11

The helicopter was in the air.

Pham Quyen had fastened his seat belt, but the bubble-like cockpit offered little sense of security. Below, the tributaries of the Thu Bon flowed through the plain like the tangled branches of a tropical plant, its swamps connected by a web of narrow waterways like raindrops, dispersing and flowing together as they ran down a windowpane. They were flying toward the dark and ominous jungle of the plateau. The helicopter began to descend as they approached the destination, passing over Chiang Hoa.

As the plains ended there appeared a narrow bottlenecked valley. The plain continued along the upper edges of this lush ravine like flesh clinging to a bony rib. The wide river flowed on peacefully at the bottom of its serpentine canyon. An Diem was situated at the point that looked like the base of the bottle. Even to those with no experience in military affairs, the strategic value of An Diem was obvious at a glance. The Vietnamese pilot sent a message over the radio. Pink smoke began ascending from a white circle below, as small as a coin.

“We’re landing, sir.”

“Good. Tell the patrol leader to be ready.”

As they radioed back and forth, the helicopter hung suspended in the air. Then it slowly began a jerky descent. A cloud of red dust floated up. The helipad was large and paved with asphalt. The dust came from the area surrounding the landing strip. As soon as they touched down, Pham Quyen ran to the edge of the pad, bent over and leaning down away from the propeller. A Ranger lieutenant had been waiting for him and was saluting.

“First Lieutenant Kanh, in charge of the guard detail, sir.”

Pham Quyen looked around the heliport. Militiamen, enough for a squad, spread about on watch. They wore black Vietnamese clothing and Burmese jungle hats. Their carbines were in bad shape.

“Is that your patrol?”

“No, sir. We have the platoon stationed up on both sides of the high hill over there. From up there the site is within range of mortars and rockets.”

“And the front line on the other side?”

“The American special forces and our battalion. We’ve been dispatched from that unit to here, sir.”

“Do you have field glasses?”

The lieutenant barked a command to his staff and a pair of binoculars were immediately brought to Pham Quyen. Just as the lieutenant had said, the buffer detachments were visible. He could make out a high sandbag barricade, barbed wire fences, and a secure operations road. He also scanned both sides of the nearby hill. They had set up machine gun nests, a trench mortar and a 3.5-inch rocket launcher. The soldiers had dug out foxholes and were surveying the opposite sides of the hills. Pham Quyen looked at his watch.

“Fire warning shots.”

The lieutenant hurried to a waiting Jeep and picked up the radio transmitter. As Pham Quyen looked on through the field glasses, 81mm cannon started firing and a heavy machine gun began to sputter. Rockets and trench mortar shells flew up and rained down into the ravine. The valley seemed about to explode from the noise. Cannon smoke was visible from three directions.

“Good job.”

He got into the lieutenant’s Jeep and they drove up along the barbed wire on the perimeter of the new hamlet. Outside the trail were two more layers of barbed wire encirclements, and beyond them, a deep trench had been dug for defensive emplacements. He could see the new houses standing there, ready for occupancy. They were made of cement and adobe. Each had been neatly painted white and the windows had bamboo shutters.

“What will be the inspection route?”

“The front row of houses, the community laundry, the public toilet, the school, the playground, and the village hall. The ceremonial ribbon is over there at the main gate of the village.”

They were heading toward the village hall where the dedication ceremony was to be staged. American and Vietnamese flags were hanging everywhere, and streamers with flags of the United Nations member countries were hanging stiffly, like fish from the Thu Bon strung up to dry. Waves of girls in ahozais came into view. The girls, bouquets and wreaths in their arms, must have been students from Hoi An.

Already seated on the raised platform were the police band, American and Vietnamese staff from the troop information and education section, a few domestic and foreign reporters, and some prominent local citizens. A pair of MPs were standing guard at either end of the platform. Overhead was a large banner with “Congratulations on the Opening of the Phoenix Hamlet” written in the center and the words “Peace” and “Freedom” in big letters on the two ends. A familiar-looking American major from the advisory council got out of a car and extended his hand to Pham Quyen, and said, “Congratulations.”

