by C. L. Hoang
“Not too bad, I think,” Dean said. “Though I did sense some fatigue and sadness in his voice. Perhaps from having witnessed so much war in the past two months.” Then, softly, as if to himself, “That’d sure take away your laughter for a while.”
I know what else is preying on his mind. That, too, would kill his laughter. “When’s he back in town again? Did he say?” I asked.
“He didn’t know. Which reminds me. He asked us for a favor. To look in on his apartment every once in a while when we’re in Sài-Gòn. Just to make sure everything’s cool.”
“Easy enough,” I said. “I can do that this Sunday when I’m in the city. You coming?”
He hesitated. “Not sure yet. Let me get back with you in a day or two.”
I started telling him about the short-timers party for Bob when it suddenly dawned on me. “Say, aren’t you going ‘short’ real soon, yourself?” I asked Dean. “Come on over and celebrate with us. The fighter boys would love to pick on another victim besides Bob.”
He laughed. “Too late, kiddo. I already signed up for a second tour before I went on R&R. My congratulations to Captain Bob. But right now, I just need to flake out and hit the sack.”
After we hung up, I hurried to the officers’ club, my mind still preoccupied by our conversation. With one of my best friends immersing himself in nonstop combat reporting and the other two either having decided or still considering to extend their tours of duty, the end of this war must still be far off, contrary to my naïve belief up until now.
In the distance, illumination flares slithered down the black sky like snakes of fire, lighting up the horizon for invisible bombers. But even squinting, I could barely make out the hillock where the little pagoda stood, much less the temple itself. In the flickering yellow light of flares, the landscape seemed eerily murky and laden with unsuspected danger, as imponderable as one’s own future. For the first time since my arrival in Việt-Nam, I felt nagged by uncertainty—even by something akin to foreboding.
As raucous laughter greeted me at the club’s door, I snapped myself out of it.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday arrived in a blink of an eye.
The weekend had been shaping up into a rather unusual one. First, Dean had telephoned on Friday afternoon to beg off our trip to Sài-Gòn. He’d been called out on emergency to an A-team camp in the Plain of Reeds near the Cambodian border and didn’t expect to be back for at least a few days. This meant for the first time I’d have to rely entirely on myself getting around the capital without a navigator.
“Sure you won’t get lost?” he teased.
“Absolutely. Every time we went, I watched and learned.”
We were only a couple of weeks away from Tết, the Vietnamese New Year’s according to the lunar calendar. I decided to put Dean’s knowledge of the native language to the test.
“How do I say Happy New Year in Vietnamese?”
“You sure picked a winner with that one.” He laughed. “It’s Chúc Mừng Nǎm Mới. It’s a mouthful all right, but you have till Sunday to practice to impress the ladies. Good luck, kiddo.”
Bob, on the other hand, was worried now that I’d be left to my own devices in the big city. “Stay extra alert,” he cautioned me again early Sunday morning, as I watched him pack for his Hawaii trip the following day. “Ever notice how most cafés and restaurants in Sài-Gòn have steel gratings on their windows? It’s to protect their patrons against Việt-Cộng’s underground agents. These thugs are known to scoot by on motorcycles and toss satchel charges or grenades into the crowds. You think they care if innocent bystanders are blown up? It’s precisely their goal. To spread terror and chaos.”
In response to my wide-eyed reaction, he shrugged. “If they use cold-blooded tactics like that against their own people, what won’t they do to you and me? Beware of the so-called Dragon Lady while you’re out and about on the capital’s streets. She’s rumored to ride around the city on the back of a Honda scooter, looking for careless Americans and shooting them point-blank with a .45. Some say she’s a man disguised in áo dài to slip past security checkpoints.”
He stopped in the middle of packing and looked up. “You know you’re like a brother to me, right?” he said in earnest. “So I must say something to you, just this once. Okay?”
I nodded hesitantly. He sounded much more serious than usual.
“I’m a square,” Bob went on, “and I’m going to call it as I see it. Why on earth are you taking such unnecessary risks hopping to Sài-Gòn every chance you get? It’s not only your personal safety. It’s also your relationship with Debbie you’re jeopardizing. For Christ’s sake, Connors. Why play with fire?”
