She took my arm, and we turned toward the bridge.
The first thing I noticed was that all the kids on the other side of the moat were gone.
The second thing I noticed was somebody standing in the middle of the Citadel field, watching us. It was Colonel Mang.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Colonel Mang and I stared at each other across a hundred meters of open field.
Susan asked me, “Who is that?”
“Take a guess.”
“Oh . . . what’s he doing here?”
“Well, for starters, he wants me to walk to him, which I’m not going to do.”
Susan said, “Paul, I know these people. If you make him lose face, he’ll go nuts.”
“You know, Susan, I’m really fucking tired of Westerners worrying about East Asians losing face. Fuck him.”
“I’ll go talk to him.”
“You stay right here.”
She didn’t reply or move.
I noticed two other men a hundred meters behind Colonel Mang, standing on the moat bridge. They were in uniform and were carrying rifles. In fact, even from this distance, I could pick out my chubby friend Pushy from Tan Son Nhat.
Colonel Mang, I noticed, was dressed in a dark green dress jacket, shirt, and tie, which was more appropriate for this cooler climate. He also wore a peaked hat and a holster and pistol.
A wind had picked up, and the sun was dropping below the trees. Long gray shadows stretched across the acres of the former Citadel, and soon it would be dark. I was prepared to stand there until dawn.
Susan said, “Paul, let’s walk about a third of the way. He’ll do the same.”
“Fuck him. I didn’t invite him here.”
“He doesn’t need an invitation. Trust me on this. Come on.” She took a step.
I hesitated, then started walking. Susan walked beside me. I stopped after about thirty paces.
Colonel Mang got the idea and took exactly thirty paces toward us. This was all very silly, of course, but men will be boys when balls are involved.
I took a tentative step toward Colonel Mang, he did the same, and we began walking toward each other. We closed the distance to about ten meters, and the little shit stopped. I stopped.
We looked at each other. He didn’t seem happy, so that made at least two of us.
Susan said, “Come on, Paul. Point made. Let’s go see what he wants.”
“Fuck him.”
Colonel Mang must have not heard me correctly because he said, “Good evening, Mr. Brenner.”
I didn’t reply.
Susan had had enough of the pissing contest and walked up to Colonel Mang. She spoke to him a minute, and I couldn’t hear her, so I didn’t know what language she was using. She turned to me and said, “Paul, why don’t you join us?” She motioned me to come forward.
Well, this had been a hell of a day—the A Shau, Khe Sanh, the DMZ, and now Quang Tri. My brain was filled with war memories, and my body was pumped with nasty male hormones. I had the bad attitude of a combat infantryman, and I was no longer a tourist in Saigon, listening to Mang’s crap; it wasn’t going to take much to set me off. If I’d had my M-16, I could have wasted the two clowns with the rifles before Mang could even go for the pistol on his hip.
“Paul. Come and join us. Please.”
I took a deep breath and walked the ten paces to where Susan and Colonel Mang were standing.
We didn’t exchange greetings, but I spoke without being spoken to. I asked him, “What are you doing here?”
He stared at me a long time, then replied, “That is my question to you.”
“I told you I was coming to Quang Tri to see where I was stationed. So don’t ask me why I’m here.”
He regarded me for a moment, and I could tell that he understood that I’d dropped my firm but polite manner of speaking to him. He said to me, “Well, what did you see? Nothing. I told you, there is nothing here. Your bombers laid waste to an entire province. Is this what you want to see?” He motioned around the empty acres. “Do you enjoy this?”
I took a deep breath and replied, “Colonel, you know very well why the bombers destroyed this province. Why don’t you try to deal with reality as I’ve tried to do since I’ve returned?”
He replied without hesitation, “Reality is whatever we say it is.”
“No, reality is what happened. The massacre at Hue happened, and the massacre here at Quang Tri happened in 1968. I saw it with my own eyes. And, yes, the massacre at My Lai also happened. We all have blood on our hands. Deal with it, and stop pushing the fucking war in my face. I didn’t start it, and neither did you. Get over it.”
