Huy’s apartment door was splintered and hanging off its hinges. Clothes and trash scattered across the room. She picked up a lipstick belonging to Vân- deciding to keep it. In the palm of her hand it looked like a red bullet. After a last look around the room she turned to leave. Someone blocked the doorway.
She gasped. Hands fumbled for the gun she was no longer carrying. It took a couple of seconds to realise the intruder wasn't a threat.
'Don't be scared,' the girl said. She was young; maybe fourteen years old. Her hair neatly platted. Her bare feet blackened. 'Do you live here?'
'Yes. No... Not anymore.'
'Are you hurt?' the girl frowned. She remained in the doorway- careful not to step over the threshold.
'No.' Phượng didn't want to engage with her. She wanted to be gone. She made for the doorway.
'Soldiers came. We live opposite. I saw it all. After they left, the other neighbours came. They took a lot of your things. You can come to our place if you want some rice.'
Phượng sighed. The ringing in her ears had reduced, and the world had stopped spinning. 'Look, kid... I need to go. Help yourself to anything.'
She pushed past the girl and started off down the corridor.
'Where's Mr Huy?' the girl called out.
Phượng turned.
'He often used to give me a choco-pie. If his food is stolen, I will give him some.'
'He's dead.'
The girl’s face dropped. Her bottom lip stuck out. She regarded Phượng with accusing eyes.
Phượng continued to the stairwell and out into the street. Everything had gotten worse. She was all alone. Her clothes, hair and skin were filthy. She had no intention of going back to the apartment and changing. She was done with that place. Maybe there was one place she could go.
The university was ten minutes’ walk. The early afternoon sun was the hottest; normally she'd cover herself up, but it really didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing did. She heard a whirr of gears somewhere behind. Chinese vehicles all had a very distinctive sound. She kept her eyes focused ahead.
The vehicle slowed as it neared. She tried to keep walking at a steady pace. She looked like she’d been fighting. There was no hiding it. If they stopped her she'd say her house was bombed and hope they'd leave it at that. She stole a glance- it was a beach-buggy style jeep like the first one they'd destroyed the previous night. The eyes of all three occupants were on her.
'Nah… better looking ones in the whore house,' the driver said. The three of them laughed and they accelerated away.
She turned into the street the university was on. Even from a distance she could see something was wrong. Some of the tall trees which lined the street lay across the road. A pair of army trucks were parked up. She heard the buzz of a small motorcycle engine but on approaching realised was from a chainsaw. There was other debris across the street- rubble from the university. The Chinese were busy clearing it away. Throwing smaller sized pieces into the back of the trucks and cutting the fallen trees for removal. The remaining trees obscured a good view of the school. Feeling her pulse quicken she hurried her pace.
As she neared the building she could see it had crumbled in the centre. Leaving the flanks standing like towers. Much of the stonework was blackened, the fire long since put out. Most of those cleaning up wore uniforms of the volunteer police. Three or four soldiers hovered nearby, watching over their minions like Pharaohs administering slaves building the pyramids. The nearest soldier visibly tensed when he noticed her; tucking the butt of his assault rifle into his shoulder, ready to raise it to a firing position.
'What have you done to my school?' She demanded in Chinese.
Surprised, the soldier stepped back, looking to one of his colleagues who shrugged. Several workers paused their labour to stare at her.
'What have you done?' she demanded again.
The soldier stepped into her path. 'A stray shell hit the school. Take the day off.'
‘Was there anyone inside? Did you check? Where are the teachers?’ She paced. Running her twitching fingers through her hair. What would she do now? There was nowhere else to go.
The soldier made a face at his colleague. He kept his gun barrel pointed down at the ground in the 'safe' position. In her mind she elbowed him in the chest, snatched the weapon and sprayed gunfire over all of them. The thought was a gone in a second. She couldn't overpower the soldier in hand to hand combat. He'd most likely throw her to the ground then his gun barrel would be in her face.
‘The school was struck at night. Nobody was inside. You Vietnamese hide in sewers like rats. Search there for your teachers. By the look of you, maybe you already have.'
