by C. L. Hoang
I covered my face in my hands, let out a groan as I fell backward, overcome with relief. A sense of shame washed over me for having such a selfish reaction to the tragic event, and it struck me how utterly pragmatic and self-preserving I’d become in just a short time. Rolling over on my stomach, I hid my head under my pillow, suddenly seized with an urge to dump everything and escape from this hellhole, as far as my legs would carry me.
Exhausted, I could no longer make out the rest of Paul’s ramblings, and sleep came swiftly, albeit fitfully. In my dream, I watched myself atop a pile of rubble digging out buried victims. Everywhere I turned, arms and legs were sticking up through the sand, grasping desperately for help. But to my horror, when I pulled on them they yanked loose without an attached body.
Then the scene abruptly switched to the idyllic setting of the Zoo and Botanical Garden, where I saw Lee Anne in her magnificent yellow-silk áo hoàng-hậu ambling away from me and up the mossy stone steps outside the Temple of Remembrance. I called her name and frantically waved her matching headband. Stopping on the highest step, with the sun and the wind in her hair, she looked in my direction and waved her last farewell, then turned and disappeared inside the temple. Before I could start after her, the monument burst into flames.
With a muffled scream, I shot up in bed, heart hammering and body dripping with sweat. The hooch was mired in darkness, the air dank and sour. Then I heard Paul turn over in his cot.
“Bad dream, eh?” he muttered. “What time is it?”
I glanced at the alarm clock. “Go back to sleep. It’s only 3:15.”
“What’s the use? The devil Charlie will come knocking anytime now,” he grumbled.
Good point. Might as well stay awake and be ready to scamper for your life.
I lay back down, still disturbed by the vivid images in my nightmare. It all felt so real—from the heartbreak of watching Lee Anne run away, to the utter despair of losing her in a sea of fire. A terror like I’d never experienced before. Was this a premonition of what was to come? Would I see her again? Soon? Ever? Most troubling of all, how might she be interpreting my prolonged absence after our time together? As callous abandonment or further proof of disrespect? All boiling questions; none with an answer.
Paul was tossing and turning in his cot, unable to go back to sleep as well, yet neither of us seemed to want to start a conversation. For the rest of the night we lay there, silent in the dark, wrapped in our own thoughts and counting the minutes until sunrise, half expecting the blasted siren to go off any moment, which it mercifully refused to do this night.
The fighting dragged on for another week, right up until the eve of the Paris peace talks. Having made their point for the time being, the Việt-Cộng withdrew back into the jungle, leaving behind thousands dead. In terms of American casualties, mini-Tết had proved the costliest fortnight of the entire war. But nothing even came close to the mayhem and suffering inflicted anew upon innocent civilians, mostly those living in the capital. Horrific door-to-door combat had again invaded their streets and destroyed their neighborhoods, while rockets slammed down death and terror night after night. Hundreds lost their lives and thousands more were wounded, with upward of one hundred thousand rendered homeless.
Although in the end Charlie didn’t score a single victory on the battlefield with this wave of urban attacks, he nonetheless dealt another blow to the psyche of Americans at home. Clearly, he appeared immune to combat losses and proved capable of rebounding fast, even from a military disaster on the scale of Tết.
A couple of days after things went quiet, I was dispatched to 3rd Field to follow up on some patients recuperating there—in all likelihood, a thoughtful gesture from Captain Morgan. Without so much as an inquiry into my private affairs, he’d inferred from all my prior excursions and from my state of high anxiety regarding the fighting in Sài-Gòn that I would welcome a run there as soon as the situation permitted. Indeed, a number of us on base had Vietnamese friends in the capital, and we’d been greatly concerned for their safety during mini-Tết. This little-mentioned fact wasn’t lost on the captain. Hence, I guessed, my surprise assignment, which was much appreciated, and the first travel allowed in weeks.
“It’s my job to remind you to stay alert and use good judgment around the city,” he simply cautioned me the evening before the trip. “Also, don’t lose sight of the curfew. Give yourself plenty of time to get back.”
