The Time in Between (14 page)

Jack shook his head and said that the incredible mishmash of animism and ancestor worship and Buddhism only served to confuse the people. Clarity was needed. He said that there was nothing stronger than a church that was persecuted. The world was full of complacency.

That evening Jack saw Charles to the door. They stood on the sidewalk and looked out over the street to the noodle stand where a man berated a woman and waved a flyswatter in her face. The woman swung a fist at the man and someone laughed. The man fell down. The woman walked away, the glow of her white shirt disappearing into the darkness. Elaine called down from the balcony to say that Sammy was awake and asking for Jack. And Charles had forgotten his cigarettes, she would bring them down. Charles could see her face and her arms and part of her neck as she stretched over the balustrade. Jack sighed and said good night. He touched Charles’s arm and went inside.

Charles waited. After a while Elaine appeared. She stepped out of the door and shut it quietly. She carried the cigarettes and a key. She touched Charles’s arm very near the spot where Jack’s hand had lain and said, “I wanted to smoke. Do you mind?”

And so they stood under the overhang of the building, side by side, and Charles leaned forward to light Elaine’s cigarette. She steadied his hand, though it was not necessary. The glow of the match accented her eyes and nostrils. She tossed her head and stared out at some point in the darkness.

Charles considered what he might say and then found himself referring to the last conversation they had had. He said, “And the chaos, how is it?”

She said, “Right now, I can’t think of a safer place to be.” Then, as if embarrassed by this confession, she said, “The wine was a bit off. Didn’t you think?”

He said it was fine. Better than whiskey.

She said she didn’t like whiskey. She asked, “Did you ever think, when you came here, that you would be playing Scrabble with a couple from Kansas?”

Charles did not answer. Across the street, at the noodle stand, someone had lit candles in buckets. The light flickered and waved.

She looked at him. “What you said, a few days ago, about being lost? I am lost, too.” She shook her head quickly. “Oh, God. That sounds so melodramatic. I’m not trying to outdo you.”

Charles said that he didn’t see it that way. He imagined he should say something else but he was not sure how to move beyond the obvious, so he just watched her in the shadows.

She said, “Everyone loves Jack. He comes to this country and within days, hours even, people are fawning. He’s like a magnet that attracts both good and bad. There’s always someone at our house, for dinner, for drinks, whispered discussions. Sometimes it feels like I’m standing outside of a life that is his making. Not that I want what he has.” She put out her cigarette. “I must smell like smoke now. Jack will notice. Do I?” She put her face close to Charles’s. “Do I?” she said again. He was almost touching her jaw and neck. He breathed in and said it was hard for him to tell. He said that she smelled nice, if that was any consolation.

She put the key in the lock. Turned it. Opened the door, and without looking at him said, “Good night, Charles,” and then she went inside.

He walked back to his hotel. It was late on a Saturday night and the traffic was still busy. Young people on motorcycles, taxis, bicycles. He walked past the museum and the wharf. On past a restaurant where the lights were glowing and a party was taking place. On the open balcony upstairs men and women were drinking and dancing. For the first time in a long while, he imagined a woman in bed beside him.

FOR SEVERAL DAYS HE KEPT TO HIMSELF AND STAYED IN HIS room. He took his meals in the vegetarian restaurant down the street from the hotel, and then he returned to his room. He slept poorly. One afternoon, Charles called Jon in Canada. Jon lived in downtown Vancouver with a man who was older than Charles. Jon had met him at the auction house he worked at. Just last spring Jon had come home for a visit and he had brought the man with him. Introduced him as his friend and said his name, Anthony. The three of them sat in the sunshine on the roughed-out deck that Charles had been building and they drank beer and made small talk. Anthony asked questions about machining and electricity and clearing the roads in winter. They were practical questions, and Charles had to give the man some credit. He wondered if Jon and Anthony would touch each other, show some affection, but they never did and Charles was relieved. He told Ada later that he was working hard at being open-minded, after all Jon was his son, but he still couldn’t get his head around the physical relationship. That was a tough one.