None of the volunteers flinched at the soldier’s remark. Perhaps none of them spoke Chinese, or maybe they had no shame. They'd thrown their lot in with the enemy- becoming neither Vietnamese or Chinese. Either way the war went they'd be damned. She turned away- heading back the way she’d come.
'Stop!' The soldier commanded.
She turned slowly. He was scowling, looking her up and down.
'Why are you so dirty?'
She made a cursory effort to swipe her matted hair behind her ears.
'It's dirty in the sewers,' she spat.
The soldier's frown deepened. 'Hold your arms out to the sides!' His weapon was pointed at her. He kept his gun trained on her while his comrade searched her.
She tensed. If he tried anything she'd resist. Even if it meant getting shot. The soldier thoroughly patted her down. Even checking the bottoms of her shoes. Satisfied that she wasn't concealing anything, he waved her on.
'Try the pool at the roundabout,' he grunted, 'that's where Vietnamese go to find lost people.'
She knew where he meant; Ho Con Rua. It was a couple minutes’ walk; a large roundabout at the centre of which stone walkways crisscrossed over a pool of green water known as turtle lake. At its centre an elevated platform provided a picnic spot for students since before her time.
***
Astounded, she could only stand and gape. She was on the corner where Pham Ngoc Thach street joined the roundabout at Ho Con Rua. Scores of Vietnamese crowded the walkways of Turtle Lake. She hadn't seen so many Vietnamese in weeks. All dressed in everyday clothes; jeans, t-shirts, skirts, a couple of suits even. If it wasn't for the score of watchful soldiers and two armoured troop transports parked just off the roundabout, it might've looked almost like a normal day.
Was the war over? Were people resigned to accept their overlords? She steadied herself against a lamppost. Tired from walking. Exhausted by stress. The Chinese seemed somehow less aggressive today. She'd heard hardly heard any gunshots. Perhaps other cells and military units had suffered as badly as hers. Maybe it was all over. What were they thinking- going up against tanks and helicopters! Perhaps there'd been some kind of official surrender so people felt safer about being on the street.
Many people were burning incense at homemade altars. Others pinned notes to the trees which surrounded the roundabout. Hundreds of notes and photographs were pinned to the twenty or so trees.
'Are you alright, daughter?' A willowy old man with crooked back bent over his walking stick, inspected her over the rim of his spectacles.
'Y... yes, Anh. Just surprised to see so many people.'
The old man's smile was kind and warm. The gentle breeze was just enough to make strands from his comb-over wave with the wind, exposing his baldness.
'People come to find lost loved ones. Alas, I’m unsure if any have yet found any joy in the endeavour.' He hobbled closer, his walking stick clapping on the paving slabs. Without asking, he hooked his arm through hers and led her across the road.
Soldiers watched the crowd. Keeping close enough to their vehicle that they could flee to cover if there was any trouble. The gunner atop the vehicle held the grip of the turret-mounted large calibre machine gun. Peace was illusory. One spark could ignite a massacre.
The old man steered her to the edge of the p
ool. The water looked dirty. Some rubbish and a lot of leaves floated on the surface. A woman in a conical straw hat was handing out slips of paper and the use of a pencil. She handed Phượng a sheet. Instinctively Phượng reached for her purse. Intending to give the woman 2000dong, then realising she hadn't carried a purse or money in weeks. Money no longer had value.
'Who would you write a note for?' the old man said with an amused smile.
'My teacher. I wanted to meet him today.'
The trunks were well covered. It would be difficult to find a spot at eye level without it at least partially covering someone else's. Even if teacher came, he'd not likely see her note.
'Say a prayer for missed loved ones?' the old man nodded toward one of the makeshift altars.
She felt like pulling her arm away, but she didn't want to upset him. He thought he was helping her. She loosely followed Buddhist traditions, but it wasn’t a necessary part of life. Not like it would have been to the old guy's generation.
