Smoke Screen

by Suzanne Ouimet

  When we arrived in DaNang, the temperature was about110 degrees and was it humid! Even before the door opened to let us off the plane, the temperature inside was over 80. The air conditioning was still on and all the windows fogged up. Instantly, we were all sweating. When the door finally opened to let us out, the smell hit us. Rancid! Putrid! Nauseating! It’s probably because the people here have no refrigeration. I don’t really know. Maybe it’s the smell of death.

  Inside the terminal the temperature was almost as hot as it was outside. We formed a long line to change our currency from U.S. to some funny looking, multi-coloured, play money called MPC (Military Payment Certificates). It’s a federal crime to hold U.S. money here. And another thing, we can’t buy anything from the Vietnamese in MPC, but only in piasters, which is what their money is called.

  We were all loaded into a bus and began to move through the streets of suburban DaNang. Suddenly we were passing a burning, overturned military jeep. One of our G.I.’s was lying there dead, his skull crushed in, brain matter spilling out. Another G.I was sitting on the ground, his right arm broken, blood coming out of his nose and mouth and all over the front of his shirt. An American MP was directing traffic around the bloodbath. One of our guys said a B40 rocket had probably hit them but we never really knew. Nobody spoke again until we got to the gate at Camp Tien Sha.

  On a happier note, we saw a line of very pretty school girls, all dressed in flowing silk ‘ao dai’, (native dresses) following two nuns. They stole giggling glances at us while we stared back at them. What a beautiful sight!

  My reaction to all this? I want to come home. I love you. I miss you.

  Carmine.

  Letters from Carmine began to arrive less and less often. He did write a bit about Camp Tien Sha, described the old French army base, now the headquarters for all U.S. Naval Support Activities, the most northern theatre of war in South Vietnam. White stucco buildings with dark green wooden shutters and doors and three-foot high white picket fences everywhere, encircling every block of buildings. Carmine said it all looked surreal. He told how they all hated the picket fences and thought they might make escape from the buildings during a rocket attack, dangerous.

  He said his nickname had become ‘Pablo’ and despite his refusing to answer to it, the name persisted. “Maybe I should have kept my adopted name ‘George’ and told everyone I was Indian. Maybe everyone would call me ‘Chief’ instead,” was how he put it. He confessed he sometimes missed Ben George, called him ‘Dad’ and said he often thought ‘the guy wasn’t so bad after all, now I know what life in the Navy is like’.

  One of Carmine’s last letters was from DaNang after he had been assigned to work on the Freight Terminal Deep Water Piers. From what he wrote, it seemed to be a really bad assignment and it was obvious he was depressed.

  March 12, 1962

  Hi Bro,

  Please pass this letter on. I’m so tired I hardly have the energy to write. I don’t know how it’s come to this, after all my aspirations, but now I am working unloading ships. There are sixteen teams working at the piers; Vietnamese teams, male and female and also Korean – all civilians. Twelve-hour days, seven days a week. An extra day off only if your team offloads the most tonnage. You only get a day off when you change off from days to nights. It’s a very dangerous job, but I guess it’s important. I’ve learned to operate forklifts, cranes of various sizes and other large equipment. We unload all sorts of things – including beer. Not good beer, mind you, and cola, not Coke, some other cheap brand. A lot of the stuff is damaged when it comes off the ship. Not our fault though. I actually got knocked off the damn ship by a huge netted load of bananas, if you can believe it! Luckily I wasn’t hurt, but it was a wake-up call. This sort of thing happens a lot, and guys have been killed. We’ve unloaded tanks and lots of jeeps and trucks too. Who knows, maybe all this might eventually come in handy when I get home.

  We get picked up for work at the barracks gate and if you miss the bus to work you can be sentenced to the brig for a month, or might even be court-martialed. I make sure I’m not late!

  I am so homesick. I don’t know how I got myself into this. Please write soon.

  Carmine.

