Up Country (16 page)

“I talk to myself, and when I do that, I know I’m talking to an intelligent person.”

“You’re a tough guy. Old school.”

I looked pointedly at my watch. Somehow, Ms. Weber and I had become familiar, which may have been a result of too many beers. I said, “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m having dessert and coffee. Don’t run off.”

“I’m jet-lagged.”

She lit a cigarette, ignored me, and said, “I never smoked before I got here. These people smoke like chimneys, and I got hooked. But I don’t do grass or opium. I haven’t gone completely native yet.”

I watched her in the flickering light of the candle. This was a somewhat complex woman, but she seemed to be a straight shooter. I never compare
Woman A to Woman B, but Susan reminded me a little of Cynthia—the straightforwardness, I think. But whereas Cynthia was formed by the army, as I was, Susan came from another world, Lenox, Amherst, Harvard. I recognized the upper-middle-class accent and bearing, the
other
Massachusetts that Southies used to laugh at, but also envied.

She signaled a waiter and asked me, “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

She said something to the waiter, and he left. She said to me, “The native coffee is good. It’s from the highlands. You want dessert?”

“I’m stuffed.”

“I ordered fruit. The fruit here is out of this world.”

She seemed to be enjoying my company, or enjoying herself, and that’s not always the same thing with women. In any case, she was kind of fun, except she’d had a beer too many and was starting to get silly.

It was cooler now, a beautiful, star-filled evening, and I could see the last sliver of the waning moon. I said to her, “New Year’s Eve is next Saturday night. Correct?”

“Yes. You should try to be in a major city that night. It could be fun.”

“Like New Year’s Eve at home?”

“More like Chinese New Year in Chinatown in New York. Fireworks, noisemakers, dragon dancing, puppet shows, and all that. But it’s also very solemn, and a lot of people go to pagodas to pray for a good year and honor their ancestors. The party ends before midnight because everyone goes home to be with their families at midnight. Except that the Catholics go to midnight mass. Are you Catholic?”

“Sometimes.”

She smiled. “Well, then go to midnight mass if you’re near a church. Someone will invite you to come home with them and share a meal. But the first visitor who crosses the threshold of a Vietnamese home after midnight must be of good character, or the family will have an unlucky year. Are you of good character?”

“No.”

“Well, you can lie.” She laughed.

I said, “And I understand that the celebration lasts for a week afterward.”

“Officially four more days, but in reality about a week. It’s a tough week to get anything done because just about everything is closed. The good
news is that all the pre-holiday traffic and congestion come to an end, and most places look like ghost towns. The restaurants and bars are usually open only at night, and people party hard every night. But each city and region has some differences in how they celebrate. Where do you think you’ll be for Tet?”

I thought,
Probably in jail
. I said, “I’m not sure about my itinerary.”

“Of course.” She thought a moment, then said, “You must have been here for a Tet holiday if you were here twice.”

“I was here for Tet ’72 and ’68.”

She nodded. “I know about Tet ’68. I’m historically challenged, but that I know about. Where were you?”

“Outside Quang Tri City.”

She said, “I understand it was very bad in Quang Tri and Hue. Maybe you can be in Hue for Tet. That’s a very big celebration.”

I replied, “I’m not sure where I’ll be.”

“Do you at least know what you’re doing tomorrow?”

“I’m sightseeing tomorrow.”

“Good. You need a guide and I’m available.”

“Bill might be annoyed.”

“He’ll get over it.” She laughed again and lit another cigarette. “Look, if you’re going up country, you need some tips. I’ll give you some good advice.”

“You’ve been helpful enough.” I asked her, “Do you use that expression? Up country?”

“I guess so. I heard it here. Why?”

“I thought it was only a military expression.”

“The Westerners use it here. Up country. Means someplace out of Saigon or any major city—usually someplace that you’d rather not be—like in the wilds. Right?”

“Right.”

“So, if you’d like, I’ll show you the real Saigon tomorrow.”

“That’s above and beyond the call of duty.”

She looked at me through her cigarette smoke, then said, “Look, Paul, I’m not . . . I mean, I’m not coming on to you.”

“That never crossed my mind.”

“Right. Are you married? Am I allowed to ask that?”

“I’m not married, but I’m in a . . . what’s it called these days?”

“A committed relationship.”

“That’s it. I’m in one of those.”

“Good. Me, too. The man’s an idiot, but that’s another story. Princeton. Need I say more?”

“I guess that says it all.”

“I hope you’re not Princeton.”

“God forbid. I’m army college extension program, cum laude.”

“Oh . . . anyway, here’s where I’m coming from. I’m not—”

The fruit and coffee came.

The band was playing some Sixties stuff now and swung into “For Once in My Life,” Stevie Wonder, 1968.

She picked at some fruit, then patted her lips with her napkin. I thought she was getting ready to leave, but she asked me, “Would you like to dance?”

This took me by surprise, but I replied, “Sure.”

We both stood and moved to the small dance floor, which was crowded. I took her in my arms and there was a lot of woman there. We danced. I was a little uncertain about where this was going, but maybe I was reading this wrong. She was bored with Bill and wanted a little kick by having dinner with Super Spy.

The band was playing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.” Her body was warm, she danced well, and her breasts were firm against my chest. She had her chin on my shoulder, but our cheeks were not touching. She said, “This is nice.”

“Yes, it is.”

We danced on the roof of the Rex Hotel, with the lighted rotating crown above us, the stars overhead, a warm tropical breeze blowing, and the band playing slow dance music. I thought of Cynthia, though I was holding Susan. I thought of our few, short times together, and the fact that we’d never shared a moment like this. I found myself looking forward to Hawaii.

