Figurehead (6 page)
‘The Khmer Rouge aren’t perfect but they’re good people doing what they have to do for their country.’
‘Oh Ted, you mustn’t say such things out loud.’
‘Did you know that Lon Nol determines policy by poking about in the stomachs of chickens?’ Ted said.
‘As long as he eats the chickens afterwards it’s no concern of mine. Waste not want not, I always say.’
‘He cuts their heads off, calls them ducks and sells them to his own army at five times the price.’
‘So many ducks, so few bullets … But really, Ted, your Vietnamese friends left us with no choice but to support Lon Nol. They expanded the war into Cambodian territory, after all: the Viet Cong sanctuaries, the arms shipments arriving through the port at Sihanoukville. We merely responded.’
‘How very convenient.’
‘Not at all. Many of our soldiers, our young men, died as a direct result of Sihanouk’s encouragement of the Vietnamese. One cannot be neutral merely by proclaiming “I AM NEUTRAL.” One must actually behave in a neutral fashion. Besides, the United States is now obliged – let me clarify, we oblige ourselves – to do what we can to help the innocent people of Cambodia. They depend on us now more than ever. They have asked for our help. We must render it. It is a matter of honour.’
‘You get to help out and wage war simultaneously. What could be better?’
‘We could probably work with Sihanouk in the unlikely event that it proves necessary. But we cannot countenance a dialogue while he insists on this alliance with the Khmer Rouge. The United States of America expects a gesture from Sihanouk. Something that indicates he’s trustworthy.’
‘The Cambodian people trust him. Isn’t that enough?’
‘Sihanouk is no better than your Vietnamese friends. He refuses to negotiate with Lon Nol—’
‘Surely you understand that Lon Nol is not his favourite person. He did betray Sihanouk, after all. And sentence him to death.’
‘But Sihanouk places so many unacceptable conditions on talks that he ensures that talks cannot possibly eventuate. It is a tired tactic. Just like your Vietnamese friends who—’
‘Who you happily negotiate with.’
‘Sihanouk’s terms and conditions are ridiculous and then he blames me for my intransigence. The nerve. Does he really want a negotiated settlement? Or is he hiding behind his Maoist friends in the jungle? Is he sure he can control the Khmer Rouge? Those people are thugs.’
‘What do you care whether or not they’re thugs? They’re not your thugs, that’s what you really mean. You trampled all over Cambodia’s neutrality and—’
‘Oh, come now, Ted, so simplistic. You’re such a journalist. Don’t let’s have a conversation that can be reduced to half a column.’
‘Fair enough, but let me finish. You trampled all over Cambodia’s neutrality. You bombed neutral territory. And then you had the CIA help Lon Nol get rid of Sihanouk—’
‘I hope you like fish.’
‘And now you have the temerity to slander the Khmer Rouge, who are patriots and honourable nationalists and—’
‘We’re having fish for lunch. I hope you like cod.’
‘Boneless?’
‘Boneless. Spineless. Poached in white wine, I believe. Now, I don’t want to argue, Ted, we can do that any old time and we certainly don’t need to be in the same room. Let’s chat.’
‘I don’t speak for anybody, you know, other than me. I hope you didn’t bring me here thinking I have some authority in Vietnam just because you read it in some CIA gossip column.’
‘Do you know what I want? Do you know what I hoped for when I asked you here?’
‘Illumination?’
‘Yes, of course, ha ha. But the other thing I wanted – I’m still hoping for it, call me a dreamer – is that you might listen to my viewpoint rather than dismiss me according to your preconceptions. Do you know your problem? Please, it’s nothing personal, but you have the same disease as all the journalists who are so sympathetic to the anti-war movement. You’re all so caught up in the big picture – forcing the geopolitics to line up with the way you imagine the world works – that it never occurs to you that I mean what I say. And that President Nixon might mean what he says.’
‘How can he mean it if he doesn’t understand it?’
‘Now, now, Ted. Don’t go falling for your own propaganda. All I’m suggesting is that you consider the possibility that we are pursuing a morally upright and honourable solution in Vietnam. And that what we say in public is exactly what we mean. President Nixon and I are the strongest two anti-war Americans you will ever find. More coffee?’
‘You’re kidding, right? My tongue is already damaged irreparably.’
‘Taste buds have remarkable powers of recuperation. Trust me, I know from experience. But would you prefer a glass of beer?’
‘What, now? It’s 11.30. Are you trying to get me drunk?’
‘I think we both know there’s barely any alcohol in a Budweiser.’
‘All right then. I’ll have one.’