He didn’t appreciate the lecture or my tone of voice, but he kept his cool and replied, “There was no massacre at Hue or Quang Tri. There was a liquidation of the enemies of the people. The massacre was at My Lai.”
“What do you want?”
“You can tell me why you and your companion here are trying to contact the hill people.”
“You mean the Moi? The savages?”
“The hill people, Mr. Brenner. What is your business with them?”
“I have no business with them.”
“Mr. Loc says otherwise.”
“Mr. Loc is an idiot.”
Susan chimed in and said, “Colonel, tourists come from all over the world to see the indigenous people of Vietnam. We did the same.”
Colonel Mang regarded Susan a moment, wondering, I’m sure, why a woman was answering for a man. This country was so sexist, I might like it here. Colonel Mang said, not to Susan, but to me, “You were out of sight of Mr. Loc several times. You climbed into the hills in the A Shau Valley. You stopped at a hill tribe settlement. You spoke to hill people in the square at Khe Sanh.”
I said, “So what? I’m a tourist.”
“Yes? And do the hill people give all tourists that bracelet you are wearing on your wrist? Or the Taoi scarf that Miss Weber now wears? And do tourists exchange military salutes with former American mercenary troops?”
I thought about that, and he had some good points there. I replied, “Colonel, I think you’re being overly suspicious, and overly sensitive to the issue of the Montagnards.”
“Do you think so? You do not live here, Mr. Brenner.” He asked, “Would you care to explain your actions?”
Actually, no. I said to Colonel Mang, “Where is Mr. Loc? Bring him here and we’ll discuss this.” I added, to lighten the moment, “I have the constitutional right to face my accuser.”
Colonel Mang smiled and said, “Mr. Loc, unfortunately, had to leave for a while.” He asked me, “Why did you go to A Shau Valley and Khe Sanh?”
I didn’t reply.
Colonel Mang said to me, “Mr. Loc said you told many war stories, Mr. Brenner, and none of those stories involved your duties as a cook.”
I replied, “Mr. Loc doesn’t speak English, Colonel.”
“Ah, but he does. And you know that. You remarked on it to him several times.”
“Correct. So why would I incriminate myself in front of him if I knew he understood English?”
“Because you did not know he was an agent of the Ministry of Public Security.”
“Of course I knew that. I told him I knew that.”
“He did not mention that to me.”
Susan spoke up and said to Colonel Mang, “Then he hasn’t spoken the truth to you. We knew from the minute we met him that he was a policeman. I’ve been in this country for three years, Colonel, and I know a secret policeman when I see one.”
Colonel Mang stared at Susan awhile, then said to her, “I am speaking to Mr. Brenner.” He turned back to me and said, “I do not believe that you knew—”
Susan said sharply, “I am speaking to you, Colonel. And you will answer me.”
Colonel Mang turned back to Susan. “Excuse me? I do not believe I heard you correctly.”
“No? Then understand this—” She switched to Vietnamese and laid a whole lot of shit o
n Colonel Mang, who I was certain was about to slap her. Then, I’d have to clock him, and then the goons with the rifles would charge across the field, and before you knew it, I’d have Colonel Mang’s pistol to his head, and we’d be in a standoff for the rest of the night, or a shoot-out, or whatever. This was not good. But I let Susan vent.
Before Susan finished yelling at Colonel Mang, he began yelling back at her, and they were really going at it. I wondered what happened to her concern about Colonel Mang saving face. I love it when peacemakers go nuts and try to start World War Three. I noticed, too, that the goons with the rifles were alert and watching. They couldn’t hear much from that distance, but they knew a pissed-off lady when they saw one, especially if they were married. On the plus side, at least Susan and Colonel Mang were still talking—or yelling. If Mang got quiet, we’d have a problem.
I needed to cool this down, so I said to Susan, “Okay. Im lang. Fermez la bouche. Shut up. That’s enough.”
