THE GOOD SOLDIER

by Paul C. Steffy

  “Hello, gentlemen. My name is Lee.” The man who greeted us wore a nametag similar to ours, except he had the deluxe version. “I’ll be one of your guides on your stay in Vietnam. I hope you enjoyed your flight.” Lee had been following close behind three pilots, and I didn’t see him approach our group. He made eye contact with each of us.

  “I know the trip here is a long one, but the airline is known for outstanding service. Now, you have arrived in my country. I have not been to yours—at least not yet. Someday I hope to visit the United States with my family.”

  Lee was smartly dressed in beige slacks, a yellow sports shirt, and a brighter yellow tie. He was tall for a Vietnamese, and his black hair was nicely styled. Although Lee had never been to America, his words were easy to understand. He held his clipboard, called our names, and after each acknowledgment, made eye contact again to verify that the entire group was present.

  “Follow me, please.” He walked with us to the baggage claim. We stood silently and waited for our bags to arrive on the carousel. Outside, we boarded the waiting bus.

  As it slowly made its way through the heavy traffic, Lee said into the microphone, “On behalf of all of us here at your tour club, we welcome you to Vietnam. During your week’s stay, we have several sights and places for you to see. We hope you will appreciate how things have changed since you were here many years ago. I have personally led many tours. For this one, however, because many of you have asked for John Turner, he will meet us at the hotel. This time of year, John leads one or two tours per month. We will be at the hotel in about twenty minutes. If you have any questions, please ask me or any one of the other tour guides.”

  Lee started to sit down when Don, a former supply officer from the Twenty-Fifth Division, asked him, “Did any of your family fight in the war?”

  Lee had no doubt answered this question many times. “Yes, they did. Several men and women in my large family lived in the south, and some lived in North Vietnam during the war. As far as I know, none of them ever met their relatives on the battlefield. Their armies fought opposite their own family members. Our war was similar to your own civil war. That is how we understand what happened in our country. It was an internal conflict between political factions. Each had differing ideas about how to govern our country. For many reasons, we are glad all of the suffering is over. Vietnam has accomplished many things since the fighting ended. We are very proud of how our country has changed and progressed. You will see many changes here during your visit. Any other questions?”

  A young Vietnamese woman drove our medium-size busload of veterans through heavy traffic. Lee sat in the seat behind her. She looked ahead to watch traffic, and they talked quietly in their own language. They smiled, laughed a lot, and appeared to be good friends. Then, a few minutes later, she slowed the bus to walking speed and drove into the hotel’s semicircular driveway. I felt a twinge of excitement and anxiety. I didn’t know what to expect. I looked at my watch; it was 10:30 a.m. local time. After the bus driver parked in the unloading area, we grabbed our things and filed off the bus.

  “We’ll take your suitcases to your rooms and put them on the racks at the end of your bed. The rooms have large closets, so you will have plenty of storage space. Now, let’s go inside to the lobby, where John Turner is waiting.”

  I was impressed by the appearance of the twelve-story hotel. Although I could feel that I was in a different country, and an Asian one at that, the hotel was almost new and looked quite modern. The palm trees and landscaping reminded me of Honolulu. The interior decorations, layout, lighting, seats, check-in counter, concierge desk, and elevators all looked similar to what I’d expect in a US city. However, as soon as I heard the Vietnamese language spoken all around me, I knew I was far from home. Overall, the atmosphere was relaxing and cordial, and I felt safe and pleased to be there.

  “Please gather together, and we will all go to one of the many conference rooms on this floor. I must check with the front desk to see which room is reserved for us because the hotel is completely full.”

  A man walked toward our group, and Lee didn’t see him. When he was only a few feet away, he said, “No need to check, Lee. I already know which one it is. It’s the Nutmeg Room, just around the corner, first hall on the left. I’ll take them there, and you can oversee the luggage if you like.”

  “Sure thing, John. Gentlemen, let me introduce John Turner. He’ll take over now and until the end of your tour. Please excuse me; I’ll see to your luggage.”