Pham Quyen looked at his watch again and added, “From now on An Diem will know peace.”

“The provincial government still has a lot work ahead of it before peace comes to the whole of Quang Nam Province.”

“And what gifts have you brought to commemorate the founding of this settlement?”

“We’ve supplied some sturdy American spades and other farming implements. It’s not enough to go around, but they can be shared.”

“Good idea. Things were different back a few years ago with the strategic hamlets. At one dedication ceremony, there was an excess of several thousand toothbrushes. At another, they opened crates to find heaps of chocolate.”

“We’re well aware of those incidents. Another extreme case occurred when somehow women’s curlers for permanents were delivered by the bushel. A bureaucratic error.”

They heard the noisy whir of approaching helicopters in the distance. A formation of aircrafts—the governor’s helicopter, a Cobra obtained from the US Marines; followed by a Chinook and two more gunships in the rear. Pham Quyen quickly got into the lieutenant’s Jeep.

“All the houses have been checked?”

“Yes, sir. We went over all of them this morning with a mine detector. And the platform was double-checked again just a half hour ago.”

“Well done.”

The escort gunships hovered above while the Chinook descended first. The American advisory council emerged from inside. The welcoming party all saluted. They waited for the governor around the helipad perimeter. His Cobra landed and the general got off with a kind, smiling demeanor. Disembarking behind him was a tall American civilian, the only one there wearing a suit and tie, who waved. The two shook hands with each and every one of the American and Vietnamese officers who had arrived before them.

With the lieutenant’s patrol Jeep in the lead, they approached the venue of the ceremony. The police band played “The Double-Headed Eagle.” As they mounted the platform, all of the prominent leaders of the An Diem community stood up and the future residents of the new hamlet who had been squatting in front of the platform also nervously got to their feet. Everyone applauded.

Pham Quyen stood before the platform. He waited until everyone took their seats and then said in Vietnamese,

“The official dedication ceremony will now begin.”

He then repeated it in English. A Vietnamese flag was raised over the empty hamlet commons, and the national anthem, composed in the time of the People’s Party, was played. The old people kept their lips firmly sealed. The soprano voices of the girl students were at too high a pitch. The flag with its three red lines on a field of yellow fluttered.

Next, The Star-Spangled Banner was raised. Only the American officers saluted. The brass band played a clumsy rendition of “The Stars and Stripes Forever.” The flag was beautiful, its many white stars shining on the blue background in perfect harmony, recalling how the nation’s new territories had been integrated as it expanded.

“There will be a congratulatory address by Mr. Butler, the representative of the AID Mission in Da Nang,” announced Pham Quyen.

The civilian who was the sole person in the crowd dressed in a suit kept wiping droplets of sweat from his neck and forehead with a handkerchief. His white suit, white shirt, and dark orange tie made him look like a hotel guest, the kind often seen in Southeast Asia. The winds blowing west from the sea had stopped and the steaming heat of the jungles lying to the east seemed to get trapped and stagnate in the bottle-shaped valley. Butler bowed to General Liam before taking the podium. He removed a prepared speech from the pocket inside his suit jacket and, holding it in his hand, read slowly and distinctly.

“Honorable Governor, prominent citizens and new residents who are gathered here together, I consider it a great honor to be able to stand before you today as the representative of the people of America. Ever since the United States of America came to this land to uphold freedom and peace for our ally, the Republic of Vietnam, the hopes of the Vietnamese people have been one and the same with our American people.”

Pham Quyen was acting as interpreter, so Butler paused in his speech and gave a quick glance down at Pham Quyen at the foot of the platform. Without even referring to any notes, Quyen interpreted the address for the villagers.

“General Liam, Governor of Quang Nam Province and Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of Central Vietnam, Mayor of Hoi An, and villagers, I wish to convey the fact that our aid here has been the result of a request from General Liam himself. The American people are fully aware of the many difficulties facing the Vietnamese people, and we are prepared to leave this land of yours when it is possible for the Vietnamese people to live in peace and prosperity.”

