Up Country Part 16

"Me, too." She picked up her attache case. "Thanks for dinner. You'll let me buy you dinner tomorrow."

"Sure."

She hesitated, then looked me in the eye and said, "I know a few men your age who work here, and a few men who I've met here who have returned to find something, or maybe lose something. So, I know it's tough, and I can understand. But for people my age, Vietnam is a country, not a war."

I didn't reply.

"Good night, Paul."

"Good night, Susan."

I watched her disappear into the enclosed restaurant.

I looked at the c.o.c.ktail napkin, memorized her home phone number, and crumpled the napkin into my coffee cup.

It was, as I say, a beautiful evening with a warm breeze rustling the plants. The band was playing "MacArthur Park." I closed my eyes.

A long time ago, when Vietnam was a war and not a country, I could recall nights like this out under the stars, the tropical breeze moving through the vegetation. And there were other nights without a breeze, when the vegetation moved, and you could hear the tapping of the bamboo sticks that they used to signal one another. The tree frogs stopped croaking and even the insects became still and the night birds flew off. And you waited in the deathly silence, and even your breathing stopped, but your heart thumped so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it. And the sound of the tapping bamboo came closer, and the vegetation swayed in the breezeless night.

I opened my eyes and sat there awhile. Susan had left a half bottle of beer, and I drank from the bottle to moisten my dry mouth.

I took a deep breath, and the war went away. I found myself looking forward to tomorrow.

I went to my room carrying the newspaper. There was no message light on, no message envelopes anywhere, and the snow globe had been moved by the maid who turned down the bed. It was now on the desk. went to my room carrying the newspaper. There was no message light on, no message envelopes anywhere, and the snow globe had been moved by the maid who turned down the bed. It was now on the desk.

I sat at the desk and opened my International Herald Tribune International Herald Tribune to the crossword puzzle, which was the to the crossword puzzle, which was the New York Times New York Times puzzle and was half finished. I studied the puzzle a moment, then I noticed that next to number 32 down was a tick mark. puzzle and was half finished. I studied the puzzle a moment, then I noticed that next to number 32 down was a tick mark.

I opened my Lonely Planet Guide Lonely Planet Guide to the section on Hue. There was a map of the city and a numbered key that showed points of interest. Number 32 was the Halls of the Mandarins, located, I saw, in the Imperial Enclosure, which was a walled section within the Citadel walls of the Old City. to the section on Hue. There was a map of the city and a numbered key that showed points of interest. Number 32 was the Halls of the Mandarins, located, I saw, in the Imperial Enclosure, which was a walled section within the Citadel walls of the Old City.

This was where I was supposed to meet my contact on the appointed day at noon. He-or she-was a Vietnamese, and that's all I knew.

If I somehow missed the hour, or if no one was there to meet me, I was to go to the alternate rendezvous at 2 P.M. P.M. The alternate was identified by the reverse of the digits 32, according to Mr. Conway. I looked at the map of Hue and saw that number 23 was the Royal Library, which was located in the inner sanctum of the Imperial Enclosure, called the Forbidden Purple City. The alternate was identified by the reverse of the digits 32, according to Mr. Conway. I looked at the map of Hue and saw that number 23 was the Royal Library, which was located in the inner sanctum of the Imperial Enclosure, called the Forbidden Purple City.

The third alternate at 4 P.M. P.M. was the sum of 3 and 2, which on the map was an historic temple called Chua Ba, outside the Citadel walls of the city. was the sum of 3 and 2, which on the map was an historic temple called Chua Ba, outside the Citadel walls of the city.

If my contact didn't show up at any of these rendezvous, then I was to go back to the hotel and wait for a message. I was supposed to be prepared to leave at a moment's notice.

I thought this was all a little melodramatic, but probably necessary. Also, I didn't like the idea of having to trust a Viet, but I had to a.s.sume the people in Washington knew what they were doing. I mean, they'd been so successful here before.

I put a few more tick marks against the numbers in the crossword puzzle and did more of the puzzle, noticing that Ms. Weber got some really difficult clues right. Obviously a bright lady, and obviously, too, she had her own agenda-or someone else's agenda.

Tomorrow should be interesting.

CHAPTER TEN.