It was impossible for Dean to extricate himself from the understaffed hospital in Biên-Hoà, so I left alone on an early chopper to Tân-Sơn-Nhất. At 3rd Field, the official business was carried out promptly and without a hitch, and by noontime I was in a taxi on the way to Mme Yvonne’s. As I watched the street scene drift by outside the open windows, it crossed my mind how these field trips to Sài-Gòn had become much lonelier in recent months. Of the original Three Musketeers plus Bob, only I had had opportunities to return lately, and even then I never knew which remaining friends I’d get to see again. Sad but true, continual change had become the only invariable in our lives, a reality made clear by how fast our own close-knit circle had shrunk.
I breathed with relief when Mme Yvonne’s familiar face peered out from behind the wrought-iron gate moments after I rang the bell. With Dean really swamped of late, I hadn’t wanted to impose on him to telephone her ahead of my arrival.
“Hello, Yvonne. I hope it’s not a problem to drop in on you like this,” I said with a smile. “Last-minute arrangements, but I figured I’d take my chances.”
Without a word, she stepped out in front of the gate and gave me a hug. Then, taking my hand, she pulled me inside and closed the gate behind us.
“Roger, chéri. It’s so good to see you,” she said in her singsong voice as she led me between the vine-covered walls into the lush garden. “I was just about to call Dr. Dean. Come, darling. Have a seat here, in your favorite spot in the shade. Let me run get you some cold lemonade. Mon pauvre—poor guy. You must be dying of thirst in this heat.”
I dropped down on the garden chair at our regular table under the bougainvillea. Stretching my legs, I leaned back, rested my eyes behind my sunglasses. The air was fragrant with jasmine and enlivened by an unusual sound, the only sound in this serene tranquility, so lovely yet so foreign these days: the happy chirping of birds in the trees.
My memory flashed back to our first time here with Dick. What a delightful surprise to stumble on this incredible oasis right in the heart of Sài-Gòn—not merely a safe haven from the horrors of war, but an outright happy place where guests were encouraged to check all worries and burdens at the gate. I could still hear the music of Henry Mancini, mingled with gay voices and laughter and the merry clinking of glasses. But most of all, I remembered the raspy voice of Vivienne welcoming us as she leaned against the back of Dick’s chair, her hands resting on his shoulders. A lifetime ago.
“You look relaxed, dear. I’m so glad,” said Mme Yvonne, returning with a small tray with two glasses on it. She didn’t see my eyes closed behind the dark shades.
I sat up. “What was it you were going to call Dean about?”
“Here, darling. Let me know if you need more sugar. À votre santé—to your health.”
We clinked glasses. She sat back, her eyes averted from mine while she took a slow sip from her perspiring glass, then another, before setting her glass down.
“I wanted to bid adieu to you all, but his is the only number I have,” she blurted out.
I froze, my glass to my lips, not trusting that I’d heard right.
She turned to me with a wan smile. “It’s a shock, n’est-ce-pas? I know. I cannot believe it myself. Bill has just finished his contract last week, and he wants to move back to the States. No more extension this time. He has lived here five years now and he has been feeling homesick for some time. Besides, he’s nervous that Sài-Gòn isn’t safe anymore.” She looked down at her hands now fol
ded in her lap. “I told him, it’s decided then. As his wife, I want to do what makes him happy. And wherever he goes, I shall go with him.”
I swallowed hard. “How soon are you moving? Jesus, Yvonne. And where to?”
“In two weeks, before the end of May. We have given notice to the landlord.” There was a hint of anxiousness in her voice. “Bill was from Atlanta, Georgia, so that’s where we’re headed. The Peach State, I was told it’s called. Sounds very pretty. How far is it from your home state? Maybe you can come visit us, oui?”
“Clear across the continent from me, but it’s only a few hours’ flight,” I said, trying to smile. “It’s a big move for you, Yvonne. Are you ready for it?”
