Up Country Part 57

"I really don't care."

"Don't say that. I was just doing a job. Then I fell in love. Happens all the time."

"Does it?"

"Not to me. But to people. I really hated myself for not being honest with you. But I thought you figured it all out anyway. You're very bright."

"Don't try to b.u.t.ter me up."

"You are are p.i.s.sed at me." p.i.s.sed at me."

"You bet."

"Do you still love me?"

"No."

"Paul? Look at me."

I looked at her.

She gave me a sort of sad smile and said, "It's not fair, you know, if the G.o.ds in Washington come between us. If we part, we'll both turn to stone."

She had a point there about Washington, and I suppose you could say we were both being manipulated and lied to. I said to her, "Of course I love you."

She smiled.

I asked her, "What o.r.g.a.s.m did you fake?"

She smiled wider. "You tell me." She added, "I won't do it again."

So, we sat there, had another round, and retreated into our own thoughts, trying to figure it all out.

Finally, she asked me, "Did you get any messages today?"

"No."

"Why do they want you to drop me?"

"Don't know. Do you know?"

"Probably because they don't like what happened between us. They really don't want us pooling information." She added, "I'm supposed to be working for them, but they don't trust me anymore. And neither do you."

I didn't reply to that last statement and said, "I think on a personal level, your friend Bill was pushing Washington to push me to dump you."

"I'm sure of it. He's really p.i.s.sed at you." She laughed.

"He should thank me for getting his headache."

"That's not nice."

I didn't reply. I asked her, "Did you you get a message?" get a message?"

"Yes. They know I'm here, of course. Message from Bill ordering ordering me to return to Saigon. Business jargon. Said I'd be fired and disciplined and so forth if I didn't report to work Monday. There's a ticket waiting for me at Hue"Phu Bai Airport." me to return to Saigon. Business jargon. Said I'd be fired and disciplined and so forth if I didn't report to work Monday. There's a ticket waiting for me at Hue"Phu Bai Airport."

"You should go straighten that out."

"I should, but I'm not. I want to go with you to Quang Tri."

"Fine. I booked a four-wheel drive and driver, 8 A.M. A.M., to take us to the A Shau Valley, Khe Sanh, and Quang Tri. I requested Mr. Cam."

She laughed and said, "Mr. Cam is home now in front of the family altar, asking the G.o.ds to erase us from his memory."

"I hope so."

"Paul?"

"Yes?"

"Can I give you some advice?"

"Is it free?"

"Yes. And from the heart. Don't go where they're sending you. Come back to Saigon with me."

"Why?"

"It's dangerous. You know that. That's not what I'm supposed to tell you. That's from me personally."

I nodded. "Thank you. But as they may have told you, I'm counter-suggestible."

"I don't know about that. But I know that you think this is a personal test of your courage, and maybe you have a lot of other personal reasons for pushing on. This is no longer about duty, honor, and country, if it ever was. Well, you've proven your courage to me, and I'll write a full report about Highway One and everything else that's happened. You have to make the decision to abort. We'll go to Quang Tri and the A Shau Valley tomorrow and Khe Sanh, and you'll put that to rest. Then we'll go back to Saigon together, take a bunch of c.r.a.p from everyone, then... you go home."

"And you?"

She shrugged.

I thought about that tempting offer for about half a second, then replied, "I'm finishing the job. End of conversation."

"Can I go with you?"

I looked at her and said, "If you thought Highway One was bad, wait until you see this trip."

"I really don't care. I hope by now you know I can handle it."

I didn't reply.

She informed me, "You'll increase your chances of success by about five hundred percent if I'm along."

"But can I double my money?"

"Sure. Look, Paul, there's no downside to having me along."

"That's a joke-right? Look, I appreciate your willingness to risk jail and maybe even your life to be with me, but-"

"I don't want to spend the next week worrying about you. I want to be with you."

"Susan... this may sound very chauvinistic, but there are times when a man-"

"Cut the c.r.a.p."

