Up Country (35 page)

E
arly Friday morning, we went to the government travel agency, Vidotour, but like most government agencies, they were closed for the holiday. In fact, aside from food and flower shops, the town was starting to shut down.

We went next to the train station, but this being the last day that any trains were running until the following Friday, we couldn’t even buy a standby ticket. To make matters worse, even if we bribed our way on a train, the ticket or bribe was only good to Da Nang where we’d have to go through the process again, or get stranded in Da Nang.

As we left the train station, Susan asked me, “Why did they send you here during the Tet holiday?”

I replied, “It’s not as stupid as it seems. I need to find someone in his native town or village.”

“Oh. Well, he should be there.”

“I hope so. That’s the only address we have.”

“Tam Ki? Is that the village?”

“I don’t think that place exists. It’s another place whose name I’ll get in Hue. After Hue, I need to go to this place. But you will
not
—repeat not—go with me.”

“I know that. I’ll stay in Hue. Then I’ll get myself up to Hanoi and meet you.”

“Fine. Meanwhile, we need to get to Hue.”

“Money talks. I’ll get us to Hue.”

We walked around town with the tourist map that I’d bought on the beach, but the two private travel agencies were closed.

As we walked, I looked for a tail, but I was fairly certain we were alone. After some inquiries on the street, we found a mini-bus-tour office that was open near the central market. The guy behind the counter was a slicky boy with dark glasses and the instincts of a vulture. He smelled money and desperation the way a carrion-eating bird smells impending death. Susan and he slugged it out for ten minutes, then she said to me, “He’s got a tour group leaving here at 7
A.M.
tomorrow. They arrive in Hue about 6
P.M.
, in time for Tet Eve. When do you have to meet your person?”

“Not until noon the next day—New Year’s Day. Sunday.”

“Okay. He says there are no actual seats left on the mini-bus, but we can sit in the doorwell or someplace. Plenty of room for our luggage. Fifty bucks each.”

“What kind of tour group?”

She asked Slicky Boy, then said to me, “They’re French.”

“Let’s walk.”

She laughed.

“Tell him he has to pay
us.”

She actually translated this to Slicky, and he laughed and slapped my shoulder.

I said, “Ask him if he has a car and driver available today.”

She spoke to him, and he looked doubtful, which meant, “Yes, and it’s going to cost you a fortune.”

Susan said to me, “He has a man who can drive us to Hue, but because of the holiday, it will cost us five hundred dollars.”

I said, “It’s not my holiday. Two hundred.”

She spoke to Slicky, and we settled on three hundred. Susan said to me, “He says the driver and the car aren’t available until about 6
P.M.
” She added, “By car, we can make it in seven or eight hours if we leave about six when traffic gets light. That will get us in at one or two in the morning. Is that okay?”

“Sure. We can sleep in the hotel lobby if there isn’t a room available.”

“All right . . . you understand that night driving isn’t that safe?”

“Neither is day driving around here.”

“Right. I’ll tell him to pick us up about six at the hotel.”

I took her aside and said to her, “No. Tell him we’ll come here. And tell him we’re going to Hue”Phu Bai Airport.”

She nodded and passed this on to Slicky Boy.

We left Slicky Boy Tours and found an outdoor café where we got coffee.

I said to Susan, “You did a great job. I was getting a little concerned about getting out of here.”

“For that kind of money—about a year’s salary—you can get what you want. As my father used to say, ‘The poor suffer, the rich are slightly inconvenienced.’ ” She looked at me and said, “If we have three hundred dollars, we must have more. And it’s a night drive. So don’t fall asleep.”

“I already figured that out. That’s why I’m still alive.” I added, “If we don’t like the looks of this tonight, we have the mini-bus in the morning as a backup.”

She sipped her coffee and asked me, “Why didn’t you want the driver to pick us up at the hotel?”

“Because Colonel Mang doesn’t want me using private transportation.”

“Why not?”

“Because Colonel Mang is a paranoid asshole. I need to go to the Immigration Police and show them a ticket to Hue. You said I could get a bus ticket.”

“Yes. The ticket is good for any time, Nha Trang to Hue. So the police won’t ask what bus you intend to take. Hue is about 550 kilometers from here, and that could take ten to twelve hours by bus, so my guess is the last bus for Hue will leave here about 1
P.M.
, to arrive in Hue about midnight.”

“So, if I was really taking the bus, I’d need to leave soon.”

“That’s right. And you’d have to check out of the hotel soon.”

“Okay.” I stood. “Bus station.”

We paid the bill, left, and walked to the main bus terminal.

The bus terminal was a mass of impoverished humanity, and I didn’t see a single Westerner there, not even a backpacker or a schoolteacher.

The lines were long, but Susan went to the front of the line and gave a guy a few bucks to buy my ticket. Susan asked me, “One way, or round-trip?”

“One way, observation deck, window seat.”

“One ticket for the roof.” The Viet guy bought the ticket, and we left the teeming bus terminal.

Susan said, “The ticket agent said there’s a noon bus, and a one
P.M.
bus.”

We walked toward the police station, and I said to Susan, “You stay here. By now, they know you speak Vietnamese. I do better with pidgin English.”