She looked at me pensively before answering. “I am a little bit scared, to be honest with you. All my life I have never set foot outside Sài-Gòn, you know, and now I am moving halfway around the world to a foreign country. How crazy is that?” She laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. “So yes, I got butterflies in my stomach. But the way I see it, Roger, my home is by my husband’s side. It doesn’t matter where we live, as long as we are together. At least over there we won’t have to fear the rockets.”
“To great adventure, and a wonderful new life in America.” I lifted my glass to her while doing my best to keep my mixed feelings in check. “I’m sure everything will work out just fine. The best to you and Bill. No one deserves it more.”
She smiled gratefully, but her eyes were red. “You probably heard about my papa. I have never given up hope that some day he will come back for me. It’s the one thing that has sustained me through the years. But once I leave the country now, that dream is dead. There will be no way for my daddy to track me down. It will be like saying good-bye to my past. You know, burying it forever. It’s hard . . .”
I reached across the table, took her hand in mine. Together we shared her sadness in silence. In the rising afternoon heat, even the carefree birds had quieted.
After a while, she went on. “It’s not easy to leave all my friends either. Many have worked here with me a long time, now they must find a new job somewhere else. That is one more thing weighing on my mind. Oh Roger, I really dread the next two weeks. There will be a lot of crying. You know how we girls are.”
“You haven’t told anyone?”
“Nobody knows yet, except—” She caught herself and looked away.
I waited, then decided to press her. “Except—Lee Anne?”
There was a soft sigh. “Yes, Lee Anne.” Mme Yvonne turned back to me, her eyes full of apologies. “I have been waiting for just the right moment to tell you, mon ami.”
I felt the breath knocked out of me. What now?
Mme Yvonne rotated her chair to face me. Filtered sunlight through the arbor dappled her hair and features. Despite the shade, the mugginess was oppressive. A summer storm must be blowing in, as announced by rumblings of thunder in the distance. Or was it a B-52?
“She and her family have left the city. She asked me to say good-bye to all of you for her.”
That was all I heard. Mme Yvonne’s lips were still moving, but my brain had seized up.
I sat dumbfounded, staring ahead without seeing.
“Why?” I mumbled after some time.
“Sorry you had to hear about it this way, my friend,” Mme Yvonne ventured. She waited a minute before continuing. “They had to sell the house after the funeral. Just could not afford to keep it anymore. I offered to help, but it would only delay the inevitable. So they have gone to stay with relatives outside the capital.”
“Where? Is it far from here? I can help them, Yvonne.”
There was no answer for a while. And then she locked eyes with me, and I saw hopelessness in hers. “They are in mourning, Roger,” she said slowly, agony in her voice. “Her parents still don’t know she worked here before, and she wants to shield them from any more stress so they can all cope with their grief. Only then can she hope to start over and try to build a new life for herself—for all of them. It is best to leave them be. C’est la vérité—it’s the truth.”
I stared blankly at her, not understanding what she was saying. “Surely you must have a new address for her. I just want to keep in touch. Maybe send them something.”
Her eyes welled up. “Mon pauvre ami—my poor friend . . . Lee Anne knew you might ask, so she made me promise not to divulge it. You have done so much to help her already, and she said she cannot thank you enough. There’s simply no way for her to return your kindness except to wish you and your family the best of everything when you go back home.” Then she repeated in a shaky voice that sounded almost pleading, “Just leave them be, chéri. It is for the best.”
Darts of pain stabbed me all along my spine.
So. This was it. The sudden end for us. It was all over when here I’d thought we were just getting started. The bewildered look on my face must have been painful to watch, for Mme Yvonne turned away. I struggled to pull myself together.
After a long silence while I strained to gather my thoughts, I took off my watch and pushed it across the table toward her. “Do me this favor, Yvonne, as a friend. This is my gift to Lee Anne and her family. Please accept it for them since you won’t give me their address to send it to. It isn’t much, but it’s the only thing of value I’ve got. I want them to have it.”
