by David Joiner
"I am with you."
Tossing the report in Nathan's lap Anthony said: "Why do I feel like you just said that to get me off your ass?"
Hoa's mouth had been drawn down in disgust, but now she smiled scornfully. Looking from her to Anthony, Nathan almost voiced the thought that somehow he was fundamentally different from them.
"Because I did," he said. "There's nothing I can contribute to this discussion."
"You can contribute by paying attention," Hoa said, surprising Nathan and pleasing Anthony with her criticism.
"She's right. You can also contribute by not moping like a little girl."
That was where the fundamental difference lay: what had value to them was what could be converted into money. What Nathan valued they could negate without a thought. Belittled first, and then negated, just like Anthony had done with Huong, with Nathan's writing, and with Le.
"Ah, forget him," Anthony said, answering some murmur from Hoa. "He'll be with us when it counts. There's too much at stake and he knows it."
As they discussed the retreat, Nathan looked at the heavy clouds atop the forested mountains. They gave the sense of claiming ownership of them, as a head stakes its claim to a body. Further up the road, however, blue sky parted the grey.
Parked in front of a renovated French villa were two shiny BMWs. Anthony's driver pulled into the lot and around a large fountain, the centerpiece of which was a limestone slab decorated with miniature temples and water buffaloes.
"Let's get tea and small talk out of the way," Anthony said as they stepped out of the Land Rover. "Nate, all you need to do is show these guys you're fluent in Vietnamese and pay attention to how we conduct business with them. Remember, I'm putting this project in your hands, so your responsibilities start now."
A dark pudgy man, whose skin had the reddish translucence of dried squid, met them in the doorway. He led them into a room and seated them in low wooden chairs. Three men in baggy suits entered and, baring nicotine-stained teeth, extended their flaccid hands.
Hoa took care of the small talk while Anthony and Nathan observed. Whenever the men smiled or laughed, Anthony parroted them, showing he was on their side.
He leaned over to Nathan. "What are they saying?"
"They're talking about how much they look forward to working with us. The little fat guy said that even though some of them fought for the North in the war, no one harbors animosity toward Americans and he hopes we can be good friends and successful business partners."
"I've heard that speech a hundred times. Tell them what I tell everyone we work with: we're committed to making the future brighter for their province, and with their experience and kind help we'll do everything in our power to make this project a shining example of good business and local development in Vietnam."
"Why don't you have Hoa do it?"
"The point is to have a foreigner deliver the message. You're doing it for effect."
Nathan took a moment to figure out what to say and then relayed it in Vietnamese. The men stared at him. Without commenting on what he'd said, they praised him for his Vietnamese. After he answered a few questions about his background, a younger man named Phong stepped forward to usher Anthony, Hoa, and Nathan outside. Phong would take them on a tour of the property in one of the BMWs they'd seen.
Anthony patted Nathan on the back as they left. "That's exactly what I hoped would happen. You probably just paid them the greatest compliment a foreigner's ever given them. They'll talk about you until the day they die."
Following them outside, Nathan felt he lacked courage. He'd directly played into Anthony's plan. Once he realized it, he felt vaguely sick for having contributed to their relationship with these officials.
The road they took soon became a fissured, muddy track. When Phong suggested a schedule for clearing the ground and pouring foundations for the villas to be built, Anthony instructed Nathan to take notes. Nathan removed a notepad from his briefcase. Although he flipped to a blank page and set his pen against it, he did nothing more than scratch down the words "Retreat Schedule."
Outside, the area was made up mostly of rice fields and vegetable plots. Thatched homes scattered the land, and every now and then they spotted grazing cows and children leading water buffalo along the road. Long, straight dikes ran beside the fields, and rail-thin men draped in plastic sheets attacked the land with hoes.
Low mountains encircled the valley, and were close enough that individual trees on the slopes could be distinguished. Here and there the shadows of clouds turned the green mountains black.
"What will happen to the people who live and work on the land?" Nathan said.
Phong smiled casually, as if to suggest this was a needless worry. "Wherever you build, they'll have to move."
"They've been informed," Anthony said. "There's really no other option. The trails we build will be no problem — what's the harm in people walking around? But do you think they'll want military machinery tearing up their fields? Maybe some of them could stay, just for atmosphere. But the last thing we need is for some poor farmer napping in his field to get crushed by a tank."
Phong nodded his agreement. "There aren't many people here. None of the farmers you see own the land. If they're told to move they will. They have no choice. In English I think they're called squatters."
But just because they were squatting didn't mean they hadn't lived here for generations, Nathan thought. "What does ‘not many' mean? One hundred people?"
"The last we checked there were around fifty families, which means about three hundred people."
"Will they be compensated?"
"For what? None of this is theirs."
"And how much of this gets torn up?"
"What are you worried about?" Anthony said. "You think Vietnam lacks agricultural capacity? Virtually the entire country is farmland. And people from the countryside are flocking to the cities in droves. Yes, we'll build over some of the land, but we'll also create jobs and help Bac Can develop economically. It's called modernization and you can bet the vast majority in this province supports it."
