The Bench

by Nigel Jones

  Jacques loved the scene. The vitality of life in Hanoi always excited him, along with the aromas that invaded his nostrils from all directions. Most were the pleasant smells of food being cooked, but not all. At times the drains would impose themselves on the more delicate fragrances of satay or sweet corn. This particular spot was his favourite as a perfume shop was situated directly opposite whose fragrances overpowered the more offensive offerings from the street.

  Fatty appeared with a tray, which held three Bia Hoi and passed them to his guests. Jacques held the cold bottle of beer to his forehead and brushed it against his cheeks before pouring some into a glass and downing its contents in one go. The girls sipped the cool nectar a little more demurely.

  Fatty was the proud owner of one of the few refrigerators in Hanoi. It usually did not hold beer, but when Saphine was coming he would always find room for half a dozen.

  Sophie spoke first. She asked the question she’d been dying to ask since she’d met up with Jacques in the club. “Am I on? Will they let me come, Jacques?”

  Jacques knew she’d been dying to ask, and deliberately had not told her. She teased him all the time, now it was his turn. “Maybe.”

  “You horrid man, tell me.” She slapped his arm.

  “Okay, they will let you come, but you have to do three practice parachute jumps before we go.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I did dozens of them during the War.” She looked angry.

  “I know, but this is the French Army, not the Resistance. They think you are just a ‘stupid girl’ with crazy ideas above your station.” He smirked at his friend who slapped him again.

  “Seriously though, thank you, Jacques. I know it must have been difficult persuading the idiots.”

  “Mon plaisir, Mademoiselle. I’ve set up the practice jumps for Thursday. I think we’ll be going in sometime next week. I should know by Thursday.”

  “You two are mad. It’s just one big game to you. Adrenalin freaks, I read about it in a magazine. You are both adrenalin freaks,” said Saphine.

  Sophie and Jacques looked at each other. It was a good description and they were not going to deny it. They had even discussed between themselves why they did what they did, and came to a similar conclusion. They both shrugged their shoulders in the ultimate Gallic gesture and smiled at Saphine.

  You will be careful, won’t you? I love you both.” Saphine was serious, she did love them both in different ways, but was quite sure she could love Sophie in a very similar way to Jacques.

  Food was arriving at the table with an increasing pace. Chicken and cashew nuts, spicy beef with ginger, noodles, fried rice, chilli prawns and pad chow were all devoured by the hungry group who did not have one spare ounce of body fat between them.

  As they tucked into the feast that Fatty was supplying, Sophie asked, “Do you still think the French generals are making a huge mistake, Jacques?”

  Jacques took a swig of his beer then answered, ”More than a mistake, they are committing suicide!” He paused, then continued, “The idiots still think they can fight the Vietminh in their own country using conventional warfare, despite everything we’ve told them. Surely we showed them how effective guerrilla tactics could be during the War back in France, but it was in our own country then and we knew it like the back of our hands. We knew what could be achieved by terrorism and the Germans were our targets, but here we are the targets. We cannot win this war. We should walk away. They think by taking Dien Bien Phu airfield and creating an air-supplied base there, they can cut the Vietminh supply lines from Laos, and that will draw the enemy into a conventional battle that would cripple them. Sure we can easily take Dien Bien Phu, but can we keep it? I doubt it. Firstly, the Vietminh snipers will pick off patrols at ease. French tanks and artillery are useless against the ‘shadows’, which inhabit the jungles. The Germans were virtually unable to touch us, their only weapon was to strike back maliciously at the innocent, and with each strike they lost another battle to win the hearts of the people whose country they occupied. That is what will happen here. Will they listen to me? Oh no, not these arrogant twits. Secondly, I have witnessed the remarkable ability the Vietminh have for moving their own equipment around their country. Should they wish to, they could take us on at our own game, their logistics can cope with any large-scale arms movements. In recent months the hardware they have access to seems to be growing, supplied by China, who I believe is also supplying the expertise in how to use it.”

  “You make it sound hopeless. I like hopeless causes.” There was a sparkle in Sophie’s eyes.

  “It probably is. So when we get there and have set up the base, when I’m up country outwitting the Vietminh, I will be forming my own personal withdrawal plan. If you are silly enough to still be there when it all goes wrong, you will be very welcome to join me.”

  “Thank you. How wonderfully gallant and English of you, Jack,” Sophie said in her best English.

  “Are you sure you really want to do this, just to get a first-hand story about the shortcomings of the French military?” Jacques was concerned. “It really could be carnage.”

  “I will love the excitement, and anyway, the first phase should be okay, you said so.”

  “Yes, I think it will, but we could become sitting ducks. The only way in and out will be by air. If the Vietminh have anti-aircraft guns, we will be in trouble. And guess what? The imbeciles don’t think that they do. Only think! Fucking idiots, the lot of them.”

  “Now, now, Jack. If it’s the disaster you think it will be, I will report it as such. The generals will not be getting a free endorsement of their policies. If they are shown to be ‘fucking idiots,’ I will destroy them in the press. At the very least, I will report the futile waste of lives defending a far-flung colony against the people whose home it really is. And I will mention the irony that Resistance fighters are now the occupying force.”

