Message from Nam (45 page)

“How soon do I start?” she asked with a look of excitement.

“Tomorrow,” the editor in chief answered with a smile of satisfaction. They had been worried that she wouldn’t want the job. A lot of people were sick to death of the subject. “Seriously, why don’t you tackle the Calley piece next week? We’ll go through the appropriate channels to get you in. And you can fly to Paris as soon as you finish. How does that sound?”

“Terrific.” If you could call interviewing a man accused of war atrocities “terrific.” But she was pleased to have a little time. There was something she wanted to do in New York before she interviewed Lieutenant Calley.

She wandered around New York for a day, feeling the way she had when she first discovered Saigon, investigating new places and smells, watching the people and the action and the traffic. She bought herself a few things to wear, which were much needed by then, particularly if she was going to become an “authority” on Viet Nam for
The New York Times.
And then finally, she went back to her hotel and called him. She sat on the bed and closed her eyes, and then she held her breath, and said a little prayer to Tony, hoping he wouldn’t mind. But she didn’t think he would, and somehow she knew she had to do it. She called information for Queens, and spelled the name three times, and finally in Great Neck, Long Island, they found him. Thomas Campobello. She prayed it was the right one. But it had to be. There couldn’t be too many Thomas Campobellos.

She dialed the phone, and it rang, and for a minute she thought no one would answer, and finally a voice did. It was a woman.

“Mrs. Campobello, please.” It was strange now to think that had circumstances been different, this might have been her own name, but she couldn’t allow herself to think of that now.

“This is her.” A very New York voice answered, but she sounded young, and reasonably pleasant. And unless it was Tony’s mother, Paxton knew it had to be Barbara.

“Mrs. Campobello? Barbara Campobello?”

“Yes.” She started to sound nervous. “Who is this?” Maybe it was one of those fake surveys where they start talking dirty.

“I … I know this is kind of a strange call, but I …” Oh, please don’t hang up, oh, please … “I knew your ex-husband in Viet Nam.” There was an endless pause, and both women sat at their respective ends, shaking. “I … we were very good friends, and … if anything happened to him, he wanted me to call you and Joey.” It was a lie, but not completely. Once, very late at night, in bed, he had asked her to look his boy up, if anything ever happened. He just hadn’t mentioned the boy’s mother. But Paxton thought she had a better chance if she included the double Mrs. Campobello. “I don’t mean to intrude at a time like this, but I happened to be in New York and …”

“How did you know him?” She was almost whispering at her end, as though his name were forbidden.

“We were …” She didn’t know what to say. “… close friends … and … he loved Joey very much, I’m sure you know that.”

“He hadn’t seen him in five years,” she said bitterly, but Paxton knew more than she expected.

“He hadn’t been back to the States, Mrs. Campobello. After what happened … I think he felt he couldn’t …” A little guilt wouldn’t kill her now. It had been almost six years and she had three other kids by Tony’s brother. How guilty could she feel, and what difference did it make if it helped Paxton reach out to Joey? “He thought Joey was happy with you and your husband.”

“He is,” she said defensively, and Paxton could sense that she was losing.

“Does he know what happened to his father in Viet Nam?”

“Only that he’s missing in action. He used to write to Joey from time to time, we never kept it a secret from him. I gave him the letters every time,” she said, as though trying to clear herself. “I think he was upset when we told him his father died. Any kid would be. But he’s kind of a quiet kid, he don’t say much.” Who would if your mother married your uncle and you never saw your father again? Paxton thought. But she found it interesting that Mrs. Campobello regarded Tony’s MIA status as a definite declaration that he had died in Viet Nam.

“Could I talk to him?” There was nothing else to say. “Would you mind that?”

“What do you want to say to him?”

“That his Daddy loved him. That I’m sorry. What he was like at the end. He was one of the bravest men in Viet Nam. He was with a unit unofficially called the tunnel rats, they used to go down in these incredible tunnels the VCs build to circumvent our troops and the South Vietnamese Army. He might find that fascinating and something to be proud of,” Paxton said calmly.

“Yeah,” Barbara Campobello said. “He might.” And then, “I have to ask my husband. What’s your name again?”

“Paxton Andrews.”

