The Shadow of Arms (18 page)

The Turkish baths and most of the hotels in Da Nang offered opium dens, and the same was true of many of the military barracks. Any Vietnamese could buy opium in the back alleys of the old market in amounts ranging from a matchbox full to a slab as big as a candy bar. The price of heroin, according to the GIs, was one-tenth of the stateside price. Not long before, an officer had discovered a GI blown away from smoking heroine in the barracks. His report was turned over to PX security, who tracked the scent back to Chin Pei's house, where MPs searched Mimi's room. In her closet they found opium and a pipe.

The security officers treated the case with some caution, for Mimi, after all, was a temporary civil servant of the American government. Had she been Vietnamese they would have turned her over to the national police and she would have forfeited all pending salary and severance pay. But Mimi, being an alien as well as a beauty, got off with just being fired and having the Korean embassy notified that she had lost her job and thus her right to remain in Vietnam. The embassy had ordered her immediate departure, but she had stayed past the deadline and was now subject to deportation.

The incident had occurred during a time when Pham Quyen was paying occasional visits to Chin Pei's house, and Hae Jong decided, instead of giving up this stepping stone, to use him to help her get back on her feet. Major Pham Quyen was one year older than she, and not selfish or immature like most Americans. Most of all, she came to realize that he, like herself, had reached a point where he was a man without a nationality. Yes, the two of them were like lost children, launched from either end of the Asian continent and now bobbing aimlessly like untethered buoys.

Hae Jong sliced off little pieces of the ham and egg with the edge of her fork. The bitter taste of the unsweetened iced tea slowly sharpened her dull senses. She opened the shutters wide. The light pouring out of the Hotel Thanh Thanh made the leaves of the trees lining the street seem green and fresh. As always, gunfire could be heard now and then in the distance. But to her it sounded like sound effects on the radio. She settled deep into one of the chairs and gazed out the window at the trees. The cool wind off the bay was pushing the shutters, making them creak. An approaching vehicle could be heard, then came a loud screech as it braked suddenly, followed by a motor revving and the sound of it hurriedly pulling away.

Without getting up to look outside, she knew it had to be him. She sat facing the front door, holding her head high, picturing his footsteps—those dusty jungle boots treading over the carpet, then up the stairs, first floor, second, third, then down in the hall in a single breath and finally he was there knocking on the door. Without getting up she said to come in. Pham Quyen, taking off his hat, came up to Hae Jong and kissed her lightly on the lips. His mouth smelled of cigars and alcohol. She grabbed a handful of his hair in her hand and, as with a child, playfully tugged it.

“Whose side are you on, huh? Tell me. The general's?”

Pham Quyen worked his hair loose and then grasped her hand and rubbed it against the coarse stubble on his unshaved chin.

“I'm on my side. Nobody else's.”

“Just like me.”

She gently fondled the major's chin and cheeks with the hand he was holding in his own.

“But . . . I'd like to be on your side. We're the only ones with no allies.”

Pham Quyen buried his face in Hae Jong's full breasts.

“Were you busy?”

“Very. We've been out to An Diem.”

“Where's that?”

“Ah, that's a phoenix hamlet, a new life village.”

“Why don't we go live there, too?”

In a voice mimicking that of Butler, Pham Quyen said, “When the new generation is born, we'll go live there. For that will be a village of eternal peace. Well, what have you been up to for the past two days?”

She gently nudged him away and straightened her posture.

“I slept.”

“I think you've been tripping too often. What about the rent?”

“I already paid it.”

Hae Jong went into the bedroom and returned with a piece of paper from the dresser drawer.

“Look, these are the figures from the past five days.”

The previous week Pham Quyen had gone with Hae Jong in the general's sedan to the navy supply warehouse at the end of Bai Bang Cape. He had gone to negotiate on the rations for the night sentries guarding the outskirts of Da Nang. Actually, that matter fell under the jurisdiction not of the provincial government but of the QC headquarters; a bureaucratic discrepancy of that kind, however, was considered trivial. Pham Quyen had handed over an official document and received in return a requisition issued by MAC 36.

