25

Pham Minh was waiting for his brother in Lei’s room. He had gotten a call from him that morning. Minh hadn’t left the house since going out to Son Tinh to meet Hae Jong. Quyen had asked him to stay put, and until Minh’s status was resolved he didn’t really feel like being out and about. He had a meeting with Nguyen Thach planned that day, and the first rendezvous with his cell of the organization was scheduled for Wednesday. He had to make sure matters were settled before then. Orders from the committee would be handed down to him that afternoon through Thach.

The excitement his return had aroused within the family gradually subsided after the first day. His mother started her usual nagging and Mi no longer made any effort to conceal her disdain for him. Lei was still very kind but she no longer talked with him like she did with her classmates. Before he had left, she often confided in him what others at her school had said, or, with a twinkle in her eyes, she would report the latest gossip about some incident on the outskirts of the city.

Now Lei did not even bring Minh any word of Shoan. If things went on that way, he thought, then Lei would be as openly contemptuous toward him as Mi in a matter of months. For Lei, the legend of her brother the patriot was gone for good. Still, during his training Minh’s ears had been calloused by the incessant repetition of the rule that, whatever the circumstances, he could never reveal his true colors nor was he to run his mouth about the political reality in Vietnam. An urban guerilla had to be a man of ordinary occupation, enslaved by daily life, a good-for-nothing slacker, or else camouflaged as a defeatist. In short, the less one was trusted by others, the more his safety would be assured. He had to implant in the minds of those surrounding him the belief he was a man so weak, lazy, and degenerate that he could not possibly commit an act requiring conviction.

When Lei was due home from school, Minh would make sure she found him sprawled out and snoring on the living room couch. When she was away, he would hole up in her room. His own room was now occupied by Mi and her children. Nobody was using Quyen’s room, but it was cluttered with a lot of household stuff. In the evenings Minh would linger about the living room, sipping beer bought from a neighborhood restaurant. When Mi cleaned the house in the morning, she made a point of avoiding the area around him and she did the sweeping and dusting without uttering a word to him.

Minh looked at the clock. It was ten a.m. He heard a car pull up outside followed by the heavy steps of his brother’s combat boots.

“Minh, where are you?”

The door opened. Lying on his long narrow wooden bed, Minh gazed up at his brother with a tired look. Quyen sat in front of the desk and faced him. He removed a slip of paper from the upper pocket of his jacket and held it out to Minh.

“Here’s your transfer order confirmation.”

“Transfer? But how can I be transferred when I’m not even enlisted?”

Pham Quyen frowned. “Let me tell you it was a real pain to get this. Would you prefer to enlist and go through boot camp training? You’re supposed to have joined the service two years ago and completed all required training. Your rank is sergeant and you were assigned to duty at Nha Trang before coming here. It cost me thirty thousand piasters to slip your military and personal records into the files at air force battalion headquarters here in Da Nang. Now go report for your transfer. They’ll assign you to an air base detachment unit. Then you just go and see the major at that unit, and then you can come back home and that’ll be the end of it After that, all that is left to be done is for you to deliver a duty fee of five thousand piasters to that major every month and you can be exempted from roll calls and inspections. This time next year you’ll be able to go and pick up an honorable discharge certificate. That’s all.”

“Do I have to report today?”

“No, you’re going with me tomorrow to headquarters. I know the battalion commander pretty well.”

Quyen exuded confidence. He had come to believe that of all the family members, only Minh could understand him.

“So how do you like life now that you’re resting at home?”

“Well, I’m afraid I’ll be a burden to the family.”

“You went to Son Tinh, didn’t you?”

Pham Minh hung his head.

“I just wanted to see her once. To see what kind of woman she is. I didn’t want to be like Mother or Mi and blindly hate her.”

“So, how do you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“After meeting Mimi . . . do you still think she is one of those cheap women?”

“No, I don’t.” It was an honest answer. “Except . . .” Minh went on, “I can tell she’s a good woman, but . . . she’s not your type. How do I put it . . . She seems temporary.”

“Temporary?”

“Like a soldier’s lover at a new post. That’s probably how she thinks of you, too. She doesn’t look like a woman who would lie.”

“Mimi said I should find a job for you. When I asked whether you had put her up to the request, she said you’re too proud to spill your guts . . . that’s a feature you and I share, she said. You seemed to have made a good impression on her.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Minh said truthfully. “A year is a long, boring hour. If all I do is hang around at home, I’m not sure I won’t do something silly again. I want to make some money, too. Until I go abroad to study, until I leave this country, I want to work and earn my travel expenses on my own.”

