Saigon (76 page)

“Does it hurt very bad?” 

The tiny voice speaking Vietnamese startled Joseph, and he opened his eyes to find a little girl aged about ten squatting on her haunches by his feet. She wore a pale, collarless tunic and trousers of cheap cotton and was barefooted, but her brow was crinkled in a worried frown and he realized then that he must have groaned aloud as he shifted his position in the bottom of the sampan; it was rocking only gently with the movement of the river, but the two worn coconut palm mats beneath his back did little to cushion the discomfort caused by the rough-hewn planks. 

“It hurts a little, yes.” 

He gasped as he spoke and his breathing was labored; the dressing taped to the upper part of his bare chest was dark with dried blood, and he could move his right arm only with difficulty because of the stiffness. The bullet had passed between his top two ribs just beneath the collarbone on his right side and penetrated the pleural cavity, but from the wound beneath his armpit he guessed it had passed out of his body again. His right lung had collapsed, and after five days and nights he was becoming accustomed to the shortness of breath which went with having to manage on only one lung. 

“Are you going to die?” 

Joseph looked into the wide, wondering eyes; her ten-year-old face, unaware of its innocent, unformed beauty, was perfectly serious as she gazed at him, expectantly waiting for an answer. “No, I don’t think so.” He winced again as he raised himself on one elbow. “I’m going to get better sometime. And then maybe I’ll take you and your Mamma away to a place where there isn’t any war.” 

“Isn’t any war?” The cherubic amber lace crinkled with incomprehension. Outside, the distant rattle of rifle and machine-gun fire was continuous; occasionally the deeper roar of 90-millimeter tank cannon and the crump of mortar shells shook the earth and drowned out the lighter weapons, but the Sound of small arms fire rarely died away altogether. The four Communist battalions that had stormed into Hue in the early hours of January 31 had seized the Citadel, Gia Hoi and most of the suburbs along the southern bank of the River of Perfumes within an hour or two, encountering only light resistance. American Marines of the First Battalion Phu Bai had successfully fought their way through to the U.S. MACV compound opposite the Citadel within hours, hut all their attempts to move out and clear the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong troops from the other areas south of the river had been resisted every step of the way. On the other bank, the depleted remnants of the First ARVN Division who had not been on leave when the Communists struck were trying to counterattack too, but they were making no progress against the Communists who now held the palaces in the heart of the Citadel. The U.S. Marines had taken to advancing along the streets crouched behind tanks in World War II fashion, but even these tactics, so unfamiliar to troops who had become accustomed to the jungle and hill warfare of Vietnam, were proving ineffective, and gains of a few yards only were being made each day; accurate bazooka fire was taking its toll of the tanks, and the jungle-trained enemy was proving surprisingly adept at house-to-house fighting. Low cloud and drizzle had made provision of close tactical air support impossible, and the fight for Hue raging all around the sampan that was moored among a clutter of similar boat dwellings was already proving to be a costly battle of attrition for both sides. 

“There’s always been fighting in your country ever since you were born,” said Joseph speaking very quietly. “But it’s not like that everywhere. Children in other countries play games all day, go swimming and take picnics. Would you like to do that?” 

She looked at him uncertainly, resting her delicate chin on two tiny fists, and didn’t answer. Once or twice during the past five days he had seen her peering shyly round the edge of the hanging mat that divided the cocoa palm fiber cabin into two compartments. Normally she had left the boat with Tuyet and her younger brother Chuong in the early morning each day and returned with them in the early evening, but for once she seemed to have stayed behind in the rear compartment of the sampan, and he assumed she had climbed through while he slept. 

“Are you really my mamma’s father?” Her little face contorted again in consternation. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“But you’re an American. How can that be?” 

