“You wanna know something else. In 1990, there were 600,000 motorbikes in Vietnam. By 1993, there were 2.5 million. And there’s 400,000 more come into the country every year. Do the math. By now there must be a couple of gazillion.”
I nodded. “Maybe three gazillion. I didn’t get to do any research. I didn’t know we were coming here until we were on our way.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here now.” She hoisted her beer, held it toward me. “Here’s to us.”
I picked up my beer, tapped cans with hers. “To us.”
We drank. It tasted real good, especially after the heat and bugs and sweat of the jungle.
“So tell me about it,” she looked at me.
“About what?”
“What you’ve been doing since you sent me that first email? You said you and your dad were going somewhere.”
“Yeah.”
“So where did you go?”
“Uh … we … out into the countryside … the jungle.”
“What for?”
“Some stuff I … uh … guess the old man wanted to see.”
“Some battle he’d been in? That’s what my dad thought.”
“I … I’m not … sure. We just went out into the jungle. Saw some stuff.”
I don’t know why I didn’t want to tell her, why I didn’t want to talk about it. Or maybe I did know. How do you explain something like the old man telling me about the fight on Hill 453 … or how scared I was when I thought that crazy creep and his dog were going to rip me apart? And how I’d been puking and trying so hard to get down into the hard ground I even had dirt in my mouth? How do you tell somebody that stuff and know that they’ll get it? That they’ll understand something you’re not sure you understand yourself even though you were there?
And there was something else. The stuff that happened on Hill 453, that was about me and the old man. Just us. I didn’t want to share that with Jen. Or anybody else.
The server came then and took our order. I thought Jen would be mad that I didn’t really answer her question. Because she had to know I was bullshitting. When the server left, I made a big deal about looking at the stuff on the walls.
“It’s okay, Nate. You don’t have to tell me.”
“There’s not much to talk about really. Just some stuff we saw. Some stuff that happened. You’re really okay with it if we don’t talk about it?”
She took a drink of the beer and nodded. “I’m okay with it. I was just asking so I’d have something to say.”
“Thanks.”
And then it was okay. We were okay. We ate our burgers and French fries, we drank beer, two cans each, and we talked. I told her about Canada, Mom, and school; she told me about Australia, and her girlfriends, and her private girls’ school.
I even told her about my list, my five points for summer self-improvement. She kind of laughed, but she said she liked that I wanted to do something, not just waste the summer. I decided not to mention my previous summers as the 7-Eleven king.
I left out Jan Wertz too. I figured too much information.
She’d been right, the place made a real good burger. When the burgers were gone we talked some more.
“What do you think of Vietnam so far?” She waved her arm around like the Black Cat pretty much represented the whole country.
“It’s okay, I guess. I mean I sort of like it. What about you?”
“You know, it’s weird. At first, I hated it — too noisy, too crowded, too busy, too … Asian. Does that make me sound racist?”
I shook my head. “I know what you mean. It’s just not what we’re used to. It’s not like I have anything against Vietnamese people. It’s just that sometimes I just want to hear English, eat North American food … maybe go to a football game.”
“Football. Oh my god, that game you people play — I don’t get any of it. Now Aussie Rules Football, that’s a game.”
I’d seen Aussie Rules Football a few times on TV. “It’s okay, I guess. I like the referees’ arm signals.”
“Anyway, after I’d been here awhile, I really started to like it. All of it. Weird, right?”
I shook my head. “No, not weird. I’m starting to like the place better too. Especially now that I found out you don’t have to eat noodles all the time. And that thing with the drinking age … not bad.”
We both laughed and sipped our beers, before she spoke again.
“I’ve decided what I want to do when I’m finished school.”
“Yeah? What?” I didn’t have a clue what I’d be doing when I finished school. I’m not sure I’d thought that far ahead. Ever.
“My dad told me that once you have your degree, you can come here, and other countries too, and teach English. I checked it out, and there are tons of schools that hire people from English-speaking countries to come here and teach English to the Vietnamese.”
She seemed pretty excited about the idea. I wondered how you got excited about something that was maybe five years or more away. But I didn’t want to burst her bubble, so I listened while she told me more about it … how you didn’t make a lot of money … that you’d probably teach in a private school, and there were plenty of them right in Saigon … that you’d live in temporary housing for teachers. She’d obviously done a lot of thinking, a lot of checking the whole thing out.
Her eyes were sort of shining while she was telling me all this, and I have to admit I didn’t concentrate on everything she said. Jen was a great looking girl — and hot (I think I mentioned that), and when she got all excited about something, like she was about teaching English in Vietnam, and you factor in the cool Aussie accent, she went even higher on the hot-o-metre.
After we ate, she asked me if I wanted to go to a movie. I hesitated at first because I hadn’t really cleared that part with the old man, but then I figured if the guy was giving me condoms, he’d probably be okay with me going to a movie with a girl.
We went to the Cinebox 212. A bunch of theatres. Mostly Asian films. One English language movie. Batman Begins. I’d seen it before, but I’d never seen it with a girl next to me holding my hand and every little while bringing her face over close to mine. We didn’t make out exactly, but there were a few light kisses, the kind that make you think there might be more and better coming later.
