People stood around and chatted, and somehow, don’t ask how, Susan got into a conversation with a Viet family. They were very impressed with her fluent Vietnamese, and her rudimentary French, which they also spoke.
Long story short, we were on our way to dinner with the Pham family.
On the way there, walking with this entire clan, I said to Susan, “Didn’t you tell them I wasn’t of good character?”
“Fortunately, they didn’t ask about either of us.”
On the way, Susan gave me a quick course in Vietnamese table manners. She said, “Don’t leave your chopsticks sticking up in the rice bowl. That’s a sign of death, like the joss sticks in the bowls in cemeteries and family altars. Also, everything is passed on platters. You have to try everything that’s passed to you. If you empty a glass of wine or beer, they automatically refill it. Leave half a glass if you don’t want any more.”
“Sounds like South Boston.”
“Listen up. The Vietnamese don’t belch like the Chinese do to show they enjoyed the meal. They consider that crude, as we do.”
“I don’t consider belching crude. But then, I don’t belong to the Junior League.”
She made a sound of exasperation, then said, “Okay, when you’ve had enough to eat, you stick your chopsticks in your nostrils.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust me.”
The Phams lived in a nice private house, not too far from the cathedral, and they obviously had a few dong.
I still had rice coming out of my ears from the meal at the hotel, but that was no excuse not to eat.
I found myself wedged in at a long table between a hundred-year-old grandma and some snotty kid. Across from me, however, was a number one co-dep, and she spoke a little English, but not enough for me to show her how charming I was. She may have belonged to someone, but she kept smiling and giggling, and passing me platters.
Everyone spoke ten words of English, and they weren’t the same ten words, so the conversation moved okay. Plus, most of them knew some French, and my limited French was coming back to me. The Vietnamese phrases that I knew well, as I said, were not appropriate for a family dinner. I did, however, consider asking co-dep to show me her ID card.
Susan was down at the other end of the table, and she was having a good time.
The Vietnamese seemed very pleasant in a family setting, but the public and commercial life of this whole country was a disaster.
A guy of about thirty sitting next to Susan said in passable English, “Mr. Paul, Miss Susan tell me you here in 1968.”
“Quang Tri.”
“Yes? You fight Communists.”
“That’s why I was here.”
“You kill?”
“Uh… I guess.”
“Good.” He stood and said something to the crowd, raised his glass to me, and said in English, “To this brave soldier who kill the…” He asked Susan something, then finished his sentence with, “kill the Antichrists.”
Everyone toasted, and I felt compelled to stand. I had the distinct feeling this was an anti-Communist crowd, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the door burst open and the Ministry of Public Security goons came in and arrested everyone. Karl would not approve of me being here. I raised my glass and said, “To the brave Catholics of Vietnam. The only good Red is a dead Red.”
My host seemed momentarily confused, but Susan translated, and everyone applauded.
I looked at Susan and saw she was rolling her eyes. I sat and waited for the door to burst open.
At about 2 A.M., I considered sticking my chopsticks up my nostrils, but we didn’t get out of there until about 3 A.M., and the streets were deserted. Also, I was a little inebriated.
Susan said, “Wasn’t that an experience?”
I burped. “It was.”
“I’m having such a good time with you.”
I burped again. “Good.”
“They were such nice people.”
“Right. A little bloodthirsty, but nice.”
“Mr. Uyen, the man sitting next to me, who toasted you, told me that many of his family were murdered by the Communists in 1968. That’s why they’re so… hateful of the regime.”
“You know, everyone here is full of suppressed hate and rage over what happened. Colonel Mang, Mr. Uyen, all of them. They’d love to get their hands around each other’s throats again.”
Susan didn’t reply.
I said, “Anyway, the Phams should be careful. The Ministry of Public Security does not play games.”
“I’m sure they’re careful.”
“They didn’t even know us.”
“We’re Americans, and Catholics. One of us is Catholic.”
“Right.” It was interesting that the Viets assumed all Americans were anti-Communist. I guess they hadn’t met any Ivy League professors. I said, “I don’t think we were followed from the cathedral, and no one is following us now. But you didn’t do the Pham family any favors by inviting yourself to dinner. Conversely, they’re probably on a few watch lists, so we didn’t do ourselves any favors by going there.”
She stayed silent awhile, then said, “Point made.” She added, “But I think even the cops are celebrating tonight.”
“I hope so.”
We walked through the quiet streets, then Susan said, “You seemed to be enjoying the company of that young lady across from you.”
“What young lady?”
“The one you were speaking to all night.”
“Oh, that one. She’s a nun.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Susan, I’m tired, I have a headache, and we’re lost.”
“We’re not lost. The hotel’s that way.”
We kept walking, and sure enough, we turned a corner and saw the hotel.
Susan suddenly stopped. “Paul.”
“What?”
“Weren’t you supposed to report to the Immigration Police today?”
“I was busy today. I’ll do it tomorrow.” We continued walking.
“You should have gone today. They know you’re here because the hotel reported your check-in.”
“Well, then, they know I’m here. Fuck ’em.” I added, “Colonel Mang has me on a long leash. He wants to see what I’m up to.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know.”
“So what happens tomorrow when you have to make a rendezvous? What if you’re being watched?”
“You always plan a secret rendezvous as if you’re being watched. That’s why they’re called secret.” I added, “I have to ask you to stay out of the Citadel tomorrow.”
“Oh… okay.”
“Unless you’re my contact.”
“That would be interesting.”
We got to the hotel, and I said, “Let’s go around back, and you can show me where it’s buried.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Now.”
“Okay…”
We walked on a path to the gardens at the rear of the hotel. The land sloped down to the river, and the gardens were terraced and lit with small ground lights.
We walked down a path toward the river, and Susan nodded to her right. “See them? Orange birds-of-paradise.”
“Is that the flower that eats flies?”
“No, Paul. Do you see them or not?”
“I do. Someplace in there?”
“Yes. A foot to the right of the middle garden light. The soil is very loamy. I can dig it up with my hand.”
“Okay. I’ll get it before we leave.”
“I’ll get it.”
I didn’t reply. We stood in the garden and looked out at the river. At this hour, we were the only ones there; we turned and walked back to the front of the hotel.
We went into the lobby, and I checked for messages. There were two for me, and I signed for them.