War Baby

by Colin Falconer

  He sat at the breakfast bar staring gloomily into his coffee. The New York Times lay on the counter top: it seemed the Russians had found their own Vietnam; and the generals in the Pentagon had evidently enjoyed their Saigon adventures so much they were looking to repeat the experience in Central America. He thought of the old Chinese curse: May you live through interesting times.

  He heard a noise in the hall and looked up. Jenny had on her windcheater, jeans and Reeboks, and her schoolbag was slung over her right shoulder.

  ‘Want some breakfast?’ he said.

  She shook her head.

  ‘You only have to starve if you don’t go to school.’

  ‘I’ll have a seagull at recess.’

  He took the car keys from the hook beside the refrigerator. As an afterthought he went to the pantry, found a green chili, bit into it. He held out the other half for her.

  She shook her head. ‘You win,’ she said.

  She trailed out of the door to the jeep. He heard the passenger door slam. Yeah, he thought. You win.

  Chapter 60

  Webb sat in front of his PC, his desk cluttered with the research materials for his latest book; his old notebooks, the pages stained with dust and sweat; some dog-eared transcripts of interviews; piles of black and white glossies; half a dozen soft and hardcover books, sections marked with tom strips of paper; the detritus of the three months he had spent in El Salvador. There was a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on the end of his nose, another tactical retreat in the face of middle age.

  The phone/fax rang. He snatched up the receiver and cradled it on his shoulder, his attention still focused on the computer screen. ‘Webb.’

  ‘Hugh, this is Joe Norrish.’

  ‘Everything okay, Joe?’ Norrish was the local police sergeant; he had met him a few times at summer barbecues. He was a mountain of a man who said very little, but by all accounts was a steady cop.

  ‘Hugh, we got ourselves a problem here. I’m down at the McVeigh’s 7-11 on Main Street. Can you come down?’

  ‘What’s this about, Joe?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it on the phone, but it’s your kid. Old Man McVeigh caught her shoplifting.’

  * * *

  McVeigh’s office was at the back of the shop. The desk was cluttered with all the usual small business junk - an adding machine, account books, receipts on a bill spike, hard-backed ledgers, invoice books. There were phone numbers scrawled on a whiteboard on the wall. A calendar, emblazoned with the name of the local Shell gas station, was tacked under an ancient aerial photograph of Lincoln Cove.

  Jenny sat in a wooden chair behind the desk, her hands between her knees, staring at the floor. Joe and Old Man McVeigh stood in the doorway, talking in whispers.

  As Webb walked in, Norrish nodded and shut the door.

  ‘What happened?’

  McVeigh looked uncomfortable. Webb did not know the McVeighs; he did most of his grocery shopping at the supermarket in the Whaler’s Reach shopping mall.

  ‘I was watching her from behind the counter, in the mirrors,’ McVeigh said. ‘I saw her putting some candy in her pocket.’ He didn’t look at Webb, kept his eyes on Norrish. ‘I was suspicious from the moment she walked in, her being ... you know, Asian and everything. No disrespect, but you know what I mean.’

  Jenny pooped a wad of gum but did not look up.

  ‘She tried to walk out without paying so I shouted at her to stop. Just then Mr. Ross from out Bayview walked in and he heard me shouting and he just kind of grabbed her. When I asked to look in her jacket I found three packets of M&Ms, a can of Coke and five goddamn packets of Marlboro.’

  He glared at Webb.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr McVeigh. This kind of thing has never happened before.’ He looked at Norrish. ‘Is she going to be charged?’

  Norrish scratched his head. ‘Hell, Hugh, we don’t want to do that. I’ve spoken with Joe here and I don’t think we need to go no further with this.’ Webb glanced at McVeigh and realized this was more Norrish’s good sense than the old man’s. ‘Mr. McVeigh here got his goods back. I’d like to get this sorted out between ourselves if we can.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Webb said.

  ‘I’d better get back and help Cloris in the shop,’ McVeigh said, and he went out.

  Jenny had still not said a word.

  Webb crouched down so that he was on her level. ‘Jenny. What’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never got caught in Saigon. Guess I must be out of practice.’

  He looked up at Norrish, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school?’

  ‘I told you I didn’t want to go but you said you would starve me out if I stayed home. So I didn’t have a choice, right?’

  He ran a hand over his face. Great, just great.

  Norrish opened the door. ‘Maybe you two ought to sort this thing out at home. Now, I’ve made it clear to the young lady that something like this can’t happen again. I’m sure you understand, Hugh. Once, well, it’s kind of a trivial thing and I’d just as soon forget all about it. But a second time, and we have to start due process.’

  ‘I understand that, and I appreciate everything you’ve done.’ He took Jenny’s arm. ‘Let’s go. Thanks again, Joe.’

  He led her through the shop to the jeep parked at the kerb outside. She got in the passenger seat, put her hands in her jeans and stared straight ahead. A refugee with attitude, Webb thought.

  They did not speak in the car. When they got home she tried to go to her room but Webb grabbed her arm and led her out to the deck. It was a beautiful morning, bright and blue. ‘You want to tell me what all that was about?’