You might remember that earlier on I mentioned that I spent a lot of the last year or two in a state of never-ending horniness. Yeah, that was nothing compared to what was going on inside me sitting next to Jen. I was horn-dog in the extreme, and none of what I was feeling had anything to do with what was happening on the screen in the Cinebox 212.
A couple of times I ran my hand down to where my jeans pocket was — just checking that the condom was in position, ready to be put to work when needed.
The problem was, where do teenagers go for privacy in Saigon? It’s not like we could check into something called the Sunset Motel for a couple of hours. And I didn’t think under a tree in a park somewhere was the answer.
I shouldn’t have worried. Jen had things figured out. We weren’t going to any Sunset Motel. We were going back to the Grand Hotel to her family’s room. Her mom and dad wouldn’t be back for “ages” because they had gone to some formal dinner with a bunch of news media people. I was okay with her plan; at least I thought I was.
When we got back to the room, I was pretty spooked, expecting her parents to come marching through the door along about the time Jen and I were getting to the good part.
Of course, I had no idea what the good part would be. Jen and I had been together five maybe six hours total. It was a little out there to think we might actually get it on after the first, and maybe last, date.
I mean there was that little thing about how we lived on separate continents. Jen must have been thinking the same thing because we just got settled on the couch in her parents’ suite when she said, “I don’t want you to think I usually go this fast with guys.”
“I don’t.”
“It�
��s just that I like you, and once we leave here, I know we might not see each other for like a really long time.”
“I know. And I like you too.”
She moved closer to me, which didn’t take much since she wasn’t all that far away to start with. And we kissed, all gentle at first like we were both shy. Which we were — at least I was.
Then the kissing got a little more … uh … energetic. Then a lot more. Jen was a spectacular kisser. I waited what I thought was a respectable amount of time — it probably wasn’t more than five minutes. Then I got my hand up under her top and up to her bra.
Another thing you might remember me mentioning awhile back was that I wasn’t exactly Mr. Stud back home … meaning I was already in uncharted territory. Which might explain why I was as clumsy as I was. I got my hand around behind her back and tried to undo her bra.
After I fumbled around for a while, Jen pulled back and said, “Here, this will make it easier.” And she put her hands over her head so I could pull her top off. After that, things got a little hazy. I remember her moaning as I touched her and I remember not having my T-shirt on any more and our chests coming together, and I remember reaching behind her and trying again to get that damn bra undone.
And I remember the freaking phone ringing.
“Don’t answer it.”
“I have to.” She started to move away from me.
“No, you don’t. It’s probably a telemarketer.”
“It’s midnight. Telemarketers don’t call hotel rooms, and they don’t call at midnight.”
“I think they do.”
But it didn’t matter. The phone kept ringing, and this was a very loud phone, and it was killing the mood anyway.
“Okay.” I moved so she could get up. I watched her walk to the phone. I stopped listening after “Oh … hi, Dad. You and Mom are on your way up? Cool.”
I got my T-shirt back on and tucked in a time that was definitely a personal best. If I thought Jen had some amazing moves up to that point, they were nothing compared to the magic she displayed getting her top back on and hair more or less organized.
When her mom and dad came through the door, Jen and I were drinking Cokes and watching TV. I think my breathing had pretty well returned to normal and I was confident I could stand up without having parts of my body give away what we’d been doing moments before.
Her dad came over and stood in front of the couch, looking down at me. Oh shit, here it comes. But he seemed to be okay with me being the guy his daughter had spent the evening with.
“Hello, again.”
“Hello, sir.”
“Please tell your dad that if he changes his mind I’d still like to do that interview with him.”
“I will, sir.” Yeah, right.
The parents kind of hung around, and it didn’t look like they were going off to bed to give us a little more alone time so I took a couple more drinks of Coke and got up to leave.
Jen kissed me good night at the door, which I thought was cool. I said good night to her parents and left in a pretty good mood, considering I’d been that close to … needing the condom.
I never did figure out why her dad phoned on the way up to the room. Jen texted me later that she figured he and her mom had an idea we might be making out and were decent enough to warn us.
That’s what I call good parenting.
The evening almost ended badly. I guess I wasn’t paying attention, and I came close to being run over by a swarm of motorbikes. Got yelled at. Yelled back.
It was worth it.
When I got back to the hotel, the old man was in bed reading a magazine.
“How was the burger?”
“Good. We went to a movie too. Batman Begins.” I figured I should name the movie just in case he didn’t believe me.
“Any good?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it before.”
He reached over and switched off the little light by his bed. “I’ll see you in the morning, Nathan.”
“It’s Nate. Not oh six hundred hours or anything like that?”
“Not tomorrow.”
I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, came back, and climbed into bed. I lay there staring up into the dark for a while.
I figured the old man was asleep. I was wrong.
“You skip the onions?”
“Good night,” I said. I hoped my tone let him know I thought he was insane.