“Perhaps I’ll explain later.” Joseph winced and closed his eyes again. The slightest effort tired him still, and he felt dizzy whenever he moved. Due to the shock of the wound and the loss of blood, he had spent most of the first five days sleeping fitfully, slipping back and forth from unconsciousness to a dazed state of wakefulness, hearing only dimly the noise of the battle outside. Sometimes he had wakened to find Tuyet kneeling beside him tending his injury, and he had guessed from the odor of the dressings that it had become infected. It took her half an hour each day to free the bandages and clean the wound, using pots of warm water boiled on a little spirit stove in the rear of the boat; but although her movements were always gentle and considerate, she had deliberately avoided his eyes, and her features had remained set always in a mask of indifference. Whenever he had tried to speak to her, she had motioned him to silence and refused to reply. 

He had little recollection of how they had reached the sampan. He had stumbled somehow through the shanty district with her help and they had reached the river wharves without being detected. They had seen more North Vietnamese soldiers crossing the river in small boats, but then he had begun to feel faint and dizzy. They hid on the wharves for a while before taking to some kind of boat of their own, but then he had lost consciousness completely. He had come around to find her slapping his face in desperation, and with her help he had clambered onto the covered sampan. The first thing he remembered after that was waking to find her feeding him a thin rice gruel in the early light of morning. 

“Won’t your people find me here?” he had asked when he had become sufficiently clear-minded to realize they were in an occupied part of the city. “Aren’t we still in danger?” 

“The sampan has a safe conduct pass issued by the commander of the People’s Liberation Armed Forces,” she told him curtly. “It’s well known that I’ve lived on the river ever since I came to 1-lue a year ago.” 

Joseph had watched her closely as she spoke, and despite the coldness of her manner he had sensed that she, too, was afraid that the boat might be searched. 

“I’m very sorry, Tuyet,” he had said softly. “I came here to warn you — not to put you in greater danger.” 

She had turned her back on him abruptly then, busying herself with the new dressing, and had made no acknowledgment of his apology. 

When Joseph opened his eyes again, the little girl was still sitting silently beside him, watching him with mystified eyes. He glanced at his watch and discovered to his amazement that he had slept again for two hours. Through the worn fiber of the cabin roof he could see that it was growing dark outside, and there seemed for the first time to be a lull in the fighting. 

“What is your name?” asked the girl impatiently, as though she had been waiting for all the two hours to put that question. 

“Joseph Sherman.” 

She repeated an approximation of the name aloud several times in her little singsong Vietnamese voice. Then she stopped suddenly. “If you are my mamma’s father, then you are also my grandpapa.” 

Her face was grave, as though she had been turning the awesome prospect over in her mind for some time, and Joseph felt tears start to his eyes. Unable to speak, he nodded and smiled tenderly at her. 

She didn’t return the smile but continued to stare at him, perplexed. “But how can that be — when you’re an American?” 

“It’s difficult to explain.” He continued to smile at her. “What’s your name?” 

She studied his face in silence for a long time, as though in doubt as to whether she should confide in him; then she drew an exasperated breath to indicate that she was yielding the information with reluctance. “My name is Trinh,” she said firmly. 

“That’s a beautiful name — it means ‘pure and virtuous,’ doesn’t it? I bet you’re really a little angel in disguise.” 

She giggled suddenly, and her hand flew to her mouth, but she continued gazing at him, her eyes bright with merriment above her fingers; then she leaned forward and plucked at the hair growing on his forearm. “Why is it Americans have hair growing all over their bodies like monkeys?” 

Her expression of innocent curiosity reminded Joseph with a sudden vividness of Lan at the age of ten in the garden of the governor general’s palace, and he saw in a flash the inherited resemblance; feeling the lump in his throat grow, he beckoned to her to come closer to him, but at that moment the boat rocked from side to side under the weight of :somebody stepping aboard from the quay and the smile melted from her face. Before she could move, the matting was drawn aside and Tuyet appeared. Her face clouded on seeing them together, and she admonished Trinh in Vietnamese so rapid that .Joseph couldn’t catch what she said. The startled girl immediately scrambled out of his compartment, and he heard Tuyet continuing to scold her behind the mat curtain. 