It was a Rolex Oyster my parents had bought me as a special gift on my graduation from medical school. It must have cost them a pretty penny, but they’d wanted to mark the occasion with me. “To celebrate your leaving the ranks of starving students,” my father had said with a laugh, watching my mom strap it on my wrist. “And becoming a starving intern instead?” I’d retorted, deeply touched to see them so proud and happy for me. And the watch hadn’t left my wrist since.
Mme Yvonne gasped when she saw it. “Oh, non, non. Absolument pas. I cannot possibly accept this. Lee Anne will be mad at me if I do. It is way too much gift, darling.”
“It’s not for you, so you can’t refuse it. Please. It’s a little something to help them out. You of all people should know they need all the help they can get.”
And I’m sure you guys would understand, Mom and Dad.
Before Mme Yvonne could protest further, I excused myself to go wash my hands.
Truth was, I wanted a few minutes in private to revisit the indoor lounge where I’d first met Lee Anne, but the place looked in a state of disarray. All the furniture had been pushed back against the walls to make room for moving boxes, and the floor was littered with miscellaneous items in various stages of getting packed. It was hopeless to try to see past this clutter and imagine again the happy scene of earlier days. Change, irrevocable change, had already set in, well underway to erase all traces of our Shangri-La.
I didn’t so much as glance at the closed office door across from the bathroom, for fear of reopening wounds and compounding the hurt. Splashing cold water on my face, I fought to hold on to my last shred of self-composure. It would be most inappropriate to get emotional on Mme Yvonne when she herself was already in turmoil about her big move. Besides, seeing how she seemed unaware of the secret between Lee Anne and me, it might be wise for me to show restraint and not to reveal any more than I could help. Looking in the mirror, I told myself to buck up and put on my best face so we could enjoy our last moments together.
She must have thought likewise, for there was music in the air when I returned to the garden, a piece I’d never heard before.
Guessing my question, she smiled and explained. “We always listened to American music when we had guests here before. Today I want to share with you some music of my youth. This is a French song that was all the rage when I was still at the Lycée. ‘Le Temps de l’Amour’ by Françoise Hardy, my favorite singer. I love her voice, so tender and melancholy.”
She started singing along in a hushed voice, but soon choked up and had to quit.
“The song is about that special time in our lives, ‘the time of love,’ when our hearts were young and alive, and filled with dreams. As you can see, it gets me very emotional every time.”
With a sweet smile, she got up from her chair and glided over to mine. “If I’m not mistaken, I have never had the honor of dancing with you, Dr. Connors. Could this be my lucky day?”
I stood and offered her my hand. “The honor’s all mine, dear lady. Watch out for my two left feet, though.”
And so we slow-danced, there on the soft green grass under the arbor, for the remainder of the song and the album. Neither of us said a word as the music worked its magic and transported us back to happier days. Together, in our thoughts, we were bidding farewell to the past.
When the music stopped, Mme Yvonne stood on the tips of her shoes and planted a peck on my cheek. Her face was damp with tears. “For the good times, dear friend. May God bless you,” she whispered in my ear before we separated and made our way back to the table.
In silence, we sat and drank the last of the lemonade.
“Next time we meet again, it’ll be in the Big Peach, I suppose,” I finally said with a forced smile, hurrying to add when I saw the quizzical look on her face, “That’s Atlanta’s nickname.”
“Ah, so much I need to learn about Atlanta.” She pulled her shoulders up in frustration. “Lee Anne loaned me her copy of Gone with the Wind, but I haven’t had time to read it yet.”
It must be the same book I’d given to Lee Anne as a gift last Christmas. It dawned on me right then just how futile it would be to try to escape from all the memories of her.
I scribbled down my APO address for Mme Yvonne. “I’m here for a couple more months, but they’ll forward my mail in any case. Drop me a line when you’re all settled into your new home. Let me know how you’re doing. I want pictures, too. Okay?”