The next day Hae Jong took a three-quarter-ton truck Pham Quyen had arranged for to the navy cargo dock at the North Cape and loaded the goods. She then brought them herself from the base into town. In the backyard of Chin Pei's house, concealed under coconut fronds, they had stashed four pallets holding 240 cartons of C-rations. A few days later he had sent another truck to her and during the afternoon siesta she and Chin Pei's father had loaded a batch and delivered them across the river to the campside market near the navy hospital.

“So, the total is fourteen hundred forty dollars?”

“No, fourteen hundred even. I gave the driver and Chin Pei's father twenty dollars each. And then I paid thirty thousand piasters for rent, so that leaves eleven hundred dollars.”

“It brought us one month's living expense, then.”

“I don't have much time,” Hae Jong said in a cold tone. “I know those people very well. I'll teach you. What will you do for me in return?”

“I'll give you love.”

“Then, will you come with me?”

“Mimi, you can always live with me in Da Nang.”

“No, I can't. We're just two people who somehow ended up sharing a room. If you come with me to Bangkok or Hong Kong or some other third country, we could be man and wife.”

Pham Quyen said nothing for a time, exhaled smoke, then spoke in a slow and deliberate voice. “There's Singapore. I really like port cities. You can put up a hammock near a window that lets a sea breeze in and read a good mystery novel. Like the rich and famous on the French Riviera.”

“Quyen, don't be so naive. I know you like I know myself. We'll probably be betrayed. I can only wait for three more months. After that, I'm leaving.”

“Without my permission you can't go anywhere. Not even to Saigon, let alone out of the country. Your passport is invalid.”

Hae Jong began to laugh, swinging her legs.

“See here, Major Pham. I know a little about men. If I went right now to the US Army Officers' Club, I'm sure I could become quite intimate with a high-ranking officer. And, you know, they could have your general transferred in a snap. If I wanted to, I could even get married and become a US citizen. But I just don't want those Americans looking down on me.”

Pham Quyen listened in silence to Hae Jong's heartless voice. He put out his cigarette.

“I'll keep my promise. I can make you a Thai woman tomorrow and send you to Bangkok. Just stop talking about three months, four months, please. I'll make sure your passport is ready by next week.”

They sat staring into space, shadows darkening both of their faces. Hae Jong undid one button on his uniform, then said, “Why don't you have a bath?”

“Right, I really should. I've been running around in the dust all day.”

Pham Quyen took off his army boots and peeled off his clothes, and soon came the sound of the shower running. Hae Jong also undressed and then put on a robe. Sitting at the head of the bed, she smoked a cigarette.

Pham half-shouted from the bathroom, as if the thought had just struck him, “I've been too busy lately with the resettlement program. From now on, I'll take care of everything for you.”

“It's all right. I'm bored with not enough to do anyway.”

“You're a woman and a beauty at that. Too conspicuous.”

Hae Jong let out a soft laugh. “What have I got to be afraid of? Nothing.” With those words she banged loudly on the bathroom door, adding, “I've got you, don't I? So make me your Vietnamese wife, or give me some nationality.”

“All right.”

She turned the radio on. A wailing lead guitar was playing soul music. From the kitchen cabinet she got an aluminum plate and an alcohol lamp, then she removed two pipes and a small lump of opium from a drawer in the bedroom closet. The Vietnamese pipes had trumpet-like fluted bowls, long bamboo bodies, and mouthpieces fashioned from pieces of juniper. To prepare enough for two smokers, she tore off chunks with her fingertips a bit at a time, then rolled them into balls and sat the balls on the heated plate. The opium began to sizzle. Ever since learning this routine back at Chin Pei's house, she no longer had any fears about the future. Her initial concern about becoming addicted had long since disappeared. She would not regret it if some day she became so desperate she started sticking needles in her arm. For now only the peaceful present would last, like a dream. She wasn't worried about the next ten years. Pham Quyen came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

“What's that? The dream flower?”

“Today you should try one, too.”