'I was seventeen years old when the Americans left,' he chuckled, 'their occupation was nothing like this. I thought the Americans were saviours, and the Northerners were devils.'
Phượng closed her eyes. She bit her lip. This kindly old guy would've been considered a traitor to his generation; a supporter of the puppet regime. He likely had to go to a re-education camp after the war. Maybe one day traitors working for the Chinese could also laugh about the occupation, but people like that cost lives. Perhaps the old guy did too. Did he fight his own countrymen to support the American puppet regime?
'Please... I just want to sit alone,' Phượng pulled her arm free of him.
He frowned; not upset it seemed but more out of concern. She turned away, hurrying toward one of the paths over the small lake. She had to get away from him. She tripped; grazing her palms as she broke her fall. The paper and pencil floated on murky green water. She could feel eyes watching her. She had to get away from them. She had nothing in common with these people. She was a fighter.
'Phượng!'
She screwed her eyes shut as she started to push herself up from the path. Couldn't the old guy just leave her alone?
'Phượng!'
How did he know her name? She looked around. It wasn't the old man's voice. It wasn't teachers voice. It sounded like…
'Up here!'
Tuấn waved both hands. He was up on the central platform. Was she really seeing him? How could he be here? Scurrying to her feet, she scrambled toward him. He ran down the steps, pushing past the few people trying to make their way to the top. They collided at the bottom of the stops; flinging arms around each other.
The relief of finding her friend opened a floodgate of pent up emotion. She hadn't shed a tear for her comrades; her shock and grief were beyond that, but mixed with this happy moment she couldn't restrain it, and didn't try.
After what seemed like several minutes, her sobs came under control. Rubbing her eyes with the back of a hand she pulled back from Tuấn's embrace. She took his face in her palms. His cheeks were wet. Lost in her own outpouring of confused feelings she hadn't even noticed his tears. She pressed her lips on his. Their noses squashed together. He made a small noise of surprise. She'd never kissed him before. She pulled back again to get a good look at him.
'I'm so glad I found you. I lost everyone.'
'It's okay,' Tuấn said in a hoarse voice. 'You're with me now.'
'What's going on, Tuấn? Is it the end of the world?'
Her eyes searched his for the answer. He blinked. His eyebrows twitched.
'Maybe we should get out of here.'
She looked back to where the old man was standing. He was smiling and nodding; happy for her reunion.
'Tuấn... what are you doing here?'
He took a deep breath.
'Minh died. I came to look for teacher, but... the University is… gone. Some people were heading this way. I came to burn some incense for Minh and I don't know... I just stayed awhile.'
'I'm sorry about Minh.' she knew Minh would've been part of Tuấn's cell. They were too close for Tuấn to have not included him. She decided against saying anything to him about her own losses for now.
‘I've got my bike. We've got somewhere to stay. I'll take you. It'll be okay. You're safe with me.' He kissed her forehead.
She hugged him close again. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe they could drive out of the city and keep going until they reached Mui Ne or Da Nang. They'd spend the rest of the war together- fishing at the seaside. Even as she thought it, she realised she didn't want that. Not anymore.
Tuấn
24th March, 16:30
Tuấn noticed Lâm's eyes widen on seeing Phượng on the back of the bike.
'She's a friend,' Tuấn said as he pulled up next to where Minh's bike was still parked against the wall.
Phượng was mess. Her face was dirty, eyes bloodshot, hair and clothes dishevelled. He guided her to one of the plastic seats while Lâm filled a bucket from the rusty tap.
'That water isn't coming out very clean lately,' Lâm sniffed, 'but it's cleaner than she is.' He placed the bucket by her feet and handed Tuấn one of the last clean cloths.
Phượng stared straight ahead while Tuấn dabbed the moistened rag around her face.
'You could do with a shower.'
Her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes met his for a moment before losing focus.
'I'll boil some water. It's ok to drink when boiled,' Lâm said.
They were down to the last gas bottle. With three mouths to feed the food would run out in few days. Not that the meagre rations might be considered a proper meal. Tuấn wondered if the food distribution points were still in operation. They might have to resort to using them.
