I didn’t reply.
Susan had had enough of the pissing contest and walked up to Colonel Mang. She spoke to him a minute, and I couldn’t hear her, so I didn’t know what language she was using. She turned to me and said, “Paul, why don’t you join us?” She motioned me to come forward.
Well, this had been a hell of a day — the A Shau, Khe Sanh, the DMZ, and now Quang Tri. My brain was filled with war memories, and my body was pumped with nasty male hormones. I had the bad attitude of a combat infantryman, and I was no longer a tourist in Saigon, listening to Mang’s crap; it wasn’t going to take much to set me off. If I’d had my M-16, I could have wasted the two clowns with the rifles before Mang could even go for the pistol on his hip.
“Paul. Come and join us. Please.”
I took a deep breath and walked the ten paces to where Susan and Colonel Mang were standing.
We didn’t exchange greetings, but I spoke without being spoken to. I asked him, “What are you doing here?”
He stared at me a long time, then replied, “That is my question to you.”
“I told you I was coming to Quang Tri to see where I was stationed. So don’t ask me why I’m here.”
He regarded me for a moment, and I could tell that he understood that I’d dropped my firm but polite manner of speaking to him. He said to me, “Well, what did you see? Nothing. I told you, there is nothing here. Your bombers laid waste to an entire province. Is this what you want to see?” He motioned around the empty acres. “Do you enjoy this?”
I took a deep breath and replied, “Colonel, you know very well why the bombers destroyed this province. Why don’t you try to deal with reality as I’ve tried to do since I’ve returned?”
He replied without hesitation, “Reality is whatever we say it is.”
“No, reality is what happened. The massacre at Hue happened, and the massacre here at Quang Tri happened in 1968. I saw it with my own eyes. And, yes, the massacre at My Lai also happened. We all have blood on our hands. Deal with it, and stop pushing the fucking war in my face. I didn’t start it, and neither did you. Get over it.”
He didn’t appreciate the lecture or my tone of voice, but he kept his cool and replied, “There was no massacre at Hue or Quang Tri. There was a liquidation of the enemies of the people. The massacre was at My Lai.”
“What do you want?”
“You can tell me why you and your companion here are trying to contact the hill people.”
“You mean the Moi? The savages?”
“The hill people, Mr. Brenner. What is your business with them?”
“I have no business with them.”
“Mr. Loc says otherwise.”
“Mr. Loc is an idiot.”
Susan chimed in and said, “Colonel, tourists come from all over the world to see the indigenous people of Vietnam. We did the same.”
Colonel Mang regarded Susan a moment, wondering, I’m sure, why a woman was answering for a man. This country was so sexist, I might like it here. Colonel Mang said, not to Susan, but to me, “You were out of sight of Mr. Loc several times. You climbed into the hills in the A Shau Valley. You stopped at a hill tribe settlement. You spoke to hill people in the square at Khe Sanh.”
I said, “So what? I’m a tourist.”
“Yes? And do the hill people give all tourists that bracelet you are wearing on your wrist? Or the Taoi scarf that Miss Weber now wears? And do tourists exchange military salutes with former American mercenary troops?”
I thought about that, and he had some good points there. I replied, “Colonel, I think you’re being overly suspicious, and overly sensitive to the issue of the Montagnards.”
“Do you think so? You do not live here, Mr. Brenner.” He asked, “Would you care to explain your actions?”
Actually, no. I said to Colonel Mang, “Where is Mr. Loc? Bring him here and we’ll discuss this.” I added, to lighten the moment, “I have the constitutional right to face my accuser.”
Colonel Mang smiled and said, “Mr. Loc, unfortunately, had to leave for a while.” He asked me, “Why did you go to A Shau Valley and Khe Sanh?”
I didn’t reply.
Colonel Mang said to me, “Mr. Loc said you told many war stories, Mr. Brenner, and none of those stories involved your duties as a cook.”
I replied, “Mr. Loc doesn’t speak English, Colonel.”
“Ah, but he does. And you know that. You remarked on it to him several times.”
“Correct. So why would I incriminate myself in front of him if I knew he understood English?”
“Because you did not know he was an agent of the Ministry of Public Security.”
“Of course I knew that. I told him I knew that.”
“He did not mention that to me.”
Susan spoke up and said to Colonel Mang, “Then he hasn’t spoken the truth to you. We knew from the minute we met him that he was a policeman. I’ve been in this country for three years, Colonel, and I know a secret policeman when I see one.”
Colonel Mang stared at Susan awhile, then said to her, “I am speaking to Mr. Brenner.” He turned back to me and said, “I do not believe that you knew—”
Susan said sharply, “I am speaking to you, Colonel. And you will answer me.”
Colonel Mang turned back to Susan. “Excuse me? I do not believe I heard you correctly.”
“No? Then understand this—” She switched to Vietnamese and laid a whole lot of shit on Colonel Mang, who I was certain was about to slap her. Then, I’d have to clock him, and then the goons with the rifles would charge across the field, and before you knew it, I’d have Colonel Mang’s pistol to his head, and we’d be in a standoff for the rest of the night, or a shoot-out, or whatever. This was not good. But I let Susan vent.
Before Susan finished yelling at Colonel Mang, he began yelling back at her, and they were really going at it. I wondered what happened to her concern about Colonel Mang saving face. I love it when peacemakers go nuts and try to start World War Three. I noticed, too, that the goons with the rifles were alert and watching. They couldn’t hear much from that distance, but they knew a pissed-off lady when they saw one, especially if they were married. On the plus side, at least Susan and Colonel Mang were still talking — or yelling. If Mang got quiet, we’d have a problem.
I needed to cool this down, so I said to Susan, “Okay. Im lang. Fermez la bouche. Shut up. That’s enough.”
She shut up.
Colonel Mang was really worked up, and even if he hadn’t come here to arrest us, he was thinking about it now, especially with the two goons watching him taking lip from the American bitch.
Colonel Mang got himself cooled down and turned back toward me. He said, as though nothing had happened, “I do not believe you knew that Mr. Loc was an agent of the Ministry of Public Security.”
“Do I look stupid?”
Colonel Mang resisted saying, Yes, you look stupid. Why else would you be here? Instead, he said, “If you are so clever, why did you speak so freely of your battles in the presence of Mr. Loc when you told me you were a cook?”
I replied, “Obviously, I was not a cook. I was an infantryman.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
Because the half-wits in Washington told me to. I replied, politely, “I saw no reason to upset you, Colonel, with the fact that I fought your compatriots here.”
“Yes? But you lied.”
Cops love to pick on a lie. I said, “I lied. I killed North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers, here, in and around Quang Tri City, in Khe Sanh, in the A Shau Valley, and down in the Bong Son. So what? You, too, were a combat soldier, and you killed my compatriots. It was wartime. That’s what we got paid for. Subject closed. You didn’t come here to tell me you discovered I was a combat soldier. What do you want?”