She fell asleep in my arms. A strong wind had come up, and I could hear the surf crashing. I couldn’t get to sleep, realizing that I was up to my tanned butt in official trouble, and getting in deeper.
I thought about the cautionary fable I’d learned on Hon Chong Mountain. No one could say I hadn’t been warned.
The world is not always kind to lovers, and in the case of Paul Brenner and Susan Weber, we had really pissed off the gods.
Susan was right that we had to leave tomorrow rather than Saturday, which was Lunar New Year’s Eve. But she knew that all week.
I was certain that Susan Weber was ready to go home, if I took her home. But she never once said, “Let’s get out of here.” She said, “Let me go with you wherever you have to go.”
And that brought me to three possible conclusions: One, she was bored, finished with Bill, and was looking for an adventure and challenge; two, she was madly in love with me and didn’t want to leave my side; three, she and I were on the same assignment.
One, all, or any combination was possible.
That aside, I think we both understood that if we parted here in Nha Trang, we might never meet in Hanoi, or anywhere; and if we did meet in Hanoi, it wouldn’t be the same. My journey had become her journey, and her way home had become my way home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Early Friday morning, we went to the government travel agency, Vidotour, but like most government agencies, they were closed for the holiday. In fact, aside from food and flower shops, the town was starting to shut down.
We went next to the train station, but this being the last day that any trains were running until the following Friday, we couldn’t even buy a standby ticket. To make matters worse, even if we bribed our way on a train, the ticket or bribe was only good to Da Nang where we’d have to go through the process again, or get stranded in Da Nang.
As we left the train station, Susan asked me, “Why did they send you here during the Tet holiday?”
I replied, “It’s not as stupid as it seems. I need to find someone in his native town or village.”
“Oh. Well, he should be there.”
“I hope so. That’s the only address we have.”
“Tam Ki? Is that the village?”
“I don’t think that place exists. It’s another place whose name I’ll get in Hue. After Hue, I need to go to this place. But you will not—repeat not — go with me.”
“I know that. I’ll stay in Hue. Then I’ll get myself up to Hanoi and meet you.”
“Fine. Meanwhile, we need to get to Hue.”
“Money talks. I’ll get us to Hue.”
We walked around town with the tourist map that I’d bought on the beach, but the two private travel agencies were closed.
As we walked, I looked for a tail, but I was fairly certain we were alone. After some inquiries on the street, we found a mini-bus-tour office that was open near the central market. The guy behind the counter was a slicky boy with dark glasses and the instincts of a vulture. He smelled money and desperation the way a carrion-eating bird smells impending death. Susan and he slugged it out for ten minutes, then she said to me, “He’s got a tour group leaving here at 7 A.M. tomorrow. They arrive in Hue about 6 P.M., in time for Tet Eve. When do you have to meet your person?”
“Not until noon the next day — New Year’s Day. Sunday.”
“Okay. He says there are no actual seats left on the mini-bus, but we can sit in the doorwell or someplace. Plenty of room for our luggage. Fifty bucks each.”
“What kind of tour group?”
She asked Slicky Boy, then said to me, “They’re French.”
“Let’s walk.”
She laughed.
“Tell him he has to pay us.”
She actually translated this to Slicky, and he laughed and slapped my shoulder.
I said, “Ask him if he has a car and driver available today.”
She spoke to him, and he looked doubtful, which meant, “Yes, and it’s going to cost you a fortune.”
Susan said to me, “He has a man who can drive us to Hue, but because of the holiday, it will cost us five hundred dollars.”
I said, “It’s not my holiday. Two hundred.”
She spoke to Slicky, and we settled on three hundred. Susan said to me, “He says the driver and the car aren’t available until about 6 P.M.” She added, “By car, we can make it in seven or eight hours if we leave about six when traffic gets light. That will get us in at one or two in the morning. Is that okay?”
“Sure. We can sleep in the hotel lobby if there isn’t a room available.”
“All right… you understand that night driving isn’t that safe?”
“Neither is day driving around here.”
“Right. I’ll tell him to pick us up about six at the hotel.”
I took her aside and said to her, “No. Tell him we’ll come here. And tell him we’re going to Hue”Phu Bai Airport.”
She nodded and passed this on to Slicky Boy.
We left Slicky Boy Tours and found an outdoor café where we got coffee.
I said to Susan, “You did a great job. I was getting a little concerned about getting out of here.”
“For that kind of money — about a year’s salary — you can get what you want. As my father used to say, ‘The poor suffer, the rich are slightly inconvenienced.’ ” She looked at me and said, “If we have three hundred dollars, we must have more. And it’s a night drive. So don’t fall asleep.”
“I already figured that out. That’s why I’m still alive.” I added, “If we don’t like the looks of this tonight, we have the mini-bus in the morning as a backup.”
She sipped her coffee and asked me, “Why didn’t you want the driver to pick us up at the hotel?”
“Because Colonel Mang doesn’t want me using private transportation.”
“Why not?”
“Because Colonel Mang is a paranoid asshole. I need to go to the Immigration Police and show them a ticket to Hue. You said I could get a bus ticket.”
“Yes. The ticket is good for any time, Nha Trang to Hue. So the police won’t ask what bus you intend to take. Hue is about 550 kilometers from here, and that could take ten to twelve hours by bus, so my guess is the last bus for Hue will leave here about 1 P.M., to arrive in Hue about midnight.”
“So, if I was really taking the bus, I’d need to leave soon.”
“That’s right. And you’d have to check out of the hotel soon.”
“Okay.” I stood. “Bus station.”
We paid the bill, left, and walked to the main bus terminal.
The bus terminal was a mass of impoverished humanity, and I didn’t see a single Westerner there, not even a backpacker or a schoolteacher.
The lines were long, but Susan went to the front of the line and gave a guy a few bucks to buy my ticket. Susan asked me, “One way, or round-trip?”
“One way, observation deck, window seat.”
“One ticket for the roof.” The Viet guy bought the ticket, and we left the teeming bus terminal.
Susan said, “The ticket agent said there’s a noon bus, and a one P.M. bus.”
We walked toward the police station, and I said to Susan, “You stay here. By now, they know you speak Vietnamese. I do better with pidgin English.”
She said, “More importantly, if you don’t come out of there, I’ll contact the embassy.”
I didn’t reply and walked to the Immigration police station.
Inside was a different guy behind the desk, and I presented him with Colonel Mang’s letter, which he read.
The waiting room was nearly empty this time, except for two backpackers sleeping on benches.