Nam Sense (16 page)

Not knowing what to do first, we did some limited soul searching and quickly agreed that our first priority was to locate female companionship. Instead of wasting time searching the bars, we opted for a house of ill-repute. The problem was we didn’t know what we were looking for. We realized we were not likely to find a flashing sign offering sex, so we walked a couple of blocks taking in the sights when a gaudily dressed Vietnamese man beckoned us from the doorway of a three-story concrete house.

“Hey GIs!” he yelled, waving to us. “You want numba one boom-boom? We got it here! Nice girls, no waiting!”

“Let’s check it out,” whispered Mort, poking me as he grinned. “I’m in the mood for love, aren’t you?”

We entered a parlor area that looked like it was furnished with items bought at a rummage sale. “Please sit down,” the man smiled. “I am Phuc, your host. Please wait here.” Phuc quickly returned with two girls for our inspection. “You like?” he asked enthusiastically. “Only twenty-five dolla for girl and a room.”

“Twenty-five dollars!” I howled. “Are you crazy?”

“Me not crazy. Twenty-five dolla for all night long. You can make love all the time. These girls are very horny.”

We both snickered at his bizarre salesmanship because the girls were not very attractive. However, Mort must have thought anyone else he brought out would not be any better, so he grabbed what he thought was the best looking of the pair. The other flirted with me, but she was just too homely to spend that kind of money and time on. I politely requested another selection.

Phuc hustled her away and quickly returned with a surprisingly attractive girl with soft features and short jet-black hair. I wondered why she wasn’t brought out earlier. Perhaps the plain ones were offered first in hopes that someone like Mort came along.

I accepted the second girl and paid the fee. She quietly led me to a modestly furnished room on the second floor. The room was unexpectedly homey and neatly arranged. It reminded me of an efficiency apartment without a kitchen area. “Do you want to make love now?” she asked in a businesslike manner.

“In a few minutes,” I said, taken back by her boldness. “Since we’ll be together all night, we should at least get to know each other. What’s your name?”

She walked to the window and slowly pulled down the shade. “My name is Tina.”

“My name is Artie…Artie Wiknik.”

“You are Sergeant Wiknik,” she announced, pointing at my stripes. “Now we make love, then rest.”

I agreed but we sure did not make love. Tina was less than enthusiastic and seemed determined that I was not going to enjoy it either. After we finished, she rolled over and ordered me to sleep. Her repulsive attitude made me wonder why I had so readily committed to the arrangement. I supposed that the more I was exposed to war, the more trivial moral and social values seemed. Besides, after the anguish my girlfriend put me through with her drug letter, I felt I deserved a weekend of shameless behavior. I put it out of my mind as I drifted off to sleep thinking how comforting it was to lie in a warm bed next to a woman rather than on the cold ground next to a GI.

Sometime during the night we were awakened by a loud commotion at the front door which quickly spread into the parlor area. The military police were searching for GIs who missed the 10:00 p.m. curfew. I was among them. Tina leaped from the bed and helped me gather my belongings so she could hide me on the roof. However, her concern was not for me. If the house got caught with GIs sleeping overnight, it would probably get shut down. I crawled through a hatchway and onto the roof where I met up with Mort, who was already hiding there. We both had a good laugh over the situation. The search netted one unlucky GI. Mort and I figured we were already in trouble for missing the head count, so we stayed for the rest of the night.

In the morning, Mort and I returned to the R & R center to face our punishment. We overheard other GIs talking about the military police waking them up, so we knew we were not the only ones. To our surprise, nothing was said about anyone missing the curfew. We supposed that the late night rousting was a formality to keep the Vietnamese in line. We quickly ate breakfast and then went back to the girls. The first thing I wanted to do was have sex, but Tina did not share my eagerness. She complained that I didn’t care about her feelings and never asked what she wanted to do. Since I was paying her to be with me, I didn’t think it mattered. However, to keep Tina happy, I agreed to take her out to see the sights. That was a big mistake. Before I realized it, I was buying her all sorts of food and trinkets. I felt like a sucker.

