The Vietnam Reader (89 page)

The map told him to go around, but the park entrance was closed. They sat idling by the chain with their lights off. The Wall was supposed to be through these trees, but he didn’t see anything and double-checked to make sure.

“Okay,” he said, and unbuckled Scott.

He helped him down, then went into the back for the bag. He draped his class A’s over his shoulder and took Scott’s hand. It was still raining, but not hard; under the trees they couldn’t feel it. The ground was spongy beneath his feet; he stepped lightly, wary of the roots. In the blackness, Scott squeezed his hand, and Larry wondered how safe the park was. He was too used to Ithaca.

They came to a clearing and stumbled onto a cobblestone path. The bag bumped against his leg. The Wall was supposed to be there, in front of them, but all he saw was an opening and another grove of trees. They crossed the path and a tripwire snagged his shin.

It was a string to keep people off the new grass. Beyond it leaned a snow fence, a slope leading down.

Ahead, below them, a lighter flared, and he could see a figure silhouetted against the Wall. The flame touched a candle, illuminating a face, then just a pair of jungle boots mirrored in the polished stone.

His eyes grew accustomed to the wet reflection. On either side of the candle the Wall stretched indefinitely. It was sunken, the earth
contoured to reveal it, ten feet thick in the center, the edges tapering away. It loomed like a whale over the candle, the granite soaking up most of the light. He was too far away to see the names, and wondered how large they were, how small, how many. All, they’d said.

“I’m hungry,” Scott whined.

“I know,” Larry answered.

They followed the path down to the Wall. It seemed to rise out of the ground in front of them. As they descended, the rush of traffic in the distance softened, then disappeared, leaving only the rain, their shoes scuffing the path. The man at the candle stepped into darkness and vanished as if they’d scared him away.

They moved to the flame and stood before it, holding hands. Larry didn’t know the names he was seeing. They looked gray in the flickering light, separated by diamonds. They were small, and most had a middle initial. Someone had loved all of them—mothers, fathers, girlfriends. They had come from towns like Ithaca, from high school, leaving everything they knew. The waste seemed plain. In the tiny patch of light there had to be a hundred. Behind them, looking out, stood the reflection of himself and Scott.

The candle rested on a ledge jutting from the base of the Wall. Between the path and the ledge stretched a few feet of sod heaped with wreaths and flags and heart-shaped pillows, teddy bears and keychains, framed pictures. There were boots and OD T-shirts, helmets with scrawled-on liners, medals in their cases, unopened beer cans and packs of cigarettes. Scott sloughed off his hand and leaned down to pick up a stuffed rabbit, and Larry gently said, “No, champ.”

“Here,” he said, and gave him his class A’s. He had to convince Scott to add them to the pile.

He opened the bag and let Scott take some of his things out—Magoo’s pictures and Leonard Dawson’s cards, Salazar’s list. They walked down toward the meeting of the V, dropping off Rinehart’s fatigue jacket and Cartwright’s cigar box. In the cracks between the panels, people had wedged snapshots and letters; a few had fallen to the wet grass. They walked slowly, doling out the contents of the bag—the .50 caliber rounds and paper fans, the jingling dogtags.
When they reached the end, there was nothing left but the lists and Larry’s camera.

He shuffled the lists, though they were impossible to see. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out the names on the Wall, and he wasn’t going to take the man’s candle. He leaned across the offerings and touched the granite, his fingertips tracing the letters. All of them, he thought. They were arranged by date. Somewhere in the middle were his—Salazar and Smart Andy, Leonard Dawson and Bates. The Martian, the LT. He didn’t have to look at any list. He knew their names.

Larry took out the camera and handed Scott the bag. They’d given him money to buy film. He stood back, framing the blackness. He pressed the button and the flash exploded off the stone, dazzling him. He moved a few steps to his right and took another. The letters stayed with him, burned purple in the dark. He made his way down the Wall, flipping the flashbar, jamming it in like a clip. He worried that the pictures wouldn’t come out, and at the far end he turned and came back, taking a second set. He wanted to make sure he got Carl Metcalf and Dumb Andy, Nate and Pony and Bogut. He’d get Fred the Head and Magoo. He’d even get Creeley. This time Larry wouldn’t miss anyone. This time he would bring them all home.

