waiting for him. Then there was some laughter as he continually staggered and fell. It seemed to take a long time before he reached the last dike between himself and the high ground.
Kramer remembered the way he paused after climbing over this dike. Less than twenty yards of rice paddies lay between him and a hundred Marines. He stood staring at them, hands on hips, his chest heaving while he tried to catch his breath. Somebody yelled, “C’mon!” He remained standing with his hands on his hips for a few more seconds, then began taking slow, sure steps towards them. Kramer remembered staring at his tattered uniform, and then seeing the wild, fantastic look in his eyes. His steps quickened. Suddenly he drew a knife from his belt. With all the strength he had left, he began to run towards them. No one could believe what was happening. Their rifles lay forgotten in their hands. As soon as he saw the knife, Kramer’s stare shot back towards his eyes. Wild and unreal, they came straight towards him, screaming, “Kill me! Kill me! You’re death! KILL ME!” Kramer couldn’t, made no effort to move, his rifle hanging down at his side, the figure staggering straight towards him, eyes screaming, “You’re death! You’re death!” There was a single shot from an M-16. The sound of it seemed muffled. With his insane eyes still glaring at Kramer and his knife held high, the figure started to take one more step. Kramer heard an awesome burst of rifle fire at the same instant all the flesh was being ripped away from his face. The burst continued as he spun completely around, turning crimson, falling in Kramer’s direction.
Even after he lay motionless, just below the surface of the water, there was another shot, two more, and a final one. Again there was silence, no one really sure it had happened, the water turning red in front of them. Then someone laughed, and another laugh. A Marine jumped into the rice paddy and pulled from it, by the hair, a pie
ce of raw, butchered flesh. A hand grabbed for its belt as a souvenir, and only came up with a bullet-riddled half of it. There was some laughter. “Did you see the crazy motherfucker?”
“Tried to take a whole company with a knife!”
Laughter.
“He must have two hundred holes in him!”
And more laughter.
“Did you see the look in his eyes?”
Tuyen was kneeling before him, startled by Kramer’s expression. “What happen?”
“I just remembered something. . . . I couldn’t remember before.”
“The booby trap?”
“No, before that . . . I just remembered it.”
“You remember what?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You are all right?”
“Yes, yes, just wait . . . I’ll go with you in a minute.”
Still dazed, Kramer rose to his feet and began walking with her. He searched his memory, making sure he had remembered all of it, sometimes questioning whether it had actually happened, knowing that it had. He walked over a mile without having any idea what was going on around him, his mind completely in the past. Until he saw Tuyen glance at him with a worried look on her face, Kramer wasn’t even conscious that she was there. “I’m all right,” he said, making an effort to smile.
Kramer’s eyes returned to the ground. He saw a single leg between two crutches, then heard a click. A Vietnamese amputee stood before him. As they passed by, he called out, “Marine, you want picture?” Kramer continued walking, but he glanced back and saw the amputee struggling with a camera while balancing himself on the crutches. “Marine, you buy picture?” Kramer began to walk faster, but the man on crutches caught up with him. Kramer stared at his face and wanted to escape. “One dollar.” Unsuccessfully trying to avoid the amputee’s stare, Kramer pulled some bills out of his pocket as he walked. The man grabbed them and shoved a picture into his hand. Kramer stuffed the photograph into his pocket without looking at it, still trying to escape the amputee.
Once inside Tuyen’s apartment, he felt more relaxed. He followed her into the kitchen where she poured two glasses of water and they sat down at the table. She still had a worried look on her face, and Kramer was more thankful for it than bothered by it. “I’m all right now. . . . You understand what happened, don’t you?”
“You remember something very bad you have never remember before.”
“You can understand why I acted like that, can’t you?”
“Yes, is a very bad thing you remember.”
“You don’t think I was acting like a little kid, do you?”
“No, I understand.”
“It wasn’t because of anything you said.”
“I believe you.”
“I have to go soon.”
“Because you are late they will do something?”
“No, they can’t do a damn thing to me. They can’t touch me.” He noticed that Tuyen was looking at the wilted flowers on the table. “You forgot to buy some.”
“Tomorrow.”
Kramer stood up and reached for her hand. He led her into the living room. Tuyen was hesitant to lie down on the mattress with him, but he coaxed her without words. Her head lay upon his chest, and he stroked her hair as he asked, “You like me, don’t you?”
“I like you very much.”
“When will I see you again?” He waited for an answer, both knowing and fearing what she would say.
“Is better if I never see you again.”
“You said you liked me.”
“Is why is better.”
“Will you think about me?”
“Yes, many times.”
“It’s not because of what happened today?” he asked, knowing that this had nothing to do with it.
Her tone indicated that she was hurt by him even thinking this, “No, is not.”
“What if I can come back?”
This idea scared her. “Is no good.”
“But what if I do?”
“Soon I go back to Hue — four, maybe five days.”
“What if I go to Hue?” Kramer asked, knowing the impossibility of this, and neither surprised by nor ashamed of the supplicating tone of his words.