As we walked along, a young boy driving a horse and carriage pulled up. He offered to drive us through the city for two dollars. I didn’t want to go because my money was running low. Tina suggested that after the carriage ride, we would go back to the room and make love. We went for the ride. As we rode along Tina held her head high, as if the carriage ride symbolized a form of dignity. Yet, at the same time she looked sad.

“What was Vietnam like before the war?” I asked, trying to make small talk.

“I don’t know,” she answered, somewhat bewildered by the question. “As long as I can remember, Vietnam has always been at war.”

“What about your family, do they live around here?”

“I have not seen my family for a very long time. The work I do is not honorable, so I must stay away from them.”

I almost felt sorry for her, which is probably what she wanted. But as a paying customer, slowly getting bled dry, I was not overly interested in her tough life.

When the carriage ride ended, our adolescent driver demanded four dollars, claiming that his fee was two dollars per rider. I refused to pay any extra and an argument broke out. When the kid threatened me with his horsewhip, Tina called a nearby White Mouse to settle the dispute. That only made things worse. The three of them yelled at each other in their native Vietnamese, then the cop and the kid both started yelling at me. As a crowd of civilians began gathering around us. I could not figure out what was going on because they began yelling, too. Finally, I paid the four dollars just to shut everyone up. I figured the little thief planned to embarrass me into paying the extra all along. It worked.

Tina and I returned to the room for our last intimate encounter. After we had sex I told her that I did not have enough money to pay for another night. That was not what she wanted to hear. As soon as we cleaned up, Tina cast me aside like I never existed. It was just as well. After staying with her I found myself questioning the character of some of the Vietnamese people I had met. Of course, GIs like me were not much better since our selfish behavior contributed to their lifestyle.

On my way back to the R & R center a religious library caught my eye. Inside was a reference room where a dozen GIs sat talking, reading, and writing letters. They looked like holy rollers on vacation. An elderly American couple trying to provide an alternative to the shameless behavior around them ran the library. The wife approached to tell me about the fleshy evils so prevalent in Vung Tau.

“Fornication is everywhere,” she inflected, “but God will give you the strength to resist if you put your faith in Him.”

“Thanks,” I said coolly, “but I just stepped in to look around.”

“Then look at the soldiers,” she whispered, pointing around the room. “They came here to wash the sinful dirt from their souls. Will you also accept the Lord’s cleansing power?”

“I suppose I should,” I said, somewhat embarrassed. “I haven’t exactly been a model citizen since I came to Vung Tau.”

“That’s more like it, admission is half the battle.”

She comforted me with a gentle hand while guiding me across the room to an altar. As we passed the reading GIs, they smiled and nodded as if something wonderful was about to happen. I felt silly but smiled back anyway.

“The first thing you need to do,” she said authoritatively, “is relinquish the instrument that allows this wickedness to occur.”

“I have to give up something? What?”

“Don’t you know?” she smiled, while pointing to an empty collection plate. “You brought money to Vung Tau to spend on harlots and alcohol. That money is better spent to help spread the Word.”

She probably was right, but the scenario was unfolding too fast and I felt uncomfortable.

“I don’t mind giving you a donation, but I’m not giving all my cash.”

“It must be all or nothing, otherwise you’ll continue to sin.”

She was right again. I guess the love of money is the root of all evil. The old couple supported a good cause, but my lust for fun was stronger than my morality.

“Some other time,” I said, turning my back on her message. I left the library more confused about my conduct than before. I wandered the streets for several hours trying to sort things out. I finally gave up and returned to the R & R center to find Mort asleep on his bunk.

“Hey Mort,” I called, shaking him awake. “What happened to your girl?”

“I didn’t have enough money for another night,” he groggily answered. “What about you?”

“Same with me. I blew most of it trying to keep her happy but it turned out she was using me more than I was using her.”

“Well let’s not hang around here,” Mort declared. “Why don’t we pool our cash and go bar hopping?”

“Sounds good. We’re leaving tomorrow anyway and I’m not going to need money out in the boonies.”

We visited several barrooms, staying long enough at each to drink one beer apiece. We tried the famous Vietnamese Ba Muoi Ba beer, but finding it too tart we stuck with American brands. We also chose canned beer because there were rumors that unscrupulous bar owners opened bottled beer and diluted it with water. The tampered bottles were then served to drunk GIs who rarely knew the difference.