Before turning around to Butler, Pham Quyen muttered in a low voice, “Applaud, applaud.”

The expressionless villagers clapped their palms together. In any event, their faces were half-hidden in the shadows of their big cone-shaped hats. Mr. Butler, a magnanimous smile on his face, waited for the applause to subside before he continued.

“Freedom from poverty, freedom from fear, freedom from suppression of free speech, and the right to defend oneself against foreign intrigues or attacks and to decide one’s own future—all these are bestowed upon you. Communists today are indulging in provocations all over the free countries of Asia, trying to wipe out these hopes just mentioned. They started the war in Vietnam, their goal to infiltrate the Free World.

“The ravages of war in Vietnam cannot be blamed on anybody and the future of the Vietnamese people lies with you yourselves. Not only here in Vietnam but all over the world, the Communists are stirring up wars, and the Americans are fighting wherever necessary to save their brothers. Wherever there are Communists, there are American soldiers.

“If Vietnam is overrun by these violent terrorists, the Communists, then Thailand, Burma, Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines will also fall one by one, and that would mean a state of slavery for all the peoples of Southeast Asia.

“America does not like wars. Early in her history, the United States, just like your country, struggled to obtain freedom and human rights, to escape from colonization and to achieve the level of prosperity that we enjoy today. It is a prosperity that America has a responsibility to share with other weaker and less fortunate countries around her. Therefore, the goal of the foreign aid given by the United States is to maintain her promise to help Vietnam free herself from the threat of Communism and regain peace throughout the nation once more. Vietnam is now a patient in critical condition and we, the Americans, are treating Vietnam in order to make her healthy once again.”

In interpreting, Pham Quyen was very sensitive to the differences in nuance between English and his own language. When the ceremony was over, the Americans would get into their helicopters and leave, but from now on the administration and maintenance of the An Diem phoenix hamlet would be the responsibility of the provincial government. So, rather than faithfully interpreting Butler’s speech to the villagers, Pham Quyen found it necessary to convey with proper obscurity the position of the provincial administration. It was nothing more than the usual hollow rhetoric and ambiguous trickery. In fact, the harsh reality was that day in, day out, countless Vietnamese were being maimed and bloodied, losing their limbs and their lives. A speech by the American secretary of defense, published recently in Da Nang’s English-language newspaper, came to his mind:

“About one hundred countries are engrossed in the difficult task of modernizing their societies. There are no uniform standards for progress across these countries. At one extreme, there are societies still primitively structured, divided into clans or tribes with a weakly unified political system. On the other extreme, there are relatively developed countries that, with various levels of success, have made strides toward agricultural abundance and industrial competitiveness.

“This storm-like surge of rapid development is prevalent throughout the southern hemisphere. In all of history it is difficult to find any precedent even roughly analogous. As a consequence, this traditionally lethargic part of the world has developed into a seething maelstrom of change. On the whole, the changes have not been smooth. If certain confluences of events bring economic stagnation or armed conflict, chaos and violence may rage for many years. This would be true even if there were no threat of Communist aggression. With or without Communist interloping, violence is evident in radical forms across the complex international relationships in a world full of tensions. And the national security of the United States of America is linked with the safety and security of developing countries in the far corners of the earth.”

Pham Quyen was also familiar with more concrete and dispassionate expressions of the same sentiments. A certain advisor to the US president once put it plainly: “Plans for foreign aid are drawn up to dispense a variety of loans and grants: some donations are to provide recognition to foreign leaders, some are plans hastily hatched to counter and hinder Soviet aid, and others are to fund ventures to enhance the power of ruling governments.”

