The Shadow of Arms

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  “Can we go and see the office now?”

  “You mean, my office?”

  “We’d like to see both yours and your brother’s.”

  The merchant grinned and showed his cautious side. “I know almost nothing about you people. Once the deal starts, you’ll have to come by anyway. Well, I think I’ll excuse myself now. I’ll see you here on Monday same time.”

  The merchant spoke to Toi, then he turned to Yong Kyu who had been sitting there like an imbecile and said in English, “See you again.”

  After the man left, Toi and Yong Kyu had fried chicken and beer for lunch. Yong Kyu checked the time and reported to the captain over the phone.

  “I’ve just come from Turen, sir. I also met the man sent by the Vietnamese side.”

  “Let’s have lunch together.”

  “We already finished lunch, sir.”

  “Anything you need?”

  “Well . . . not over the phone.”

  “All right, I’ll be over in a minute.”

  Yong Kyu turned to Toi and said, “Pointer said he’d come over here.”

  “Should I leave the two of you alone?”

  “No, that’s not necessary.”

  Shortly afterwards Captain Kim appeared in the doorway. Dressed in white pants and a white T-shirt, he looked like he was on his way to a tennis club. When the captain took a seat in front of them, Yong Kyu briefed him on the developments to date.

  “We’ll be needing about three hundred dollars, sir.”

  “That much for the principal?”

  “Half of the sum will go to making friends with that boy from Turen, Leon. It’ll cost at least a hundred, anyway. I have about a hundred fifty on me, though.”

  “Fine. The question is how fast we can track down the NLF dealing lines. Once we accomplish that, the rest of our dealings can be justified.”

  “The American team probably has Vietnamese out running their investigation. On our side, Toi and I plan to run the store ourselves.”

  Spreading butter lightly on his bread, the captain murmured, “Right, if the two of you are planted in Le Loi market, we’ll get a line on most of the dealers in Da Nang one at a time. We’ve got to get a grip on all the black market channels of the Koreans, including the Hong Kong Group. Once we have them in our hands, we can squeeze them by the throat.”

  “Even now we can put a squeeze on the Hong Kong Group, sir. If we blockade the PX, those guys will come begging on their own.”

  “It won’t be that easy thanks to our team leader. He’s shown their chairman too many vulnerable spots.”

  Yong Kyu thought about the staff sergeant. In three months he would be headed back home. For him, ten thousand dollars was a considerable sum. He’d once said that he would love to buy some land in the countryside, to save his family from the life of tenant farmers. Had he not said that he volunteered for the army to escape a hard life as a farmer with too many mouths to feed? His replacement with a new sergeant would not bring any major changes to the current situation. If the leader stayed, for Yong Kyu it would mean a not-so-inconvenient continuation of the status quo for another three months. Counting the time in his head, Yong Kyu plotted it out month by month.

  “I have an idea, sir. I’ll speak to the team leader. I’ll have him move in on the scene when the Hong Kong Group makes some deal. The leader can slip away and . . . lock up that bastard they call ‘Pig.’ Then, Chairman Pak will come to you, sir, with his tail between his legs. We’ll get such a firm grip on their balls they won’t know which way to turn. Once we catch that group, the rest will just fall into our hands.”

  “Will the team leader agree to do that?”

  “The sergeant will listen to me, sir. I’ve helped them get through the checkpoints several times. As his subordinate I had no choice, sir.”

  “I already knew about that.”

  “He’s got to help his men get ready to return home. It’s wise to have the leader in full control of the PX.”

  As an afterthought, the captain said to Toi, “Looks like you and Sergeant Ahn are making a great team.”

  “In Vietnam, we call men like him ‘quick as a lizard.’”

  “I’ll see to it that you get an allowance on top of your salary.”

  “No need for an allowance, but I have a favor to ask. I’ve already discussed it with Sergeant Ahn. Give me an opening every now and then.”

  “What kind of opening?”