  “Fellows, follow me please.” John was of medium height. He had bright blue eyes, faded blondish red hair, and many freckles on his face and arms. He walked quickly, threading his way among the many people in the lobby. I had to walk at top speed to keep up with him. Wes and the others were right behind me. John held the door to the conference room open for us. Each chair was positioned for ease of seating near the expensive solid mahogany meeting table, and the lights were already on.

  Each man chose a seat. John walked to the front of the room and introduced himself.

  “Good morning. As you know, my name is John Turner. I’m here because six of you requested me to be your guide. I thank you for that resounding ‘attaboy,’ and I look forward to being with you for this week.” He smiled, looked around the room, and continued. “We have lots to see and many places to visit, so tomorrow morning we’ll get started. I have more info for you to look through, take to your rooms, and keep. It’s located at each of your desk areas. We have your new deluxe nametags, too. Put them on tomorrow morning before we board the bus. You can take off the ones you’re wearing while you’re out seeing the city. We’re giving these things to you now to save you from carrying them over here. There are sodas, coffee, bottled water, snacks, and sandwiches on the table at the back of the room. This hotel is famous for feeding people. There are snacks and drinks in your rooms, too. They serve great meals all day long, and each conference room has plenty of tasty things to enjoy. Take a few minutes, go back there, and get all you want to eat and drink. It’s OK to eat on this nice table. Please grab a placemat and use it.”

  We ate and spent the next two hours going through the professionally prepared brochures. Then John showed us a twenty-minute PowerPoint presentation showing pictures of several places we’d be seeing during our visit.

  “Well, that concludes my presentation,” he said while he shut down the projector. “I’m turning you loose for tonight so you can check out the hotel. Feel free to walk outside and wander the streets; just don’t get lost. But if you do, ask any police officer how to get back or take a taxi. All of you must have cell phones. If you have a problem, call my number. It’s on the first page of your packet. I’ll do what it takes to get you back to the hotel. Also, on the first page is a map of the Dong Khoi area. It’s a fifteen-minute taxi ride from here. Size-wise, it’s about two blocks by five blocks, and there are several things you’ll want to see and photograph. The area gives justice to the old name ‘Paris of the Orient’ for this part of Saigon. Now, any questions?”

  “Just one,” a man named Terry said. “Where’s the bar?” Everybody laughed.

  Another guy said, “Yeah, man, where is it?”

  John got a serious look on his face and then said, “I’m sorry, fellas. There isn’t a single bar in the entire hotel.”

  “What? You’ve got to be kidding,” several vets said with serious looks.

  “You’re right. I am kidding. The hotel doesn’t have ‘a’ bar—it has six of them! There are four on this floor and two in the observation lounge. This place is huge, gentlemen, in case you’ve not figured that out.” John tented his hands in front of him and said, “On a more serious note, I know some of you—probably all of you—are here to make amends and try to put Vietnam behind you. Some of you carry heavy burdens. The sooner you get rid of them, the better you will feel. I want—like every tour representative does—you to enjoy your stay with us, an
d we want you to see the sights with an open mind. We wish you the best while you sort out those things you’ve carried all these years and, for your well-being, do with them what needs to be done. Thank you for returning to Vietnam, and welcome back.” With that, John stood at attention and saluted all of us.

  “Men, thank you for your service.”

  “And thank you, John, from all of us,” someone added.

  VII

  Our group went off in twos and threes. Wes and I went to the first bar we found on the hotel’s ground floor and ordered drinks. It was lunchtime, and the bar and large restaurant were bustling. All but two tables and three bar stools remained empty. Eight stunning, sexy waitresses, who looked more like models than waitstaff, were staying busy in their super-short uniform skirts and low-cut, sequined blouses. They were raking in the tips. The turquoise blue indirect lighting, adjusted to low illumination, conveyed a soothing repast for diners. A middle-aged, non-Asian piano player in the far corner played relaxing, unamplified lounge music. Nearby, a thirty-by-thirty-foot highly polished wood dance area waited for dancers, although the four glitter-ball spotlights were turned off. A tall, young Vietnamese singer wearing a dark blue sequined gown was doing a nice job with a blues song, and she was stunning. Her voice reminded me of Peggy Lee in the 1950s. When the woman changed songs, I discovered that she could impersonate several American female singers, and she was really good. If I’d closed my eyes, it would’ve been hard to distinguish if the song were being sung live or on a CD recorded by the original singer.