  She shrugged, her face a sullen mask. He wondered what had happened to the funny teenager who had shown him how to make spring rolls in the kitchen a few weeks before. ‘Please, Jenny, I’m just trying to understand.’

  ‘Nothing to understand, okay?’

  ‘How many times have you jumped school like this?’

  ‘Who’s counting?’

  ‘Humour me. A rough guess.’

  She pretended to think. ‘Three. Four.’

  ‘And what do you do? You spend your whole time shoplifting? If I go in your room right now and check the shelves, is there a stack of VCRs and stolen TVs going to fall on my head?’

  ‘No, I put them under the bed where they can’t hurt nobody.’

  Christ, he thought. She hates you, and you don’t even know why. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you? I got you out of that camp, I fed you, I clothed you, I gave you a place to belong, I gave you an education. Is this how you repay me?’

  ‘I got to be grateful to you forever? Well, fuck you!’

  He had never heard her swear before. It took his breath away. ‘No, you haven’t got to be grateful to me forever,’ he said, as calmly as he could. ‘Just once would be fine.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a really big guy, all right, you saved the poor little gook girl, the freak who ate seagulls! That’s what you want to hear, right?’

  ‘You’d rather I left you on U-5?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Easy to say now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Just leave me alone, okay. I don’t need any of this shit anymore.’

  Webb stood up, picked up his canvas director’s chair and threw it over the rail onto the lawn. Afterwards he felt stupid. It was something a child would do. But he felt better.

  ‘God, you really are a piece of work,’ he said. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down. No one had made him this angry, ever. ‘Your mother would be real proud of you, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Don’t talk about my mother! You didn’t know her! Don’t tell me what she is thinking!’

  This was not going to get either of them anywhere. ‘I’ve tried really hard to love you,’ he said, as gently as he could. ‘And you know something? I succeeded. You’re not a stranger to me anymore, you’re not some freaky survivor. You’re m
y daughter. That’s the only way I think of you. So you go right ahead, you sleep all day for the rest of your life if you want, hold up 7-11’s from here to San Francisco with sub-machine guns, I don’t care. Hey, you’re a refugee, right, the world owes you? But I’ll tell you something else. It doesn’t matter what you do, I’m still going to love you. Whatever happens. I just wish you would cut me the same deal.’

  Having said his piece, he left her sitting on the deck.

  Stealing M&Ms. Jesus.

  She didn’t even like M&Ms.

  * * *

  Yeah, you should be grateful, she thought.

  Everyone at school, everyone in the whole town, treats me like I should be grateful, like I should spend my whole life thanking them because they were lucky enough to be born here. They think they’re so special being nice to a little gook orphan.

  Uncle was right. When she had first seen him at Puerto Princesa, she had prayed that he would bring her to America with him, the golden place where her mother had told her she would find freedom. She could not count the days she had spent dreaming of escaping Saigon, getting away from the soldiers, the police, the communists. For the first time in her life she had a roof over her head, she had enough to eat, she was safe.

  She was alive and Mother was dead. How was she supposed to forgive herself for that?

  Chapter 61

  Webb stood at the window, staring at the cove. The tide was out; the crabs would be clicking and over the rocks and the seagulls would have left hundreds of arrow imprints in the mud. Peace.

  He stared at the framed photographs lining the study wall, found the one of himself, Crosby, Cochrane and Ryan standing side by side on the Tu Do. They were in their field gear and he and Ryan had Leicas slung around their necks. They looked young and arrogant and bullet proof. Those were the days.

  He heard the door open behind him. ‘Uncle. Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He was ready for another tirade. But instead she said: ‘I guess I’m sorry, Uncle.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he managed.

  She came to stand at his side. ‘I get lost in my head sometimes,’ she said.

  ‘Will you tell me what really happened to you in Saigon?’

  ‘It’s such a long time ago. Sometimes it seems like a whole lifetime.’

  ‘For you, I guess it is.’

  He let her collect her thoughts. Finally: ‘When the communists came we were living in an apartment, in Cholon, I think. My father was American.’

  ‘Did your mother ever tell you his name?’

  ‘No, she never did.’

  ‘Do you remember him? Remember what he looked like?’

  She shook her head. ‘I just remember my mother was very frightened of the communists. But she told me it was okay, because my father was going to take us away from Saigon before they came. But then one night I was asleep in my bed. I remember waking up and it was very dark. My mother was shouting and pressing her weight down on me. I cried and cried. I thought I was going to suffocate. Then there was a big explosion, so loud I thought my heart had stopped, and then the whole apartment seemed to move like a giant was shaking it in his fist. I screamed and screamed and screamed to try and block out the noise. That is all I remember until I woke up in the hospital.’

  ‘The hospital?’

  ‘My mother was burned very bad, her right arm, here on her chest, this side of her face. We had to stay in the hospital. By the time my mother was well again the communists had been in Saigon a long time.’

  ‘Did you ever find out what happened to your father?’

  ‘No, we never did.’

  ‘What happened after you left the hospital?’

