MANICHAEAN
02-23-2015, 01:50 AM
Vietnam Redemption.
Chapter 1: Arrival.
He was a thickset individual, originally from Idaho, with close cropped hair turning white and was at the immigration entry of Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Ho Chi Min City.
The Vietnamese official viewed the American who stood before him.
"Nature of your business in Vietnam, Mr Hobbs?"
"Generators. I commission and service them for a company in the States," he replied.
"First time in Vietnam?"
Jeff Hobbs looked him straight in the eye and did not dodge the question. "No, I was here in the American military during the war."
The official did not offer any body language, but said softly, "For the Vietnamese people, what we consider the second war of independence ended in 1975. Please enjoy your stay."
Appreciating and thanking the man for his courtesy, Jeff picked up his luggage and traversed the modern, Japanese built airport. Nothing like his last visit; for from 1968 - 1974, what was then Saigon Airport had been one of the busiest military airbases in the world, and Uncle Sam had been running it.
He had been warned of the current day taxi scams and thus when exiting the main terminal, placed his bulk side by side in the front seat of a cab next to an impassive driver, ensuring that the meter was put on before moving.
The ride to the Sheraton on Dong Khoi Street took twenty minutes.
An hour later, he was showered and changed and had made a few business calls, including one to his Filipino wife in Manila to say he had arrived safely. He took his whisky and water out onto the balcony on the sixth floor. It was then that the past intruded and became again a close neighbour.
It had been late 1967, when even the most detailed maps didn't reveal much anymore; reading them was like trying to read the faces of the Vietnamese, and that was like trying to read the wind. He knew that at the time as a Marine helicopter gunner he had been living too close to his bones.
During his time there, to all extents and purposes, the ground and nights had been Charlie's realm, whilst the US ruled the air during daylight hours. The dawn and twilight were up for grabs.
Helicopters then to his mind were his very essence; killer, retriever, jungle-saturated canvas webbing, cassette rock and roll in one ear and door gun fire in the other, heat, vitality and death. Men on the crews would say that once you'd carried a dead person he would always be there riding with you.
The real secret he had been advised, was in adapting fast; of going into your reserves quickly; for Day One, if anything, penetrated that first innocence.
The problem was that you never knew what you were seeing until later, maybe years later, and that a lot of it never made it in at all; it just sat there stored in the eyes or an expression.
Jeff refreshed his drink and wondered if he should have passed this assignment to one of his colleagues. He knew he would have to drink heavy tonight, for sleep now, like then, might be a problem.
Chapter 2: Dinner.
He went by elevator to the hotel restaurant and was shown to a table adjacent large external plate windows. Looking down on the city it seemed now so unnaturally peaceful. The last time he was here, the capital had been; a repository, an arena, a paved swamp of hot damp winds that never cleaned anything away. On those nights, there was a serious tiger lady going around on a Honda shooting American officers on the streets with a .45.
He realized increasingly that he was going in too much on himself and all the flashbacks were becoming more disturbing. The waiter came and he ordered "conh chua," a fish sour soup that he remembered from before, and which was always served extremely hot. Then some fried spring rolls with a salad and a "Bia Hoi" national beer.
"Well," he thought, “If nothing else is there to break his current mood, at least Vietnam serves up some of the healthiest food in the world."
He looked around the restaurant. It was not too full. A few discreet couples tucked away and on one table what appeared to be Korean businessmen eating their food with too much gusto and noise. His gaze fell upon a Vietnamese woman seated alone at a table further down the restaurant. First impressions were that she was tiny, guessing at about five feet tall, with an air of lacquered glamour and icy hauteur. She seemed to favour heavily kohl-rimmed eyes and the figure-hugging "ao dai" tunic that the national women feel comfortable in. He put her in her late fifties, a somewhat svelte and sinister lady.
Turning back to his food he remembered with an ironic smile being once told by a medic, "If you get hit, we can chopper you back to base-camp hospital in twenty minutes. If you get killed, we'll have you home in a week."