While Butler was delivering his speech, Major Pham Quyen filtered the appropriate Vietnamese words out from the English streaming through his head, and in the process he could hear the distinct echo of other voices murmuring:

“Foreign aid from the United States is categorized according to the following goals and consequences: to implement America’s military and political policies in the international arena; to uphold an open-door trade policy, in other words, to obtain free access to natural resources and trading markets, and to furnish investment opportunities for American companies; to support those American companies in search of trade and investment options to obtain immediate economic returns; to ensure that economic development of underdeveloped countries is firmly grounded in capitalistic processes; to make the recipient countries gradually more dependent on the United States and other capitalist markets; and to allow the debts incurred through extension of long-term loans to forge permanently binding chains of trade between the recipient countries and the capitalist markets of the core creditor nations.”

Presently the speech by the governor, General Liam, began. Major Pham Quyen had written it himself. There was not a single mention in the speech of the administrative measures that would have to be introduced in dealings between the villagers and the provincial government. It was better to avoid any detailed discussion of financial support for the farmers, the new facilities to be constructed, the amount of cement to be supplied, and especially of the rice rations or money wages to be paid before the harvest. Not a word was said about the resettlement allowances, the land allotments, or the promised grants of pigs, cattle, and fertilizer. The speech consisted mainly of high-flown talk about the notion of peace, and a call for the villagers to exhibit diligence and a cooperative attitude. As General Liam concluded the speech, Major Pham Quyen cued the villagers to clap and there was a big round of applause.

To the sound of the brass band, the general, the American AID representative, the mayor of Hoi An, and the division commander all marched over to the ceremonial ribbon hanging at the gate on the main street of the hamlet. The ribbon was made of white nylon fabric. Some young girls brought out a shiny new pair of scissors on a cloth-covered tray and held it out to the four dignitaries. Cameras flashed as the ribbon was cut.

With General Liam and Butler side-by-side and a long line of people in tow, the group marched along past the new houses. Pham Quyen and the lieutenant in charge of security walked directly behind General Liam. The general halted in front of a house located in the center of the hamlet, opened the door and looked inside. As in a traditional Vietnamese residence, the structure was built as a single room, just four walls and a ceiling. Partitions made of bamboo and reeds were placed along the walls of the wide hall, and the area in the center was used for eating and drinking tea. Given the layout of the house, a young couple had to get a strong and sturdy bed so that the creaking sound of their lovemaking would not disturb the others in the family. The interior of this house had a concrete floor, but the walls were whitewashed and partitions were set up. There was a back door and, beside it, a kitchen.

“Wonderful,” said General Liam.

Mr. Butler looked into a partitioned space that seemed to be a bedroom. There was no door, but a curtain or bamboo screen would probably be hung at the entrance. Mr. Butler looked back at Major Pham Quyen.

“When the next generation is born in this room, Vietnam will be sure to regain eternal peace.”

Pham Quyen quickly responded with a smile.

“Of course, sir. They’ll be phoenix babies, so to speak.”

“What is that?”

With a look of curiosity, Mr. Butler pointed to a hole that had been dug out in the middle of the yard.

“Ah, I’m afraid I don’t know, sir.”

Pham Quyen turned around to ask one of the entourage from the provincial administration, a civilian, who hurried over to question the villagers. He then rushed back to Pham Quyen in a fluster.

“It wasn’t in the plans, sir. They say it’s a bomb shelter.”

“Who dug it?”

“Well, looks like each resident already fixed up his house somewhat. There’s even one with a Buddhist altar already installed.”

“Who gave them permission to make changes even before moving in?”

Pham Quyen said no more and turned back to Mr. Butler who was waiting for an answer with a curious look on his face.

“I understand it’s a start on a pigpen they plan to construct after they receive their allotment of cement.”

“Oh, that’s a very good idea. There’ll be plenty of breeding pigs and sheep brought in from abroad.”

As Pham Quyen turned away from Butler, his expression went vacant again. The parade passed the community laundry, equipped with tubs and faucets and underneath a huge water tank. Then they arrived in front of the public toilet, located in a concrete block building painted white. There were no flush toilets, but the cesspool had been dug deep enough that the excrement could accumulate several months before they would have to scoop it out with buckets. There were separate entrances for men and women with “Knock” written on the plywood doors. The ceramic toilets were a sparkling white against the cement floors.