When she brought his evening bowl of gruel and dried fish art hour later, Tuyet’s face was dark with displeasure. She placed the food in front of him without speaking, then made to return to the rear of the sampan without inspecting the dressing on his wound. In the distance he heard the rattle of gunfire grow’ in volume again as another battle began. 

“Tuyet, please stay and talk for a minute,” said Joseph quietly. “I’d like to know what’s happening in the city.” 

“You imperialist troops and their puppet allies are trying to break the hold of the people — but they’re not succeeding. The revolution in Hue is going to be victorious.” She spoke with her back to him, but Joseph noticed there was not the same conviction in her words as previously and her shoulders seemed to sag. 

“Tuyet, may I ask you where you go each day?” 

“To help carry forward the revolution. There’s much work to be done. In the occupied areas of the city our cadres have to walk the streets with megaphones calling on the corrupt officials of the Thieu government to give themselves up. We’ve set up many reeducation centers 

“I think your children grew lonely and frightened today when you left them here,” he said, interrupting her deliberately. “You shouldn’t scold Trinh for coming to talk to me.” 

She crawled back quickly along the sampan towards him, her eyes ablaze with anger. “Which is better? To go to work for the revolution as I am expected to do? Or stay away and have them come looking for me? And have them find you here?” 

The lines of tension and fatigue in her face were clearly visible, and to his amazement he saw that she was on the verge of tears; in a blaze of realization he understood for the first time the weight of the dilemma with which she was struggling. “Tuyet, I’m sorry. I’ve been blind. I can see now how difficult “in making things. It’s too dangerous for me to stay here — for you and your children.” He eased himself painfully into a sitting position. “I think I’m strong enough now to leave the sampan. I’ll try to make my way through the darkness tonight to the American lines around the MACV compound.” 

“You won’t get more than a few yards! With a collapsed lung you’ll be able to walk only very slowly. You’re weak from loss of blood — you would be taken before you’d gone a hundred yards.” 

Joseph threw back the blanket covering his legs and pushed himself to his knees. “That would be better than being found here. With me gone, you and the children will be safe again.” 

She snatched up the blanket to cover him once more then froze at the sudden sound of voices on the quay. They heard the piping voice of Trinh answering questions put to her in a guttural northern accent and the little girl’s apprehension was evident from her replies. 

 “Who else lives on the sampan?” 

‘My mother, my brother, me and.. 

Trinh stopped suddenly and they heard her cry out. Joseph pressed his eye to a slit in the palm fiber cabin wall and saw three North Vietnamese regulars in khaki uniforms and jungle-leaf hats. One of the soldiers had caught Trinh roughly by the wrist and she looked frightened. 

“And who else? Come on, tell us quickly!” 

Joseph felt the sampan rock and then saw Tuyet scramble onto the quay and run to her daughter’s side. She held a paper in her hand which she thrust under the nose of the soldier. “I’m Tuyet Luong. I’m a political cadre working with the People’s Liberation Armed Forces. Here’s my safe conduct pass for the sampan, signed by our commander.” 

The North Vietnamese soldier looked Tuyet slowly up and down, then turned towards his companions and snorted derisively. “We can’t always trust the judgment of our southern sisters, can we, comrades?” Joseph saw the soldier look Tuyet up and down once more, his gaze openly lascivious this time; then he grinned at his companions. “I think I must search the sampan anyway to make sure, comrades, don’t you agree?” He dropped Trinh’s wrist, took Tuyet by the arm and stepped towards the stern of the sampan. 

“Wait!” Tuyet hung back, forcing the soldier to stop. “My son’s already asleep. He’s ill with a fever and mustn’t be wakened.” Joseph, watching through the torn cabin wall, saw the face of the North Vietnamese grow angry. Then Tuyet forced an artificial smile to her lips and put a hand on his arm, gesturing towards the neighboring sampan that, like most of the others moored along the bank, was empty because its inhabitants had fled. “Perhaps you should search the next boat,” she said in a cajoling voice. “I’ll help you if you like — then I can send my daughter to bed too.” She waved Trinh hurriedly back onto their own boat, then drew the soldier smilingly towards the next craft.