Despite the air conditioning, the sweat seemed to gather at his hair line. This evening it was getting to him too much and he knew he had to move, any action to get back some balance.
The meal finished, he approached the Vietnamese woman sitting alone. She looked up, no fear or apprehension in the features, not even curiosity.
"My name is Jeff Hobbs. I'm an American. Would you like to join me for a drink?"
She took him in calmly.
"Thank you very much, I would like that. My name is Thi Anh Huynh."
The pronunciation was precise with a hint of French in the vowels and she held out her hand.
"Where would you like to go?" said Jeff, "I presume they have a bar here in the hotel."
"Oh no," she replied softly, "It's much too impersonal, I will take you elsewhere. Do you know Ho Chi Min City?"
"A long time ago, in different times, and under another name" he replied. "I'm afraid that I don't have transport, having just arrived. Shall we get a taxi in the lobby?"
"No need I have my scooter, it's so much easier getting around in traffic here."
She led the way out of the dining room and he towered above her in the confines of the lift.
The "ao dai" tunic dress molded her like a dagger in its sheath.
Chapter 3: A Drink.
The motor scooter was parked just off to the side of the hotel. She kick-started it confidently and beckoned Jeff to climb on behind. It must have appeared a strange sight, guaranteed to draw glances, even in a country where such a kind of transport was so prolific.
She weaved with verve through District 1 with broad, tree-lined streets, originally laid out at the time of the French colonial rule and headed south. The traffic was hectic, noisy and competitive; bumper to bumper and increasingly so as they entered Phu Nhuan which was more densely populated.
To Jeff, looking around at the unfolding scene; his arms resting like two bear paws on the slim shoulders of this diminutive Asian woman, he felt that Ho Chi Minh City as it now was, equated to Bangkok with attitude.
It was getting dark when they pulled into a narrow street, outside a local bar with a small lamp above the front door. A dog coughed in an alley nearby. Around one could sense, tenements crowded with the unfortunates of society.
They entered the bar which was crowded, under-lit and smelt badly of smoke and the back water smell of too many bodies. There was a long counter to the right and pool tables further down. The conversation was subdued as they came in; looks were traded and it was obviously not in the normal course of events for this establishment to experience such an odd and exotic couple of customers.
Jeff asked Thi what she wanted to drink.
"I think I'd better order, they will not understand you here" she said.
They took the drinks and sat at a table.
She looked at him.
"You do not fear to come here?" she said.
"No" he replied, "I came to terms with this country long ago. It is not my well-being that concerns me. It is the memories."
"You refer to the war obviously" she said gently.
"Yes, and you? Were you affected badly?"
"I lost all my family and I lost the man I loved."
"And you never met anyone else?" Jeff asked.
"There seemed no point to it."
One of the men at the next table said something in a voice loud enough to be heard by them both.
Thi turning abruptly addressed him sharply in Vietnamese; the words like bullets direct into a face whose demeanor quickly changed.
His friends around him took in the situation almost immediately; glanced wide eyed at the lady and quickly hurried the unfortunate individual out. What appeared to be the bar owner came urgently to the table, and with head lowered mumbled something to Thi.
She acknowledged with a slight nod, the expression on her face devoid of any feeling. Only the eyes showed the passion, the anger and the self-assurance of vindication.
Jeff sat silent and watched. He had been in the East long enough to know of women there that are strong, domineering, or mysterious. This gal was all three!
Thi eventually looked back to him.
Jeff asked, "Do they know you here?"
"No" she replied, "But they know of me."
Chapter 4: Conclusion.
For the rest of that evening they drank at different bars across the city; though none as rough as the first. That had been the testing ground, the place for them that had been all theirs. But by then, it wasn't just a location anymore, it was experience.
Later, nearing midnight they had sat drinking and she had asked, "Why did you invite me, a stranger, out?"
"You would laugh if I told you, but I knew I could not sleep," he replied with a shy grin.