'Everyone's dead,' Phượng whispered.
'What?' Tuấn lowered the cloth. He laid a hand on her knee. She stared past his shoulder at the wall.
'They killed everyone… but me.' She spoke slowly, as if unsure what the next word would be.
'I'm sorry. You’re safe now.'
She jolted as if just noticing he was there. Then her eyes unfocused again. He waved his hand in front of her face. She blinked but otherwise didn’t react. He cleaned her face, arms and hands. Her clothes were still filthy but he didn't feel comfortable about undressing her.
Once the boiled water had cooled he lifted a cup to her lips. She grasped it with both hands. Gulping the water down. It seemed to rejuvenate her a little. She gave him a weak smile. Lâm refilled her cup which she drank with equal thirst.
'She should rest,' Lâm said, 'looks like she's been rolled down a mountain.'
Tuấn glared his eyes at the mechanic. It was the sort of remark Minh would’ve made. Between them they carried her to the mattress. Tuấn removed her shoes and covered her with the thin sheet. She curled into a foetal position facing the wall. When he checked on her ten minutes later she was asleep.
***
The boys sat in the chairs, staring at the closed garage door. Grunting, Lâm popped a cigarette into his mouth.
'Second to last one. Then I'm out.'
'You should've rationed them.'
'Nah... I'll get more.'
Tuấn chuckled. 'Yeah. Let's go shopping.'
Lâm arched an eyebrow. He tapped his cigarette sending flakes of ash tumbling to the floor. 'I'm serious.'
Tuấn cocked his head.
'Next door is vacated. I'll go in. Get some supplies.' He nodded toward Phượng. 'Sleeping beauty needs new clothes. My neighbour had a daughter. Teenager. Similar size.'
Tuấn nodded. It seemed criminal to steal supplies from houses which had been evacuated. Lâm and Minh both suggested that course of action relatively early on and he'd resisted it. Their requirement had become more urgent. He doubted the neighbour would have left food. If they had it would’ve turned bad over these weeks. They’d seen a lot of evidence of looting; gates forced open, broken windows and doors. He suspected the Chinese were responsible for a
lot of it.
'Alright,' he whispered. Lâm hadn’t asked for permission, but he felt he needed to voice his assent. 'Take only what we need.'
Lâm grunted. He finished his cigarette and walked to the door.
‘Going now?’
‘Why wait for dark?’
‘Don’t get caught.’
The mechanic smirked and pulled the chain opening the door.
Tuấn turned the radio dial through static and digital noise. He easily found a Chinese language station playing a Chinese pop tune. In peacetime he might've listened to it even if he didn't understand the lyrics. Tuning the radio by fractions he heard Vietnamese voices; it wasn't the Rose of Hanoi. He quickly recognised it as a Chinese sponsored propaganda station so turned the dial further. He slowly tuned from one end of the dial to the other and most the way back again. The crackle of interference faded; the batteries were running low.
He found a box of various sized batteries on a nearby shelf. He swapped the batteries in the radio which then became unresponsive. He changed one battery at a time to try to identify those which had some juice remaining; eventually finding a combination that worked.
The workshop door rattled as it was lifted. Tuấn shielded his eyes to look at Lâm's silhouette against the sunlight. His arms were full but Tuấn couldn't immediately see what he carried.
'Don't waste batteries,' Lâm said, 'that's all there is. Most in that box are at least half used up.'
'Yeah, I noticed,' Tuấn scooped the remaining batteries back into the box. 'What have you got?'
Tuấn pulled the door down while Lâm laid out his haul on a chair; a small pile of clothing, a pair of pink and white Nike running shoes, a half dozen packets of instant noodles, a bottle of soy sauce, a half bottle of Hanoi vodka, and a half bag of rice.
'There are men’s clothes too. You could do with a change.' Lâm held his nose to emphasise his point.
'Cool. Hope it fits.'
'We can easily get in and out. They have a shower that works. Better than using my bucket and tap.'
The March of the Dragons Page 33