“You’re lying,” Yong Kyu said. “We know you’re stateless. Two months ago your name was deleted from the list of local civilian workers. That means your passport was automatically cancelled when you failed to return home as ordered.”
The woman defiantly looked Yong Kyu straight in the eye and spat out, “My nationality is Vietnamese. You knew it when you came here, didn’t you? Besides, my nationality is no concern of yours. Get me the Vietnamese police.”
Toi took two pieces of paper out from his inner pocket and handed them over to Yong Kyu. He unfolded the first piece and placed it in front of the woman.
“Now, this is a copy of your personnel record, and the date of your dismissal, right here. And this is a copy of the fake requisition document you submitted to MAC 36. You sold C-rations in the campside village near the navy hospital, didn’t you?”
“So?”
“So, first I have to deal with the offense of selling military supplies. Then, while you’re in our custody, we’ll get your deportation papers from the Vietnamese police and ship you home. Now . . . is this all clear to you?”
“The C-rations weren’t mine.”
“Were they Major Pham’s?”
“I don’t know. I just rode along.”
“You mean, you just rode along with the C-rations and rode back with the money, is that it?”
The woman leapt up and tried to pick up the phone, but Toi quickly put his hand over the receiver.
“Look, Miss, you may be sent down to Saigon as a convicted narcotics offender before you’re deported,” Yong Kyu said as he got up.
The woman turned up her nose as if scoffing. But the quake in her fingers as she extinguished her cigarette revealed how nervous she was.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To our investigation headquarters.”
“I need to make a phone call.”
“Make it from there.”
“I’ll go and change,” the woman said, heading toward the bedroom.
“We’ll wait out here.”
She went into the bedroom. As she started to close the door, Toi stuck his foot in the way.
“This is rude and ridiculous,” she said in an irritated tone.
“Don’t worry, we won’t peek. Just get changed quickly and don’t even think of trying anything cute.”
She soon came back out fully dressed, removed a lipstick from her purse and put some on. She was wearing a light blue knit dress, an outfit certain to cause a minor riot if she were to pass by a soldiers’ barracks. The two men’s eyes widened as they exchanged glances. Under the thin wool the curves of her body were readily visible, and with the sun at her back you could make out her thighs through the fabric.
Once they were in the car, the woman said, “I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re not going to get away with this, I’ll see to that.”
Yong Kyu did not reply. Toi drove straight across the street and in a second they were pulling into the QC headquarters compound. In the parking lot stood an unbroken line of Vietnamese MP patrol Jeeps. At the sight of Oh Hae Jong, the QC staff milling around started whistling and making catcalls.
“Take us to the room,” Yong Kyu said to Toi.
As they walked into the building, Toi popped into an office and shortly reappeared and took the lead. As soon as they entered the room, Toi said something to the corporal and administrative officer inside and the two men left.
“Care for some coffee?” Toi asked the woman.
“Yes, thank you.”
In an effort to exhibit her composure, she then turned to Yong Kyu, saying, “You could offer me some lunch, too.”
“I’ll see to that once your custody is decided.”
Yong Kyu started the interrogation with questions about the delivery of the C-rations. She answered, and then gave a statement detailing where, how often, and what quantities she had delivered. Then he questioned her about the opium.
“I don’t know anything about that. The stuff isn’t mine,” she said.
“That was also your testimony when you were asked by the chief security officer at the PX, wasn’t it? I’ll get the record of that interrogation and add it to this report, and then my job will be done. They’ll make the decision.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“The Vietnamese Narcotics Enforcement Team.”
“Hmmph, go ahead and call them if there is such a team. More than half the population of Da Nang, every household, would have to be arrested. The stuff belongs to Major Pham Quyen from the provincial governor’s staff. Ask him.”
Yong Kyu kept scrawling notes in his notebook.
“Fine. So you have no passport, right?”
Toi brought a tray in with three cups of coffee. The woman sipped it slowly, savoring each mouthful. In the bright sunlight her bare legs gleamed beneath the pale blue dress. She seemed much calmer. Her legs were bouncing up and down ever so slightly. Yong Kyu finished his English-language report and handed it over to Toi.
“Type this and bring it back.”
“All right.”
Toi took the papers and left. Now the two of them, Yong Kyu and the woman, were alone in the room.
“Look, what’s your name, anyway?”
Yong Kyu took out a cigarette for himself and offered her one. They lit them together.
“I asked what your name is.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“That’s not fair. You know about me through and through and I don’t even know your name.”
“Ahn Yong Kyu.”
“Rank?”
“You want to try and make trouble for me?”
“Are you a ‘lifer’? Isn’t that what you soldiers say?”
Yong Kyu relaxed a little. He wondered why had he been so hard on her at first. Maybe it was because she was, in her robe, rather sensuous, and he knew she was in the habit of sleeping with foreigners. No, I’m no lifer, he said to himself. In a strange room, so far away from home, this woman was asking him if he was a lifer.
“Why didn’t you go home?”
The woman said nothing. They just went on smoking. She looked up at the clock.