Anthony's words reeked of self-justification, Nathan thought. Not all of what he said was wrong, but it was one-sided — favoring his own interests. He seemed to forget that these people were powerless to fight for what they had. There was an awful irony in an American coming in with tanks and military equipment, forcing out the Vietnamese who survived hand to mouth off the land. No one seemed to recognize the irony. Or if they did, perhaps they didn't care.
"Don't think I haven't considered the downside to this," Anthony continued. "I want to be responsible, but I'm also determined to profit from the progress this area's set to make. I call the shots, you follow my lead — which means trusting me — and everyone goes home happy." He had his eyes on Nathan and was licking his lips as if they'd started to crack and bleed. "Do you trust me?"
"It's just that all of this is new to me. Seeing a plan on paper is one thing, but seeing firsthand the consequences of it is something else."
"But do you trust me?"
"I don't know. I don't like the idea of making life more difficult for these people than it already is. And for you to say it's no problem, I have a hard time trusting that logic."
Anthony sighed disgustedly. Nathan noticed that Hoa and Phong were watching them.
"You work for me, Nate. And you still owe me. Remember that? Disagree with this project if you want, but don't be disagreeable. There's a difference. And for as long as you represent my company, I expect you to contribute to this project and our relationship with these people."
"I thought you said I did well back there."
"You did. But do you have to ask Phong so many difficult questions? If you have questions, save them for me. I'll answer them later, as many as you have."
"I do have questions."
"Fine. And don't
look so damn glum. Can't you at least pretend you're halfway interested in any of this?"
"I'm more appalled than anything else."
"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. That's what I mean by disagreeable."
A river came into view, as brown as the mud along its shore. There were houses here and paved roads in need of repair. The ride smoothed out as they left the muddy track. A black Mercedes was parked in front of a dilapidated villa smaller than they'd been in before. Two women in conical hats squatted beside the car. Sweat dripped off their chins as they scrubbed dirt off the wheels with rags.
Phong pointed at the Mercedes and said that the investors had already arrived.
Entering the villa, which smelled of cigarettes and mold, Nathan made a silent pact to his friendship with Anthony that he'd do as he was asked. If this place was on the chopping block, destined to be developed, he'd rather be in charge of it than someone who didn't care what happened or how it was carried out.
Twenty-Two
"Two more whiskies," Anthony called to the waitress, who hovered near the restaurant kitchen. "And try not to play with your phone for five minutes before bringing them. My liver's still clenched up with impatience from the last time."
Without moving, the girl yelled to the bartender.
"She's just a kid," Nathan said. "Don't get on her so much."
Anthony laughed. "Vietnam is overrun by kids. Eighty percent of the population is under twenty."
Nathan stirred the ice in his glass with a toothpick.
"Vietnam's wasting its boom years," Anthony went on. "And one day all these young people are going to grow old and need taking care of. Where's the money going to come from? And more importantly, the expertise?"
"There's nothing we can do about it. At least not this afternoon."
"I guess that's what we get for coming to a place like this."
Nathan had no qualms with the restaurant. He would have been just at home — more so, in fact — on a shaded sidewalk with watered-down beer and pressed sheets of dried fish skin. To him, the fact that they were snacking on Jamon Iberico and Manchego cheese, and drinking from a $50 bottle of whiskey, made the place seem upscale. The service was neither better nor worse than anywhere else.
"I know I said it already," Anthony continued, "but I appreciated your about-face this morning. For a while you seemed bent on sabotaging our deal."
"I wasn't going to sabotage anything. I just had . . . doubts."
With his thumb and index finger Anthony wiped the rim of his glass. "Are you doubting anything now?"
Nathan considered the question. "Just myself," he said, struggling not to say ‘and you'. His fifth whiskey seemed to have dulled the censor in him.
Beyond the window where they sat, in the day's fading light, two women began wrapping decorative lights around a tree. An electrical outlet had been drilled into its base and, when they plugged the string of lights into it, the lower half of the tree flashed blue. The lights glittered in the darkening air — the kind of deep, bright blue that had awed him as a child.
He was happy the trip to Bac Can was over and he and Anthony had decided to celebrate together. The trip had ended on a high note, with their Vietnamese counterparts agreeing to the terms Anthony proposed. On the ride home after lunch, Anthony promised to work with Nathan to minimize the impact of the retreat they developed. Given how the trip had ended, Nathan no longer felt the need to rush home to check for a reply from Reuters.
The waitress brought over two whiskeys, leaving their old glasses but removing their unused napkins. Anthony once-overed her body with his eyes.
"We've had disagreements from time to time," he said after she'd gone, "but I still trust you more than anyone else. Even now, after all the changes we've been through, we're not as different as you probably think. In many respects we're just alike."
Nathan didn't feel this, but he cozied up to Anthony's words nonetheless. The warmth of alcohol in his body made this easier.