After a few minutes of silent dancing, Susan asked me, “So, do you want company tomorrow?”

“I do, but . . .”

“Here’s where I’m coming from. I’m not political, I’m strictly business. But I’m not real thrilled with these idiots who run this place. They’re bullies, anti-business, and anti-fun. The people are nice. I like the people. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve never in my life done anything for my country, so if this is for my country—”

“It isn’t.”

“Okay, but I’d like to do something for you because I have a feeling you might need more tips about this place than anyone has given you. And I’d like you to succeed at whatever you’re doing here. And I don’t want you to get in trouble when you leave Saigon. The rest of this place is not Saigon. It can get a little rough out there. I know you’re a tough guy, and you can handle this place—you did it twice. But I’d feel better if I gave you a day of my time and gave you the benefit of my extensive knowledge of Vietnam. How’s that?”

“Good pitch. Are you doing this for me, or because you like to live dangerously, or because you like to do things that the government here doesn’t like you to do?”

“All of the above. Plus, for my country, no matter what you say.”

I mulled this over as we continued to dance. There was no good reason why I shouldn’t spend the day with this woman, but something told me this was trouble. I said to her, “I expect to be called to some government office to answer some questions. You don’t want to be around for that.”

“They don’t frighten me. I can trade insults with the best of them. In fact, if we’re together, you won’t look so suspicious.”

“I don’t look suspicious.”

“You do. You need a companion for the day. Let me do this.”

“Okay. As long as you understand why you’re doing it, and that I’m just a tourist, but a tourist who’s come to the attention of the authorities for some reason.”

“I understand.” The band took a break, and she took my hand and led me back to the table.

She found a pen in her attaché case and wrote on a cocktail napkin. “This is my home number if you need it. I’ll meet you tomorrow in the lobby at 8
A.M.
”

“That’s a little early.”

“Not for an 8:30 mass at the cathedral.”

“I don’t go to church.”

“I go every Sunday, and I’m not even Catholic. It’s part of the expat thing.” She stood and said, “If you’re not in the lobby, I’ll try the breakfast room. If you’re not there, I’ll ring your room. And if you’re not there, I know who to contact.”

I stood. “Thanks.” I added, “I had a really nice evening.”

“Me, too.” She picked up her attaché case. “Thanks for dinner. You’ll let me buy you dinner tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

She hesitated, then looked me in the eye and said, “I know a few men your age who work here, and a few men who I’ve met here who have returned to find something, or maybe lose something. So, I know it’s tough, and I can understand. But for people my age, Vietnam is a country, not a war.”

I didn’t reply.

“Good night, Paul.”

“Good night, Susan.”

I watched her disappear into the enclosed restaurant.

I looked at the cocktail napkin, memorized her home phone number, and crumpled the napkin into my coffee cup.

It was, as I say, a beautiful evening with a warm breeze rustling the plants. The band was playing “MacArthur Park.” I closed my eyes.

A long time ago, when Vietnam was a war and not a country, I could recall nights like this out under the stars, the tropical breeze moving through the vegetation. And there were other nights without a breeze, when the vegetation moved, and you could hear the tapping of the bamboo sticks that they used to signal one another. The tree frogs stopped croaking and even the insects became still and the night birds flew off. And you waited in the deathly silence, and even your breathing stopped, but your heart thumped so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it. And the sound of the tapping bamboo came closer, and the vegetation swayed in the breezeless night.

I opened my eyes and sat there awhile. Susan had left a half bottle of beer, and I drank from the bottle to moisten my dry mouth.

I took a deep breath, and the war went away. I found myself looking forward to tomorrow.

I
went to my room carrying the newspaper. There was no message light on, no message envelopes anywhere, and the snow globe had been moved by the maid who turned down the bed. It was now on the desk.

I sat at the desk and opened my
International Herald Tribune
to the crossword puzzle, which was the
New York Times
puzzle and was half finished. I studied the puzzle a moment, then I noticed that next to number 32 down was a tick mark.

I opened my
Lonely Planet Guide
to the section on Hue. There was a map
of the city and a numbered key that showed points of interest. Number 32 was the Halls of the Mandarins, located, I saw, in the Imperial Enclosure, which was a walled section within the Citadel walls of the Old City.

This was where I was supposed to meet my contact on the appointed day at noon. He—or she—was a Vietnamese, and that’s all I knew.

If I somehow missed the hour, or if no one was there to meet me, I was to go to the alternate rendezvous at 2
P.M.
The alternate was identified by the reverse of the digits 32, according to Mr. Conway. I looked at the map of Hue and saw that number 23 was the Royal Library, which was located in the inner sanctum of the Imperial Enclosure, called the Forbidden Purple City.

The third alternate at 4
P.M.
was the sum of 3 and 2, which on the map was an historic temple called Chua Ba, outside the Citadel walls of the city.

If my contact didn’t show up at any of these rendezvous, then I was to go back to the hotel and wait for a message. I was supposed to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.

I thought this was all a little melodramatic, but probably necessary. Also, I didn’t like the idea of having to trust a Viet, but I had to assume the people in Washington knew what they were doing. I mean, they’d been so successful here before.

I put a few more tick marks against the numbers in the crossword puzzle and did more of the puzzle, noticing that Ms. Weber got some really difficult clues right. Obviously a bright lady, and obviously, too, she had her own agenda—or someone else’s agenda.

Tomorrow should be interesting.