Pham Quyen knew that the villagers would never use these facilities. They would want to grow small vegetable gardens behind their houses. Anybody who had a spade would go out back, dig a shallow hole, and deposit their waste in the earth. It was like repaying the earth for giving them food to eat. They would carefully refill the hole and stamp it down with their bare feet. The earth would become rich and when the monsoons came, everything would grow abundantly in the fertilized soil. If something was out of place in this phoenix hamlet, it was this bright white public toilet building standing at its center.

The line of people came to the children’s playground next. The local VIPs and the entourage from the provincial government were busily herding the children into the playground. Seesaws and swings, slides and monkey bars had been erected in the yard. Looking uncertain, the children reluctantly approached the play apparatus. The bigger children tried the swings, and one by one the other children started getting on the seesaws and the slides.

“The children from now on will begin to learn the value of peace in this hamlet of An Diem.”

Butler grinned widely as he spoke to General Liam, who responded in a single sentence.

“There’s no other playground like this one, not even in Saigon.”

Pham Quyen, however, did not fail to notice that the children romping on the monkey bars were pretending to shoot at one another, pretending their fingers were pistols. In loud voices they mimicked gunshots and one of them fell to the ground, pretending to be shot and dying. The adults lingered before the playground for quite a while, proud of the feat they had accomplished. Someone found a one-legged child wearing a prosthesis imported from Hong Kong. The reporters clamored about as they put the handicapped child on a swing and pulled it way back before releasing it. The cameramen were squatting, wriggling, and changing positions to try and make the most of this touching moment. It would make a very fitting picture, especially for those Americans who fell head over heels for war orphans, children in hospitals, children asleep on the back of refugees, children in unfortunate circumstances of any kind.

The procession moved on past the two-room schoolhouse and then filed past the village assembly hall, then returned to the ceremonial platform in the middle of the hamlet. Then they got into their cars and departed, leaving behind the music from the brass band, the squeals from the schoolgirls, and the applause from the villagers. The governor would never be setting foot in this place again. This time Major Pham Quyen planned to accompany the general back to Da Nang. Tonight the governor was giving a dinner party at his official residence. As he walked toward the helicopter, one of the entourage called out to him from behind, “Major, we have someone who’d like to have a word with you.”

When Pham Quyen looked back, he saw an old man who had been sitting on the platform amidst the village notables.

“What is it?”

“Well, sir, I . . . we haven’t received even half of our wages yet.”

It had been arranged for the villagers, while building the An Diem hamlet, to receive one-third of their wages in American surplus wheat and the rest in rice or cash. Pham Quyen scowled at the old man.

“Didn’t you get the flour? The cost of milling wasn’t deducted. The rest will be included in the resettlement funds.”

Having so spoken, Pham Quyen took out his notebook from the pocket of his uniform jacket. He pressed down firmly with the ballpoint pen, pretending to write, and asked the old man, “What is your name and your house number?”

The old man hesitated.

“Sir . . . well, I . . . I only . . . I only . . . the villagers.”

The member of the entourage hurriedly intervened.

“Sir, he is one of the village representatives. I have all the necessary information, sir.”

Pham Quyen saw the propeller of the helicopter begin to rotate and he quickly put away his notebook.

“All right. Submit a written request directly to the authorities.”

He boarded the helicopter. As they took off, An Diem looked like a border of pebbles on the edge of a flower garden.

The general glanced over at the major and said, “So there’ll be ten more villages like that?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. This one was a model. If the plans are successfully implemented, we have an agreement with AID to set up phoenix hamlets at three hundred sites.”

The general nodded, then gave a subtle warning. “Show continued attention to the An Diem village, but no need to hurry things.”

“Yes, sir. It is the model, I understand.”

A continuous sound of gunfire came from somewhere. It seemed the guard patrol had discovered enemy troops down the bank of the Thu Bon. The gunships were cruising at a low altitude and looking down upon the jungle. Pham Quyen’s mind was busy at work. Until the other phoenix hamlets were fully settled, they’d have to post to An Diem a defense contingent at least the size of a battalion.