"It was the memories again?" she persisted.
"Yes."
How could he explain to this woman, what it had been like on the American side of the conflict? Many times he had heard men attempt it. Sometimes they were hardly explanations at all, but sounds and gestures packed with so much urgency that they became more dramatic than a cheap novel. How could he articulate the dreams; not those in the zone as such, but those after? Dreams that were constant, open, violent and clear. Dreams not lost but yet to come which would, he knew evolve later.
He remembered then the agitated half-sleep of those days; when you thought you were sleeping but you were really just waiting. Night sweats, flashes of consciousness drifting in and out of your head, lying on a canvas cot somewhere under mosquito netting, or looking out through a tent flap at the glimmering night sky of a combat zone.
"What about on your side?" he asked.
"For us it was something different," she replied. "For a start, it was our country. It was not alien. But then there was the death also, and for us the important aspect of what is termed “the rite of passage.” You see in Vietnamese tradition, when someone dies, their remains should be unearthed and cleaned three years after the initial burial. Once these bones are reburied, the soul of that person can find peace. Many Vietnamese MIA were unable to have their remains tendered in that way, and so they became lost, wandering souls. Perhaps these souls are robbing you of your sleep!"
She smiled at this last remark. It had been the first time she had smiled and it had not been anticipated by either.
"Come, you shall be my guest tonight, and anyway it is late."
They arrived after a short ride outside a large dark colonial house and she let him in through a heavy iron gate. Despite it being dark, he could still make out the red and orange flowers of a mature phoenix's tail tree and elsewhere on the short distance to the porch, the scent of a golden cypress.
The interior incorporated traditional Vietnamese features with; woven rattan screens, blue and white painted ceramics and delicate lacquered wood furniture. In an alcove to the side, eyes lowered, a large seated metal Buddha.
She showed him to a bedroom at the rear of the house. On the large window behind the bed, bamboo shutters were closed and secured; a line of defense for the advance of dawn approaching from across the South China Sea.
She kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, “Tonight you will sleep. I will keep watch."
________________________________________
Chapter 1: Arrival.
He was a thickset individual, originally from Idaho, with close cropped hair turning white and was at the immigration entry of Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Ho Chi Min City.
The Vietnamese official viewed the American who stood before him.
"Nature of your business in Vietnam, Mr Hobbs?"
"Generators. I commission and service them for a company in the States," he replied.
"First time in Vietnam?"
Jeff Hobbs looked him straight in the eye and did not dodge the question. "No, I was here in the American military during the war."
The official did not offer any body language, but said softly, "For the Vietnamese people, what we consider the second war of independence ended in 1975. Please enjoy your stay."
Appreciating and thanking the man for his courtesy, Jeff picked up his luggage and traversed the modern, Japanese built airport. Nothing like his last visit; for from 1968 - 1974, what was then Saigon Airport had been one of the busiest military airbases in the world, and Uncle Sam had been running it.
He had been warned of the current day taxi scams and thus when exiting the main terminal, placed his bulk side by side in the front seat of a cab next to an impassive driver, ensuring that the meter was put on before moving.
The ride to the Sheraton on Dong Khoi Street took twenty minutes.
An hour later, he was showered and changed and had made a few business calls, including one to his Filipino wife in Manila to say he had arrived safely. He took his whisky and water out onto the balcony on the sixth floor. It was then that the past intruded and became again a close neighbour.
It had been late 1967, when even the most detailed maps didn't reveal much anymore; reading them was like trying to read the faces of the Vietnamese, and that was like trying to read the wind. He knew that at the time as a Marine helicopter gunner he had been living too close to his bones.
During his time there, to all extents and purposes, the ground and nights had been Charlie's realm, whilst the US ruled the air during daylight hours. The dawn and twilight were up for grabs.
Helicopters then to his mind were his very essence; killer, retriever, jungle-saturated canvas webbing, cassette rock and roll in one ear and door gun fire in the other, heat, vitality and death. Men on the crews would say that once you'd carried a dead person he would always be there riding with you.