“What if it snatches me by the ankle?”

“Smoking is no problem. More than half the old people in your country smoke.”

“Because it's a country where death is all too common.”

“Death doesn't bring you back, but this stuff does. You come back fresher.”

Hae Jong nimbly picked up the burning lumps of opium with bamboo chopsticks and pushed them into the bowls of the pipes. She gave one to Pham and put the other pipe in her mouth.

“Lie down comfortably on the bed. Take a deep puff and repeat it several times to make it spread quickly all through your body.”

They lay side by side, drawing on their pipes. The sound of sucking was like the squeaking of mice and the opium bubbled under the flame.

“I can feel myself relaxing.”

“Yes, and your eyes are getting dimmer. You said you liked the seaside. Come closer, this is no place for us to live.”

“You're right. Now let's fly together.”

The spent pipes slipped out of their hands. Lazily they rolled onto their sides and Hae Jong parted her gown, revealing her nakedness. Lifting one arm, she pulled the string to switch off the lamp above her head. The streetlights seeped into the room and fell diagonally across the walls and floor. Slithering like a spineless creature, Pham Quyen fumbled with Hae Jong's body. The two intertwined.

 

 

13

Ahn Yong Kyu was sitting at a dark corner table. It was too early for the band to be playing, and jazz was flowing from a record player behind the bar. A profusion of orchids and other broad-leafed greenery had been placed between the tables, and a couple of potted banana trees stood in the center of the room. To the rear were two more rows of tables and out of sight through an arched corridor, a number of private rooms seemed to offer seclusion to customers in search of it. Near the entrance was a long bar, where the two bartenders in white dress shirts and bowties were making cocktails.

It was ten thirty in the morning. The only other patrons were two people sitting facing each other on the opposite side of the room. Yong Kyu had just been to the office to report to the captain on yesterday's duty. But the report had been doctored at Toi's recommendation to omit a few parts. He had made no mention of Oh Hae Jong, the navy PX employee who had been fired for possession of narcotics.

“Soon we'll be able to pinpoint identities. We already have very reliable information that it's a certain Vietnamese officer working in the provincial administration.”

“How does the Korean woman fit in? She was a key in yesterday's report, wasn't she?”

“Yes, sir. But we have confirmation that the woman we want is Vietnamese. It appears the Korean just happened to be in the same vehicle.”

“All right. We won't be able to arrest or interrogate the Vietnamese officer. But since we have orders from the boss, investigate in detail and we'll send a report up to him.”

Immediately Yong Kyu regretted what he had done. Now the case had become his responsibility. From then on, all he did would have to be based on his own judgment. Suddenly, he felt Toi was to blame for his predicament. The bastard, he's the one who got me knee-deep in this shit, Yong Kyu said to himself.

Upon leaving the office he telephoned Toi, and the latter asked him to come to the Sports Club in Da Nang. Yong Kyu had been there with Kang a few times. The Sports Club was, in fact, an ideal location for black marketeers to conduct secret meetings. There was absolutely no way of discovering what went on in the secluded rooms hidden deep in the back of that place. There was probably a separate exit out back, too.

“Sorry, I'm running a little late.” Toi, still wearing his sunglasses in the dark, plopped down in front of Yong Kyu.

“I left out the part about Miss Oh in my report to Pointer because of you,” grumbled Yong Kyu.

“Good. You can always fill him in on the details later, can't you? I found out who her boyfriend is.”

“That was fast.”

“Well, it was easy enough. It was no secret among the girls she worked with at the PX. They said the Dai Han woman—you know the Vietnamese call Koreans “Dai Han”—rented a room in the house of a Vietnamese girl named Chin. Lots of Americans frequented the place, but only one Vietnamese, a Major Pham, was a regular caller.”

“Who's he?”

“Pham Quyen, the chief aide-de-camp to the top regional commander, General Liam. In other words, he's the chief secretary to the military governor of Quang Nam Province.”

“Let's summon him to CID right away.”

