by C. L. Hoang
It had been nearly two months since I’d last set foot in Mme Yvonne’s villa, but it felt like ages. The place seemed different—subdued, almost somber. The young girl in black silk trousers and white shirt who used to open the gate for us was no longer around.
“She and her mother went to visit relatives in Cần-Thơ over Tết. They’ve been detained by all the fighting,” Mme Yvonne explained as she unlocked the tall wrought-iron gate. “We pray nothing bad happened to them, but we have no way to find out.”
We followed her along the familiar stone-and-grass walkway between the high walls of flowering tropical vines. Inside, the garden lay asleep under the afternoon sun, unrecognizably quiet without the happy sound of music and laughter. The overgrown shrubs appeared in bad need of a trim, and an air of desolation hovered over this former scene of merriment.
From our favorite table under the bougainvillea arbor, Lee Anne rose when she saw us, and she practically ran to greet us. The very sight of her set my heart pounding. It was all I could do to keep from bolting at her. She was dressed in a modest white áo dài over silk pants of the same color, with a conical straw hat looped over her arm—the uniform of high school girls in Sài-Gòn, who could be seen fluttering on the capital’s streets after school like swarms of white butterflies in bright sunlight. Despite a brief awkward moment during which we weren’t sure whether to hug or shake hands and did a little of both, we were choked up to see one another again after the events of recent weeks. Then we all started to speak at once, caught ourselves and stopped, and broke out laughing, ecstatic to be alive among friends.
“I am so thankful you are both well,” Lee Anne finally got it out, still breathless with excitement. “Did you visit with Dick? How is he recovering?”
“Physically, he’s doing better,” Dean answered. “But he’s devastated by the news of Vivienne’s death, as we all are.” He realized his blunder and stopped as Lee Anne’s eyes welled up at the mere mention of Vivienne’s name.
“How are you and your family, Lee Anne?” I hastened to change topics.
“We have been very fortunate, thank you.” She dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief, managing a wan smile. “My husband did not make it home for Tết but at least we know he is safe, thank heavens. But let me bring everyone some refreshment.”
When she and Mme Yvonne excused themselves to fetch us some lemonade, I followed them inside the house to wash my hands. Continuing through the front lounge to the hallway at the end, I noticed the office door left ajar across from the bathroom. Without thinking, I stepped over, poked my head inside, and recognized the same cluttered setting where Vivienne had first poured out her heart to me. From the doorway, I could still see her sitting behind the desk, staring out the glass door at the sunlit patio beyond, her face turned away in shame as she told of her secret burden. It was like yesterday.
I hastily retreated into the bathroom, locked the door behind me, then turned the water full on. Leaning over the sink, I succumbed to the bridled emotions of the day, my body racked with grief as I thought of Vivienne and Dick, their tragedy, and her brutal death.
When I returned to our table under the arch of bougainvillea, Lee Anne seemed to see right through to my distress despite my attempt to cover it up. Without a word, when nobody was looking, she slipped me a fresh handkerchief from her purse.
“You mentioned Elise is out of town?” Dean must have been biting his tongue all day long for the proper moment to address his burning concern.
“Yes, indeed,” Mme Yvonne replied after a long draft of iced lemonade. “It’s too bad you all just missed her by a day. But Lee Anne can catch you up on her situation.”
Lee Anne set the conical straw hat on the grass next to her chair, swept her long black hair back over her shoulders, then leaned forward. “You probably heard by now that Huế was the hardest hit of all the cities in the South,” she began as Dean and I hung on to her every word. “It was also Elise’s hometown. Her family was there when it all happened.
“The whole thing started when the communists took advantage of the holiday cease-fire to attack Huế on the First Day of Tết. They captured the city by surprise and occupied all or part of it for twenty-six days straight. The South Vietnamese Army and US Marines had to fight from door to door and reclaim one street at a time. The bloody battle left our ancient capital in ruins. The Old Citadel and Imperial Palace were destroyed with the rest of the residences. People say dead bodies littered the streets, and soldiers had to shoot and kill rabid dogs that fed on them . . .”