I was completely blindsided by his uncharacteristic outburst, and my face must have turned crimson red as I felt the blood rushing to it. I scoffed in silent disbelief. So this is what I get in exchange for sharing my fun escapades with him all this time. A sanctimonious lecture.
“You shouldn’t have bothered. It’s really none of your business,” was the retort I hurled back at Bob as I brushed past him on my way out the door. He raised his hands as if pleading for calm and reason, then thought better of it and let me by without another word.
Bob’s butting in left me fuming, so much so I barely touched my breakfast at the officers’ club. How dare he, I kept muttering to myself over a plate of cold scrambled eggs. How dare he touch a sore spot I had attempted in vain to ignore and go right to the heart of a sensitive matter that had kept me up many lonely nights. Underneath the angry protest, however, I felt the real question lurking, the one that struck fear in me: Had I been a fool, burying my head in the sand when the truth was always there, plain as day for all to witness?
It had been my intent this morning to surprise Bob with my special gift for Ricky—Puff, the stuffed toy dragon—immediately after breakfast, so he could pack it in his luggage and take it to Nancy in Hawaii. I’d been having fun imagining his reaction when he opened the gift bag. No doubt another priceless moment we’d enjoy reminiscing over, long after the war. But with the current state of things, it might be wiser to postpone it until my return later this evening, to let both of us cool off first.
With a twinge of guilt, I caught my own thoughts racing ahead to the pleasant afternoon in the city. I hadn’t seen Lee Anne since before Christmas, and there was no denying how long and drab the days had been. Bob’s admonition had stoked the secret anguish in my heart without in the least dampening my desire to be with her. True, it had forced me for a minute to confront my private struggle. But like a moth that goes darting into the bright flame, my mind briskly swept aside such heavy ponderings to dwell instead on the long-awaited rendezvous with even greater anticipation—consequences be damned.
For who could predict anything in this volatile environment?
Tomorrow and the time for judgment might never come.
“I am glad you came. I have a surprise to tell you.”
Lee Anne gave me an excited smile as she set a glass of chilled Tiger Beer on the table and sat down next to me. She was wearing a yellow-silk áo dài with sequined flowers sprinkled all the way down its front flap and a headband made of the same pretty material.
“You look stunning today,” I said, flattered that she seemed genuinely happy to see me. “That beautiful gown looks like a dream on you.”
A light blush rose to her cheeks. “It is my áo dài for Tết. I am wearing it first time today because I thought you might like it if you came. These are my favorite flowers. Chrysan—chrysanthemums. They bloom this time of year.” Then she added with innocent pride, “My first new gown in a long time. Thanks to this job.”
Hesitantly she placed her hand on the table, and for an instant I thought she might reach and hold mine. But instead, she pushed a small red envelope across to me.
“It is New Year’s custom to hand out lì-xì, or lucky money
,” she explained. “It will bring you good luck through the year. Happy New Year to you, Roger. I hope you receive a lot of money, good health, and happiness in the Year of the Monkey.”
I accepted the lì-xì envelope then reached for her hand, warm and tender in mine. She made no objection. “Cám ơn, Liên. Chúc Mừng Nǎm Mới to you and your family.”
It took her a second to process my atrocious pronunciation. Then her eyes opened wide, and she chuckled with delight. “You said it perfectly, and it is not easy. I should teach you some new phrases while you are—how do you say—on a roll? And thank you for your kind wishes.”
Leaning in closer so no one could overhear, she revealed her surprise for me. “If you prefer to leave here after finishing your drink, I will be glad to take you downtown and show you Chợ Hoa Xuân, our spring flower market. It is a beautiful sight, with just ten days before Tết.”
“Take me wherever you please,” I whispered back. “I’m in your hands. But before we go, I need to speak with Vivienne. How’s she been doing?”