Toi laughed out loud, as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

“Don't even think of that. You see, all the foreign forces in Quang Nam are under his command, at least in effect, even though a US Marine division commander has actual say in operations decisions. But General Liam's approval is necessary for everything. It's just a formality, of course, but even so, you want to try and call in his chief aide to be interrogated about a couple of cartons of C-rations? You tell Krapensky about Pham, and that'll be the end of this case for sure. Understand?”

“Then we'd be through with this case, too.”

Toi shook his head violently.

“We've got hold of a line into the most lucrative dealings in Da Nang.”

“I don't make deals.”

“Listen, even if you don't jump into it yourself, deals are being made everyday, everywhere, by someone or other. The same goes for Krapensky. If you're not involved yourself in the market, you get no valuable information about the black marketeers. Plunge in first, then you can come up with information much more valuable than your own involvement. By that information, and only by that, your work performance will be evaluated.”

“I get it. As for the captain . . .”

“I'll leave that to you. Dealing and intelligence are like body and shadow.”

“Okay, where do we start?”

“You can't fall on Major Pham directly, but pull that Dai Han woman and the major'll come dangling along like a potato on the end of a string, you'll see.”

Toi explained what he had in mind, and Yong Kyu asked, “What do we do after that?”

“You and Pham will shake hands. He probably knows nothing about the Liberation Front. If we dig deep enough, we'll also be able to catch the goings on related to that.”

“By that time I'll be headed home.”

“The war's alive and moving, like an elephant. Anything alive eats, sleeps, and breathes. Even if you yourself end up going home, as long as Dai Hans are going to stay here you should understand that. You and I, Ahn, we're both gooks, slopeheads.”

“In the eyes of the Americans, I suppose so.”

“In our own eyes, too. It's nothing to feel bad about. I have to agree with them. I'm Vietnamese. In times like these, if you're Vietnamese you go reeling around dizzy to the brink of madness. Your position is bound to be complicated whether you're on the side of the government or of the NLF.”

“And how about you?”

“You're my friend, so I'll tell you. I'll be honest. Ask me what I think of Ho Chi Minh, that'll be the fastest way.”

“All right, what do you think of him?”

“Honestly,” Toi said, pressing his fingers to his temples. “I think he has mediocre ideas.” Then Toi pounded on his chest and added, “But he has excellent qualities as a man.”

Yong Kyu got what he meant, but still could not figure Toi out.

“I understand that; it's you I don't understand
.”

“I know. Probably half the population of South Vietnam is made up of people like me. It's a condition of life we owe to the French colonial regime, to Ngo Dinh Diem, and to the United States.”

“Then how can you hold a gun?”

“I'm already discharged. I'm a disabled veteran missing one eye. I never got my disability compensation; it was gobbled up by corrupt bureaucrats. I live like this because Da Nang is my home. That's why I was drafted. Now I'm living here, caring for my family. That's all there is.”

“This is important. You're a contract employee of our office.”

“Right. That's my job. I'm paid thirty dollars a month for it. And they don't send me on militia duty to guard the outskirts of the city. All I want is to survive this war with my family.”

The waiter approached and they stopped talking.

“What are you having?” Yong Kyu asked.

“Let's see . . . I haven't eaten yet.”

“Me neither. Toast and coffee?”

Yong Kyu ordered. The waiter was about to turn and leave when Toi called him back and asked something in Vietnamese. The waiter responded in Vietnamese.

“What was that?”

“I told him I wanted to see the woman who owns this place. He said she should be here around noon. Madame Lin is Chinese. Her husband is a Brit born in Hong Kong. Madame Lin may know the Dai Han woman; I've heard she comes here often.”

They ate. When they finished breakfast it was still a half hour until twelve.

Toi cautioned Yong Kyu, “Pretend you don't understand English. And don't act like a soldier.”

“Can I ask you about something we discussed earlier?”

“What?”

“If the war goes on long after I've returned home, will you still keep this job to make a living?”