Dien Cai Dau
Y
USEF
K
OMUNYAKAA
1988

Between Days

Expecting to see him anytime
coming up the walkway
through blueweed & bloodwort,
she says, “That closed casket
was weighed down with stones.”
The room is as he left it
fourteen years ago, everything
freshly dusted & polished
with lemon oil. The uncashed
death check from Uncle Sam
marks a passage in the Bible
on the dresser, next to the photo
staring out through the window.
“Mistakes. Mistakes. Now,
he’s gonna have to give them this
money back when he gets home.
But I wouldn’t. I would
let them pay for their mistakes.
They killed his daddy. & Janet,
she ¿V her three children
by three different men, I hope
he’s strong enough to tell her
to get lost. Lord, mistakes.”
His row of tin soldiers
lines the window sill. The sunset
flashes across them like a blast.
She’s buried the Silver Star
&flag under his winter clothes.
The evening’s first fireflies
dance in the air like distant tracers.
Her chair faces the walkway
where she sits before the TV
asleep, as the screen dissolves
into days between snow.

Facing It

My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn’t,
dammit: No tears.
I’m stone. I’m flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way—the stone lets me go.
I turn that way—I’m inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap’s white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet’s image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I’m a window.
He’s lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she’s brushing a boy’s hair.

April 1975. As Saigon falls, helicopters evacuate the U.S. embassy.

Glossary

AIT—
advanced individual training

amtrac—
amphibious tractor; a landing craft

AO—
area of operations

ao dai
—traditional dress of Vietnamese women: slacks and a tunic slit up the sides

APC—
armored personnel carrier

arty—
artillery

ARVN,
or Arvin—Army of the Republic of Viet Nam (South Vietnam), or any regular South Vietnamese Army soldier

AWOL—
absent without leave

babysan—
Vietnamese child; also, very young woman

bac-si,
also
bac se
—doctor

BCD—
bad conduct discharge

BMB—
brigade main base

Brown Bar—
second lieutenant

CA—
combat assault; inserting troops by helicopter into a hot landing zone, usually with gunship support

C-4—
plastic explosive, small chunks of which burned like Sterno and were used to heat C-rations

Charlie,
also Charles—Viet Cong, from the military phonetic spelling of the acronym VC, or Victor Charlie

cherry—
a new guy

Chinook—
the CH-47 helicopter, a large, twin-rotor job used to move troops and cargo; also called a Shithook

Class A’s—
the Army dress uniform

Claymore—
a command-detonated antipersonnel mine packed with steel pellets

click
(see
klick
)

Cobra—
a helicopter gunship with rockets and mini-guns

CP—
command post

crispy critters—
severely burned victims of napalm; named after a popular children’s cereal of the time

DEROS—
Date of Expected Return from Overseas

deuce-and-a-half—
a two-and-a-half ton truck

didi mau
—go or leave quickly, take off, scram

DMZ—
demilitarized zone; the fifteen miles on either side of the border between North and South Vietnam designated by the Geneva accords

DTs—
defensive targets

dung lai
—stop, halt, don’t move

dustoff—
medical evacuation, or medevac; also, any helicopter pickup

DZ—
drop zone

EOD—
Explosive Ordnance Disposal (or Demolition)

FDC—
Fire Direction Control Center; coordinated artillery fire for effect—command meaning that rounds are hitting the target and to pour it on

FNG,
also
fenugie
—fucking new guy

FO—
1. fire officer 2. field officer 3. forward observer

frag—
a fragmentation grenade; to kill using a grenade; to assassinate a despised superior

H & I—
harassment and interdiction fire; artillery fired to discourage enemy movement

HE—
high-explosive rounds

hootch,
also hooch—a hut or tent; any small building

Huey—
Bell’s UH-1A, -1B, and other utility helicopters of that series, the most prevalent in Vietnam

jarhead—
a Marine

KIA—
Killed in Action

klick,
or click—a kilometer

laager,
also lager—a night defensive position or camp

LAAW—
light antiarmor assault weapon, or light antitank assault weapon; a shoulder-launched rocket in a disposable fiberglass tube

liftship—
a Huey

little people,
the—the Viet Cong; also, any Vietnamese

loach,
also LOH—light observation helicopter

LP—
listening post

LZ,
or
lz
—landing zone

MACV—
Military Assistance Command, Vietnam; the American military headquarters for Vietnam