  P.S. Another funny thing, well different anyway, we see ARVN soldiers strolling hand in hand. It seems to be a custom here, men holding hands. I don’t think they’re queer though.

  P.P.S. I am enclosing a little thing I wrote about Vietnamese history.

  He wrote:

  I met this Vietnamese fellow who offered me a ride to China Beach (where I was going for some R&R) one morning when I had missed the bus. At first we had a little trouble communicating. But his English wasn’t so bad and eventually we were able to have a pretty decent conversation. His family name was Tran, which is apparently a fairly famous name in Vietnam.

  He told me Tran Hung Dao, (who he sort of compared to our George Washington) was a great general who defeated the Chinese when the Mongols were in power there in the thirteenth century. Kublai Khan’s armies might have conquered much of Europe, even as far west as Italy, had Tran Hung Dao’s army not defeated them in China. Khan had to bring his western armies home to keep Tran from conquering all of China.

  According to ‘my Tran’, Tran Hung Dao’s two hundred thousand soldiers were fighting Khan’s six hundred thousand soldiers and had to resort to fighting what is now considered to be the first guerrilla war. They lured Khan’s army into the jungle but Khan’s troops didn’t know how to fight in the jungle. Tran’s army killed all of Khubla Khan’s armies; they took no prisoners.

  I was fascinated by this story and intend to research it more when I get back home. We were taught the American colonists were the first to fight using guerrilla tactics, but it seems it wasn’t true.

  Tran told me another story, which parallels the legend we have of King Arthur but which occurred much earlier. This is the story of King Le Thai To, which I will also enclose.

  The story was missing. It had not been enclosed.

  In the last correspondence Sonny received from him, Carmine again requested he pass the letter around. He told them he was being sent ‘up-country’ and had to find his own way there. He’d finally been offered a ride on a river patrol boat, a PBR, to go upriver. He seemed excited, as he’d never been on a River Patrol Boat and was looking forward to the experience. This was in late 1962. They hadn’t heard from him again.

  When Marybeth and Tom read the letters, they realized that Agnes and Nick had kept their nephew’s secrets well. While they were disappointed they’d not been told the truth, they admired the couple’s willingness to keep what they felt important family details to themselves.

  “I guess Agnes thought it was okay to tell us about Ben and Marilyn because Ben is dead? But not to tell us they know where their nephews are.”

  “Probably,” To replied. “But, I feel disappointed. To me they seem dishonest.”

  Chapter 17

  Good News, Bad News

  “Ken wants to see us first thing,” Tom told Marybeth as they drove to work Monday morning.

  “Why?” she asked. “What’s up?”

  “No idea. Possibly to talk about the arson case? What do we tell him?”

  “Have we got a written report?”

  “Have you done one?”

  “No,” Marybeth replied, punching him lightly on the right arm. “And you haven’t either, have you?”

  “Nope. And that’s going to be our first problem. Our ticket numbers are way up though, so that should help. We can’t be in two places at once. Either we’re out on the road stopping speeders or we’re going around interviewing the George family. Maybe we should get him to tell us what’s most important.”

  “What are we going to tell him about the fire investigation, Tom?”

  “We could say we’ve investigated just about everyone concerned except for Wayne Howard, who was the Fire Marshal back then and we’re going over to see him tomorrow?”

  “Okay. So
let’s say we’ll have a report on his desk day after tomorrow?”

  “I’d hate to be that definite, wouldn’t you? And besides, what do we have to report? Absolutely nothing. We don’t even have any suspects.”

  “What if he wants us to outline what we know so far? Do we tell him about all the documents we have from the various Georges?”

  “One of us should take the lead, MB. And we should get our stories straight.”

  “Okay. You tell him we have one document that accuses one of Ben George’s sons, but we’ve ascertained he couldn’t have been responsible as he has tight alibis for the times of all the fires. You talk and I’ll try to keep my mouth shut unless he asks me something specifically.”

  “Just think hard before you do speak, okay?” he said with a grin. “We’re going to have to play it by ear, Marybeth.