Lee Anne paused, her chest heaving with emotion, her eyes downcast, blinking.
I braced my arm against the back of her chair, behind her shoulders.
She folded her hands in her lap, drew a long breath before continuing. “During their occupation, the Việt-Cộng rounded up thousands of people around the city who they accused to be traitors to the Revolution. Those folks were marched off to ‘reform camps,’ and nobody saw or heard from them again. First gone were civil servants of the South and military personnel on Tết leave, along with captured Westerners, like the three doctors from the West German Cultural Mission who taught at the Huế Faculty of Medicine. Next went the community leaders: religious figures, prominent citizens, intellectuals, and others like them. Then in the final hours, even teachers and high school students were taken prisoner by the communists during their retreat from the city.”
Lee Anne shifted in her chair, drawing her shoulders closer together. Beside me, Dean sat so still I wasn’t sure he was breathing.
“The worst fears have come true since the first day Huế was set free, two weeks ago now. Almost every day, all over the city people have uncovered mass graves that hid the bodies of those missing: in many schoolyards in town, under the sand dunes along the Perfume River, or among the salt marshes just outside the city limits. The victims had been tied up with bamboo strips or wires, chained together in groups of ten or more. Many were struck and killed by rifle butts, some cut down by machetes or stabbed with bayonets, still others with no visible wounds, most likely buried alive; the ‘luckier’ ones received a bullet in the head. It was a barbaric mass execution, like the ones in the North in the 1950s. Our whole country is in mourning for Huế. From our most beautiful city, it has become our sorriest . . .”
Mme Yvonne and Lee Anne were weeping quietly now, shoulder touching shoulder as if for mutual support. Sweat was beading on Dean’s forehead.
It was a while before Lee Anne picked up her tearful account. “Elise’s father had always been somebody important and wealthy. He was among the first people the Việt-Cộng sent away after they took over. Then last week on a playground in the Gia-Hội district, a young boy was digging in the sand for crickets when he discovered human remains not fully decomposed. Close to two hundred bodies were found buried in layers of three or four in that shallow mass grave. Their remains were dug up and laid out on long tables in a school nearby. People from all around flocked to the site to sift through clothing items and personal effects in search of their missing relatives, even as they prayed they would not find them there. Elise’s family was among that mourning crowd. Their last hope was crushed when they identified a tattered shirt that had belonged to her father, his sandals, and a small medallion of Buddha he used to carry on him for good luck.
“Her mother had always kept contact with Elise, so she got the news right away. She was devastated because she had hoped for a chance to make up with her father and ask him for forgiveness. The family held off the funeral to wait for her, and kind Mr. Bill helped get her a seat on the first American flight to Phú-Bài Airport at Huế.
“She just left yesterday morning. Her first trip home in over two years.”
Lee Anne and Mme Yvonne held hands, struggling in vain to stem back the flow of tears. It struck me that even at their young age they couldn’t cry enough tears for themselves, for their friends and
families, and their people.
So much tragedy, so much sorrow—on such a beautiful land.
“I wish we’d known and been there for her,” Dean muttered, his head hanging low. “Any idea how long she’ll be gone?”
“She did not know.” Mme Yvonne took over for Lee Anne, who appeared exhausted. “She needs her family now, and they certainly need her. She may stay up north awhile.” She touched Dean’s arm. “It all happened too fast, mon ami.”
We lapsed into silence. It was such a far cry from all those innocent, happy times I so fondly remembered, and it pained me to look at my friends now. There was so little I could do for them.
“I am really sorry for all you’ve been through,” I heard myself blurt out, rather pointlessly, addressing no one, and everyone—those here present, and the ones missing, too.
Nobody spoke for a while. There was nothing more to add.
And then, as in a dream, I heard Lee Anne’s voice, calmer now.