“She has not been the same lately,” Lee Anne said. I wondered how much she knew of the situation with Dick. “We are all worried about her. You may find her in the lounge. I saw her in there getting drinks for her guests.” Then, discreetly, she waved me off. “I will wait for you right here.”
The lounge appeared all spruced up for the traditional weeklong celebration of Tết: a fresh coat of paint all around; lucky-red banners imprinted with golden Chinese characters brightening the walls; potted plants overloaded with miniature orange fruits in every corner (these were kumquat, as I later learned); and atop the coffee table in the center of the room, a huge antique oriental vase with branches of spring blossoms stuck in it. Mme Yvonne had obviously made all these thoughtful preparations to invite her foreign guests to partake in this most important of her people’s holidays.
Standing at the bar in the far corner, Vivienne was arranging her drinks onto a tray. She happened to look up as I crossed the doorway, and we spotted each other at the same time. I rushed over to her. She seemed flustered by my unannounced visit but managed to set the tray down on the counter and greet me with a brave smile.
“Roger. Long time no see,” she said jovially, for the benefit of the nearby bartenders. But her sleepless eyes betrayed the turmoil that must have been raging in her heart. In them, I thought I glimpsed, like afternoon shadows passing over a window, a mix of apprehension, shame, despair, and even a glimmer of hope. We walked over to the coffee table, out of earshot.
“You look awfully thin, Vivienne,” I said. “Are you okay?”
She nodded without looking at me. “Have you seen him? Is he—with you?”
Her voice was weak and breathy, almost shaking with trepidation.
I gave her every bit of news I had on Dick. “He probably needs some time and distance to get over what happened, is my guess,” I said in conclusion. “At least he’s keeping active, maybe even a little too much. But it sounds like he’s managing, somehow.” I waited briefly. “The question is, are you, Vivienne? Frankly, I’m not too worried about Dick. He’s a veteran survivor. He’ll find ways to cope. But I’m worried about you. Please, you’ve got to take care of yourself.”
“So good news he’s okay.” She heaved a long sigh. “It’s only thing that matters. I was afraid he did something crazy.” She slumped down on the couch, looking worn out from the stress.
I sat on the edge, next to her. “I know I’ll catch up with him again. Sooner or later,” I said. “I’ll be sure and explain everything to him then, as you asked. You can count on it.”
We sat in silence for a minute before I took leave.
“It’s unlikely I’ll see you again before Tết. So Chúc Mừng Nǎm Mới to you and your family, Vivienne.” I put on a cheerful face for her. “Things will turn out much better next year, just you wait and see. Meanwhile, I want you to promise me one thing. That you will pamper yourself over the holiday and gain back some lost weight. Okay, young lady?”
She answered with a sad smile as we stood, then followed me with her eyes as I was leaving. At the door, I turned once more and gave her a thumbs-up and a grin of encouragement. She waved back, a forlorn figure so out of place against the cheerful backdrop of blossoming sprigs. Suddenly overcome with emotions, I hurried to rejoin Lee Anne.
“Alors, mon pote Richard, when is he coming back, hein?” asked the gregarious Corsican owner of the convenient store as I handed him back the spare key to Dick’s apartment. His expression indicated he hadn’t expected such a quick turnaround on it.
“Hard to say,” I said. “You have a nice store here, so I’ll be back soon, to shop. Merci bien.”
Lee Anne and I stepped out of the little food bazaar, which was chock full of edible goods imported from exotic locales all over the world, but mainly from Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East. Anything a discerning stomach might fancy, from coffee, wine, and liquor to cheese, bread, pasta, and sausages, all available in a bewildering assortment. The place looked and smelled like a gourmet’s paradise.
Earlier, we had flagged down a taxicab in front of the National Conservatory and told the driver to drop us off at the entrance to Passage Eden across from the Rex Hotel. From there, we strolled to the food store at the street corner. I introduced myself as a friend of Dick and asked the storeowner for the spare key to his place—exactly per Dick’s instructions. The man shot an appreciative glance at Lee Anne before handing me the key with a complicit wink. I could feel my face and neck redden at his unmistakable innuendo, and the burning thought of it lingered in my mind. Fortunately, the embarrassing episode escaped Lee Anne’s notice, as she was busy checking out the deli with the awed look of a first-time shopper.