“I don't know. There are millions of people in South Vietnam . . . ARVN soldiers, government officials, police, the militia. Anyway, when they reach a certain age, everybody gets enlistment orders. And anybody who pays a thousand dollars to the police can evade service, and for a lousy three hundred you can get assigned to the navy or air force or other less dangerous duty. That's the way life is lived here. The only thing certain is that I won't move a single step from here. I live in Vietnam. My children live here. When you go home, remember me as that kind of man.”

Yong Kyu did not want Toi to say any more. But as he sat there in silence, Toi spoke again.

“I voted in the last election. Because the military government had to end. But the cities, not to mention the hamlets, were in utter chaos. In Da Nang, the army soldiers openly snatched the ballot boxes and substituted others they'd stuffed. When the Buddhists rioted, people like me took their side. We've lost our chance. Time passes by faster and faster. This is Vietnam's destiny.”

Yong Kyu cut in.

“Well, let's get back to our duty.”

“Right. From Madame Lin we'll find out where she lives, then we can bring her in.”

“Where to? To our office?”

“No. To Da Nang QC headquarters. I used to work there, so I'll borrow a friend's office for an hour.”

The glass door at the front of the club opened and a woman walked in. She was tall and slender, wearing a black Chinese dress. Her hair was up in braids and she wore no flashy trinkets on her arms, only a black coral bracelet. As the bartender said something to her, she glanced over at the two of them and then went into the back. The waiter came over and spoke to Toi in Vietnamese.

“She wants us to come to her office.”

Toi walked ahead with Yong Kyu following. Past the arched passageway, each room was screened with beads in designs of dragons, butterflies, or peonies. The lights inside the rooms were off. At the very end of the corridor there was a door. The waiter knocked and from inside a woman's voice said, “Come in.” They entered. A woman was sitting with her back to a huge window at a table that had nothing on it but an ashtray and a telephone. There were chairs upholstered with leather and a wall hanging in a Middle Eastern style. Through the open curtains they could see the spacious back lawn of the club, with white benches and a cast iron barbecue grill. The woman wore a look of disdain as she spoke to them.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

She seemed to be in her early forties. Her eye makeup was heavy and a pearl necklace hung around the collar of her Chinese dress. She appeared long accustomed to living a European lifestyle. There was something about her attitude that resembled that of Krapensky when he addressed Yong Kyu or Toi. She had an overbearing air, as if dealing with small children, yet there was a hint of authentic curiosity in her eyes. Toi opened his mouth, speaking Vietnamese, and Madame Lin frowned a little.

“Speak in English, if you please. Who are you?”

Toi glanced back at Yong Kyu, then said, “We're intelligence officers with the Vietnamese army.”

“So?”

Only then did the woman gesture to offer them seats. They sat down.

“Do you know a woman by the name of Mimi?”

“She's a customer here. She comes here every now and then. Why, has she caused any trouble?”

“Madame,” Toi calmly said, “I'd like to remind you that you're running a business subject to the national laws of Vietnam.”

Madame Lin grinned brightly. She had cultivated a particular genius at flashing such smiles, it seemed.

“Oh, I'm well aware of that. But you said you're with the military, not the national police, did you not? What do you soldiers have to do with our club?”

“We have reliable reports that the Sports Club is running prostitution and gambling rackets on the side . . . but we're not here about that. We just want some information about this Mimi character.”

“I'll disregard the first part of what you said, for that's not in your jurisdiction. If you don't agree, feel free to contact Colonel Cao, the chief of police. The colonel is my husband's closest friend, and General Liam is his golf partner.”

“Madame, where does Mimi live? That's all we're interested in.” Toi went straight to the point.

In a low voice, the Chinese woman asked back, “What's this all about?”

“Black market.”

“But she quit the PX.”

“It doesn't concern the PX.”

For the first time, Madame Lin cast a sharp look at Yong Kyu.

“I don't know, but I can find out. If I ask the bartender, we'll find out right away. You both have been in our club before, haven't you?”

“Yes, a few times with friends.”

“Vietnamese aren't allowed here.”

Yong Kyu was about to pipe up, but Toi stopped him with a poke. “This friend of mine is Korean. He doesn't understand what we're saying.”