“I need to make a call. If it gets any later, these people will take their siesta. I can’t wait another two hours in a place like this.”
“Don’t worry.”
Yong Kyu also glanced at the clock. He paused, then casually asked her, “Do you know Madame Lin well?”
She responded indifferently. “A little. I worked there a while after I was fired.”
“As a bar girl?”
“Is it a crime?” she retorted angrily. “I can’t go home empty-handed. I’m no different than the rest of you. And I’m not a whore.”
Her outburst made Yong Kyu uncomfortable. He hung his head a little. “Why not go to America?”
“What do you care?” the woman asked, fixing her eyes on his. “Stay out of my business. What difference does it make to you if I stay in Vietnam or go to America?”
Her voice was growing shrill, so Yong Kyu raised his head. For a moment he thought her eyes were getting moist, then immediately tears started streaming down her face. He had touched a wound. He quietly stood up and gave her space. She quickly pulled herself together, taking a handkerchief from her purse and cleaning her face.
“This is why I hate running into you people here. Who do you think you are, anyway? You’re no brother of mine. Once I found a Korean girl, a dancer, dead drunk and crying her eyes out. Some bastard, one of our recruits, had thrown a bottle at her on stage for taking her clothes off in front of American GIs. Crazy bastards. Who do they think they are—they themselves are licking asses for a lousy few US dollars a month? Don’t make me laugh!”
There was an element of truth in what the woman said.
“I’m sorry,” Yong Kyu mumbled under his breath, “I didn’t mean to insult you.” Then, in spite of himself, he blurted out, “Seeing you come out of that dark room, awakened from sleep . . . I felt sorry for you somehow . . . We’re in a war zone.”
The woman softened a bit and then replied in a lighter tone, “Well, I appreciate the compassion.”
Toi came back in, holding the typed report out to Yong Kyu. He checked it for errors and then said to the woman, “Read this, and if it’s all true, sign it.”
She read through the report, then carefully signed it and tossed down the ballpoint pen.
“Are you done with me?”
“Yes, you can go now.”
Yong Kyu also put his signature at the bottom. Then with a smile he said, “Sorry for the trouble. The exit is over there. You know the way, don’t you? It’s not far. It will take you just a few minutes to walk back to the Thanh Thanh from here.”
The woman looked uneasily at the report Yong Kyu was putting away.
“Mr. Ahn Yong Kyu, what are you planning to do?”
Yong Kyu was startled, as though it was the first time he ever heard a woman call his name.
“Don’t worry,” he said.
He looked over at Toi. Unable to understand anything of what they had been saying, Toi had a vacant look on his face.
“We’ll probably consult with Major Pham Quyen. He’ll be able to come up with a satisfactory solution,” said Yong Kyu.
The woman rose and walked toward the door, then stopped. She turned back and said to Yong Kyu, “Your concern, I really do appreciate it.”
14
Pham Quyen had gone home during the afternoon siesta. That morning just after he arrived at work his sister had called him, saying his mother was sick. Only two days before his mother had been in good spirits, singing as she cleaned the house, and then, all of a sudden, she had taken ill for no apparent reason. He knew his mother well. She had used that same ploy as long as he could remember, feigning sickness to make his father rush home from business trips. His father would walk into the house with a hearty laugh and a “Where’s my poor sick baby?” In his hand there would be some Coty perfume or some fancy chocolate from Hanoi, and his mother’s sham illness was miraculously cured before her husband had time to take his hat off.
Everyone told Quyen that he took after his father. He knew for certain that his mother was expecting him to play the father’s role. When he got out of the car, nobody came out of the house to greet him. As he walked in the living room, his sister emerged from the kitchen. There was a bowl of Chinese medicine on the tray she carried. It had to be the concoction made from boiled cinnamon and poppy oil that his mother was in the habit of taking when she suffered from nerves or from a sudden cold.
“What’s she complaining about?”
His sister’s eyes were bloodshot. She set the tray down on the table and grabbed his wrist as she spoke. “Something terrible has happened, Quyen. Your little brother’s disappeared.”
“Minh? When?”
“I don’t know. Mother’s been worrying about him. She wrote to his school and to Uncle in Hue a while back. She asked me not to tell you, but Uncle’s reply came this morning.”
“Let me see the letter.”
His sister rummaged through a drawer and produced the letter. Pham Quyen read it: “Dear Sister-in-law, upon receiving your letter, I checked Minh’s attendance with the university office. I found he hasn’t been attending school for the last two months. This means that when he came to stay here with us, he already had stopped going to classes. Last month he said he was headed home for a visit. Since there was no word from him, I assumed he would stay home and take a semester off. I do not, however, worry about him. He is a prudent young man. He will not act lightly. Since he’s a student with a draft deferment, if anything had happened to him, the family would have been notified. Don’t be too worried, and let us wait quietly and patiently, following the example of many other families these days. I’ll find time to visit you as soon as the road conditions improve.”
Quyen put the letter back into the envelope. Without saying a word to his sister, he sat down at the table.