  ‘Because of the rockets my mother was never beautiful again. We had to live on the street and beg to stay alive.’ She held onto his arm. ‘So you see how it is, my mother is not rich, she is not beautiful, and my father does not love us. I am just a bit of dust blown around by life, worth nothing, going nowhere.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘So sorry, Uncle. I don’t mean to make you mad with me. But you cannot live my life, okay? If I want to be sad, you have to let me be sad. I can’t go round being happy all the time for everyone, I can’t be saying thanks to everyone every day. Some days I don’t feel like saying thanks to anyone for anything at all.’

  * * *

  She went into her room and lay on the bed, staring at the pictures she had tacked to the walls. She closed her eyes and listened to the cries of the women in the market and the roar of the Hondas on the Ham Nghi Boulevard.

  She thought about meeting her round-eye father, wondered what she would say to him. Why didn’t you come back for us? Why did you leave us behind in Saigon, with the communists?

  * * *

  Webb picked up the phone in his study and dialed the Washington number. He had never rung the number before but he had memorized it anyway. It answered on the third ring. ‘Mickey?’

  ‘Hugh? Jesus, I never expected to hear from you.’

  ‘How’s things?’

  There was a pause. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I was worried about you. Thought I’d see how you were travelling.’

  ‘Hey, I’m okay. How about you?’

  ‘Great.’ Another silence. There was no easy way to do this. ‘Is Sean there?’

  ‘He’s gone, Hugh. He left for Peshawar two days ago. I haven’t got an area code for the mujahideen. Is it important? I mean, you can get messages to him and everything. Eventually. Through the agency.’

  He wasn’t sure if he should feel disappointed or relieved. ‘No, I guess it can wait.’

  ‘You don’t sound so sure?’

  ‘It’s a bad line.’

  ‘Only you won’t be able to get me on this number after next week. I won’t be here.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ve quit my job. I’m moving back to San Diego. Need some time to get my shit together again.’

  He wanted to say: I still think about you. He wanted to say: Please come out to Long Island for a few days. I’m a good listener. But he didn’t. She had hurt him enough. Let her go to San Diego. ‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Sean.’

  ‘I guess you knew all along they wouldn’t.’

  ‘But I hoped they would.’

  ‘Well, you were right, everybody was right. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I’ll write.’

  ‘Yeah, do that. Get me an address.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll see you.’

  ‘Take it easy, Mickey.’

  When he hung up he felt curiously light. He finally had her out of his system. Ryan was back chasing ambulances, Mickey was going to San Diego. Let them g, take the same advice you gave to Jenny, leave the past behind and get on with your life.

  Doesn’t that feel better?

  He picked up his notebooks, swept them off his desk, and threw his cup at the wall. It hit exactly where it was aimed. The glass on the picture frame shattered and Cochrane, Crosby, Ryan and Webb tumbled from the wall, leaving behind a coffee- brown stain.

  Seventh Regiment Armoury

  Only the diehards left. Once, they called two in the morning an early night. Now most of them had wives and families to go home to and golf games to play in the morning.

  Crosby went to the sideboard and returned with more drinks. They would probably have to get the Marines to fling him out into the street.

  ‘I still don’t understand why she married him,’ Doyle said.

  ‘Mickey was a very complicated person in those days,’ Cochrane said. ‘She loved mankind but she didn’t get along with most people.’

  Webb shook his head. ‘So it was her fault?’

  ‘No. I think she set herself up. Jesus, anyone could have told her that marrying Ryan wasn’t a good move.’

  ‘I think she was damaged goods,’ Crosby said. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘And what about Ryan?’ Doyle said.

  Crosby threw back his port. ‘Ryan was just being Ryan.’r />
  ‘No, I think he really meant to turn his life around back then,’ Cochrane said. ‘He wanted this thing with Mickey to last. Hell, I wouldn’t have given him the Washington job if I thought he was just resting up.’

  ‘He didn’t need much persuading to go to Afghanistan,’ Crosby said.

  ‘Ryan was like an alcoholic,’ Webb said. ‘If a boozer wants to stay dry they have to accept that sobriety is a lot more boring than being drunk. Ryan couldn’t live without the adrenalin rush. Some people are scared of dying. The only thing Ryan was scared of was being bored.’

  They had all, at some time, faced the same decision. Cochrane had opted out. Crosby was still hooked. And Webb? He had made and remade that decision more times than anyone at the table.

  ‘I want to know what happened to Jenny,’ Doyle said.

  Webb smiled. ‘Jenny and I survived each other.’

  ‘But did you ever tell her about Ryan?’

  Crosby interrupted. ‘You can’t leap ahead too far. I guess if you want to find a place to end the story you have to go back to the summer of ’91.’

  Webb nodded. ‘We were still living out on Long Island. Jenny was a grown woman by then. She’d done well at school, she could have gone on to Columbia, but she was too impatient. She persuaded a friend of mine to swing her a job in the mail room at the New York Times. Her naturally pushy personality took things from there. She moved up to court reporting, she even got a couple of small features in the back of the paper. But nothing ever moved fast enough for her. I suppose I related to some of that ambition.’

  ‘And that was when you told her about Ryan?’

  ‘No, that was when Mickey came back into my life.’

  Chapter 62

  Lincoln Cove, Long Island