"Do you agree with me? That we've never been that different?"
"Sure," Nathan said. It was what Anthony needed to hear, and he was willing to play this game, whatever its rules and desired result, for both their sakes. "I wonder if we'd be friends like this in America."
Anthony paused before sipping his whiskey. "It always pisses me off when you say that."
"Why?"
"Because it suggests our friendship's only based on convenience, on circumstance."
"But that's partly true."
Anthony scoffed. "So for you, it's just a marriage of convenience . . ."
The word "marriage" struck Nathan as such an odd way to describe their friendship that he couldn't guess what Anthony meant by it.
"It might have been true at first," Anthony continued, "but we've known each other for seven years now. If anything were to happen to me, I'd want you to be there for Huong and my kids. You're my best friend."
"Thanks." Although he felt Anthony expected him to say more, he couldn't find the words.
Anthony was quiet for a moment. "What I just said — does it mean anything to you?"
"Of course."
Anthony grew somber. "I talk too much. I tell you things I shouldn't."
"If it makes you feel better, I don't listen to you anyway."
Anthony overturned his glass with a bang. Dregs of liquid pooled on the table. He dipped a finger into the alcohol and drew a spiral whose lines bled together. "What about you? How about telling me something I don't already know?"
The alcohol had warmed Nathan considerably. He hadn't been drunk for many months, and it had been even longer since drunkenness felt good to him. Now, however, he imagined spending all afternoon and evening drinking with Anthony. He took a deep breath and leaned back. The warmth of the dimly lit room was like the pleasantness of a summer evening. Or a memory of many evenings in Saigon long ago. Feeling the revival of an old kinship with Anthony, he embraced it.
"I'm seeing someone again," Nathan said.
"What's that?"
"I said I'm seeing someone."
"And when did that happen?"
"A long time ago. Long enough for it to be meaningful by now."
Anthony chuckled.
"Do you want to meet her?"
"Right now?"
Nathan shrugged. "Why the hell not."
"Who is she, anyway?"
Nathan felt Anthony's hard stare rake his face, and it made his voice catch. "Remember the girl I was seeing in Saigon?"
A sour look passed over Anthony. "Like a bad dream. I hope you're not seeing her again."
Nathan winced at Anthony's words, and blamed himself for telling Anthony the bad about Le to the exclusion of the good. "She's in Hanoi now, and we're giving things another shot." He took a sip of whiskey, waiting for Anthony to say something.
"Are you really that much of a masochist?"
"Things are different now," Nathan said. The sound of Anthony moving his chair around to face him grated on his nerves.
"No, they're not. Don't succumb to the illusion that anything changes here. Jesus, Nathan, what are you doing?"
"I'm happy with her," he said. And then, with drunken petulance: "Let me live however I want."
"But Nathan, I can find something better for you. Just give me a little time."
"You mean like Hoa? No, thanks."
"No, not Hoa. Something bigger. Something better."
Nathan shook his head. "I'm happy with what I've got now."
Just as he was about to retract his offer to introduce Anthony to Le, Anthony changed his tune. "I hope you know what you're doing. As your friend, I'm just trying to look out for you."
"Yeah, thanks."
It was nearly five o'clock. Although Nathan was unsure what Le would be doing now, at this time of day she rarely pai
nted. The better idea was to have Anthony drop him off at her home. He'd drunk enough whiskey, and their long day together had exhausted him. If Anthony drove him there, he could introduce him to her quickly and then say goodbye. He would have to do it eventually, yet he remained wary of what might emerge from the encounter. Anthony was unpredictable.
Anthony excused himself to the bathroom and staggered away.
Left alone, Nathan pressed his hand against the window. The cold glass foretold the difference in temperature that awaited them outside, and it made him think of Le's home, with its drafty windows and doors. Autumn was getting progressively cooler. The thought made him long to be in her home, where they could shut the cold securely outside of their lives.
Looking across the room to where Anthony had disappeared, he wondered what he was getting into. He worried that something about Anthony's presence, which was yoked in Nathan's mind to his authority, would seep out invisibly and poison their private world. Anthony's shadow loomed, filling the air around him, and seemed hungry always to destroy what was most precious in Nathan's life.
He called Le to see if she was home. She didn't pick up right away, but rather than hang up he continued to let it ring. Finally she answered.
"Sorry," she told him. "I left my phone in my studio and didn't hear it ring at first. I was painting when my cousins arrived."
The mention of family had a sobering effect on him. "Your cousins?"
"They're in town so my auntie can see a doctor. They say they'll be here for a few days. Where are you?"
Nathan failed to keep his disappointment out of his voice. "I'm at a restaurant with Anthony. I want to come by and introduce you to him."
"Now's not a good time."
Women's voices drifted to his ear in the background. An accent inflected them, and it was difficult, given the low volume at which they spoke, to understand what they were saying.
"But I want to meet your family, however distant they are to you."
"Have you been drinking?"
The question surprised him. "We've been celebrating a bit, yes."