“Would you like some green tea?” she asked.
He nodded and said, “When’s Lei coming?”
“Soon. Her morning classes should be over by now.”
Pham Quyen fell into thought. His sister took the bowl of medicine into her mother’s room and shortly afterwards returned.
“Did you tell mother I was here?”
“She was about to fall asleep, so I didn’t tell her.”
“Good.”
He went back to thinking. What he had been fearing had at last happened. As he grew older, Minh had become more and more argumentative with him, but lately he talked less and less. In the past, when Minh shouted at him with a foul look on his face Quyen could at least get a vague idea of what he was thinking, but ever since Minh stopped talking it was impossible to guess what was on his mind, what he was planning.
When Minh had defied him, calling him a running dog of the imperialists, Quyen slapped him hard across the face. But at their last meeting, during the monsoon holidays, Minh had said not a word to him until late one night when Quyen had come home drunk. Minh had grabbed him by the shoulders, whispering: “Brother, I don’t want to be a doctor. I’ll never be able to cure what ails you, my brother, my poor sick brother, Quyen.” Even in his drunken stupor, he had found Minh’s voice so calm and affectionate that it seemed to melt right into his spine. Quyen had pretended to pass out and let Minh help him into bed. The next morning when he got up to go to work, Pham Minh already was gone.
“Drink your tea.”
Quyen drank his tea. Yes, his little brother had gone into the jungle. He would not be able to come back. The Liberation Front did everything they could to conceal their military strength. If he died in action, the family would not even be notified. If Minh had not joined the government forces, his family might at most receive the official NLF document sealed with a yellow star that some other families received.
Pham Quyen buried his face in his hands: If only I had known . . . I could have stopped him, even if I had to shoot him in the arm or the foot. If Minh had only waited a little longer, I could have sent him to Europe. For ten thousand dollars, I can easily get anybody’s son to France by way of Cambodia. The going rate to get someone out to another Southeast Asian country was only three or four thousand. Minh could have lived with his wife in a cheery, one-story house annexed to a private clinic, watering the flowerpots in his living room. I could take a drive over to visit him.
Just then something exploded. He imagined shattered windows and bloody corpses lying everywhere. Quyen jerked his head up. Yes, Minh had disappeared, throwing a plastic bomb at all those hopes and dreams. They never should have sent him to his uncle’s in Hue. Uncle was a feeble old man, but he might have influenced the boy with his extreme ideologies. He had probably started reading classics like Proudhon and Bakunin. And then he would have graduated to Lenin and Mao. And on to those innumerable pamphlets, beginning with the theses of Ho Chi Minh and from there to the strategic doctrines and political speeches of Vo Nguyen Giap and Pham Van Dong . . . .
If it is absolutely impossible for you to produce anything useful, or if you refuse to be a producer, then live in isolation as a hermit or invalid. If we have abundance enough to supply your daily necessities, then we will gladly give them to you. For you are a human being and have the right to live. But if you leave the masses, wishing to live in conditions of privilege, it is only natural that you should suffer the consequences in your daily relationships with other citizens. You will be regarded as a ghost of the bourgeoisie, unless your friends discover some remarkable gift in you, and by carrying out all necessary labor on your behalf, kindly free you from your moral obligations.
Pham Quyen remembered those lines well. At the sound of a bicycle bell outside, he raised his head with a jolt. Lei could be seen through the open door. With her hat hanging behind her head, she walked her bicycle into the front yard and left it propped against the wall. When she came inside, she started at the unexpected sight of Quyen.
“Come here and sit down.”
Lei politely sat down across the table from her brother, wiping her face with her handkerchief.
“You have to answer everything I ask you. Leave nothing out.”
His elder sister, Mi, came over to Lei with a concerned look on her face and asked if the young girl was hungry.
“Just get out of the way!” Quyen unleashed his anger, and Mi, intimidated, rushed into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong, Big Brother?” Lei asked in a pleading tone, her voice already clouding up to rain tears. But Pham Quyen showed no mercy.
“You must know. Where has Minh gone?”
“He is in Hue,” Lei said, her face blue with fear.
“Don’t play the innocent with me. I know. When was he last here?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, really.” Lei began to cry.
Behind him, his elder sister timidly said, “Please, not so loud, you’ll wake up Mother.”
Quyen swung around and pointed his finger at her, saying, “Mi, you’re just as guilty. All of you are in this.”
“Why . . . I can’t believe you’d speak to me that way.”
His sister dropped her head and retreated back to the kitchen. Quyen pounded on the table.
“I’m the head of this family. I would do anything for you. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe and happy. Go outside and see. Everywhere people are dying, starving, barely staying alive. I play the role of father and struggle to protect you from falling into such misery. And this is the thanks I get? My little brother defies me, my little sister lies to me, and all of you are turning away from me.”
Lei glared at her big brother and said, “Brother Minh has joined the National Liberation Front.”
Dumbfounded, Quyen looked at Lei, not believing his ears.
The Shadow of Arms Page 20