I got off the elevator and walked into the hotel lobby at ten after eight. Sitting in a chair under a palm tree was Susan Weber, reading a magazine. Her legs were crossed, and she was wearing black slacks and walking shoes. As I got closer, I could see that the magazine was in English and was called the got off the elevator and walked into the hotel lobby at ten after eight. Sitting in a chair under a palm tree was Susan Weber, reading a magazine. Her legs were crossed, and she was wearing black slacks and walking shoes. As I got closer, I could see that the magazine was in English and was called the Vietnam Economic Times Vietnam Economic Times.

She put down the magazine and stood. I could see now she was also wearing a tightly tailored red silk shirt with half sleeves and a high mandarin collar. She had sungla.s.ses on a cord around her neck, and one of those nylon f.a.n.n.y packs around her waist. She said, "Good morning. I was just about to start calling around for you."

"I'm alive and well."

She said, "I may have had a little too much to drink last night. If so, I apologize."

"I certainly wasn't in a position to judge. I hope I was a good dinner companion."

She replied, "I enjoy talking to people from home."

Ms. Weber was a little cooler this morning than she'd been last night, which was understandable. Remove the alcohol, the music, the candlelight, and the starry night, and people get a little more reserved around last night's date, even if they've wound up in the same bed.

I was wearing my standard khaki slacks, and instead of a golf shirt, I wore a short-sleeve dress shirt. I replied, "Am I dressed all right for church?"

"You're fine. Ready?"

"Let me get rid of my room key." I went to the front desk and gave the clerk my key. "Any messages?"

He checked my box and said, "No, sir."

I walked toward the front doors where Susan was standing. This was really annoying about the pa.s.sport. Mang knew I was leaving tomorrow, and I needed my pa.s.sport to travel.

I joined Susan, who said, "I see you didn't get your pa.s.sport back. But I'm sure they'll return it today if they know you're leaving tomorrow."

"I think I'll be picking it up at Gestapo Headquarters."

"They usually just return it to the hotel. Or they'll tell you to pick it up at the airport. But that usually means you're going home sooner than you thought."

Fine with me, though I didn't say that.

She asked, "Do you have your visa?"

"The hotel has my visa."

She thought a moment and said, "You should always have photocopies of your pa.s.sport and visa with you."

"I did. The police stole them from my overnight bag at the airport."

"Oh..." She said, "I'll get a copy of your visa made." She walked to the front desk and spoke to the clerk, who checked a file box. He pulled out a piece of paper, read it, and said something to Susan. Susan came back to me and said, "The police have taken your visa."

I didn't reply.

She said, "Well, don't worry about it."

"Why not?"

"No one's going to stop us. Ready?"

We walked outside, and it was hotter than the day before. Motor traffic on Le Loi was a little lighter on a Sunday, but there were as many bicycles and cyclos as on Sat.u.r.day.

Susan gave the doorman a dollar, and we walked toward a red motor scooter parked on the sidewalk. She stopped beside the motor scooter, took a pack of cigarettes from her f.a.n.n.y pack, and lit one. "I need a cigarette before we go." She smiled. "You might need one after we get on the road."

"Can we take a taxi?"

"Boring." She patted the motor scooter. "This is a Minsk, 175cc's. Russian made. A good machine for around town. I also own a motorcycle, a 750cc Ural, a real beast. Great for the open road, and a very good crossover bike in the mud." She took a drag on her cigarette and said, "The Russians make decent bikes, and for some reason, there are always parts available."

"Are there helmets available?"

"You don't need helmets in Vietnam. Do you ride?"

"When I was your age."

"There were no helmet laws in the States when you were my age. Did you wear a helmet?"

"I suppose not."

She drew on her cigarette and asked me, "Did you get your number?"

"Couldn't find it."

"Couldn't find it? I ticked off number 32 on the crossword puzzle. Didn't you notice that?"

"I'm not that bright. Took a few spills when I had my motorcycle."

She laughed and said, "Thirty-two. I'll remember it for you." She asked me, "What's it mean?"

"Thirty-two down? I think the word was rotisserie."

She didn't think that was funny, but left it alone.

I looked at her as she finished her cigarette. She pa.s.sed the direct sunlight test-in fact, she looked better than last night, with a nice tan, and bigger and brighter eyes than I'd noticed in the candlelight. Also, the shirt and slacks fit well.

She took a final drag on her cigarette and said, "Okay. I have have to stop smoking." She threw the cigarette in the gutter and said, "I went to my office this morning and sent that fax." to stop smoking." She threw the cigarette in the gutter and said, "I went to my office this morning and sent that fax."