“Please, is no good. . . . Maybe is better if you go now.”
It was a long few seconds for him before she sat up. He remained lying down, playing with her hair. But when she stood, so did he, admitting to himself that it had ended. It was Kramer who first walked to the door.
“Is very bad time now. Is bad to hope for things. Something can happen, and we are more sad than before.”
Kramer knew he was being lied to, and there was some coldness in his stare as he said, “That’s not why.”
“I like you more than I think I ever like anyone again.”
“Again,” he repeated, almost as a demand, thinking that now she should tell him in her own words what they both already knew.
“Many times I tell you once I was very happy. This can never be taken from me. To lose happiness like this is very bad thing. Once, no more. Never can it be the same. . . . Someday you will understand.”
This Kramer understood now, and had sensed all along. It was with a feeling of some guilt that he asked, “Are you sorry?”
“No. I think I know it would happen. The reason I diddin know, but still I know. This is why I sometimes say things to make you angry.”
Kramer saw no hope in being able to change her mind, but he decided to make one last effort. “Is it better the way things are? Maybe it’s already too late.”
“Many things can happen. For me is better this way. Now you think is too late. Is not. Someday you will see.”
Kramer couldn’t make himself believe this. For once he had found something he’d wanted, and he couldn’t believe it would ever happen again. There were so many reasons why he should leave things as they were, to try and forget; but he couldn’t accept any of them. ‘Have I changed?’ he asked himself sarcastically, finally admitting that he had. ‘But not that much. . . . Besides, she changed me.’ He was sure that without her he would be as he was before. Again he decided to make one last effort. “I’ll leave you my address.”
“No,” she almost pleaded.
“You told me how much you liked me. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
“This is why you must not leave it.”
“Please, for me.” She made no reply, but her expression begged him not to. There seemed no hope, and Kramer felt that he had to get away from her. He quickly took out a pen and wrote down his address. While he frantically did so, he actually believed that this act would somehow save him. But the look on her face when he handed her the paper told him there was no chance. In a defeated tone, he said, “The top one is my military address. The other one is my home. Please keep it.” Her soft stare gave no answer, but it did tell him he would never see her again. He raised his hand to her cheek, touching her face, as if doing so was the only way he could prove to himself that she existed; but he was so confused that he couldn’t. It was impossible to believe that all this had happened, and to him. He knew he had to get away. He wanted to say something, maybe to ask if she would remember him, but no words would come. He slowly lowered his hand from her face, knowing it was for the last time.
2. An Hoa
Kramer stood waiting for the helicopters as footsteps approached from his rear and a familiar voice said, “I bet they’ll be glad to get back here.” Not sure the remark was intended for him, he hoped it wasn’t and made no attempt to acknowledge it. Chaplain Hindman then put his hand on Kramer’s shoulder. “Heard you had a little trouble with a booby trap.” Kramer gave a slight nod, but otherwise ignored Hindman who was now standing next to him. “They’re a brave bunch of men. . . . Too bad the folks back home don’t appreciate what they’re going through.” This time Kramer didn’t even bother to nod. “Well, I’m glad they’re taking them out of there.” After a few seconds’ silence, Hindman finally took Kramer’s hint
and walked away while saying, “See you Sunday, Lieutenant.”
In a few minutes the first helicopter arrived. Kramer watched intently as the men debarked. The faces were unfamiliar, none of them from Hotel Company. Practically every man was either supporting or being supported by someone else. Their steps were slow and deliberate as they moved away from the helicopter. It was a mere thirty yards to the edge of the landing pad, but the first man took almost two minutes to reach it. Some of the men that followed were in worse shape. Kramer watched the pain on their faces each time they would lower a foot to the ground. One or two of them had their boots slung across their shoulders and nothing except bandages on their feet. The last man off the pad was ten yards behind the others. He barely lifted his feet, each slow step covering no more than six inches. Hindman walked out on to the pad to help him.
The helicopters continued to land, and the same scene was repeated again and again. It was over a mile to the battalion area, so trucks had to be called in to carry the men there. They sat waiting in large groups at the edge of the landing pad, their faces turned away from the wind and sand stirred up by the copter blades.
Kramer watched for almost an hour before he finally saw Sugar Bear leading a group of men from one of the helicopters. Hemrick hung awkwardly from his shoulder. A man dropped to his knees, and someone helped him up. As Kramer walked quickly towards his men, he saw Roads and Appleton carrying someone between them, and two other men leaning on their outside shoulders. Hamilton and Forsythe helped Childs, while Chalice followed behind. Most of the men nodded or called out to Kramer as he passed them, precipitating a sense of pride he would have found embarrassing at almost any other time. Ramirez was the last man off the chopper. Pablo stood patiently waiting for him. Ramirez took short, painful steps toward the edge of the LZ, his feet seeming barely to move. Kramer tried to help him, but Ramirez shook his head while shouting over the squall of the copter blades, “I can make it.” He repeated these words again as if to convince himself. Kramer lifted off Ramirez’s pack and followed behind.
