Up Country (34 page)

We didn’t say much as we walked, and I think we were both a little tense about this. I mean, swimming in the raw is not that big a deal, but with someone you’ve not seen naked before, it could be a little awkward.

After about fifteen minutes, the trail curved around a rock formation, and on the other side of the rocks, about fifty yards away, was a beautiful sandy cove beach nestled in the cliffs of the pyramid. There were about fifteen women on the beach and in the water, all naked.

Well, there were men, too, but who cares? Susan and I stopped a moment, and she said, “I guess my information was correct.”

“Who told you about this place?”

“An expat in Saigon. I thought he was kidding, but I checked with the desk clerk, who said yes, though nude swimming is forbidden.” She looked around at the cliffs, the sky, the sandy beach, the turquoise water, and the trees near the shoreline. She said, “This is beautiful.”

We walked down the sandy path to the beach where people were
swimming and sunning. There were about thirty of them, all Caucasians, except for one young Vietnamese couple.

The beach was only about fifty meters long and about that wide. The rocks formed a sort of amphitheater around it, making it very private, except for the guys on the ropes way up on top of the rock pile who were looking for bird’s nests.

Susan and I found a flat rock on the sand where she put her tote.

The closest couple was about twenty feet away, lying face up on a blanket.

I said, “Well, time for a swim.” I took off my shirt and kicked off my sandals.

Susan pulled off her shirt and sandals, too, and took her slacks off and laid them on the rock.

I peeled off my bathing trunks, and Susan took off her bikini top. Then she slid her bottom off and threw it in the tote bag.

We stood there a moment, naked in the sunlight, and it felt good.

Her bathing suit hadn’t left too much to my imagination, but my imagination wasn’t as good as the real thing. She had a well-trimmed bikini cut.

We walked across the beach, down to the shoreline. The women ranged in age from about twenty to fifty, and there was not a bad body among them. I wondered if I should include any of this in my post-mission report.

We stood at the edge of the beach and the gentle surf washed over our feet. The sun was to our front, hovering over the hills behind Nha Trang, whose shoreline we could see about twenty kilometers away. The sun sparkled on the water, and the sky was filled with gulls.

We just stood there and took this all in—nature at its most beautiful, surrounded by total strangers who, like us, were naked and without a sign of worldly goods, and whose station in life was completely irrelevant and totally unknown on this one sunny afternoon.

A very nice-looking woman of about forty was coming out of the water, and she walked toward us, clearing her eyes and nose of water. She said to us in accented English, “Good temperature. No jellyfish. Very safe.”

Susan said, “Thank you.”

“Americans?”

“Yes.”

“Not many here. Mostly Europeans and Australians. I am from Sweden.”

Even stark naked, we looked like Americans. Must be my circumcision.

So, we stood there and chatted with this nice lady, and her husband joined us, and we talked about where we were staying, about restaurants, Nha Trang, and Vietnam in general. The funny thing is that after a few minutes, you forget that everyone is naked. Well, maybe not forget, but you keep good eye contact.

The guy said to me, “May I ask if you were here during the war?”

I replied, “I was.”

“How does it seem to you?”

“Pleasant. Peaceful.”

“War is so terrible.”

“I know that.”

He waved his arm to take in the beach and sky and said, “The whole world should be like this.”

“It was,” I reminded him. “Garden of Eden. We blew it.”

They both laughed. The woman said, “Well, have a pleasant stay.” And off they went.

Susan said, “They were nice.”

I replied, “Yours are nicer.”

She laughed.

We dove into the water, then swam along the beach and explored the rocky cliffs. There’s something very different about swimming in the nude. We swam for about half an hour, then came back toward the shore.

We walked in the water until we were up to our chests, then stopped. I turned Susan toward me, and we put our hands on each other’s shoulders and stood looking at each other. We wrapped our arms around each other and kissed. Our hands slid down to each other’s butts, and I pulled her close and felt her pubic hair against my penis.

She broke away and took a deep breath. She said, “Let’s go lie on the beach.”

I replied, “You go. I need some time to let down the periscope.”

She smiled, turned, and walked onto the beach.

I watched her as she strode across the sand, and she had a beautiful walk.

She stopped along the way to talk to the Vietnamese couple, who were sitting on a rock under a tree. They were smiling and nodding away.

Periscope down, I walked onto the beach toward Susan, who was now lying on the sand with her head on the tote.

I knelt beside her, and she looked up at me and smiled.

She flipped over and handed me a tube of suntan lotion from her tote. “Can you do my back?”