  “When the sergeant’s goods are purchased, let me have a chance to invest a little in the buys. A couple of boxes would be enough.”

  “All right, I guess that’ll be more of a help to you.”

  On Saturday Yong Kyu took the company Jeep and drove out to Turen supply warehouse. As Toi had said, he was quick as a lizard, for he had become a decent driver within a month after his transfer to Da Nang. He flashed his ID at the east gate and went around to the soldiers’ barracks. Finished with the day’s duty, some soldiers were tossing a football around. Leon was among them, soaked with sweat. He must not have expected Yong Kyu to keep his promise, and looked surprised to see him. Within a few minutes he had run inside and come back out, freshly shaven and in civilian clothes.

  “Where should we go? China Beach?”

  “I’ve been there lots of times.”

  “Let’s head downtown, anyway. It’s been a while since you were there, right?”

  At this, Leon got excited and whistled loudly.

  “That’s an off-limits zone for us. I’ve never been there.”

  Leon looked much younger now than when he was in uniform.

  “You like to drink, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “All right if you don’t make it back tonight?”

  “Don’t bother with that. If I get caught, hell, I’ll dig ditches or run around the grounds, no big deal. Anyway, I’ll be safe if I make it back to the barracks by tomorrow. The sergeant has gone down to China Beach himself.”

  “Will he stay there tonight?”

  “I think so. Every weekend he’s been playing poker with some navy officers.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Stapley.”

  Yong Kyu turned off from Route 1 towards downtown Da Nang. There was a checkpoint, but civilian company vehicles were just waved through. The Vietnamese QC sentry made a slow hand gesture. Soon they were crossing Le Loi Boulevard into the crowded streets of the old market and veering up Puohung Street. He had no intention of going to the Bamboo, for it was a gathering place for too many other black marketeers. He drove a few blocks farther and pulled into an alley line with stores near the mouth of Doc Lap Boulevard. He parked in a back alley where some young boy peddlers were thronging. Leon looked nervously about.

  “Where we going?”

  “Now we’re becoming complete civilians.”

  “Civilians?”

  “That’s right. Let’s wash off the soldier scum.”

  Unable to grasp what Yong Kyu meant, Leon walked edgily a few steps behind him. They came up to a glass storefront with a sign overhead reading “Steam Bath.” Yong Kyu bought the tickets and they pushed aside a curtain to see a long hall. A boy standing there took the tickets and led them into a small room. They took off their clothes, put them into a basket and headed into the baths. Leon laughed loudly. “What the hell are we doing, anyway?”

  “A maintenance job. Wow, your dick is enormous.”

  “Shit, yours looks like a frog.”

  Bursting into laughter, Leon slapped Yong Kyu on the butt. When they opened the door inside, hot steam came rolling out in a steady stream.

  “Hey, I don’t like it.”

  “Listen, you should get the sweat out of your system. It’s good for you.”

  They went in and sat down in the hot steam bath. Along the wall were seats that
looked like stairs. The middle of the space was packed with bamboo branches from out of which steam was pouring upwards. Leon was covering his mouth and nose with a towel. Yong Kyu spoke.

  “Take a look. There’s a pile of pebbles down there heated by fire. They’re covered with herbs.”

  “It smells awful.”

  “It’s not that bad, is it?”

  They came out again, pulverized from the heat and the sweating. As they finished washing off with cold water, two girls came in and waited with huge towels. They were scantily clad and wore real flowers in their hair. With one arm Leon leaned on the girl who was drying his body and said, “She’s killing me.”

  “Slow down, she’s just a kid.”

  “Hey, you shit. It’s been over two months for me. The mere sight of that fucking uniform makes me want to puke.”

  The girl smiled, slightly nudging Leon away. Yong Kyu went over to the bed first and lay down, and Leon then came over and lay down on the next bed. The girls were about to pull the curtains when Yong Kyu stopped them.

  “I’d like to talk about business.”