‘Good.’
‘And you’ll join me?’
‘Good heavens, no. I couldn’t possibly.’
One of the phones on Kissinger’s desk rang.
‘Yes? . . . What about? . . . All right, put him on.’ He put his hand over the receiver, whispered ‘
New York Times
’ to Ted and rolled his eyes. ‘Henry Kissinger speaking … Hello, Brad . . . No problem, I can only spare you a moment but it’s great to speak to you again … Yes, I’m aware of the turn that particular demonstration has taken … Well, I can’t condone their methods. Lying down in the street seems a singularly ludicrous exercise. People need to be able to get to work. They need to be able to get their children to school. On the – please, Brad, let me finish. On the other hand, I am sympathetic to the demonstrators’ frustrations. I share those frustrations. That’s why we’re redoubling our efforts to find a peaceful solution in Vietnam that is acceptable to all parties. But we can’t just walk away. We have responsibilities to the American public. And to the Vietnamese people … You’re welcome, Brad, see you around. Am I right in thinking you wrote yesterday’s editorial? . . . A most intriguing perspective. Utterly wrong, of course, but fascinating.’
He hung up and turned back to Ted. ‘Poor fellow doesn’t know his history. Now, where were we?’
‘Disagreeing.’
‘Oh yes. My point is quite simple. What are the North Vietnamese doing most successfully at present?’
‘Destroying you on the battlefield.’
‘No, Ted, no. Certainly they have their little victories and I’m sure they seem marvellous if you happen to be there to witness them. But no. Their greatest success is in influencing American domestic opinion. I know you won’t tell me who’s masterminding it, but—’
‘It’s not me, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I’m proud to say I’ve never been in charge of anything in my life. I’m not even in charge of myself.’
‘Well, whoever is in control of Vietnam’s public relations is brilliant but desperately misguided. They are the very people who need to understand that we really are genuinely trying to negotiate. Don’t you see?’
‘You want the Vietnamese to like you?’
‘No, no, don’t be a simpleton. They tie me up and then complain when all I can do is wiggle. They demand that I think in the absolutes of right and wrong, like a member of the public. But I cannot work like that unless I am willing to fail the American people, politically and morally. I do not have the luxury of idealism or of conforming to some theoretical notion of pure rectitude.’
‘You’d bend in the wind so long as the
New York Times
didn’t report it?’
‘Bend? I’d snap myself in two if I thought it would help. But never in public.’
‘And in the meantime Vietnamese and Cambodians die.’
‘Americans, too… If only there was some way to negotiate the peace without having the actual war.’
On a sunny afternoon in Siem Reap province, in the Khmer Rouge’s Liberated Zone, Nhem Kiry, Bun Sody and Prince Norodom Sihanouk stood on the causeway that led to Angkor Wat. Facing them, Akor Sok crouched beside a stone lion and with dusty hands changed the roll of film in his camera.
Kiry was dressed in simple black cotton: loose trousers and short-sleeved shirt. A single ballpoint pen poked from his breast pocket. His hair was freshly cut, perfectly straight and combed back. That morning he had shaved meticulously with a razor and a tin cup half-full of cold water. After six years of living in the Liberated Zone, in rough camps and tiny hamlets, he looked clean and healthy, although a little thinner than the day he had escaped from Phnom Penh. He had the calm assurance of a leader who commanded the respect and support of all of those around him. And all week, preparing for the photo shoot, he had been practising a special smile: open, honest, relaxed, reassuring, authoritative.
Inwardly, Kiry was seething at Sihanouk’s presence. He hated all this feigned affection. It made him feel dirty, as if he’d given in to lustful thoughts and dragged a prostitute into an alley. But, still, he knew that he had to keep Sihanouk happy – and Monique, too, although that was probably asking for a miracle.
Sody sensed that Kiry’s focus was melting in the heat. He dug him in the ribs and whispered, ‘I’m sure that I could be a movie star if I could get out of this place.’ Despite himself, Kiry grinned. It was unpleasant but essential work, he reminded himself, and he was honoured to be playing a part.
A small crowd stood nearby. Princess Monique scowled and drank water from a glass bottle. Her personal attendant stood at her left elbow, holding an umbrella to create shade. Several smooth-faced soldiers stood around caressing their rifles and fighting the urge to fall asleep in the late-afternoon heat. Several Khmer Rouge luminaries – Hu Nim and the famous sisters, Khieu Ponnary and Khieu Thirith – stood waiting for their turn to have Akor Sok photograph them. A little further away several other Khmer Rouge leaders stood: Son Sen, Ieng Sary, Nuon Chea.