“Sure.” I spread the lotion on her back, then over her buttocks and down her legs.

She said, “Oooh, that feels good.”

I massaged her neck, shoulders, back, and butt.

She said to me, “I’ll do your back.”

I lay on my stomach, and she sat on my butt with her knees straddling me as she massaged the lotion into my back.

She said, “Hey, do you want to take some pictures?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I want to remember this day. I have an idea. We’ll get someone to take our picture together, and we’ll hide our faces.”

She stood and walked over to the Vietnamese couple and spoke to them. The guy came back with her, but the girl seemed shy and stayed on the rock under the tree. Susan introduced me to Mr. Hanh, and I stood and shook hands with the young man. She gave Mr. Hanh her camera, and Susan and I stood close together with our arms on each other’s shoulders, and our hands covering each other’s faces. Mr. Hanh thought that was funny and took a picture while he giggled. For the next shot, our other hands covered each other’s pubic area. This was all a little silly and maybe a little kinky. I’m from South Boston.

We thanked Mr. Hanh, who bowed and went back to his companion. I asked Susan, “Will they develop these in Saigon?”

“No, they won’t develop nude shots here, and if they do, they’d be all over Saigon in two days. I’ll send the film to my sister in Boston. Is that okay?”

“Sure. If I ever meet her, we’ll have something to talk about.”

Susan laughed.

We sat cross-legged in the sand and cracked open the Coke cans. I said, “And what will you tell your sister about the pictures?”

She replied, “I’ll tell her I met a wonderful man who was here on business, and we spent some beautiful days in Saigon and Nha Trang, and he went home to Virginia and I miss him.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I managed, “I wish things weren’t this complicated.”

She nodded.

The sun was behind the Nha Trang Mountains now, and the dying light
silhouetted the land against the dark blue sky. The water, too, had become darker and no longer sparkled. A fleet of blue and red fishing boats were making their way through the twilight back to Nha Trang. I looked around and saw people getting dressed and leaving the beach.

There were a number of places out there on the mainland, not too far from here, where I came close to death. And if I’d died here, I wouldn’t be on this beach with this woman, and I would not have lived long enough to see this country at peace. If there was a heaven for the men who died here, it should look like this.

We got dressed and walked back to the boat.

We arrived at Cang Nha Trang after dark, and I gave Captain Vu his fee and a nice tip, plus a fiver for Minh as compensation for missing the nude beach.

There were a few taxis at the wharf, and we took one back to the hotel.

Upstairs, we went to Susan’s room, opened the French doors, and let in the sea breeze.

She turned off the lamp and lit the candle she’d bought at the market. I opened the bottle of rice wine, and we poured some into two plastic cups. We touched cups and drank. There was music coming from the beach café across the road, Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill,” which would not have been my first selection for this moment, but my CD player was in Virginia.

Susan said, “Let’s dance.”

We put down our wine, kicked off our sandals, and danced to “Blueberry Hill.”

This was fun, and I like some non-sexual foreplay, but I was a little tense, and very worked up.

The music changed to Johnny Mathis’s “The Twelfth of Never,” and this is my all-time favorite slow dance song.

We danced close, and I could feel her breath on my neck. She put her hands under my shirt and caressed my back. I did the same on her back, and unhooked her bikini top.

We pulled up our shirts and danced, bare chest to breasts. She slid her hands down the back of my pants, and I did the same, cupping her buttocks tightly.

We didn’t finish the dance because suddenly we were into each other’s clothes, which were all over the room in about five seconds.

We practically dove into the bed, and she pulled the mosquito netting down around us.

We kissed hard, and our hands were all over, and our bodies were thrashing around in the small bed.

Finally, we got it under control, and we lay side by side and held each other for a while, then our hands started to roam. She was very wet and I was very hard.

I got on top of her and slid in easily.

We made love, then fell asleep exhausted in each other’s arms.

I woke in the middle of the night with Cynthia on my mind and Susan in my bed. I also thought about Karl, what lay ahead, and what awaited me back home.

This mission had gotten off to a bad start at Tan Son Nhat Airport, and when that happens, you’re supposed to abort before you crash and burn. But this mission had become a personal journey, and if that included an unhappy ending, I was prepared for that, too.

I
n the morning, with the sun rising over the South China Sea and a breeze coming in through the open French doors, we made love again.

We showered together and lay naked in bed until about ten, then got dressed, went down to the veranda and had coffee.

Everything looked the same as the last two mornings, but the world had changed for me, and for her, I think.