  Leon opened his eyes wide and tried to read the expression on Yong Kyu’s face.

  “I want us to be friends. Friends must never cheat one another. I want to buy things from you.”

  “Coffee, you mean? Well, I’ll give you the damn stuff free.”

  “Not just a couple of boxes, I mean I want to buy as much as you can handle.”

  Leon was silent. Instead of replying, he tapped the head of his bed with his finger, thinking. Yong Kyu went on.

  “When you get back home, how much do you think you can make? What can you earn in a week?”

  “Well, maybe between a hundred and two hundred. I spend it all on the weekend.”

  “You can make ten times that. Look around, there’s a mountain of goods piled up in the warehouse. There’s everything there.”

  Leon let out a short laugh. “I know the whole story. And there are many divisions in our warehouse where goods are being sold.”

  “So much the better. Our supply vehicle goes to Turen every day. Once a day, or once every other day, whichever you like is fine with me.”

  “Once every other day sounds good. We rotate, you know.”

  “Let me have two pallets of salad oil on Monday.”

  “Big or small?”

  “Big would be better.”

  Leon held out his hand for Yong Kyu to shake.

  “If it’s only B-rations, I can let you have as much as you want.”

  They shook hands. The girls were pressing, rubbing, and patting their shoulders and spines, moving down toward the calves.

  “I think I can trust you. You’re not greedy,” Leon said.

  “Your sergeant, did you say Stapley was his name? What’s his job?”

  “He’s in charge of checking all the warehouses in our section. But he’s got no power over us and rarely interferes. A nice guy.”

  “Career soldier?”

  “No, he was drafted, too. He hates this war.”

  “You, too?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to go home soon.”

  “All right, we’ll talk more later. Enjoy yourself.”

  Yong Kyu signaled with his eye and the girls pulled the curtains together.

  From the other side of the partition came the sound of Leon and the other girl laughing, then the sound of bare flesh slapping. Caressing Yong Kyu with her fingertips, the girl with him asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Hands, body, special . . . prices are different.”

  “How different?”

  “Five-dollar difference.”

  “I’ll give you thirty. Do them all to that guy.”

  “He already has a girl.”

  “Do a double for him.”

  With a look of disdain, the girl stared down at Yong Kyu with narrowed eyes and the corners of her mouth twitching upward, then she moved over into the next compartment. The whispering and giggling of the two girls could be heard together with eruptions of convulsive laughter from Leon.

  “Hey, Sarge, you’re crazy! This is too much!”

  Without responding, Yong Kyu put his clothes back on. He smoked a cigarette absentmindedly and listened to the gradual changes in the sound of their heavy breathing, the moving flesh and the laughs. He was detached. Thirty dollars for a girl, sixty for two, plus ten dollars for the bath—for a grand total of seventy dollars he’d bought hell’s pleasures. The girls would suck the marrow out of the bastard and leave him a drained pulp . . . just as the goods heaped up in Leon’s warehouse had made the larger and more grandiose hell prosper.

  Yong Kyu thought of the porn films he used to watch with the administrative agents back at the Grand Hotel. The constant hunger, the lack, the incessant material quest. The next day Yong Kyu had found his way into this bathhouse during duty hours. And he had come back once more with the team leader. He pictured sperm crawling on the screens like worms. His body was mindlessly hung between his legs.

  He saw the countless limbs and blobs of flesh swept up into vinyl bags for disposal, the stench of the blood, the rotting wounds, the flesh swollen with an amber brown tinge, the sticky pus oozing around, the swarming maggots, the hordes of lizards ceaselessly slipping in and out of the hellish holes in torn and severed parts of corpses, . . . our machines, our poisons, our weapons, our own despair, hell is a frenzied festival of all the things we’ve produced, ourselves included.