Young attractive bar girls were fixtures at every barroom and as soon as we walked in a pair would rush over to coax us into buying them drinks. We only bought for ourselves, so they called us “Cheap Charlies.” Since we planned to spend our money on ourselves, we didn’t care what they said. Besides, by not buying them drinks we had just as much fun watching them hustle other GIs, and they were very successful. Each time a girl made a sale, the bartender slipped her a poker chip to be traded in for wages at the end of the shift.

We witnessed the same routine over and over until we entered a bar called the Angel Saloon. There, the girls didn’t pester us as soon as we walked through the door. Instead, they gave us time to sit down and order a drink before approaching. After the beer was served, a beautiful Eurasian girl strolled over to our table and asked to join us. Her French-Vietnamese lineage made for the most enchanting female I had seen in months. I felt aroused just being in her presence, although all the beer I had been drinking helped to make her even more attractive. I motioned her to sit down and she gracefully positioned herself close to me. When she reached over and put her hand on my thigh, I flinched in delight.

“My name is Kim,” she purred. “Will you buy me a Saigon Tea?”

“Sure,” I drooled. “What’s Saigon Tea?”

“Numba one bar drink that makes me crazy.”

How could I refuse? I nodded to the bartender and he brought the tiny dark drink to our table. I gave him a dollar and he gave Kim a poker chip. She slowly took a sip as she caressed my leg. I was so excited that I thought I might wet myself. Mort knew I was captivated by Kim so he wandered off to the jukebox to give us some privacy.

Kim and I chatted as she continued rubbing my leg. After a few minutes, the bartender brought her another Saigon Tea. I didn’t remember ordering the drink but thought nothing of it as I handed him another dollar. Ten minutes later, he was back with a third Saigon Tea. That’s when I realized they were taking advantage of me.

“Who ordered that drink?!” I demanded of the bartender.

“Her glass was empty,” he replied, casually shrugging his shoulders.

“What’s the matter with you people? Is money so important that you can’t even wait for an order?”

“No sweat, GI,” he said, raising his hands upward. “I’ll take it back.”

“My name is not GI!” I shouted while rising. “I’m just sick and tired of people trying to cheat me.” Kim tugged on my arm to sit me back down.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said softly.

“Me too,” I answered. Looking around the room, I realizing everyone was staring at us. Even Mort looked at me like I was nuts. I had embarrassed both of us, so we knew it was time to leave. I didn’t want to just walk away from Kim, though she was probably in on the drink scam.

“Can we meet after you get off?”

“Why?” she smiled warmly. “Do you want to make love to me?”

“Well…yes,” I answered, surprised by her directness. “But we don’t have to if you’re not that kind of girl.”

“Girls always need money to buy nice things. Meet me across the street at nine o’clock. I want ten dolla for short-time.”

“How much for long time?” I asked, knowing I didn’t even have enough for short-time.

“I’m only a short-time girl. If we do boom-boom all night, I’ll get sore.”

I agreed to her terms, though ten dollars was double the average price for a short-time prostitute. I had only four dollars, but I figured Mort would lend me the rest.

“Don’t look at me,” Mort shrugged as we left. “If my money is going to get someone laid, it’s going to be me.”

“I don’t blame you,” I lamented, “but Kim is the closest thing to a round-eye I’ll ever see here. I’ve got to get the extra money somehow.”

“Why don’t you bum it off the guys at the R & R center?” he joked. “Just tell them the truth; you need it for sex.”

As crazy as Mort’s idea sounded, mooching was my only hope. I hit the streets and began pestering GIs. Mort wanted no part of my panhandling, so he watched from a distance. I told each GI the same story about a terrible financial bind I was in and that if I didn’t get some cash real soon, someone was going to beat the shit out of me. Surprisingly, I collected three dollars, though I lost my dignity in the process. Several GIs simply told me to get lost, while others called me a deadbeat. I was still three dollars short when Mort, who was tired of watching, finally offered to make up the difference.