We both understood that she wasn’t going back to Saigon while I was still in Nha Trang, but I was very firm about her not accompanying me to Hue. I said to her, over coffee, “Hue is the start of my official business here. We got away with this, but if you went with me to Hue, Washington would go ballistic.”

She replied, “I understand that. But I will see you in Hanoi.”

Susan wanted to sightsee, so we hired a car and driver and went to the Oceanographic Institute. We saw a bunch of fish in an aquarium, and thousands of dead sea creatures preserved in glass jars. It’s places like this that could use a direct hit from an artillery shell.

In the afternoon, we visited the Cham Towers in the area, slightly more interesting than the pickled fish in the jars. Susan had a brochure, and informed me, “The Cham people were Hindus, and they occupied this area from the seventh to the twelfth centuries before they were conquered by the ethnic Vietnamese coming down from the north.”

“Fascinating.” Would I be doing this if I hadn’t gotten laid?

There was a Cham Temple complex called Po Nagar where the statues of the Hindu gods and goddesses were very erotic, and this place was kind of interesting. There were sculptures of these huge penises called lingas, and vaginas called yonis, and one of the yonis had a water fountain gushing out of it. You don’t see stuff like this in a Catholic church.

We spent part of the afternoon exploring the countryside, including an enchanted spot called Ba Ho where three waterfalls fell into three pools in a secluded forest. As we sat by the waterfalls with our feet in the water, Susan studied my guidebook and said to me, “I know you like nude beaches, so I’ve found another.”

I replied, “I hope you don’t think that’s all I want to do. I loved the Oceanographic Institute.”

“I know you did. But you can also learn something at a nude beach. Let’s go.”

We got into our car, and Susan directed the driver to a place called Hon Chong, which is a big stone promontory jutting out into the South China Sea.

From the top, we had a spectacular view of the headlands to the north, and Nha Trang to the south. The sun was over the mountains to the west, and the South China Sea was blue and gold. “Very nice,” I said.

She led me to what appeared to be a huge handprint in a big boulder. She said, “This handprint was made by a drunken giant male fairy as he fell on these rocks.”

“Takes a lot of rice wine to get a giant fairy drunk,” I said.

Susan continued, “He was ogling a female fairy bathing in the nude, down there on Fairy Beach.”

I looked down the mountain and saw the beach, but I didn’t see any female fairies, nude or otherwise.

Susan said, “The giant got up, ran down to the beach, and captured the female fairy. Sort of like what happened to me yesterday.”

That wasn’t the way I remembered it, but I know when to keep my mouth shut.

“Despite his aggressive behavior, they fell in love and began a life together.”

“That’s nice. And lived happily ever after?”

“No. The gods were angry at them for what they had done.”

“Did the gods live in Washington?”

“Some place like that. The gods sent the male fairy off to a re-education camp.”

“Bummer.”

“Right. But the female fairy waited for him for centuries.”

“Good lady.”

“Yes. But she was heartbroken, and thought he would never return. So she lay down and turned into stone. See that mountain?” She pointed to the northwest. “That’s called Nui Co Tien—Fairy Mountain. That peak on the right is her face, gazing up at the sky. The middle peaks are her breasts, and the peaks on the left are her crossed legs.”

I looked, and yes, you could imagine a reclining female with her legs crossed.

Susan said, “One day, the male fairy returned to this spot and seeing what had become of his lover, he slammed his hand down over his old handprint, where he’d first seen her bathing on the beach. He was so grief-stricken, he died, and he, too, turned to stone.”

I didn’t say anything for a while, then commented, “Sad story.”

“Almost all love stories have a sad ending.” She asked, “Why is that?”

I replied, “I think when the affair begins illicitly, and when everyone around the lovers is hurt or angry . . . then the affair is going to have an unhappy and probably tragic ending.”

Susan looked off at Fairy Mountain. She said, “More importantly, though, the lovers stayed true to each other.”

“You’re a romantic.”

She asked, “Are you the practical type?”

“No one ever accused me of being practical.”

“Would you give up your life for love?”

“Why not? I’ve risked my life for less important things.”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek, took my hand, and we walked down the mountain.

T
hat night, we went to the new resort called Ana Mandara that we’d seen on the way down to the Nha Trang docks, and we had a first-rate dinner of Westernized Vietnamese food. The place was owned by a Dutch concern, and the clientele was mostly European, but there were a few Americans as well.

A nice combo was playing at poolside, and we had a few drinks, danced, talked, and held hands.

Susan said, “After dinner at the Rex, I went home that night floating on a cloud.”

I replied, “I think I felt the same way.”

“You sent me away. What if I hadn’t come back?”