"Okay. How's this? I keep thinking of those photos in your office, and sometimes I see you as Mr. and Mrs. Weber's little girl again, and I see the rest of your family back in Ma.s.sachusetts, and even though I don't know them, I could never face them or face myself if something happened to you because of me."

"That's a very nice thought. Actually sensitive. But you know, Paul, if something happened between here and Hanoi, it would most probably happen to both of us. We'd have adjoining cells, adjoining hospital beds, or matching air shipment coffins. You won't have to explain anything to my parents, or to anyone."

I looked at my watch. "I'm hungry."

"You can't have dinner until you say yes."

I stood. "Let's go."

She stood. "Okay, you can have dinner. I knew I should have asked you when we were in bed. I can get anything I want out of you in bed."

"Probably."

We went outside, and it was raining, so we took a taxi across the river into the Citadel where Susan said she'd made a dinner reservation.

The restaurant was called Huong Sen and was a sixteen-sided pavilion built on stilts in the middle of a lotus pond.

We got a table by the rail, ordered drinks, watched the rain fall on the water, and listened to bullfrogs croaking. It was a very nice, atmospheric place, lit with colored lanterns and candles on the tables. Romantic.

Neither of us mentioned a word of business or anything that had been said in the c.o.c.ktail lounge.

We had dinner and talked about home and about friends and family, but not about us or about any future plans.

Somewhere back there in the c.o.c.ktail lounge, I think I used the "L" word, and I was trying to remember what I'd said. Maybe I didn't actually use it, but I remembered agreeing to it.

Susan was staring out at the rain on the pond, and I looked at her profile.

I should have been incredibly angry at her; but I wasn't. I shouldn't trust another word she said; but I did. Physically, she was flawless, and intellectually she gave me a run for my money. If I were writing an officer's evaluation report on her, I'd say: brave, intelligent, resourceful, decisive, and loyal. Divided loyalty, to be sure, but loyal.

But was I in love?

I think so. But what happened here could probably not happen elsewhere, and maybe could not be transplanted. And then there was Cynthia.

Susan turned and saw me staring at her. She smiled. "What are you thinking about?"

"You."

"And I'm thinking about you. I'm trying to think of a happy ending."

I didn't reply.

"Can you think of a happy ending?"

"We'll work on it."

We looked at each other, and we both probably had the same thought that the chances of a happy ending were not good.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

The following morning, Monday, Susan and I waited in the hotel lobby for our car and driver. We both wore jeans, long-sleeve shirts, and walking shoes. Susan had her tote bag filled with things for the road.

The lobby was full of tourists waiting for their buses, cars, and guides. Hue was a tourist mecca, I realized, a destination between Saigon and Hanoi, and as it turned out, a good place for my rendezvous.

She asked me, "How are you getting to where you need to go tomorrow?"

"I don't know yet. We'll talk about it later."

"Does that mean you'd like my help?"

"Maybe."

"I'll give you some advice now-do not hire a car with a Vidotour driver. You might as well have Colonel Mang along."

"Thank you. I already figured that out."

We walked outside, and it was another gray, overcast day, cool and damp, but no rain.

Susan said to me, "You really pumped me last night."

"I was very h.o.r.n.y."

"I wasn't talking about that that. I meant in the lounge."

"Oh. That was overdue, darling."

An open white RAV4 pulled into the circular driveway and stopped. A guy got out and spoke to the doorman, who pointed to us.

The driver came over to us, and Susan spoke to him in Vietnamese. They chatted for a minute, probably about price, which is Susan's favorite subject with the Viets.

He was a man of about forty, and I'd gotten into the habit of matching the age of a Viet with his or her age in relation to the war. This guy had been in his mid-teens when the war ended, and he may have carried a rifle, either for the South Vietnamese local defense forces, made up mostly of kids and old men, or for the Viet Cong, who had lots of boys and girls in their ranks.