  “You got it, boss,” she replied, as Tom parked the car in their designated spot.

  Inside the station, while waiting outside Chief Ken Ronson’s office, they sat quietly. Marybeth idly paged through the Leffler Police newsletter, ‘News and Views’, while Tom sprawled, relaxed. Finally they were ushered in.

  “Sit,” Ken told them, still going through papers on his desk. Finally, after signing several, he looked up.

  “First, I’d like to commend you on your numbers. They’ve been up three months in a row. And, great work on that Trufolo case, by the way.”

  “Thank you, sir,” they replied in unison.

  There had been a series of home burglaries on their patch. A neighbour had spotted the robber at one of the most recent and had given Marybeth a good description of the fleeing felon. She immediately recognized Dan Trufolo, a local teen, who they’d suspected for some time was involved in various illegal activities. She and Tom went to his house with a search warrant, subsequently discovering a cache of stolen goods in the teenager’s bedroom. Over eighteen now, he would be considered an adult at trial.

  “I notice you haven’t put in an up-to-date report on the results of your investigation into the Bellevue Apartments fire.” Ken said, thumbing through the file. “Didn’t we agree you’d do one weekly?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Tom told him. “We haven’t had much to report up until now. Just a bunch of conjecture and innuendos.”

  “How much time have you spent? Who have you interviewed so far?”

  “Maybe eighteen hours, all told.” Tom replied, glancing at Marybeth, who nodded in agreement. “We’ve interviewed quite a few people so far. We started with the newspaper articles in the file, then decided to talk to members of Ben George’s family, since he was the one who rescued the baby who died.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “We’ve established that no one in his immediate family knows who started the fires. We’re going to go see Wayne Howard tomorrow. He’s the guy who was Fire Marshal at the time. We’re hoping he can tell us a little more than what was in the file. Whoever did the original work didn’t leave us much to go on.”

  “Okay. Sound’s like you’ve got it under control... Can you get me a report by the end of the month?”

  Marybeth gave an inner sigh of relief. Month-end was a long way off. They’d surely have something concrete to report by then!

  “Okay, now about the real reason I called you in. There’s a new department rule maybe coming down the pike, which could affect two of you,” Ken said, pausing to look from one to the other. “I’m hoping it won’t but I wanted to give you a ‘heads up’ anyway. If it does, it’ll mean there will be no more male/female partnerships.”

  “Sir?” Marybeth asked, with a feeling of alarm.

  “It seems some people in positions of power around here think it’s unhealthy to have men and women on the force working together. I personally think our mixed-gender teams work very well together. Also, there’s been a rumour about you two being too close to be working together, if you get what I mean.”

  Tom’s face reddened. “Whose business is it anyway?” he asked, flustered.

  “Unfortunately, some people, like the Mayor and a couple of Councilmen, think it’s their’s. Someone’s reported seeing you, Tom, parked at Marybeth’s house a lot at night. Marvin Slater lives on your street, doesn’t he, Marybeth?”

  “He’s one of the council. And yes, he lives about three doors down from me. Ken, I have to tell you, this upsets me a lot.” Marybeth objected vehemently. “There is absolutely nothing immoral going on between me and Tom. He rents my garage is all. He’s using it as his workshop. He’s building furniture, beautiful furniture. He rarely comes in the house at all. And he certainly hasn’t spent the night in my house, ever. I strongly object to this speculation!” She could feel her temperature rising, her skin getting hot.

  “Calm down, Marybeth. I believe you!” Ken exclaimed, slightly upset at having brought this on. “I don’t think anything is going on and I don’t think it’s any of my business if there is. But if they decide to go ahead with this new rule, and I think they will, I’m afraid you two won’t be working together anymore. So, it would be a good idea if you can get this arson case solved before it happens. Before we have to break you up.”

  “If we are, I’ll be quitting,” Tom announced suddenly. “I’ll soon have my furniture business up and running and I’m going to want to spend all my time working on it. So this new rule won’t affect us anyway.”