  “Yes, it is ironic, isn’t it? Why am I here?” Jacques was almost talking to himself.

  Sophie took his hand. “Because you are a thoroughly decent man, Jacques, and an honourable Englishman, who still harbours ideals and morals that are more relevant to Victorian Britain. If you had been completely French, you would have fled to join the French Foreign Legion. Unfortunately, mon brave, you have some things in common with the fucking idiots!”

  Jacques laughed. As always, Sophie’s insight impressed him. “I can’t wait to read the articles when they are published.”

  “They will be incisive. War is futile, and I will dedicate the rest of my life to spreading that word.” Her eyes blazed at him and a wicked smile appeared on her lips. “Unfortunately, it turns me on.”

  “You are incorrigible, Sophie,” said Jacques, smiling at the very sexy woman in front of him.

  Saphine had been listening to their conversation and watched them flirting. She didn’t mind. It was natural and she flirted with Sophie as well. “When you two finally consummate this relationship, can I be there?” she asked, and she meant it.

  Sophie exploded with laughter. Jacques blushed. Saphine just looked puzzled at both of their reactions. “Is it so terrible?”

  “Non, cherie, it would be lovely. But poor Jack is English and his sensibilities would never allow it.” He blushed some more. Saphine shrugged and tucked into another prawn.

  That night when he made love to Saphine, his English sensibilities were put aside briefly as he imagined the girls together, before he managed to put such thoughts out of his head and resumed a more conventional seduction.

  On Thursday morning he collected Sophie from her hotel and drove her to the airfield were she was to do her three parachute jumps. She looked a million dollars, wearing slacks and a tailored blouse, which hugged her chest. Bright red lipstick accentuated her generous lips and mascara set off her blue eyes, with her long blonde hair framing her pretty face.

  “Bloody hell, Sophie. You’re not going to the club,” Jacques said, smiling at her, ”you’re going to a military base.”<
br />
  “The boys deserve a bit of glamour in their lives. Don’t worry, after they’ve dressed me in some dreadful army outfit I won’t look so glamorous”

  Needless to say she was well received by the 6e Bataillon de Parachutistes Coloniaux. They were almost fighting over who should teach her. Sophie never let on that she had already done over ten combat jumps and completed a weeklong course with the S.O.E. By lunchtime she was their heroine, and by the end of the day she was legend.

  Jacques watched it all, and completed the three jumps with her. At the end of the day the sergeant, who had finally won the battle to train her, pinned her wings to her chest with a mixture of pride and lust.

  Afterwards they all retired to the bar where Sophie completed her charm offensive on the Regiment. She told them about her past and the Resistance, her interrogation and her internment in the concentration camp. The piece de resistance that won their hearts was when she eased her blouse from her shoulder along with one lace bra strap to reveal the bullet wound inflicted by the Gestapo. The twenty guys that huddled around her were genuinely proud to have such a woman to go into battle with.

  As they drove back to Hanoi Jacques said, “That was impressive. A whole battalion, all lusting after you at once.”

  “It was fun, wasn’t it?” She had an impish smile on her face.

  Jacques glanced over to her and wondered about the woman who had left a French battalion infatuated. She was an enigma, every man she met loved her instantly, and she was quirky and fun. Yet she did not have a boyfriend and never spoke about any other man she may have had in her life. She had been his confidante ever since she had arrived in Hanoi, but she would never talk about her own relationships.

  Jacques decided it was time to find out. “You know all about my love life, but you have never talked about yours.” Once again he was inviting her to open up about her personal life, as he had done many times before.

  “I won’t have one until you sleep with me.” As always, she evaded the question.

  Jacques slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. He turned the ignition off and turned towards her.

  “Tell me now, or you don’t come to Dien Bien Phu with me, and I certainly won’t sleep with you.”

  “Oh Jack, you spoilsport. Just sex then, no sleeping.”

  “Neither. Now spill the beans.”

  She looked at Jacques, sizing him up, deciding if she would finally confide in him. She liked and respected Jacques more than any man she had ever known, and if she was being honest with herself she loved him from afar. She knew if things had been different and his life less complicated they may well have been a couple. But there were other reasons why she had not seriously tried to consummate that love. There was Saphine, whom she loved, and despite their teasing of Jacques she was actually old-fashioned enough to know that she would hate sharing him, and he was Saphine’s boyfriend. But there was another reason, another man to whom she had given her heart years before.

  She stared at Jacques. It was only fair that he should know, after all he was her best friend and the more she thought about it the more she realised she wanted to tell him. “Okay, Jacques. There was a man, a brave man with a good heart. We met in the early days of the Resistance and I fell madly in love with him, but the Germans killed him. My own incarceration and torture were as nothing compared to the loss I felt when he died. A little like Yvette, I waged my own vendetta against them for a while. But unlike Yvette, I learned that people are people. Some are good and some are bad, and not all Germans are bad. My personal war ended a long time ago, now I fight against all wars. Hardly anyone ever knew quite what he meant to me, and we did not even know each other that long.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Didier, his name was Didier, and he was a lot like you, Jacques.” She touched his cheek. “Don’t worry, I am not trying to make you a substitute. You know I love you and I know you love me too, but it is an inopportune love and it is also the love that two comrades-in-arms hold for each other. Your heart lies with someone else, cheri, and I want you to fulfil that love. It is what you deserve.” It was the most serious she had ever been with him, even when they had been under fire during the War.