Ada had said, “Dad, you don’t have to make love to Anthony,” and they’d moved on to other things.

Now, calling Jon, Charles wondered if Anthony would answer. When he heard Jon say hello, Charles took a quick breath and said, “Hey, it’s your dad.” He heard his own voice arriving as an echo, slightly late, and he imagined their words overlapping.

“Dad? It’s three in the morning.”

“Is it?” Charles said, “Jesus, I didn’t realize. You want to hang up I’ll call tomorrow.”

“No. I’m awake. Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing. I’m here, in Vietnam, and I missed you.”

“Is it good? What you thought it would be?”

“It’s okay. Nothing’s the same. I mean the light is the same and the sun comes up and sets in the same place and the language is the same but everything else is different. I don’t know what I was thinking. What I was expecting.”

Jon was quiet. Then he asked, “How long do you think you’ll stay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a few more weeks. It’s up in the air.”

“What do you do all day?”

“Huh, lots to do. I sightsee. I eat. I sleep. It’s all quite relaxing. I eat clams down by the beach and then sit in a hammock and drink beer. I’m spoiling myself.”

“That’s good. Ada was asking about you. If you’d called. You should phone her. She worries.”

“I’ve started a bunch of letters, but I haven’t sent any. I’ll phone. Tell her. Have the postcards arrived?”

The phone crackled and the connection fell away and then came back.

“You there?” Charles asked.

“I’m here.”

“I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“You okay, Dad?”

“Great. Just great. In the lap of luxury, son.”

“That’s good.”

“I love you.”

“Me too.”

THE NEXT DAY ELAINE CAME TO VISIT. SHE BROUGHT FLOWERS, A bouquet of orchids. Sammy was with her. They went up to the rooftop. While Sammy played with the rainwater in the barrel, Elaine sat across from Charles and asked him why he was hiding. “We haven’t seen you. I leave messages at the front desk but you don’t return my calls. Even Jack noticed. Jane, on the other hand, asked me, ‘What’s with you and that Mr. Boatman?’ I said that you were a friend. Wasn’t that okay? And she looked at me like teenagers are wont to, with suspicion.” Her hand was resting on her leg.

He said, “I’m not hiding. You found me.”

Elaine said that she and Jack were going up to Hue for the weekend. “He’s got people to see there. The children are staying home with Ai Ty. Why don’t you meet us there?”

Charles said that he didn’t know, though he had always wanted to go to Hue. Elaine said that the train ride was spectacular. She stooped and dried Sammy with a towel, her hands quick and her movements efficient. She stood and faced him again, stepped forward. She was wearing a simple sleeveless print dress, and as she came closer he noted the scent of some kind of powder and bath oil that seemed familiar and made him lean forward slightly. She took his hand and put her mouth close to his right ear. She would be lonely in Hue while Jack was busy, she said. If Charles came they could visit the Citadel together and play at being tourists. “You should try to be a tourist for a few days.” He recognized the scent now, it was something his daughter Del had used long ago, when she was young and still lived with him.

Elaine was still holding his hand. Sammy was behind her, peeking around her hip, as if this were a game.

Charles said, “He’s watching.”

She smiled and turned and scooped Sammy up and moved toward the door of the rooftop stairs, whispering in her boy’s ear. Just before she left she looked back at Charles and her mouth went up on one side, as if she were communicating something, or as if she knew something about the two of them that he didn’t yet understand.

The following morning Jack came by and asked Charles to join him for breakfast. With Jack was a young Vietnamese man who wore leather shoes, no socks, and tight jeans. He deferred to Jack, who called him his helper. He introduced him as Lan.