“It is the time we live in. Our elders would call it a time of Mulberry Sea.”
“Mulberry Sea?” I repeated.
“Mulberry Sea—Bể Dâu. It’s a legend from the Ancient Chinese. In the old days, people grew mulberry fields and harvested young leaves from the plants to feed to silkworms. According to popular belief back then, the world underwent cycles of great changes every few thousand years or so. At the start of each new cycle, blue oceans would turn into mulberry fields, and mulberry fields into blue oceans. The world as known would be gone, completely erased.”
“A sea change,” Dean said.
Lee Anne turned to us, and I recognized that smile of resignation on her pretty face.
“But in our stormy history, those upheaval cycles always returned much sooner than in the legend. And lately, it feels like we are entering a new cycle again. Another time of Mulberry Sea.”
In the afternoon sunlight, she looked more beautiful than I’d remembered, a simple vision in white underneath an overhang of glorious red bougainvillea. So young and pure. So vulnerable. I felt my chest tighten, making it harder to breathe, but not for one second did my eyes wander from her face, as though any moment’s distraction might see this lovely sight swept out to sea—swallowed into oblivion like the old mulberry field.
Dean and I hardly exchanged a word during our chopper ride to Biên-Hoà from Tân-Sơn-Nhất, each lost in our own musings. It had been an extraordinary day, which culminated in an emotional, albeit hasty farewell at Mme Yvonne’s due to the impending curfew. The women were in tears as we hugged each other good-bye, with the promise to meet again in four weeks’ time. We’d probably all thought then, although nobody had said it out loud, that four weeks seemed an imponderable eternity under the current circumstances.
I glanced over at Dean, immobile as a rock next to me. It must have troubled him greatly that he’d just missed Elise and hadn’t been there for her in her grief. Ever so private, he had never discussed their friendship, though we all noticed how relaxed and happy he always looked around her. But now with the open-ended separation, once again both their lives had been put on hold. Nevertheless, it should be of some comfort to him that no door had slammed shut on them—not yet—unlike for Dick and Vivienne.
I closed my eyes, chased the last thought from my mind.
In my shirt pocket, against my chest lay the soothing softness of Lee Anne’s handkerchief. I had “forgotten” on purpose to return it to her, having always wanted something of hers to hold on to. It was a square of white cotton embroidered in one corner with a small floral pattern, and in another with her Vietnamese name, Liên, in fancy cursive. Without pulling it out of my pocket, I could still smell her fragrance on it. In a way I didn’t fully comprehend, it brought me closer to her and gave me a sense of security—a peaceful kind of joy.
In these times of madness and despair, that was all I needed.
Chapter Seventeen
On the surface, the status quo prevailed in country during March and April of 1968, even as the winds of change began to gather gale force stateside.
Under military pressure from the Allies, the Việt-Cộng continued to lose what footing they’d gained at the outset of the Tết Offensive, and they were forced to order a general retreat. Back at home, however, this crucial fact remained buried under nightly avalanches of TV news fixated on the gory facets of war. Lost amid all the gruesome details was the original sense of purpose, the lofty ideal of freedom and democracy that had brought us to Việt-Nam in the first place. Instead, there grew serious doubt about a successful military solution that could prove timely and cost-effective, and this in turn fanned an already widespread feeling of frustration. Beneath this swelling tide of pessimism swirled an undercurrent of dismay at MACV’s inability to anticipate and preempt Tết, no matter that it had resulted in failure for the enemy.
By mid-March, the national debate on the war reached a new climax when Robert Kennedy announced his presidential bid as an antiwar candidate. It confirmed to the public that the foundations of the Lyndon Johnson administration’s foreign policy, as related to Việt-Nam, were being openly questioned and challenged, even inside the President’s own party. This only added fuel and fury to the already vociferous discourse. Soon, this growing rancor would come to a head in the form of violent protests in the streets and organized sit-ins on college campuses all across the US.
