“That’s right, but . . .”
Abruptly, the uniformed man standing next to the civilian slapped Pham Quyen in the face. “Speak like a soldier.”
Pham Quyen knew very well who the man without any rank insignia was. In spite of himself, Pham Quyen stretched up into an erect posture.
“Take this bastard in at once,” said the civilian.
“Where’s Kiem?” asked the uniform as he snapped handcuffs on Major Pham’s wrists.
“He’s not in yet, sir,” answered the private on duty.
“Arrest everyone involved and search their houses thoroughly,” said the civilian.
As soon as he was pushed out into the corridor, Pham Quyen saw the officers from the security department of Da Nang district standing there. They thrust Pham Quyen into a covered Jeep. He still knew nothing of Pham Minh’s death, neither was there any way for him to know that Lieutenant Kiem had set out for Atwat and was long gone.
The forklifts were lifting up boxes and piling them neatly on the crane cradle. When the limited space was filled, the naval crane lifted the loads of cargo up high and then lowered them down into the open hold beneath the ship’s deck. One load of cargo that had been lifted up to the level of the vessel’s deck suddenly tilted to one side, dropping a few crates onto the ground. There was the deafening sound of a whistle. The stevedores stopped their work. The boxes of coarse plywood had broken apart when they fell, and the contents were strewn all over on the concrete.
Several owners of the boxes rushed forward in a fluster. Without uttering a complaint, they ran here and there after their scattered articles and gathered them up. Left over C-ration tins, saved-up paper sacks of powdered milk, cartons of cigarettes, American military uniforms and jungle boots, and occasional electrical appliances with labels like Sony, Akai, National, Sanyo, Sharp, or Hitachi.
Meanwhile, on the square out in front of the pier, the soldiers about to depart for home were receiving an inspection of their equipment in preparation for the departure ceremony. There were prominent officials from the city administration of Da Nang, military officers. A big contingent of middle school girls wearing white ahozai and broad-brimmed hats, waving bouquets of flowers and the national flags of the two countries was sure to appear on the scene. The military band would strike up the national anthems of both countries as well as of the other allies, and innumerable photos would be snapped from every conceivable angle.
With the boarding and the freight loading yet to be finished, the ship would not be ready to sail until dawn the next morning. Ahn Yong Kyu left the square and walked down toward the open cafe near the customs house. Having ordered a drink, he sat on a chair watching this unfamiliar city with a detached mind.
Out of the sea of camouflage uniforms worn by the departing soldiers, a white dress fluttering in the wind was gradually approaching. The woman was wearing sunglasses, but one still could tell she was a beauty. Yong Kyu almost waved his hand and called out to her, but turned around instead. The woman stepped in between the sidewalk tables and walked about peeking in here and there along the line of sunshade umbrellas. Yong Kyu heard her voice from behind.
“So you’ve been sitting here?”
“How have you been?”
Hae Jong removed her sunglasses. “You know, I’ve been looking for you for quite a while.”
“Looking for me?” Yong Kyu replied absentmindedly.
“You’re too much. I tried to contact you several times, but you didn’t call me back.”
“Your house is . . .”
“I’m at the Thanh Thanh. It’s not the same room as before, though. I came out here to send some baggage back home, and as long as I’m here I thought I would ask a favor of you.”
“Baggage? But you don’t have a transit allowance, do you?”
“Ah, I got an allowance from the captain,” Hae Jong said lightheartedly. Then she took out a small gift-wrapped box from her handbag and placed it on the table.
“Here’s a souvenir.”
“What is it?”
“A watch. A cheap one.”
Yong Kyu took it quietly. Then, in an indifferent tone, he said, “Aren’t you going home?”
Hae Jong shook her head. “No, not me. But I am planning to leave here in a few days.”
“Where to?”
“I’ll go to Hong Kong. Sister Lin asked me to.”
“You made a lot of money, didn’t you?”
“A wee bit, only enough to open a small pub.”
“How’s Major Pham?”
She hung her head. Then without looking up, she said, “I was a little shocked. I’m all right now, though. The investigation is still underway, but since they’re all in the same boat, I suppose there’ll be a demotion and transfer, something along those lines.”
Hae Jong dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and then held up her hand again.
“His younger brother . . . was a very gentle young man . . .”
Yong Kyu looked back in the direction of the pier, where the military band had struck up another tune. The flags in the hands of the schoolgirls were fluttering in the breeze. Hae Jong spoke.
“The favor I have to ask is this. You see, I’ve already shipped the baggage. This is the consignment number and that is the bill of lading. When you land in Pusan, I’d like you to have a forwarding company deliver the things to this address. Here’s the money. That’s all.”
“Sure, I’ll do that.”
Yong Kyu took from her a piece of paper on which was written some address in Uijeongbu where Hae Jong’s mother and younger siblings were living.
“Good-bye.”
Hae Jong got up. Yong Kyu nodded. The review ceremony seemed to have begun, for the anthems of the allies had changed to a march. Yong Kyu put money on the table and got to his feet. Across the street, he saw the fluttering train of a white skirt vanishing into the crowd. He walked back toward the ship. The thought of going somewhere and drinking until dawn no longer seemed attractive. He did not want to run into any of the faces he had known in Vietnam.
The Shadow of Arms Page 65