She said, “More importantly, if you don’t come out of there, I’ll contact the embassy.”

I didn’t reply and walked to the Immigration police station.

Inside was a different guy behind the desk, and I presented him with Colonel Mang’s letter, which he read.

The waiting room was nearly empty this time, except for two backpackers sleeping on benches.

The Immigration cop said to me in passable English, “Where you go now?”

“Hue.”

“How you go Hue?”

I showed him my bus ticket.

He seemed a little surprised, but I had the five-dollar ticket so I must be telling the truth. He asked me, “When you go?”

“Now.”

“Yes? You leave hotel?”

The guy knew I was checked in until tomorrow. I said, “Yes, leave hotel today.”

“Why you leave today?”

“No train to Hue tomorrow. No plane. Go bus. Today.”

“Yes. Okay. You go to police in Hue.”

I said sharply, “I know that.”

“Lady go with you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We talk.”

He asked, “Where lady now?”

“Lady shop.” I looked at my watch and said, “I go now.”

“No. You need stamp.” He produced the photocopies I’d given to them when I arrived, and he said, “I stamp. Ten dollars.”

I gave him a ten. He stamped my photocopies, and wrote something on the stamps. I think they make this up as they go along.

I left before he thought of anything else.

I looked at the stamps and saw that the guy had handwritten
Hue—Century
over the red ink, so he already knew where I was staying. He’d also written the time, 11:15, and dated it.

I met Susan down the street, and she asked me, “Any problems?”

“No. Just another round-eye tax.” I showed her the photocopies with the red stamps on them and asked, “What are these?”

She looked at them and said, “These are the old internal travel stamps you used to need years ago.”

“Cost me ten bucks.”

“I buy my own rubber stamps for five bucks.”

“Bring them next time.”

She said to me, “So, you’re staying at the Century Riverside. That’s where I stayed when I was in Hue.”

“Well, that’s where you’re staying this time. But we’ll try to get separate rooms.”

We took a taxi back to the Grand Hotel. As we drove along the road, Susan asked me, “If I weren’t here, would you have gotten a Viet girl to stay with you at the hotel all week, or had a different one every night, or picked up a Western woman at the Nha Trang Sailing Club?”

There didn’t seem to be a correct answer among the choices. I said, “I would have spent more time at the Oceanographic Institute and continued with the cold showers.”

“No, I mean really.”

“I’m involved at home.”

Silence.

I’m good at this stuff, so I said, “Even if I wasn’t involved with anyone, when I’m on an assignment, I never do
anything
that can complicate or compromise the mission. But in this case, you’re sort of part of the team—as I very recently found out—and therefore I felt I could make an exception.”

She replied, “I’m not part of the team, and you didn’t know anything about that in Saigon when we decided to come to Nha Trang together.”

I didn’t recall making that decision, but again, I know when to shut up.

She continued, “So, if you’re on an assignment with a female co-worker, then you might consider a sexual or romantic involvement. That’s how you met what’s-her-name.”

“Can we stop at the marketplace for a leash?”

“Sorry.”

We arrived at the Grand without any further conversation.

At the front desk, there was a fax for Susan on Bank of America letterhead. I said, “Maybe your cyclo loan has been approved.”

She read the fax and handed it to me. It was from Bill, of course, and it read:
Washington firm absolutely insists that you return to Saigon as soon as possible. They need to talk with you via e-mail. On a personal note, I would have no objection if you wanted to come to the Vincents’ party, Tet Eve. We can be civilized about this, and perhaps discuss our relationship, if any. Need a full response.

I handed the fax back to her.

She said to me, “It’s your decision now, Paul. These are your bosses.”

I said, “This is directed to you, not me.”

“Oh. Well, I have no bosses in Washington. I did the favor for the American consulate in Saigon. End of story.”

I wasn’t so sure of that, but I said, “Fax Bill that you’re going with me to Hue.”

She got a piece of fax paper from the desk clerk and wrote on it. She handed it to me, and I read:
Mr. Brenner and I are headed to Hue. Inform his firm of same. Will return to Saigon sometime week after next. Regards to the Vincents from me, and my regrets.

Susan went into a small back room with the desk clerk and came out a few minutes later. She said to me, “I told the desk clerk we were checking out today, and we needed a taxi in half an hour to take you to the bus station and me to the train station.”

We climbed the stairs, and I said, “Dress for adventure.”

W
e were downstairs in the lobby at noon, both dressed in blue jeans, polo shirts, and walking shoes. We checked out, and Susan led me into the dining room. We found Lucy waiting on tables on the veranda, and Susan pressed some money into her hands. The old woman thanked us profusely. She said something to Susan, who said to me, “She said she doesn’t remember you, but she remembers the American soldiers who were . . . very high-spirited and . . . crazy, but who were always kind to her. She wishes us a safe journey.”

“Tell her I will always remember the kindness and the patience of the young ladies here who made our time away from the war so pleasant.”

Susan translated, the old woman bowed, then we held each other’s shoulders and kissed, French-style, both cheeks.

We went back to the lobby, got our bags, and went outside, where a taxi was waiting for us.

Susan said, “That was very nice. What you said to each other.”

“We’re old friends. We went through a war together.”

The driver put our bags in the trunk and off we went.