Expecting the customary mess encountered in most bachelor pads, I asked Lee Anne to wait in the hallway while I took a quick peek inside Dick’s apartment. It was a modest studio with a window overlooking the sidewalk, not particularly bright or spacious, furnished with the stylish simplicity of a Japanese home. And surprisingly tidy: no dishes piled up in the sink, not a single piece of dirty clothing on the floor, and the double bed neatly made and ready for sleep. My face felt flushed anew at the sight of the inviting bed as a frisson of desire raced through my body. If only . . . I shook the frivolous notion out of my head, picked up the mail slipped under the door, and placed it in the in-box atop the desk by the window. After making sure the window was secured, I locked the place up and returned the key on our way out.
“Mission accomplished,” I told Lee Anne, rubbing my hands in relief. “Thanks for letting me take care of that for Dick. And now, on to the main program. You lead the way.”
“We are close to the flower market,” she said, pointing ahead in the direction of the river. “It is on this same street—Nguyễn-Huệ, or Rue Charner in the old days—just on the other side of Lê-Lợi Street. It has been a Tết tradition for as long as I remember, and it only opens for a short time. From two weeks before Tết until New Year’s Eve. Come. Let us walk.”
We had barely crossed Lê-Lợi Street behind the giant Marines Statues when I beheld, out in the center of Nguyễn-Huệ Boulevard, on the sunny median island, a mirage of explosive colors—a tropical garden floating serenely amid swirling traffic. The visual effect was startling.
“Wait until we get inside the market,” Lee Anne giggled, reading my reaction. “You will forget everything else except New Year’s celebration. When I was a kid, every year we children would get so excited when the flower market opened. It was the sign that Tết was near, which meant no school for two whole weeks, and lots of candies and lì-xì money from the grownups.” She smiled at the memory. “We knew nothing about our parents’ financial worries. It was all innocent fun to us.”
We gingerly picked our path through oncoming traffic, half running, half dodging, and laughing all the way to the oasis in the middle of the boulevar
d. Greeting us was a kaleidoscope of colors and motion, sounds and smells, all enhanced by the intense afternoon heat. I recognized but a few of the flowers that proliferated along the narrow walkway, some in decorative pots, the rest in fresh bouquets: mums, daisies, marigolds, sunflowers, lilies, orchids, and many exotic unknowns, in countless varieties and shades. Competing with the flowers were miniature kumquat and tangerine trees loaded with luscious fruits the size of golf balls, ornamental plants sculpted in the shapes of mythical birds or rare animals, skeletal branches of spring buds stuck in antique vases, not to mention a vast selection of bonsai in porcelain planters.
I whistled. “I’d buy them all. I wouldn’t know what to choose. Are you finding something you like?”
She was admiring a green shoot of daffodil in a small ceramic bowl, with half-opened white-and-yellow buds on it. “This is hoa thủy-tiên—water fairy—which grows from a bulb,” she explained. “There is an art, almost lost to us young kids, in how to prepare the bulb for planting so that it blooms exactly on the First Day of Tết, or New Year’s Day. My father practiced it for years and had amazing success. But he cannot this year, after the stroke. I will get this for him before we go.”
I followed her to the next stall, which displayed long stems of fresh-cut gladiolas. “Tết is a sacred time for us,” she continued. “The whole family gathers to remember our ancestors and pay respect to their memory. Every home sets up an altar for the ancestors during the holidays. My mother loves to use these glaїeul, the red ones especially, to decorate ours. The French brought these new plants to Việt-Nam a century ago. It’s funny that they have become very popular but we still call them by their French name only.”
She bent down to pick up a bouquet of elongated spikes of white flowers that reminded me of Mexican tuberoses. “These, Roger, are called hoa huệ. In Buddhist families like mine, we place offerings of these on Buddha’s altar. Look how pure, how lovely they are. And very nice fragrance, even sweeter at nighttime. Like lotus flowers, they symbolize spirituality.”