The real secret he had been advised, was in adapting fast; of going into your reserves quickly; for Day One, if anything, penetrated that first innocence.
The problem was that you never knew what you were seeing until later, maybe years later, and that a lot of it never made it in at all; it just sat there stored in the eyes or an expression.
Jeff refreshed his drink and wondered if he should have passed this assignment to one of his colleagues. He knew he would have to drink heavy tonight, for sleep now, like then, might be a problem.
Chapter 2: Dinner.
He went by elevator to the hotel restaurant and was shown to a table adjacent large external plate windows. Looking down on the city it seemed now so unnaturally peaceful. The last time he was here, the capital had been; a repository, an arena, a paved swamp of hot damp winds that never cleaned anything away. On those nights, there was a serious tiger lady going around on a Honda shooting American officers on the streets with a .45.
He realized increasingly that he was going in too much on himself and all the flashbacks were becoming more disturbing. The waiter came and he ordered "conh chua," a fish sour soup that he remembered from before, and which was always served extremely hot. Then some fried spring rolls with a salad and a "Bia Hoi" national beer.
"Well," he thought, “If nothing else is there to break his current mood, at least Vietnam serves up some of the healthiest food in the world."
He looked around the restaurant. It was not too full. A few discreet couples tucked away and on one table what appeared to be Korean businessmen eating their food with too much gusto and noise. His gaze fell upon a Vietnamese woman seated alone at a table further down the restaurant. First impressions were that she was tiny, guessing at about five feet tall, with an air of lacquered glamour and icy hauteur. She seemed to favour heavily kohl-rimmed eyes and the figure-hugging "ao dai" tunic that the national women feel comfortable in. He put her in her late fifties, a somewhat svelte and sinister lady.
Turning back to his food he remembered with an ironic smile being once told by a medic, "If you get hit, we can chopper you back to base-camp hospital in twenty minutes. If you get killed, we'll have you home in a week."
Despite the air conditioning, the sweat seemed to gather at his hair line. This evening it was getting to him too much and he knew he had to move, any action to get back some balance.
The meal finished, he approached the Vietnamese woman sitting alone. She looked up, no fear or apprehension in the features, not even curiosity.
"My name is Jeff Hobbs. I'm an American. Would you like to join me for a drink?"
She took him in calmly.
"Thank you very much, I would like that. My name is Thi Anh Huynh."
The pronunciation was precise with a hint of French in the vowels and she held out her hand.
"Where would you like to go?" said Jeff, "I presume they have a bar here in the hotel."
"Oh no," she replied softly, "It's much too impersonal, I will take you elsewhere. Do you know Ho Chi Min City?"
"A long time ago, in different times, and under another name" he replied. "I'm afraid that I don't have transport, having just arrived. Shall we get a taxi in the lobby?"
"No need I have my scooter, it's so much easier getting around in traffic here."
She led the way out of the dining room and he towered above her in the confines of the lift.
The "ao dai" tunic dress molded her like a dagger in its sheath.
Chapter 3: A Drink.
The motor scooter was parked just off to the side of the hotel. She kick-started it confidently and beckoned Jeff to climb on behind. It must have appeared a strange sight, guaranteed to draw glances, even in a country where such a kind of transport was so prolific.
She weaved with verve through District 1 with broad, tree-lined streets, originally laid out at the time of the French colonial rule and headed south. The traffic was hectic, noisy and competitive; bumper to bumper and increasingly so as they entered Phu Nhuan which was more densely populated.
To Jeff, looking around at the unfolding scene; his arms resting like two bear paws on the slim shoulders of this diminutive Asian woman, he felt that Ho Chi Minh City as it now was, equated to Bangkok with attitude.
It was getting dark when they pulled into a narrow street, outside a local bar with a small lamp above the front door. A dog coughed in an alley nearby. Around one could sense, tenements crowded with the unfortunates of society.
