Nha tells the deputy division commander, “Comrade An wants to go see the crime scene because he does not believe that the two of them wanted to go take a bath. I hope that the soldiers have kept every trace intact.”
“You can be at ease. I have ordered that the place be kept exactly as it was. You can take Comrade An there to have a look.”
“We will be right back after the inspection,” Nha replies. Then he walks out of the underground command chamber.
An follows him, with his salt-and-pepper hair covering his faded shirt collar. He’s only fifty but looks more seasoned than the division commander. In this war it’s clear that the people from coastal provinces and from the mountains endure much better than those from the Red River delta. Flowers that can blossom on the banks of the Red, or Luoc, River fade very fast under the mountain sun.
It is 10:20 a.m. but the soldiers are already gathered in groups of five or three all over the encampment. Actually, they could have overslept or stayed indoors and played cards, but the gossip has gone from ear to ear, and by the time Nha and An arrive at the stream bank, soldiers from the division are already there in great numbers. A parachute string has been strung from three large trees, forming a protective boundary around the crime scene. The squad normally guarding command headquarters is keeping the curious outside the string.
An takes a look at the bank. Traces of last night’s flooding rain can still be seen on the sand beach and on the pebbles. The belongings that the night before had been neatly piled up are now scattered everywhere. The two pairs of pants had drifted down the stream for a couple of meters before getting caught in the root of a tree. One flashlight is now planted in the sand while the other has been carried down the water some thirty meters until stuck in a stack of dry, fallen branches. As for little things like the toothpick tube, the cigarette packs, the lighters, and the nail trimmer.…they have disappeared without a trace. Only the two pistols are still there, at the original spot, together with one shoe. They are covered, however, with sand and mud. Truly, the rain last night was a masterwork, a high-class act of sorcery that turned everything into something else.
“Comrade, look,” says An. “Look at the mud stuck to the shoe…”
“It really was something, that rain last night,” Nha says, nodding, and then he goes on: “During the rainy season last year, this very stream even washed down a couple of deer. The guys in Division 89, who were stationed downstream, saw them still struggling in the water. They took out their guns and shot them, then threw out some cords to drag them in to eat. But in pulling in the deer, one of them fell down and he himself was washed downstream with the flood without being able to even cry out.”
“I wonder why I don’t remember that incident?”
“How could you? The story was circulated only among the leading comrades in the division. For who would admit to such a truth?”
Nha smacks his lips and lowers his voice to the point of a whisper: “So sad! A human life for a piece of venison.”
Looking at the stream, An tells himself, “Last night if I had not tied one of my legs to a tree, I would have ended up like that guy with the deer.”
In turning back, An sees the soldiers with all eyes on him and Nha — spectators in a mystery without plot or even a stage set. The protagonist is not present. Only a few pieces of clothing and some personal effects lying here and there. But the play is arousing so much curiosity because it dramatizes both a physical and a nonphysical death. Even if it is not yet an absolute death, it nonetheless has severely damaged the reputation of the leadership. Less than three months earlier two soldiers had been sentenced by a military tribunal to death by firing squad for having raped a Van Kieu woman who was burning coal in the forest. News of the execution had been disseminated to all four divisions operating in the region as a severe warning. Yet now the commander of the most famous division in the whole battle zone, the one with the most unit commendations, has disappeared in the night with some Meo, the only trace of them being two pairs of pants snagged on the side of a stream. Clearly it does not require much intelligence to imagine what is going on in the minds of the soldiers crowding around.
“Can we return to the command post now?” asks Nha.
“Yes…We have observed enough,” An responds, and the two of them go back. “I am sure they went out looking for a deserted spot so that they could make up chicken-style,” a soldier suggests. “They picked the right moment, too. With the soldiers wrapped up in watching the girls in the show, they went out there to take care of their choked-up balls.”
“What do you mean, chicken-style?” asks another soldier.
“Damn you, don’t play the innocent. If you don’t know, then who else would?”
“You want to pick a lump of charcoal and put it in the hands of another?”
“Fire and charcoal. Who the hell told me the other day about the Lao being expert at ass-fucking?”
“You mean chicken-style and ass-fucking are the same? Oh, then I know now…”
“Hell with you, joker!”
“If I am not the joker, how can you have such a hearty laugh?”
An observes Nha walking really fast with his head down, as if trying to flee from the rowdy comments of the soldiers. He must feel awful, thinks An. Normally he is a well-spoken man, if somewhat simplistic, but all offenses against the more spiritual side of life always take him off guard and affect him more than others.
An catches up with him and says, “No one is born to be a soldier. War is something imposed on us. You shouldn’t give those comments too much thought.”
“I am someone not given to quarreling. But in this case you can’t just stop wondering. How do you explain this affair?”
“I, too, am at a loss.”
“How are we going to explain it to our colleagues?”
“If we don’t understand it ourselves, then it’s better not to give any explanation.”
“But you can’t do that. Whether we want to or not, there is no way for us to escape giving some explanation in front of everyone. In the army, each death must be explained clearly, for it also concerns the family of the deceased. Either it’s the shameful death of a traitor, or it’s a sacrifice out of one’s duty to the people, in which case the family is entitled to some compensation.”
“Yes,” An responds as he bitterly thinks to himself: “But life is not all that simple. There are lots of deaths lying outside the boundaries that you are drawing. There are unjust deaths, stifled and quiet deaths, unintended and unconscionable deaths, deaths that steal upon you like poisonous snakes, these poisonous snakes of Fate that no one can prevent or fight off.”
Soon they are back at the command bunker, where everyone has been silently sipping tea or smoking water pipes while waiting for them. An knows that they are all waiting for an explanation. There has to be an explanation. Concluding that it is best if he speak first without waiting for entreaties, he announces:
“I report to you, Deputy Division Commander and leading cadres…Battalion Commander Nha and I have carefully observed what remains on the bank of the stream. I feel certain that our division commander and Ma Ly could not possibly have gone out together for a bath because although he was in good health, our commander was already over fifty. At that time of day, the water is freezing. Second, I am sure Ma Ly would not dare go into the water. The whole time I lived with him in the Viet Bac, I wit-nessed him taking a bath only twice, and on both occasions it was during the middle of a hot summer when he was enticed to do so by his San Diu, San Chi, friends. Normally, Ma Ly would never volunteer to sink his body into the water. Even when he had to, he would quickly dry himself so he could put his clothes on right away. We used to call the Meo ‘water-shy cats.’ Thus there is no possible reason for both of them to suddenly and crazily step into the water for a bath in the middle of the night. As for other explanations, I do not have enough time nor experience to guess…”