She shut up.
Colonel Mang was really worked up, and even if he hadn’t come here to arrest us, he was thinking about it now, especially with the two goons watching him taking lip from the American bitch.
Colonel Mang got himself cooled down and turned back toward me. He said, as though nothing had happened, “I do not believe you knew that Mr. Loc was an agent of the Ministry of Public Security.”
“Do I look stupid?”
Colonel Mang resisted saying, Yes, you look stupid. Why else would you be here? Instead, he said, “If you are so clever, why did you speak so freely of your battles in the presence of Mr. Loc when you told me you were a cook?”
I replied, “Obviously, I was not a cook. I was an infantryman.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
Because the half-wits in Washington told me to. I replied, politely, “I saw no reason to upset you, Colonel, with the fact that I fought your compatriots here.”
“Yes? But you lied.”
Cops love to pick on a lie. I said, “I lied. I killed North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers, here, in and around Quang Tri City, in Khe Sanh, in the A Shau Valley, and down in the Bong Son. So what? You, too, were a combat soldier, and you killed my compatriots. It was wartime. That’s what we got paid for. Subject closed. You didn’t come here to tell me you discovered I was a combat soldier. What do you want?”
He replied, “I told you. I want to know what business you have with the hill people.”
“None.”
“Then why did you go into the hills?”
This guy was dense, or paranoid. Probably both. I said, “I went to the A Shau Valley and to Khe Sanh to see where I fought. I thought we understood that.”
He thought about that and replied, “Perhaps the lie is that you were never stationed in those places, but now you go there to make contact with the hill people on behalf of your government, and you use the excuse of visiting your battlefields when, in fact, these were not your battlefields. It is the hill tribes you are interested in.”
I needed a second to follow this logic. Apparently, Colonel Mang already had it in his mind that I was up to no good, so he had to make what he knew fit with what he suspected. In fact, I was up to no good, but he wasn’t even close to the truth. Actually, he didn’t have to be; any criminal charge would do in this country.
I applied some logic of my own and said, “If I needed an excuse to go into the hills, why wouldn’t I tell you at Tan Son Nhat that I had an interest in, perhaps, trees and wildlife? Follow?”
He thought about my counterlogic and replied, “In fact, you told me you were not even sure you were going to your base camp at An Khe, which is in the highlands, and where there are many tribespeople. Why were you hiding that?”
“Hiding what? I never went to An Khe.”
“But you went to other hill areas.”
This guy was giving me a headache, and I saw that Susan, too, was getting impatient with Mang’s paranoia and silliness regarding the hill people.
He said to me, “You have, of course, heard of the FULRO?”
I knew that was coming. I replied, “I learned about them at the American War Crimes Museum. I saw the photographs of the mass executions of tribespeople. That upsets the tourists, by the way.”
“Yes? It is intended as a lesson.”
“Why couldn’t you just put the hill people in re-education camps and teach them to be happy citizens? Why did you have to shoot them?”
He looked at me and informed me, “Enemies of the state, who lay down their arms, are given the opportunity to reform themselves in special schools. Enemies who are captured with weapons are shot.” He added, “Anyone, armed or not, who makes contact with armed insurgents is also shot.” He looked at me, then at Susan, and asked, “Do you understand?”
Of course I understood. We did the same thing in 1968, so I couldn’t give Colonel Mang a lecture on due process, guilt by association, or the right to bear arms. It was time, however, to bring this to a head. I looked Mang in the eye and said to him, “Colonel, are you accusing me of being a spy?”
He stared at me, and choosing his words carefully, replied, “I am attempting to discover the true purpose of your visit to my country.”
Well, so was I. But Colonel Mang couldn’t help me on that. I said to him, “Surely you have better things to do during the Tet holiday. Perhaps your family would like to see you.”
He didn’t like that remark at all and said, “It is none of your business, Mr. Brenner, what I do. But for your information, I have been home, and now I have come to speak to you.”
