Peace, independence, democracy, personal security, peaceful unification of the nation — these are the desperate desires in the depths of our hearts. These longings, having been turned into ironclad resolutions, are giving us singular strength and are overthrowing the cruel domination of the imperialists and their agents. We are appealing now to our countrymen to rise up for a full-scale struggle to protect our families and to save our nation. For the sake of the essential interests of our nation, and to lead a full-scale struggle that will meet the demands of the people for justice, following the progressive trend in global development, we hereby declare the establishment of the National Liberation Front of Vietnam.
“Brother, are you in there?”
Lei knocked at the door. Quickly concealing the leaflets behind him, Minh instinctively pressed the door with one hand. It was locked.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Let’s have lunch together.”
“I don’t feel like eating.”
Lei did not go away.
“Open up for me.”
“Leave me alone. I’m going to take a little nap.”
“There’s something I need to talk over with you.”
“Later, all right?”
Lei left. As he read the pamphlet, Minh had been daydreaming that he was back in Atwat — the room had become his barracks. If he had been from the countryside, by now he would have been assigned combat duty in the jungle. For an urban guerilla, the primary object of his watchfulness was his own family, his own neighbors. Wasn’t the whole city his battlefield? When the instructors said he would have to overcome the temptations of city life, they had meant he had to be on guard against the pleasures and the frivolity of the city, but on another level they could have meant that he has to defeat the vanity that urged him to reveal himself. Under his breath, Minh rehearsed the ten essential points of the NLF oath, followed by the final moving phrases: “Victory certainly shall be ours. For the combined strength of our people is not to be broken, justice is on our side, and colonialism has had its century in the sun and is now bound for extinction. Peace, democracy, and the national liberation movement are spreading far and wide like a storm, winning one victory after another.”
Pham Minh wrapped the leaflets back up and put them back inside the dictionary cover. He wondered how long he had been sleeping. He rose from the wicker bed and threw open the latticed shutters on the window. It was nearing evening and the twilight sky was beautiful. Monday had almost flown away. Feeling thirsty, he went out to the living room and found Mi there playing with her three-year-old daughter. His little niece came over into his arms and he put the girl into the hammock and rocked it jerkily. She screeched with laughter. Mi seemed uncomfortable and quietly went into the kitchen. Minh took his niece outside into the yard and played with her for a while. Then, with the little girl in his arms, he went through the reed screen into the kitchen where his sister Mi was washing rice. He spoke first to her back.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”
She didn’t stop what she was doing, but seemed to be waiting for him to continue. After a few seconds, he went on.
“Some people are strong, but there are weak ones in this world, too. There are strong plants like baobab trees and weak ones like violets. About the way I feel, I’m afraid you… I’m in despair now. You could try to understand.”
Mi stopped washing the rice and turned her head.
“Come here.”
Minh set the child down and approached his sister. She embraced him and seemed about to weep.
“I’m sorry,” she said, patting his back. “Minh, you’re not like Quyen. Ever since you were a little boy, you were always my favorite.”
“I’ve got some ideas of my own.”
“I know, I know. I won’t drive you into a corner anymore. I couldn’t help thinking of my children’s father, that was why.”
The next day the Pham brothers appeared at the air force battalion headquarters in Da Nang. Minh was wearing a uniform given him by his brother, a sergeant’s chevron on the shoulder, and he carried transfer papers. They gave him a shiny set of dog tags with his new unit. His name must have been inserted into a space on the roster vacated by a deserter or an airman killed in action. Minh sat there in the outer office for about an hour leafing through newspapers as his brother chatted and chuckled with the commander. When Quyen emerged with a short lieutenant colonel, Minh saluted to the commander as his brother had taught him. The lieutenant colonel merely glanced at him.
Their next stop was the air base on the edge of downtown toward Dong Dao. The Vietnamese air force detachment was right across the street from the US base. A few patrol planes and two tired-looking squadrons of older fighters and helicopters were parked on the strip. Like the Vietnamese navy, the air force had no independent operational authority and only served as an adjunct to the US forces, so there were not many pilots around. Here, also, Minh was a ghost on the duty roster worth five thousand piasters a month to the commanding officer. He finished the formalities by shaking hands with the major who was in charge of the detachment. The major cautioned him not to go outside of Da Nang unless it was absolutely necessary.
“By April next year, you’ll be the first one in our family to emigrate,” Pham Quyen said brightly as they left, looking as though a load had just been lifted from his shoulders.
Minh went back home and changed his clothes. Then he picked up the disguised bundle of leaflets and headed for Hoa teahouse, the rendezvous point for cell B. He drank some tea with the leader of cell B and exchanged a few words before leaving.
“Any other orders?”
“None.”
“The date is unchanged?”
“Changes, if any, will be handed down from above.”
On Wednesday morning Minh put on black Vietnamese clothing and went to Nguyen Cuong’s store for his first day of work. Over his shoulder he slung a canvas bag containing two bananas, a shaving kit, and one of the dictionary covers. It was about seven thirty when he reached the warehouse in Le Loi market. Cuong was already in the office and the female clerk was making Tonkin-style coffee, boiling water over an alcohol burner.
“Ah, welcome. Let’s have a cup of coffee together.”
Cuong and Minh sat down across from each other.
“Let me introduce the two of you, since you’ll be working together. This is Miss Ran.”
Minh and the clerk nodded to each other. The coffee was strong and aromatic.
“We open the store at seven in the morning,” Cuong said, “like our competitors in Le Loi market. It’s the early bird that catches the worm, you know. From seven till twelve we move merchandise in and settle payments for transactions closed the day before. Lunch and siesta go from twelve to three. From three to six we ship goods going out of town and continue with collections. At six o’clock you can head home. Of course, things vary occasionally, but that’s more or less the routine. Now, Miss Ran, you have that detailed list of the incoming and outgoing merchandise for today, don’t you?”
Miss Ran handed the typed work orders over to Cuong, who passed it to Minh.