“Weren’t you told to stick close to me?”

She replied, “Only if you wanted my company, or needed something. If not, I was supposed to disappear. But I wasn’t going to do that. I was going to phone you. Then, I decided to just come back and join you for dinner.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said, but I recalled thinking at the time that it wasn’t as spontaneous as Susan was suggesting. Then there were the inconsistencies in the Bill Stanley story, and a few other things that didn’t quite add up. The elephant grass swayed, but there was no breeze; the bamboo clicked, a little closer now.

We left the Ana Mandara, and walked back to the Grand Hotel. We’d kept both rooms, but Susan’s room was the one where I slept.

We made love and lay close together on our backs in the bed, surrounded by the cocoon of the mosquito netting, the bed garlanded with branches of Tet blossoms, the orange-scented candle flickering, and the boric acid on the floor.

We watched the paddle fan spin lazily overhead. A breeze blew in from the open balcony, and I could smell the sea. The next day, Friday, was to be our last full day in Nha Trang, so I said to her, “Have you arranged transportation back to Saigon?”

She was running her foot over my leg. “What?”

“Saigon. Saturday.”

“Oh. The trains stop running Saturday. That’s Lunar New Year’s Eve.”

“How about a car and driver?”

“I’ll try to arrange that tomorrow.”

This didn’t sound like a definite plan. I asked, “Will that be a problem?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve never tried to travel around Tet.”

“Then maybe you should leave tomorrow.”

“I’m not leaving early. I want to spend as much time with you as possible.”

“Well, me, too, but—”

“How are you getting to Hue?”

“I don’t know. But I need to be there.”

She said, “Every plane and train has been booked for months.”

“Well . . . maybe I should also leave tomorrow.”

“You should if you want to try to buy yourself a place on the train.”

“Could I get a car and driver tomorrow?”

“We’ll try. If all else fails, there’s always the torture bus. No reservation required. Just buy a ticket at the terminal, and jam yourself in. All you need are elbows and dong.”

“What do I do with my dong?”

“Dong. Money. Stop being an idiot.” She said, “I took a bus once, Saigon to Hue, just for the experience, and it
was
an experience.”

“Maybe we should see about getting out of here tomorrow.”

“Yes, that’s what we should do first thing tomorrow.”

Part Two. She informed me, “I was supposed to go to a Tet Eve house party with Bill.”

I didn’t reply.

She said, “Everyone we know will be there. Americans, Brits, Aussies, and some Catholic Viets.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going now. I’ll just stay home and watch the dragon dances from my window.”

“You’ll thank yourself in the morning.”

“My housekeeper will be with her family, of course, and most of the bars and restaurants are closed, or open only by invitation. So, maybe I’ll just warm up some pho and get a bottle of rice wine, put on a Barbra Streisand album, and get to sleep early.”

“Sounds horrible. How about the Beach Boys?”

“I suppose I could go to the party, but it would be awkward.”

“Would you like to go to Hue with me?”

“Oh . . . that’s an idea.” She crawled on top of me and said, “You’re such a sweetheart.”

“And you’re trouble.”

“What are they going to do to you? Send you to Vietnam?”

She kissed me, my linga got longer, and we made love again. It was less than an hour since we’d done this, and I hadn’t had my bird’s nest soup today. This was fast becoming like my last R&R in Nha Trang, except then, I was a lot younger. I pictured myself meeting Karl in Bangkok on crutches. At least I was tanned.

She fell asleep in my arms. A strong wind had come up, and I could hear the surf crashing. I couldn’t get to sleep, realizing that I was up to my tanned butt in official trouble, and getting in deeper.

I thought about the cautionary fable I’d learned on Hon Chong Mountain. No one could say I hadn’t been warned.

The world is not always kind to lovers, and in the case of Paul Brenner and Susan Weber, we had really pissed off the gods.

Susan was right that we had to leave tomorrow rather than Saturday, which was Lunar New Year’s Eve. But she knew that all week.

I was certain that Susan Weber was ready to go home, if I took her home. But she never once said, “Let’s get out of here.” She said, “Let me go with you wherever you have to go.”

And that brought me to three possible conclusions: One, she was bored, finished with Bill, and was looking for an adventure and challenge; two, she was madly in love with me and didn’t want to leave my side; three, she and I were on the same assignment.

One, all, or any combination was possible.

That aside, I think we both understood that if we parted here in Nha Trang, we might never meet in Hanoi, or anywhere; and if we did meet in Hanoi, it wouldn’t be the same. My journey had become her journey, and her way home had become my way home.