Lan drank coffee while the two men ate. Jack asked Charles if he had found yet what he was looking for here in Vietnam. “Everybody’s looking, of course. The expatriate community is a soup of bewildered souls. Nicky, the handsome Italian with the Vietnamese wife, who would rather be floating down some mosquito-infested river in Africa than running a bar for Americans in Danang; Miss Hereforth, who works for the UN as a dentist but spends her evenings dancing with young Vietnamese men. Haven’t you noticed the sexual energy one gets from this country?” He pointed his chopsticks at Charles’s chest.

“What do you mean?” Charles asked. He wondered if this were directed at him, some allusion to the time he had been spending with Elaine.

Jack said, “Perhaps it’s the heat, which leads to torpor, and the torpor leads to indolence, which in turn leads to desire.” He drank his coffee. He turned to Lan and said something in Vietnamese. Lan stared at Charles with his dark eyes. Then he touched the table with his little finger.

Across the street, in midday’s white light, a mother followed a toddler following a dog. Lan stood and wandered off toward the motorcycles parked near the sidewalk. He leaned against the wall and began talking to a waiter. As he talked he laughed, and once he touched the waiter’s shoulder and then his face.

Jack asked for the bill and said, “Elaine told me you might be coming up to Hue this weekend.” He studied Charles’s face. “I think that would be good. You haven’t been there, that’s what she said. Though it’s cool this time of year, the trip alone is worth it.”

“Yes,” Charles said. “We talked about that.” Outside, against the wall, he saw the boy, the movement of his eyes and mouth, a slight knowing smirk. He paid for the meal, even though Jack protested. “Please,” Charles said, and he pulled out his wallet and laid the money on the table. As he did so, he said, “If your offer is genuine, I’ll come to Hue. I’d like that. Elaine said that I needed to be a tourist for a bit. So, why not with you two?”

“Excellent. I’ll tell Elaine. I’ll be busy, so she’ll be happy to have someone to spend time with.” He took a napkin and wrote down the name of the hotel where they were staying, and the restaurant where they could meet on Saturday night. Outside, Charles saw the young man, Lan, push away from the wall and leave without saying good-bye. Jack didn’t seem to notice.

IN THE EVENING CHARLES TOOK A CYCLO UP TO THANH THUY Street and stopped at a painted green gate and looked in on a garden where a dog slept. He called hello. The lights in the house were on and the door was open and inside the first room Charles saw a couch and a coffee table and a cup of tea that was still steaming. He waited and eventually a woman appeared. He called out again and she looked into the darkness, holding her hand up as a visor. She was dressed in jeans and a button-down white shirt. She wore cloth slippers. She walked toward Charles and said, “I do not speak English.” She opened the gate and said, “Come in, please.” Charles stepped inside and said, “I’m looking for Hoang Vu, the artist.”

The woman bowed slightly and left him standing in the courtyard. The dog lifted its head and blinked.

A young girl entered the room, stopped, and stared. She was wearing shorts and a big T-shirt and her hair was in braids.

“Hello,” Charles said.

The girl said hello. Her pronunciation was exact. She asked, “Are you rich?” and then laughed and backed out of the room as Hoang Vu appeared. He was wearing a white shirt and black polyester pants and socks with broad stripes of white and baby blue. The elastic was gone on the socks and they had drooped at his heels.

“You have come,” Vu said. “Good, good.” He motioned at the couch and told Charles to sit. He sat across from him, lit a cigarette, and said that he had many friends in many places, in London, in Montevideo, in Paris, but it was always nice to meet someone new, and that was why, that afternoon with Thanh, he had asked Charles to visit. He stood and excused himself and left the room, and in a moment he returned with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, which was a third full. He poured generously, handed Charles a glass, and said, “To new friends.” They touched glasses and drank. Vu finished his and poured himself another. “I know a little about you,” he said. “Tell me more.”

Charles talked about his life back on the mountain and about his three children, and then he said that almost thirty years ago he had fought in Vietnam and now he was coming back for a visit. He said the country surprised him. He didn’t really know what he had expected.