  Drink, drink, you’ll feel great at heart, peel and eat while it’s still soft and tender, chew it, relish it, suck it, suck it, stick it in deep and suck it, see you in a clean bedroom with graceful designs and tasteful decor, soft touch, for diminishing stamina, for indigestion, it’ll make you younger, it’ll make you sleep, stocks and savings and investments will make a deluge of money, of rifles machine guns rockets grenades cannon napalm helicopters tanks kill me take the GI money and run for the room down the hall, hey, whore here’s your customer, take him to your room sit down lie down undress go ahead spread insert suck pay soldiers of the Cross rise up for the Lord go away brimstone is burning God bless Americans God bless America.

  When the smokescreen of this horrible blood-drenched war is gone, we shall see our finance still standing firm. And we shall also find money to drop on the next place, and money to rebuild the razed and ruined world. And we also shall find dollars that will illuminate the earth with a victorious peace by burning the lights in the factories once again.

  Standing amidst the lower-class pleasure spots and GI bars, the Saigon branches of the Bank of America and the Chase Manhattan Bank resemble a modern granite forest sunk deep into the psammitic soil. These edifices were built especially to withstand the condition you know by the name of “war.” That is, the windows of the banks are bulletproof, and the walls are of reinforced materials designed to hold up against bombings and mortar attacks. If there had been no American power in Vietnam, then no American banks ever would have been built there. The economy of any nation that depends on American money will in time become America-oriented.

  Yong Kyu took out his wallet and removed a red ten-dollar military certificate. Then he folded up sixty dollars more and placed it on the table where the girls would easily find and take it.

  “I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”

  Yong Kyu spat out those words above the blended noise of moaning, sniffling, and panting, then walked out into the corridor.

  The old man at the ticket booth looked up at him with a vacant stare. Outside, the heat was still burning, reflected from the cement sidewalks. Hot air enveloped his eyes. Suddenly, Yong Kyu felt heavy at heart. Sure, treat him to a fine meal, maybe at the French restaurant down by the White Elephant. What the hell, it would all work out somehow. Garçon, a bottle of champagne,
if you please.

  Wait, a diplomatic mission this is not. Business ought to be a bit more barbaric. Right, a secret room would be perfect. There must be strong whiskey and the exquisite skills of naked women. Let’s call Toi. He should know all about it. The familiar sound of a grenade exploding could be heard only a block away. Instinctively, Yong Kyu pressed himself against the wall. A moment later, a roll of machine gun fire was audible. ARVN guards patrolling the street could be heard barking signals to each other. Across the street, people were cowering on the ground or else had dashed into nearby buildings. A terrorist attack by urban guerrillas, apparently. A little while later, armored personnel carriers and Jeeps were speeding by and the streets once more became animated with life. Slowly Yong Kyu crawled into the Jeep and fell asleep with the front door open.

  18

  The telephone was ringing loudly.

  Yong Kyu managed to open his eyes, but getting out of bed would take too much effort. He fumbled around the table beside the bed for his watch, then picked it up to check the time. Two in the afternoon. The ache at the back of his skull was terrible and his mouth felt like it was full of sand. He staggered to his feet. By the time he picked up the receiver, the caller had hung up. For a long while he sat there on the edge of the bed, his mind completely blank. The buzzing white noise from the air conditioner made his head even fuzzier. He took a carton of milk from the refrigerator and downed a couple of gulps. The cold milk flowing down his throat put his senses on edge.

  He had returned around six in the morning. He remembered Toi dropping him off. They had been drinking all night at some bar with a strip show. Toi had probably driven on with Leon slouched unconscious beside him, passing through the checkpoints on the outskirts of the city where ambush alerts remained in force, then slipped out of Da Nang.

  Yong Kyu had seen floorshows a few times before, but this one was something else entirely. There were mulatto dancers and Vietnamese girls who could pass for white—half-French, must have been. He checked his jacket. A single ten-dollar note was left. He had had a hundred and fifty on him and Pointer had given him another three hundred, so he must have spent about four hundred fifty dollars. Peanuts, he thought to himself. He was confident that that and much and more would be easily recovered with a single deal.