They entered the bar which was crowded, under-lit and smelt badly of smoke and the back water smell of too many bodies. There was a long counter to the right and pool tables further down. The conversation was subdued as they came in; looks were traded and it was obviously not in the normal course of events for this establishment to experience such an odd and exotic couple of customers.
Jeff asked Thi what she wanted to drink.
"I think I'd better order, they will not understand you here" she said.
They took the drinks and sat at a table.
She looked at him.
"You do not fear to come here?" she said.
"No" he replied, "I came to terms with this country long ago. It is not my well-being that concerns me. It is the memories."
"You refer to the war obviously" she said gently.
"Yes, and you? Were you affected badly?"
"I lost all my family and I lost the man I loved."
"And you never met anyone else?" Jeff asked.
"There seemed no point to it."
One of the men at the next table said something in a voice loud enough to be heard by them both.
Thi turning abruptly addressed him sharply in Vietnamese; the words like bullets direct into a face whose demeanor quickly changed.
His friends around him took in the situation almost immediately; glanced wide eyed at the lady and quickly hurried the unfortunate individual out. What appeared to be the bar owner came urgently to the table, and with head lowered mumbled something to Thi.
She acknowledged with a slight nod, the expression on her face devoid of any feeling. Only the eyes showed the passion, the anger and the self-assurance of vindication.
Jeff sat silent and watched. He had been in the East long enough to know of women there that are strong, domineering, or mysterious. This gal was all three!
Thi eventually looked back to him.
Jeff asked, "Do they know you here?"
"No" she replied, "But they know of me."
Chapter 4: Conclusion.
For the rest of that evening they drank at different bars across the city; though none as rough as the first. That had been the testing ground, the place for them that had been all theirs. But by then, it wasn't just a location anymore, it was experience.
Later, nearing midnight they had sat drinking and she had asked, "Why did you invite me, a stranger, out?"
"You would laugh if I told you, but I knew I could not sleep," he replied with a shy grin.
"It was the memories again?" she persisted.
"Yes."
How could he explain to this woman, what it had been like on the American side of the conflict? Many times he had heard men attempt it. Sometimes they were hardly explanations at all, but sounds and gestures packed with so much urgency that they became more dramatic than a cheap novel. How could he articulate the dreams; not those in the zone as such, but those after? Dreams that were constant, open, violent and clear. Dreams not lost but yet to come which would, he knew evolve later.
He remembered then the agitated half-sleep of those days; when you thought you were sleeping but you were really just waiting. Night sweats, flashes of consciousness drifting in and out of your head, lying on a canvas cot somewhere under mosquito netting, or looking out through a tent flap at the glimmering night sky of a combat zone.
"What about on your side?" he asked.
"For us it was something different," she replied. "For a start, it was our country. It was not alien. But then there was the death also, and for us the important aspect of what is termed “the rite of passage.” You see in Vietnamese tradition, when someone dies, their remains should be unearthed and cleaned three years after the initial burial. Once these bones are reburied, the soul of that person can find peace. Many Vietnamese MIA were unable to have their remains tendered in that way, and so they became lost, wandering souls. Perhaps these souls are robbing you of your sleep!"
She smiled at this last remark. It had been the first time she had smiled and it had not been anticipated by either.
"Come, you shall be my guest tonight, and anyway it is late."
They arrived after a short ride outside a large dark colonial house and she let him in through a heavy iron gate. Despite it being dark, he could still make out the red and orange flowers of a mature phoenix's tail tree and elsewhere on the short distance to the porch, the scent of a golden cypress.
The interior incorporated traditional Vietnamese features with; woven rattan screens, blue and white painted ceramics and delicate lacquered wood furniture. In an alcove to the side, eyes lowered, a large seated metal Buddha.
She showed him to a bedroom at the rear of the house. On the large window behind the bed, bamboo shutters were closed and secured; a line of defense for the advance of dawn approaching from across the South China Sea.
She kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, “Tonight you will sleep. I will keep watch."
________________________________________