Up Country (42 page)

I gave the fax to a desk clerk along with a dollar, and asked the clerk if he’d fax this now and give me the fax back.

He replied, “Sorry, sir, fax machines are all day busy. It take one, two, hour. I fax for you and return original to room.”

I knew this routine, and what we’d gotten away with at the Grand Hotel in Nha Trang, I wasn’t going to get away with here. I could have gone to the General Post Office, but for all I knew, they photocopied your fax for the cops right in front of you. In any case, my fax to Karl was clean, and I
was in a hurry. I left it with the clerk. I then went to the cashier and cashed five hundred dollars in traveler’s checks, for which I was given two trillion dong or something like that.

I looked around the lobby to see if Susan was there, but she wasn’t. I didn’t want to ask the desk clerk if she’d checked in, so I stood there awhile and waited. The lobby was bustling on this Saturday afternoon, the eve of Tet. Virtually all the guests were Western, and most of them looked European by their dress.

I did see three middle-aged guys who were obviously Americans, and just as obviously veterans. They were fairly well dressed for Americans—long pants, collared shirts, and blazers—and they carried themselves well. One of them had a Hemingway-type beard, and he looked familiar, like I’d seen him on TV or something.

I’m good at making educated guesses about people—I do it for a living. As I watched them standing in the lobby, talking, I guessed that they had all been officers, probably army or marines, because they didn’t have the sloppy and goofy mannerisms of air force officers, and they didn’t strike me as navy. They may have been combat veterans, rather than rear echelon types, and for sure they’d become financially successful over the years. They had gotten together and decided it was time to go back. They may have had women with them, but they were alone now. The guy with the beard made a command decision, and they all headed for the cocktail lounge. I followed.

The lounge had no bar, so I sat at a cocktail table facing the door. I was supposed to be at the Immigration police station now, but I’d decided that they could wait. Actually, they could go fuck themselves.

A waitress came by, and I ordered a San Miguel, then made it two. The waitress asked, “Person join you?”

“Yes.”

She put down two napkins and a bowl of peanuts.

I looked at my watch and looked at the door. Susan wasn’t the kind of woman you had to worry about to accomplish a simple task like taking a taxi from the airport. It was the gun thing that had me totally bummed out. All it would take was a random ID check at the airport, a minor auto accident, or a routine police stop on the road, and we’d be talking about a shoot-out or an arrest for a capital offense. Despite my job, I’m not crazy
about guns, but I could see why so many Americans were enthusiastic about their rights to bear arms.

This made me wonder what happened to the millions of M-16s we’d given the South Vietnamese army. I hadn’t seen one American M-16 carried by a cop or a military man since I’d been here; they all had their Russian AK-47s, which they loved during the war.

Maybe, I thought, there were millions of M-16s hidden by the former ARVN, buried in plastic out in the vegetable patch or something. But probably not. This was a country of unarmed civilians and armed cops and soldiers. The defeat was complete, and the chances of an insurgency starting was nil. I recalled the photographs in the Museum of American War Crimes, the mass executions of insurgent tribespeople and former ARVN. Hanoi didn’t mess around.

Where was Susan?

The beers came and the waitress put them on the table with two glasses. I signed a chit and gave her a buck.

I drank some beer and ate some peanuts, staring at the door and glancing at my watch.

I could hear the three guys at a table nearby, and I listened, to take my mind off worrying about Susan.

I could only catch pieces of the conversation, but I heard some military talk and acronyms, so I’d gotten that right. One guy said something about a dustoff, meaning a medical evacuation by helicopter, and another guy said, “incoming,” meaning unfriendly rocket, artillery, or mortar fire. The third guy said something about the “pucker factor going up,” which meant everyone’s sphincter was tightening with fear. They all laughed.

Definitely combat vets. I glanced at them, and I could see they were having a good time, old vets like myself, back to kick the beast in the balls.

I wondered if they felt as strange and disconnected as I’d felt on the roof of the Rex, and was starting to feel here in the nice cocktail lounge of the luxury hotel built on the bank of the Perfume River where the marines had been dug in, exchanging fire across the river with the enemy, who held the opposite bank. I think if you keep the patter and chatter going, you block out the sounds of the machine guns and rockets. But if you sat silently, as I was doing now, you could still hear the distant thunder as it receded in time.

Susan should have arrived by now, and I needed to check with the desk clerk. I stood and started toward the door.

Just as I reached the door, she appeared suddenly, and I almost bumped into her. I said, by way of greeting, “Where the hell have you been?”

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Sorry. I had to freshen up.”

In fact, she was wearing one of the silk blouses she’d bought in Nha Trang, black pants, and sandals. She’d obviously showered and put on makeup.

“I
rushed
down here to meet you, and you’re up in your room taking a bubble bath or something.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I turned and walked to the cocktail table. I sat and drank my beer.

Susan sat opposite me and said, “Is this my beer?”

“Obviously.”

She poured herself some beer, took a few peanuts, and threw one at me. Hit me in the forehead.

She sat back, sipped her beer, and lit up.

She wasn’t saying anything, and she wouldn’t until I calmed down. I know women.

I said, “I could have gotten a massage if I’d known you were going to take your sweet time.”

She threw another peanut at me.

“We were supposed to meet here, right after—forget it. Where’s the heat?”

“Safe.”

“Safe
where?
”

“Under my bed.”

“Are you crazy?”

“No. And I’m not stupid either. I went out to the flower garden and buried it in a plastic bag.”

I calmed down a bit and asked, sarcastically, “Do you remember where you buried it?”

“Orange birds-of-paradise. I buried it while I sniffed the flowers.”

“Okay. And no one saw you?”