“How about your date? She have the onions?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I could hear him laughing too.
4
Good day, bad day.
The good? I got to sleep in until almost noon, had the second best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had (my Aunt Rita makes the best — I think it’s the pound of butter she cooks them in), and on maybe the hottest day since we’d arrived in Vietnam, the old man and I went swimming for a good part of the afternoon.
The bad? After the swim, the old man left for a while, said he had a meeting with someone. I called Jen, hoping I might be able to see her, even for a little while. She told me her dad had arranged a late flight to Hanoi to interview some former North Vietnamese Army Officers. They would be gone two, maybe three days.
I didn’t even know if we’d still be here when she got back. She sounded sad, but there was nothing she could do about it. They were leaving for the airport in just a few minutes. She told me she’d texted me earlier. I hadn’t looked at my phone since before the swim. Stupid.
Talk about sappy. I actually ran all the way to the Grand Hotel hoping to — I don’t know — yell goodbye to her. I got there as the taxi was pulling out into the sea of motorbikes.
I could make out the back of her head in the back seat, but she didn’t see me. So much for young love. I mean I liked her, and it seemed like she liked me back, but I might not ever see her again unless I wanted to make a quick trip over to Australia sometime.
Bad day.
5
Actually, it was an evening of mostly boring stuff. The old man told me I should buy a present for Mom, which I had to admit wasn’t a bad idea. Except I hate shopping. And besides, how was I supposed to know what to get her? I was at it most of the afternoon.
I found a street called Le Thanh Ton. Big-time shopping. Pretty expensive. I paid a lot of dong for a handbag that I didn’t even know if Mom would like.
Shopping for her reminded me I hadn’t phoned her yet, so we found a fairly quiet little park, and I called home. I don’t know what time it was there, but Mom sounded fine. It was great to hear her voice. I didn’t realize how much I missed her. I told her that and she asked a few things — just general stuff. Then before we hung up she told me to take care of myself.
“And take care of your dad too.”
I thought that was a weird thing to say.
After the call home, I sent Jen a pretty mushy text and then checked my phone about every fifteen minutes. No response that day.
Watched some TV, CNN, yeah, that was fun. Went to bed early because the next day would start at — you guessed it — oh six hundred hours.
Sweet.
Dalat
1
We got up, showered, packed up some clothes — no brief case, no duffel bags — and headed out on the highway. It was the same one we’d been on when we’d gone to the A Shau Valley, but the old man wasn’t all tense and weird like he’d been on that other trip.
I knew better than to ask where we were going, so I listened to FM 105.5, actual English radio, and stared out the window counting pagodas again.
And fell asleep.
When I woke up, we were stopped. I sat up and looked through the windshield. For the second time, I had woken up looking at something kind of unique. First, Mr. Vinh’s tube house … now this. Except this baby was real unique. Thing is, I wasn’t sure what it was I was looking at. It was like a place you’d see in a weird dream. Or maybe if you were on a banned substance. A house maybe. Or maybe not.
“Where are we?”
“This is where we get out,” the old man answered.
“Yeah, but where are we?”
“Dalat.” That’s all he said. He climbed out of the Land Rover and started pulling our stuff out and onto the ground. A kid about my age came running out of the weird looking place. He started grabbing our gear.
I pointed at the kid. “Is that okay?”
The old man nodded. “The kid works here. Why don’t you help him?”
“Help him do what?”
“Carry our stuff inside … to our room.”
“Our room? We’re staying here? Whoever built this place had psychological problems. It looks like Disneyland on crack.”
The old man nodded and smiled. “Can’t argue with that. I guess that’s why it’s called the Crazy House.”
The Crazy House was actually very cool. The bottom of it was a tree trunk, and the house grew out and above it with branches sticking out all over so it was sort of like a tree house. Nothing, I mean nothing was straight. Rooms, walls, ceilings, beds, tables, mirrors — the whole place was … crazy.
I read the sign that stood crookedly by the gate. The architect was a woman named Hang Nga, which I guess is why it’s called Hang Nga’s Guest House. But everybody knows it as the Crazy House. I stared at the place for quite a while before I helped the kid carry our stuff inside and down a twisting hall to a bedroom that would have been perfect for Alice in Wonderland.
I couldn’t figure out what we were doing there, but I knew I’d find out eventually. In the meantime, it was kind of fun. I was looking in a mirror that had seven or eight sides to it when the old man came in.
“What do you think? I built it myself. I bet you didn’t know I was a carpenter.” He flopped down on the bed.
I shook my head. “How’d you find this place? What’s it called — Dalat?”
“It’s pretty famous. Dalat was a favourite getaway haunt for officers and higher ups from both sides to come for a little R and R during the war. There was a gentleman’s agreement that nobody would attack the place. And nobody did. Until the Tet Offensive in ’68. Tet is the name of the lunar new year, big Vietnamese holiday. That’s when the Viet Cong attacked a lot of the towns and cities in South Vietnam. Saigon got hit real hard. Dalat got it too.
Old Man Page 13