Out of their desire to shield me from unnecessary distractions, my family seldom mentioned the escalating antiwar sentiment stateside. Nor did I wish to discuss what information I managed to glean from newcomers freshly arrived in country or from printed material sent from home. We shared a tacit understanding to avoid this increasingly controversial and divisive subject that none of us could control. From everyone’s perspective, I only had three months left on my tour, so the one thing I should focus on now was to get out in one piece.
One April afternoon, after the first thundershower of the returned monsoon season, I heard a hesitant knock on my office door and looked up at a familiar face peeking in.
“Tweety. I was just wondering about you. Did you get a confirmed date?” I recalled having been told earlier about his upcoming DEROS. The young medic had arrived at Biên-Hoà a year ago on the same C-141 Starlifter as Bob Olsen, which meant Bob would have been heading home as well. I waved Tweety to an empty chair by my desk.
He stepped inside the office, field cap in hand, but remained standing. “Yes, sir. Things have settled down enough that they’ve lifted the freeze, and I’m allowed to keep my original date. I’ve just now picked up my boarding pass for Friday a.m., sir.” He scratched his head, blushing as he continued. “I just want to say, sir—it’s been a real honor to serve with you this past year.”
Surprised and touched, I got up and went over to him with my hand outstretched. “Likewise, Tweety. Likewise. Only wish I could keep my favorite medic until the end of my tour. You’ll be sorely missed, young man.”
He squirmed, looking guilty as he accepted my handshake. “I promised Captain Olsen I would extend if he did, sir. But with him now gone . . .”
I smiled. “Say no more. I’d never hold you to that.”
“I heard you’re going short, Lieutenant, and I was fixing to get you the same calendar I got Captain Olsen.” He shot me a sheepish look. “But on second thought, I didn’t want to jinx your last hundred days the way I did his.” His voice quavered at the memory of our departed friend.
I grasped him by the shoulders. “Nonsense. That wasn’t your fault. Listen. You’re one hell of a good soldier, and a first-rate medic to boot. You’ve done our team proud. Captain Olsen would’ve told you himself.”
I glimpsed a flash of frustration in his eyes and sensed some hesitation even as he weighed whether to speak his mind. Then the questions came tumbling out in a breathless rush.
“Did you catch the President’s speech yesterday, sir? I couldn’t be
lieve what I heard him say. How on earth can we defeat the enemy if we stop bombing them? Especially when they’ve made it real clear they ain’t playing by nobody’s rules. Please set me straight if I’m wrong, Lieutenant. It’s not like we’re losing the war and need to sit down and negotiate with them commies—are we, sir?” He caught himself, turned red in the face. “Excuse me, sir, for mouthing off like an idiot. But so many good men like Captain Olsen have given their lives for the cause. It’ll be a dang dirty shame if the politicians just let it all go to waste now.”
He was referring to the bombshell news that had just dropped on all of us, LBJ’s March 31st televised speech to the American people. In it, the President announced the US would unconditionally suspend all bombing of North Việt-Nam despite their flagrant violation of the Tết cease-fire, in hope of nudging them to the peace negotiations table. He also declared he would not seek or accept his party’s nomination for another presidential term.
Overnight, the political wind had shifted.
“We can only hope our leaders know what’s best for the country, Tweety,” I said, without as much conviction as I’d wanted to project. “But tell me. What’s in store for you now?”
He stood silent for a moment, staring at the floor, then scratched his head again. “I’ve got thirty days off to go home before I report to Nellis AFB, sir. North Las Vegas, Nevada.”
“Isn’t that where you’re from? Nevada?”
“Carson City, Nevada, sir. So Nellis will work out just fine. My parents couldn’t have been happier with the news. My mom wants me to get out of the Air Force when my four years are up. But I haven’t decided yet.”
I offered the young medic a final handshake, gripping him tight by the shoulder with my other hand. Drawn-out good-byes never were my strong suit. “You’ve served your country well. Be proud. Now go home to your family. And whatever you choose to do, have a great life.”