A cheerful, vacant figure called Saloth Sar hung from the crowd like a loose thread. His hands rested on his belly. His slightly chubby face was a carefully constructed mask of amused indifference. Sihanouk recognised Sar. He was the little brother of a woman who had lived and worked in the royal palace. She and Sihanouk had fornicated from time to time.
As they all stood marvelling at the architectural miracle of Angkor Wat, Sihanouk took the opportunity to launch into a speech. His rotund tummy pushed against his khaki shirt as he pontificated and waved his arms about: ‘It is three years since the ultratraitor Lon Nol stole my country from me. Three years, oh my, three long years. I love my friends in Beijing, but Sihanouk can only eat so many egg rolls in one lifetime before he himself turns into an egg roll. Meanwhile, Lon Nol eats suckling pig in the Royal Palace. Lon Nol and my evil cousin Sirik Matak claim that they run Cambodia when everybody knows that they follow Dr Henry Kissinger’s instructions. Anyway, how can Lon Nol take himself seriously when Sihanouk stands at Angkor Wat unmolested? Lon Nol can do nothing. Lon Nol
is
nothing. Lon Nol does not even know that Sihanouk is in Cambodia. What a shock he will get when he sees these photographs.
‘There is nowhere in the whole wide world as wonderful as Angkor Wat. Where else can Sihanouk remind himself of the virtues of his little children, the Cambodian people? Where else can we all remember what can be achieved when a great leader and a kingdom full of labourers come together? Angkor Wat is the emblem of our country and our struggle and our potential and our greatness, and what better person than Sihanouk to stand here? Thank you, thank you, thank you my dearest friends, thank you especially Brother Nhem Kiry, for inviting me to visit the Liberated Zone. You have granted Sihanouk his most ardent wish: to again be amongst his darling children. He is so emotional he can barely speak.’
‘If only that was true,’ Nuon Chea muttered.
‘Everybody is so delighted,’ Ieng Sary whispered, ‘that His Majesty Prince Norodom Sihanouk is finally pregnant. He has wanted to be a mother for so long. He’s so large that the doctors suspect twins.’
Son Sen and Nuon Chea sniggered.
‘Please, friends,’ Saloth Sar said quietly. ‘Have some self-discipline.’
‘Sirik Matak: him I can understand,’ Sihanouk continued. ‘My little cousin with the great big forearms, always so angry that he was born to the wrong parents, so jealous of Sihanouk’s abilities, Sihanouk’s manliness, Sihanouk’s shapely wife, tee hee. Oh the way he used to look at my sweet Monique, ooh la la: I could never tell if Sirik Matak wanted to kiss her or kill her.
‘But Lon Nol? Lon Nol owes everything to Sihanouk. Lon Nol
belongs
to Sihanouk. How could he betray me? How could he go and—’
‘Excuse me, Your Majesty,’ Kiry said. ‘Comrade Sok needs us to move over here to where the light is better.’
‘Yes, yes … I admire your dedication so much, you know.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘To live exposed to the elements for so long. And amongst such … how can I say it? ... mixed company.’
‘I confess it is difficult sometimes, Your Majesty. Occasionally I must endure a minor digestive complaint. Sometimes I contract a mild fever.’
‘I eat if I am feeling unwell,’ Bun Sody said. ‘It’s a sure-fire cure.’
‘But never fear, Your Majesty, Comrade Sody and I are feeling particularly sprightly,’ Kiry said. ‘Especially as it is widely supposed that we have been dead these last six years.’
‘In any case, dead or alive, it is an honour to serve you, Your Majesty,’ Sody said.
‘Six years, ha ha ha, dead for six years, tee hee. And what’s more, it was
I
who supposedly killed you. What a terrible job I did of disposing of the bodies, tee hee,’ Sihanouk said.
‘Your Majesty, do you recall that I began to tell you earlier about the many serious offences committed in the Liberated Zone by our Vietnamese brothers?’ Kiry said.
‘Yes, these stories upset me. I am eager to hear more but perhaps some other time. Why not write me a memo? I know Ieng Sary loves to carry pieces of paper to Beijing for me to read. It is so kind of you to find all those little jobs to keep him occupied.’
‘The Vietnamese soldiers go into our villages,’ Kiry said, ‘and they steal whatever they want – even though the peasants are happy to share any surplus, as we have humbly and politely asked them to do. The Vietnamese take the peasants’ rice and chickens, buffalo, fruit. They take so much that there is nothing left for our own soldiers. And they take carts, clothes, bicycles, anything they can find.’