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.