  Marybeth gasped. This was totally unexpected. She’d never thought Tom would quit this soon!

  “I personally hope this change doesn’t happen,” Ken admitted. “It’ll be a bit of a nightmare for me if it does. You two aren’t the only ones who’ll be split up. As you know, several others will be affected…” Standing up and coming around his desk, he shook hands with both of them, saying, “Keep up the good work. And Tom, don’t quit. We’ll get this straightened out somehow. Get that report in to me as soon as you can,” he told them as he ushered them out, shutting the door behind them.

  Back in the car, Marybeth said, “What a bummer! I can’t imagine us being split up. Who else can I work with as well as with you? I didn’t realize you were ready to quit yet, Tom.”

  “Well, I wasn’t, not really. At least not yet. But I don’t want to start all over with a new partner. I have enough saved to run the business for a several months; at least until I can get some pieces sold.

  “I’m really pissed, MB, about those jerks thinking you and I are carrying on when we aren’t.”

  “Me, too. I don’t suppose I could take Slater to court for slander even if I feel like it. He’d just claim he didn’t say it, got it second hand.”

  “There’s one way we can stop the gossip.” Tom told her, reaching out for her hand.

  “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “Get married,” he said, looking into her eyes.

  Marybeth paused for a minute, then asked, “Is that a proposal, Tom?”

  “Well, yes. Yes, it is,” he replied quietly, gazing into her eyes. “I love you, Marybeth, and I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “Hmmm… Well, I love you too,” she admitted, suddenly realizing she actually did. “But I’m not sure we’re ready to jump right in and take the plunge this soon. It’s rather sudden.

  “Don’t drive yet. I want to talk,” she told him, as he started the car, “Are you sure you’re not just reacting to those jerks talking about us?”

  “I guess that precipitated it,” he said, turning off the ignition, “but I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I’ve loved you since before Greg died. It seems right to me and I decided, just now, to ask you.”

  “It’s a huge decision, Tom. Starting a business, starting a marriage, all at the same time. Geez, we don’t even know if our cats’ll get along!” She grinned at him. “We should introduce them, don’t you think? At least get their permission before we ask them to move in together?”

  Tom studied her for a minute, then reached out and gently took her face in his hands. “Just say yes, Marybeth. Don’t prevari
cate. We’ll figure out all the logistics later. Just say yes.”

  She leaned over and kissed him. “Okay. Yes, yes, you funny man. Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Let’s make it soon. If they’re going to break us up at work, we need to be together away from work. I’ll keep working; you do your furniture thing. We’ll make out okay.”

  “Logistics later, Marybeth,” Tom reminded her, as he started the car, then sat there, his hands on the steering while, not driving, “It’s no use, I can’t work any more today. I’m too excited.”

  “Forget working,” she beamed, “let’s just drive around, and pretend we are…” She turned to him, took his face in her hands and kissed him, long and hard. It was some time before Tom finally started the car and put it into gear.

  Chapter18

  Pleasant Valley Haven

  Driving up to Black Rock to visit Wayne Howard at the Pleasant Valley Haven, a private mental home, Tom and Marybeth timed their arrival for just after 11 a.m.

  “You’ll have to catch him while he’s still awake,” the receptionist on duty had told Tom when he called to make an appointment. “Visiting hours are between 10 and 12 and 3 and 5. You should try to see him in the morning, before lunch, when he’s in a better frame of mind. He naps for a long time in the afternoon and, take it from me, he’s really grouchy when he wakes up.”

  Pleasant Valley indeed. PLH (Pleasant Valley Haven) stood in a narrow ravine among towering, blossoming, chestnut trees. Pathways wound around the beautifully designed main building, circling several small ponds complete with fountains. Benches for relaxing, to enjoy watching the many ducks and swans, were scattered here and there. Huge rhododendrons in a rainbow of colours made the scene even more park-like. Several smaller cabin-like buildings were spotted amid the trees. Several people, some accompanied by nursing staff seemed to be taking advantage of the sun.