“I hope not.”

“And you wiped the prints clean?”

“Only mine. I left yours on the gun.”

I ordered another beer. I saw the three Americans glancing at Susan—leering, actually, and making comments. Men are pigs.

She asked me, “Any messages?”

“Yes. From K. He wants me to dump you.”

“Well, what difference does it make now?”

“None. Subject closed. Did you get a message?”

“No one knows what hotel I’m at.”

“I’ll bet they could figure it out real quick.”

She smiled. “Uh . . . duh . . . ? Hey, did you know this is the Year of the Ox?”

“I thought it was the Year of the Toronto Blue Jays.”

“I mean the astrological year. Stop jerking me around.”

“Sorry. Year of the Ox.”

“Right. It’s forecast to be a propitious year.”

“What does that mean?”

“Lucky. Good fortune.”

“You mean for everybody?”

“I don’t know. Sorry I mentioned it. You’re a pain in the ass.”

She got sulky, which gave me a minute to reflect on a few things.
Married to another American.
Karl was teamed up with the FBI for this case, so he must mean that Susan was with the CIA or State Department Intelligence. SDI people fainted at the sight of a gun, so that kind of narrowed it down to CIA. Of course, there could be another player out there, like Military Intelligence. In any case, this wasn’t quite like sleeping with the enemy, but more like sleeping with a business competitor. Either that, or Karl was messing with my head, and that wouldn’t be the first time. Karl could also be wrong, and that, too, wouldn’t be the first time.

Susan interrupted my thoughts and said, “I’ve made a reservation here for an early dinner. They have this huge Tet meal laid on. Then we’ll walk around the Old City and see the celebration—dragon dances, puppet shows, music, and all that. Then we’ll go to the cathedral for midnight mass.”

She had to be CIA—who else would be so arrogant as to plan my evening for me?

She said, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah . . . Look, let’s have the early dinner and turn in—”

“Paul, it’s New Year’s Eve.”

“No, it’s not. That was a month ago.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve
here.
”

“I don’t believe it. You only lose or gain a day when you cross the International Dateline. Not a month.”

“I think we should go to your room, and you shower, since you obviously have not, then we’ll get very comfortable in bed, then dress for dinner.”

I couldn’t find anything wrong with that, so I stood and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Can I finish my beer?”

“I have a mini-bar in the room. Let’s go.”

“Are you hot?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

She stood, we walked out to the lobby, took the elevator up to the fifth floor, and I led her to my suite.

She said, “Oh, this is very nice. They gave me a small room on the first floor overlooking the street.” She added, “Room 106.”

She walked to the glass doors and went out to the long terrace. I followed.

The Perfume River was spanned by two bridges that connected the Old and New City, and alongside the closest bridge were the ruined remains of another bridge that had been destroyed, probably in ’68.

Across the river sat the walled city of Hue, known as the Citadel, the capital of the emperors. From this height, we could see over the Citadel walls and into the city, and what struck me was that about half the central part of the city seemed to be missing, replaced by open fields in which lay the outlines of what had once been buildings.

Susan said, “You see those walls within the Citadel walls? That’s the Imperial Enclosure, and within those walls are the walls of the Forbidden Purple City, where only the Emperor, his concubines, and the eunuchs were allowed.”

“So I’m not allowed in there, but you are.”

“Very funny.” She went on, “Most of the ancient buildings were destroyed in 1968.”

“I see that.” Somewhere down there, at noon tomorrow or later, I was to meet my contact. I hoped it wasn’t a woman.

Susan said, “My guide told us that the Americans bombed the city mercilessly for thirty days and destroyed most of the antiquities.”

I didn’t feel like defending the American use of overwhelming firepower, but I said, “The North Vietnamese army captured the city by surprise on Tet Eve, during the Tet truce. It took thirty days of bombing, shelling, and ground action to get them out. It’s called war.”

She nodded and said, “But . . . it’s such a shame.”

“The Communists went around with names and addresses of people they wanted liquidated. They shot over three thousand soldiers and civilians who were on their lists. Did your guide tell you that?”

“No.”

I looked off to the northwest and said, “My infantry company was dug into those foothills way out there on the horizon. We could see the battles raging in Quang Tri and Hue. We moved down from the hills and tried to block the escape of the Communist troops after they’d given up Quang Tri. Then we moved farther south toward Hue, and set up a blocking force to intercept the stragglers coming out of Hue so they couldn’t disappear into the hills.”

She looked out at the countryside to the north and west, and said, “So you were right out there?”

“Yes.”

“And the battle was going on right here in the city?”

“Yes. On this side of the river, right where we are now, the marines were dug in and controlled this riverbank and the New City.” I said, “Quang Tri is about sixty kilometers due north of here, right up Highway One, which you can see over there.”

“You should go to Quang Tri.”

“I think I will. I’ve come this far.”

“I’d like to go with you, if you want the company.”

I nodded. “This stretch of Highway One from Hue to Quang Tri was called by the French soldiers the Street Without Joy. The name stuck, and that’s what we called it, although some guys called it Ambush Alley, or Fucked Up Road One.”

She asked me, “Where is the A Shau Valley?”

I pointed due west. “Right over that mountain range, maybe seventy kilometers, near the Laotian border. It’s a very isolated place, more of a box canyon than a valley, surrounded by mountains, and socked in by clouds most of the year. It may be hard to get there.”

“I’m game.”

I looked at her and smiled. “Were you really boring once?”

“Boring
and
coddled. I used to throw a fit if room service was slow.”

I took a final look at the city of Hue, turned and walked off the terrace.

I went into the bathroom, shaved and showered.

Susan and I made love in the comfortable bed, then fell asleep.