“And you knew him in Viet Nam? Are you a nurse or something?”

“No. I was a correspondent, for a paper in San Francisco. Now I work for
The New York Times
, and I’m leaving for Washington, Georgia and Paris in a few days.” She threw it all in to impress her, and she had. Hell, maybe they’d write a story about Tony and his ex-wife and his kid … Paxton hadn’t missed her mark, she only wondered what the hell Tony had ever done with a bimbo like that, except that he’d been thirteen years old when they fell in love, and eighteen when they married, which made it a little better. “Should I call you back?” Paxton pressed her.

“We’ll call you. What’s your number?”

“I’m at the Hotel Algonquin in Manhattan.”

“I’ll call you tonight.”

“Thank you,” and then, more gently, “I promise I’ll try not to upset him … I just want to see him … for Tony’s sake, because I promised.” It was true in a way, but she also wanted to see him for herself, because he was a part of Tony. And the boy’s mother heard something in her voice and she hesitated for a long moment.

“Were you in love with him?”

Paxton’s pause was even longer. “Yes, I was.” She was proud of it, but she didn’t think it was any of this woman’s business. But oddly enough it formed a bond between them.

“So was I, a long time ago. He was a good man … and a good father. We had a little girl … she died … maybe Tony told you about it …”

“Yes, he did,” Paxton said softly.

“I think that’s what finished our marriage. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, what happened to her, I mean, it was just that every time I looked at him, I thought of it, he was so broken up, I couldn’t get away from it. And Tommy … well, he made me feel better.” Yeah, I’ll bet, Paxton thought to herself, but she also suspected that there was some truth to what she was saying. Tony himself had admitted that he was so devoured with grief, and then so obsessed with Joey when he was born, it kind of did something to their marriage. So she wasn’t totally wrong. But she had been tasteless in her choice of second husbands. And her lack of tact had driven Tony to Viet Nam, and deprived Joey of his father. But who was she to judge? If Barbara Campobello hadn’t married her brother-in-law, Paxton would never have met Tony in Saigon.

“I’m sorry,” Paxton said again.

“Yeah … I’ll call you.” And then she was gone, and Paxton spent the rest of the afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum. It was a far cry from Saigon. And when she got back to the hotel there was a message from Joey’s mother. Paxton called her right back and to her amusement, she told her to come the next morning. It was Saturday and Joey would be out of school. Tony’s mother would even be there, and she wanted to meet Paxton. She didn’t tell her that her husband was furious over it, but she had told him they owed it to Tony, and Joey, and that was that, and she was an important correspondent from
The New York Times
, and maybe she’d make a real big stink if they didn’t let her see the boy, seeing as it was Tony’s last request, that she see Joey. He had agreed, but he was mad as hell. But Barbara didn’t care now. She wanted to do it. She gave Paxton the directions on how to come. And the next morning, Paxton rented a car at the hotel, and drove to Great Neck.

And when she got there, they were all waiting for her. Even Mrs. Campobello, Sr., in a black dress, and three little girls in fancy little pink dresses. They looked like bonbons on a cake, and Paxton almost laughed as she looked at them. They were cute, but they were so foreign to her, she didn’t know what to say. It was all a little overwhelming.

Barbara and her mother-in-law and the girls were outside when Paxton came, and in the distance she could see a tall, powerful-looking man, but he didn’t approach, and she couldn’t see from that distance if he looked anything like Tony. And in any case, he didn’t seem anxious to meet her. And then Barbara introduced her to her mother-in-law. And when Paxton looked at her, all she could see was Tony. She started to cry almost as soon as Paxton touched her hand, and she had a heavy Italian accent.

“You knew my boy in Viet Nam?” Her voice quavered as she asked, not so much from age, as from emotion.

“Yes, I did.” Paxton was fighting back tears, too, as Barbara stepped away with her daughters. “He was a fine man. You can be very proud of him,” she said as her voice broke. “He was famous in all of Viet Nam for his courage.” The truth was a little stretched there, but not much, and she knew that it would mean a lot to Tony’s mother. And then tears stung her eyes and she reached out and took the old lady into her arms.

“It’s my fault he wennaway … I shouldda stopped what happened, but I didn’t.”