  “I’ll get a martini—shaken, not stirred,” Wes said to the bartender.

  “Hey, are you a James Bond fan?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve seen twenty of the movies. I went from stirred to shaken martinis in my forties, and I haven’t gone back.”

  “Really? Well, that’s good enough for me,” I said. “I’ll try one. I haven’t had a martini for forty years. Back then, I didn’t finish it.”

  The bartender brought our drinks, and after my first sip, I was hooked.

  “That’s good. I’ll have another one of these.” I cleared my throat then, wanting to be more serious. “My girlfriend thought I’d better make this trip to clear my mind of Vietnam memories. Did anyone encourage you to come?”

  “My wife, Nan, was all for it. I started planning this trip eight months ago. I wanted to bring her along, and I would have, except—” he paused. “She died two months ago. It was that damned breast cancer.” He clinched a fist and his jaw. “You’d think by now they’d have found out how to stop it or detect it sooner. When Nan had only a few weeks to live, the doctor told her it was the fastest, most aggressive case she’d ever dealt with. Nan died ten months to the day after they found it, and that included her taking all of the newest chemo and everything.”

  “Wes, I’m so sorry. Do you have any children?”

  “We have three girls, all married with children. Now they all feel upset at their own genetic possibilities. Nan’s mom died from it, too. Nan had skipped her mammogram testing last year. We were in Europe on vacation for three months, and when we returned, she never got around to having it done. She and her mom were both in their late fifties when they passed. It happened so quickly!” Wes’s eyes filled with tears. When a few slid down his face, he grabbed his handkerchief and wiped them away. “Her cancer wouldn’t stop, regardless of what they tried. When the meds and chemo got too strong and Nan became so sick, she finally said, ‘No more, I can’t take anymore.’ She died in a hospice with me and the girls holding her hands. The last thing she did was smile at me and put her lips together the way she used to do when she’d blow me a kiss.”

  He finished his words, and tears, in a constant stream, flowed down his face. A long, beveled mirror was on the wall opposite our seats. He saw himself and quickly regained his composure. No one around us seemed to notice Wes in his moment of discomfort. “Don’t let my situation drag you down. I haven’t done this for at least a month. I thought I was over it, but I guess not. While I’m here, I’ll work on this, plus my old memories from this place. So, you said your wife told you to come back over here?”

  “No, I’m not married now. But I’m seeing a wonderful woman who puts up with me. Sue divorced her husband six months ago, and she wants to stay single a while longer. At least she’s been married only once. I’ve been divorced four times, if you can believe it! It was all my fault—well, maybe not all of it. They had their faults, too. Now I’m on friendly terms with all of them. Anyway, with all the booze I’ve had to drink since Vietnam—because of the memories that won’t leave me alone—it’s a wonder I’m still alive. At least, that’s what the doctor says.” I looked Wes in the eyes. “To hell with him. He’s a government-sponsored pill pusher, and I don’t like to take pills, so I’ve cut out the middleman. I prescribe my own bottled-wine medicine—the reds and the whites have more flavor than pills. If I’d played my doctor’s game, I might have received a disability rating from the VA. But I don’t want their money or to be under their thumb. I retired from two good careers on my own. Do you remember Ron Hart? He and his wife were on vacation in San Francisco when I saw him by chance last month. He said he had paid to go on one of these tours and was all set to make this trip a few months ago. But he felt he couldn’t do it. He canceled at the last minute. Do you remember him?”

  Wes thought for a minute. “I don’t remember him. How is he doing?”