“I’m sorry that you’ve come a long way for nothing, Colonel.”
“I would not come a long way for nothing, Mr. Brenner.”
That sounded like there was more unpleasantness coming. I said, “Colonel, I don’t respond well to subtle threats. You may find this unbelievable, but in my country, as I told you, a citizen can refuse to answer the questions of a policeman, and the citizen has the right to remain silent. The policeman then has his choice of arresting the suspect or releasing him. So, if you’ve come here to arrest me, then do it now. Otherwise, I’m leaving.”
Colonel Mang had probably not been lectured on the limits of police power before, so he chose his own option, which was none of the above. He said to me, “If you answer my questions truthfully, you and your companion can be on your way.”
I looked at Susan, who nodded to me. Having her along, as I’ve said, had its pluses and minuses, and right now was a minus. If I wound up in the slammer under interrogation, I could handle it. But if Mang decided to throw Susan in the clink, too, I’d have a problem.
Colonel Mang said, “Mr. Brenner? I have a few more questions for you. May I?”
I nodded.
He smiled and said to me, “Please describe for me the relationship between you and this lady.”
I saw that one coming, too, and replied, “We met for the first time in Saigon—Ho Chi Minh City—and are now traveling together.”
“Yes? To where?”
“To Hanoi.”
“Oh, yes. To Hanoi, and where are you going between Hue and Hanoi?”
“I think I told you, Colonel. Up the coast.”
“Ah, yes. You wanted to see how the people of the former North Vietnam, as you call it, live and work.”
“That is what I said.”
“And how do you propose to get to Hanoi?”
“I don’t know. Any suggestions?”
He smiled and said, “You could come with me. I have a car and driver.”
“That’s very good of you to offer, but I don’t want you to go out of your way.”
“I am going that way. My family home is near Hanoi.”
“I see. So, I suppose I’ll be seeing you again in Hanoi.”
“You can be sure of that, Mr. Brenner.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Perhaps we can meet at my embassy.”
“Perhaps not.” He took out a cigarette and lit it.
Susan took out her cigarettes and said to Colonel Mang, with a bit of sarcasm, “Would you like a cigarette?”
He ignored her, which was a big improvement over a screaming match. He learned fast.
He drew on his cigarette and said to me, “So, you are traveling along the coast to Hanoi?”
“How else can I get to Hanoi?”
“Well, one could take the long route through the hills, toward Laos, then come back to Hanoi via the Red River. It is very scenic.”
“Are there any hill people there?”
He smiled and didn’t reply.
This was too much fun for one day. It was cold and almost dark, I needed a Scotch, and I’m playing cat and mouse with Sherlock Holmes’s evil East Asian twin, standing in a place where a murder had been committed while soldiers and civilians died by the thousands all around the murder scene. That was why I was here, and this guy is trying to pin a capital offense on me. I couldn’t wait to see Karl and have a good laugh over this.
Colonel Mang returned to the subject of my love life and said to me, “So, you and Miss Weber are traveling as friends. Correct?”
I replied, “As you already know, we share the same bed.”
He put on an expression of mock surprise. This guy needed an acting coach. He said, “But you had separate rooms in Nha Trang and now Hue. And you share the same bed. What an extravagance.”
I replied, “Americans are extravagant in their attempts at propriety and good taste.”
“In fact, you indulge yourselves in whatever you like or want, then attempt to pretend you are simple, virtuous people. I believe the word in English is hypocrisy. Correct?”
“That’s a very good observation, Colonel. Now can I tell you about the Vietnamese? They are the only people I’ve ever met who worship the American dollar more than the Americans.”
“You are insulting me and my country, Mr. Brenner.”
“You have insulted me and my country, Colonel Mang.”
He drew on his cigarette and said, “Perhaps we should get back to our business.” He looked at Susan and said something to her in Vietnamese. She didn’t look happy with the question and replied curtly.
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