“You couldn’t have,” Paxton comforted her, knowing what she meant. They all had so much guilt, all of them. She had told herself for years that it was her fault that Peter had died, and Bill … and now Tony? Had she killed them all? Had they? Or had Charlie? “He didn’t resent anyone,” Paxton reassured her. “He was happy.” Mrs. Campobello blew her nose and nodded, and then looked up at Paxton with interest.

“You was his girlfriend?”

Paxton smiled at the term and nodded. “He was a wonderful man, and I loved him very much.” And then she wondered why she kept talking in the past tense. Except that for their own sanity, they all kept pretending that they knew he was dead, but they didn’t.

“You’re a pretty girl,” his mother said. “What were you doing over there?” She was torn between curiosity and disapproval.

“I write for a newspaper. That’s how I met him.” And then she smiled. “We used to fight a lot in the beginning.” His mother laughed through her tears at that.

“He used to fight with me too. When he was a kid, he drove me crazy.” He wasn’t like Tommy, she started to say, and then thought better of it. God had already punished her for that, because Tommy was still there and Tony wasn’t.

And then Barbara Campobello came back, and she looked pointedly at Paxton. “Joe’s inside if you want to talk to him there.”

“That would be nice,” Paxton said, and Barbara led her to the front door as Paxton followed. Barbara had obviously had a good figure once, and she had an attractive face, but she seemed hardened, and tough, and somehow disappointed. Paxton followed her inside, and there he was, sitting on the couch, wearing jeans and a clean shirt and a baseball cap, and he looked up at her with exactly the same expression she had come to love so much in his father. “Hi,” she said quietly, and much to her surprise, Barbara discreetly disappeared back outside to the others. “My name is Paxton.” He looked up at her, and then she sat down slowly in a chair near him. “I knew your Dad in Viet Nam. And he asked me to visit you if I ever came this way. And I happened to be in town, so I thought I’d come by and see you.”

He nodded, interested in her, and looking so much like his father that he scared her. “Are you writing a story about my Dad? That’s what my Mom said,” but Paxton was quick to shake her head.

“No, Joey.” She wanted to be honest with him, as honest as she had been with Tony. “I’m here because I loved him. And he loved you very much … in fact,” she smiled through her tears, “I still love him. I just came back from Viet Nam a couple of weeks ago, and I wanted to come see you.”

“What happened?” Joey looked at her almost accusingly. “How did he die?”

“They don’t even know for sure that he did die. They just know he’s missing in action. That means there was a battle and he got lost, and he never came back. He could be alive, he could be dead, he could be wounded out there somewhere, he could even be a prisoner of the Viet Cong, but no one knows.”

“Wow!” He looked excited as he sat up on the couch. “No one told me that!” He was eight years old and she thought he had a right to know, and that was why she had told him.

“No one knows anything. They think he might be dead. And there’s a good chance that he could be. But the truth is they’re not sure yet.”

And then he looked her square in the eye and asked her the hardest question of all. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” she repeated back to him, wondering if she should tell him. And then she decided to anyway. “I can’t tell you why, and I could be wrong, but I think he’s still alive. I just feel it in my heart … maybe I just loved him so much that I don’t want him to die. Maybe that’s why I feel like that. But that’s how I feel.” He nodded, absorbing what she’d said, and moving a little bit closer.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” She could have kicked herself for not bringing them. She hadn’t even thought of it.

“I do, back at the hotel. I’ll send you copies of them when I get to Paris.” He nodded again, satisfied with that.

“Are you going back to Viet Nam again?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It must have been pretty scary, huh?” He moved closer again, fascinated by her, by how pretty she was, and the fact that she knew his father. There was no one else he could talk to about him. His Mom always acted like talking about him was a crime, and whenever he mentioned him, his grandmother cried, and his Dad yelled at him. But Paxton was a direct emissary from his father, and Joey could say anything he wanted.

“It was pretty scary.” Paxton smiled at him. “But not all the time. We had some good times too. And he talked about you a lot,” she told him, and watched his face light up, and she wanted to reach out and touch him.

“He did?”

“Yeah. All the time. He used to show me your photograph. He wanted to come home and see you.” But he never got the chance. Gone at thirty-one, there was a lot he wasn’t going to do now.