"Thanks."

"It was about 7 P.M. P.M., Sat.u.r.day, their time, but someone replied. They work long hours there, wherever and whoever they are."

"What was the reply?"

"Just acknowledged receipt, said to keep them informed. They wanted me to give them a time when you and I could be near the fax for a confidential response later. I said I'd come back to the office at 8 P.M. P.M. my time for the fax. Is that okay?" my time for the fax. Is that okay?"

"Well... considering that you're not being paid to go in on a Sunday, that's fine."

She replied, "Whatever they have to say can wait twelve hours." She added, "You might have your pa.s.sport by then, or your exit visa. Ready to roll?"

She put on her sungla.s.ses, jumped on the motor scooter, started the engine, and revved it a few times. "Hop on." She took an elastic band out of her pocket and tied her long, flowing hair back so it wouldn't blow in my face.

I got on the saddle seat, which was a little small, and held on to the C-strap. Susan pushed off the center stand and drove down the sidewalk, then cut onto Le Loi Street. I put my feet on the footpegs just as we made a sharp U-turn.

Within five terrifying minutes, we were at the Cathedral of Notre Dame, an out-of-place Gothic structure with twin spires, but made of brick instead of stone. There was a small gra.s.sy square out front where we dismounted. Susan chained the motor scooter to a bike rack. I remembered this square from 1972, and nothing much had changed. Even the big statue of the Virgin Mary had survived the war and the Communist takeover. On that subject, I asked Susan, "How are the Commies with religion?"

"Depends on the program of the moment. They seem okay with the Buddhists, but not thrilled with the Catholics, who they view as subversive."

We walked toward the cathedral, and I said, "And therefore, you go to church."

She didn't reply, but continued, "They give the Protestants a really hard time. They hara.s.s the missionaries, kick them out, and close their mission schools and churches. There are no Protestant churches in Saigon, only some private services in homes." We got to the steps of the cathedral, and she asked me, "Did you ever come here during the war?"

"Actually, I did, twice, when I got into Saigon on a Sunday."

"So, you were a good Catholic then."

"There are no bad Catholics in a foxhole."

We climbed the steps of the cathedral, and Susan said h.e.l.lo to a few Americans, and people who sounded like Australians. I noticed there weren't many Vietnamese, and I commented on that.

She replied, "Father Tuan says this ma.s.s in English-the next is in French, then the rest are in Vietnamese."

"Are we staying for all of them?"

She ignored me, and we went into the narthex, and here, too, Susan chatted with some people and introduced me to a few of them. One woman looked at me, then asked Susan how Bill was. There's always one.

We walked into this big Gothic monster that could have been in France, except that I noticed that the place was decorated with blossoms and k.u.mquat trees for the Tet holiday, which I vaguely recalled that even the Catholics celebrated here.

As I was looking up at the vaulted ceiling, Susan said, "Are you afraid it might fall on you?"

"I told you I needed a helmet."

We walked up the center aisle. The place was cool and dark and about half full. We sat in a pew toward the front. Susan said, "There's a chance Bill may show up. I spoke to him last night."

"Was he happy that you got home after midnight?"

"He's not the jealous type, and there's nothing to be jealous of." She added, "If he seems a bit unfriendly, that's just his manner."

"Right. Look, why don't I go back to the hotel after ma.s.s?"

"Shhh. It's starting."

The organ cranked up, and the processional started up the aisle. The priest and all the altar boys and everyone else in the processional was a Viet, except the man on the processional cross who was Jewish. It's all pretty amazing, if you think about it.

Anyway, the ma.s.s started, and Father Tuan's English was something else. I think I would have understood the French better. Like the ma.s.s, the hymns were in English, and I discovered that Susan had a beautiful singing voice. I faked the hymns, though I can really belt out "The Rose of Tralee" when I'm drunk.

The sermon had to do with sins of the flesh and the many temptations in the city. Then there was something about the souls of the impoverished girls who sold their bodies, and so forth. The priest made the point that without sinners, there'd be no sin-no opium, no prost.i.tution, gambling, p.o.r.nography, and ma.s.sage parlors.

I had the impression he was looking at me. I started feeling like a character in a Graham Greene novel, sweating in some G.o.dforsaken tropical climate, wracked with Catholic guilt over some s.e.xual transgression, which, in the final a.n.a.lysis, was not that big a deal.