  Jacques liked the serious Sophie. He almost felt as if he were in the presence of a different person. He had heard a rumour that she had lost a lover during the War, but there had not been time to dwell on personal loss during the conflict. Like Yvette, no mention had ever been made in public of their loss, but better than most Jacques knew what she must have been through. He suddenly found himself reliving emotions he had felt for Yvette.

  “How do you feel about it now? You never talk about it.”

  Sophie looked at the man who had devoted himself to her old friend Yvette. The man who selflessly tried to ease the suffering of the girl racked with the pain of her own demons. She had watched from afar as his strength and compassion had given Yvette life. At times she was ashamed that she’d wished it were her who was receiving that attention. Though at the time it had encouraged her. Here was a man, a decent man, who she knew she could love like Didier. That same man was offering to share her pain now, as he had shared Yvette‘s.

  At that moment she desperately wanted him. She wanted to love him and be loved by him, but she knew it would never happen.

  “I came to terms with it a long time ago, Jacques.” She managed to say instead of taking his face in her hands and kissing him.

  “Will you ever marry, Sophie?” he asked.

  “Yes, if I meet the right man. I’ve only ever met two that I would put in that category. One is dead.” The look in her eyes told him who the other was. Then she giggled as the old Sophie returned. “There is always Saphine of course, she would have me. I love her too, but I’m not sure about the lesbian part. We just flirt and tease, but occasionally I genuinely find myself wanting her physically. Is that terrible?”

  “You’re asking me? Christ, I can’t look at her without wanting to screw her!” They both laughed.

  Sophie needed to change the subject and it was her turn to probe. “What will happen with you and Saphine? You know she is nuts about you, don’t you? She told me you are the only man she has ever enjoyed sex with.”

  “I’m nuts about her too, but it is mainly physical. Saphine is strong and she is a survivor. The people of Vietnam love her and she loves them. I can’t see her coming to live with me in a Breton cottage, or a two-up-two-down on the Isle of Wight!”

  “Actually I can’t see you doing that either.” She smiled at him.

  “Maybe not, but Saphine and I will part naturally. Probably when the French have been thrown out of Vietnam. It will be a mutual parting and without malice. I will never forget her, or what she has done for me. Until that moment we will enjoy each other.”

  “So screwing me once would not be out of the question then?” Sophie slid across the bench seat in the car and pushed herself against his arm. The serious time was definitely over, but they were both glad they’d had the conversation.

  “No, not out of the question. In fact, as we are baring our souls, I can categorically say that I would like that very much.”

  Sophie clapped her hands together with glee. “Good, I will leave you in no doubt when the moment comes.” Then more seriously she asked, “Will we still be friends afterwards?”

  “Of course, Sophie. We will be friends and I will always love you, and we will always have the memory of each other locked in coital bliss.”

  “Don’t, I’m not sure I can wait.” She laughed, then leant over and kissed him. Not the kiss of a friend, but the kiss of a lover. “Mmm, perfect. I knew it would be. Take me home then go and seduce our Saphine.”

  Buster had one eye open watching the man. This remembering had been nothing but smiles and at regular intervals, laughs as well.

  The rotund lady approached with her pockets bulging with dog biscuits. ‘What a fine summer day this had been,’ thought Buster.

  NINE


  The next day was just as beautiful and by mid-morning Jacques along with Buster were once again sitting on the bench.

  For Jacques it was to be another Honeysuckle day. There was no such thing as a bad Honeysuckle day, whenever he thought of her his heart leapt, but sometimes there were recollections he wished he did not have. However, these recollections were part of their lives and if he was going to review his life they all had a place and were paramount to how it developed.

  Before he took his mind back to the War, he gave Buster a chew that was almost the size of his own leg. Buster needed spoiling, he was no longer a young whippersnapper who needed to stay trim so he could hunt and romance any lady dog who passed by, he had done all that and needed some comforts in his life.

  Jacques was on the ferry. Yarmouth was still in the distance and he strained to see if Honeysuckle was waiting on the pier. She was not.

  Both he and Yvette had flown back to England to get a briefing about the build up to the Normandy landings. They spent three days at Wanborough and 64 Baker Street learning the codes that would be transmitted by the B.B.C, which would trigger their pre-planned operations to destroy German communications and supply lines. Each had been strategically selected and would be targeted in a sequence that would cause the maximum amount of mayhem.

  After the briefings they had been given forty-eight hours leave. Jacques telephoned his parents to say he would be home for a day and a night, and asked them to tell Honeysuckle. His mother had been quite offhand with him on the telephone. He knew the reason why.

  Yvette had wanted to come with him so she could meet his family, and had been upset when he started to make up reasons why she should not. “Let me tell them about the baby on my own. It will give them time to get used to the idea. Next time you will come with me, I promise. I’m sorry, cherie, it will be better this way.”