  “He said that since Vietnam, he’s been on full disability. Otherwise, he has a family and lives a mostly normal life. Of course, I don’t live near him, so I don’t know. He and his wife seemed OK to me. I met with them unexpectedly. We ended up spending three hours together, and then I had dinner with them.”

  “That’s good about his family and all. I feel sorry for guys like him. I know of only one other fellow like that.” Wes ran his hand across the back of his neck and moved his head from side to side as if to exercise his neck. “We went to high school together. I don’t think he ever married. He lives in a VA-sponsored halfway house in Dallas. Did I mention that I live in Dallas?”

  “Yes,” I replied with a smile. “I’ve not been there.” I finished my drink and got the bartender’s attention. “I’ll have another please, shaken.” I was amazed at how good it tasted. The flavors blended so well.

  “We moved to Dallas twenty-five years ago,” he said, and then he ordered another martini as well. “Nan had been an attorney in Washington, DC, in a big firm, but after ten years, she wasn’t happy. The winters were harsh, and her commute was an hour each way. So she joined forces with her dad and brother in their huge law office in downtown Dallas at their request. They needed another highly qualified female, and all of the pieces fit. I know she said her mom was sure pleased about her coming home to Dallas. She was dynamic in corporate law—at least, that’s what her dad said to me at her funeral. She represented several Fortune Five Hundred companies and won all of their court cases. I remember that, and I felt so proud of her. I was an aerospace engineer, and she made six times what I earned. Her salary and bonuses increased every year. But that’s all over now. I’m retired, and we’re invested. Here I sit with plenty of retirement security, house paid off, and no debts. I’m in good health with fifteen or twenty years left. My kids are grown. After living with Nan for nearly forty years, she’s gone. I’ve lost my wonderful wife. Life isn’t fair!” Then he looked me in the eye and finished by saying, “But Brad, I’ll bet you know that.”

  Wes tipped his drink three times, and the glass was empty. “You want to go out for a walk now and see some of the city?”

  “Sure thing.” I finished my drink.

  We separated briefly to drop our information packets off in our individual rooms and met up again in the lobby. Then we left the hotel. It was 3:30 p.m. local time.

  VIII

  “Wes, do you mind if we go see Notre Dame Basilica first?” I asked as we walked outside into the b
right sunlight. “I have this thing about cathedrals. I’ve seen them in every city I’ve visited, including the big one in Paris, of course. I have a brochure for the one here in Saigon.”

  We both stopped, put on our sunglasses, and looked around. “It’s fine with me. I enjoy cathedrals myself.”

  Fifteen minutes later, our taxi dropped us off at the main entrance to the basilica. We walked away from the building, took a few cell phone photos from different angles, and I told him a few facts about it.

  “The French had colonists in Vietnam from the early eighteen hundreds, and the Catholic Church built it. Construction started in October 1877, and it was dedicated on Easter Sunday, 1880. All of the building materials had come from France. It had cost the church two-and-a-half-million French francs. The six bells weigh nearly thirty tons. OK, enough history lessons,” I said.

  Then we went inside, where it was cooler and quiet. The natural sunlight shining through the stained glass windows was still bright, so I walked around and took more photos. Wes put his cell phone back into his pocket.

  “I’ll be sitting in a front pew,” he said, and he walked away. I think he was feeling sadness for Nan.

  When I joined him a few minutes later, his eyes were moist. Five minutes passed, and we said nothing.

  Finally he asked, “Are you ready?”

  We went outside, put on our baseball caps—a sure sign of a tourist—and walked around the block to see more of the neighborhood. I pulled out my single-page map of the Dong Khoi area and looked it over.

  “I don’t know how much we can see this afternoon, so let’s get started.”

  Wes looked over his page, too. Then we crossed the street to another famous place to continue our adventure. Had I not read recently that Saigon, now called Hoi Chi Minh City, is the commercial and cosmopolitan capital of the country, I would have incorrectly guessed that Hanoi had that distinction.