“I understand. I’ve thought it over, and I think you can be of some help to me. There’s somewhere I want you to come with me . . . so you want a job?”

“I’ll do any kind of work.”

Minh peered up at his brother, who avoided his gaze and replied, “Get the family to accept Mimi as one of us. Talk to Lei, to begin with. I’m sure you can change her mind. If you and Lei are on my side, Mother in time will soften. As for sister Mi, I don’t care either way. You only need to earn enough for your own spending money. I’ll take care of the family and all other expenses we’ll need. As I told you, before two years pass we’ll be out of this loathsome place. We’ll be living in a foreign country.”

“She’s become your wife, and now has Vietnamese nationality. But I don’t think she loves you. I’m only following your wishes. Our family is all on your side. Your heart is now set on her, but you never know how long it’ll last. I’ll treat her as my sister-in-law. Will that satisfy you?”

“I want Lei to do the same.”

“I know. She’ll change her attitude in time.”

“I’d like you to help me with my work. I’m dealing with a merchant, Nguyen Cuong, in old Le Loi market. He’s in charge of all the trading for the provincial government office, including purchases. From now on I’ll have a lot of gigantic transactions with him. We have two enormous projects underway, and they’ll probably change the fate of this family.”

“What business is that?”

“One is the phoenix hamlets project for the entire Quang Nam Province. The other is cinnamon. We’ll be building three hundred new hamlets and resettling people in them. It’s the last chance for the general as well as for me. Soon the general will have to take off his uniform. He may need me even after he joins the Saigon government, but when that happens he and I may take separate roads, you never know. He’ll have plenty of secretaries available in Saigon, some more capable and with better connections than me.

“Anyway, I would hate to let this other opportunity slip through my fingers. You know that cinnamon grows in abundance on the far side of the highlands? I’ll issue an operations order and promote a pacification program in the cinnamon region. That way I’ll corner the market on a traditional Central Vietnamese commodity that has grown scarce due to the war. With those two projects alone, I can easily make more than a million dollars in one year. Of course, the general’s share will be greater.”

With wide eyes and big gestures, Quyen went on bragging to his younger brother. He firmly believed that Minh was now on his side and that he would come over to his advantageous position of his own accord.

“How can I help you?”

“Well, I’ve already spoken to Cuong on the phone. I asked him to let you work in his office as my representative. He agreed. Your job will be simple enough. When the goods are delivered to him under my instructions, you’ll help him with the sales, checking that the payments agree with the prices negotiated in advance, and making rounds for collections in his stead. That’s all. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle the detail work. Now, come with me to see Cuong.”

Though inside he was greatly pleased, Minh showed no sign of excitement and instead asked in a monotone, “And what sort of salary will I get?”

“Kid, the salary is not the point. This is our family business. If you need money, you can request all the money you want after checking accounts for the transactions, as long as you don’t squander it.”

They left the house together in high spirits and drove to Le Loi market. They passed through the alley and the line of vendors along the parking lot, on the inner edge of which there stood a brick building that Minh knew well. It was the same building Uncle Nguyen Thach had guided them to on the night Minh returned to Da Nang. Quyen opened the sliding glass door and went in first. A female clerk rose from her seat and bowed. Nguyen Cuong gestured for the two of them to sit down.

“This is my little brother.”

“Ah, you look very different from your big brother. I’m Nguyen.”

“I’m Pham Minh.”

“Well, what do you say? Had any experience with business?”

“We’re sons of a family that used to run Da Nang’s biggest medicinal herb house,” Quyen said.

“True, I knew your late father very well. A man of excellent business tact, he was.”

“In business it’s less a question of tact than of trust.”

“But of course,” Nguyen said, chuckling. “Trust comes first and foremost for a tactful merchant in dealing with others.”

Then he turned to Minh and said, “There’s not a whole lot for you to do, Mr. Pham Minh. For starters you’ll work in my warehouse and be in charge of checking the incoming and outgoing flows of stock. Later, you can keep an eye on our transport connections, since our trucks are sent on a lot of runs outside the city.”

“Is the warehouse across the river still operating?” Quyen asked.

“Major, you should know that better than I,” Nguyen said with a grin. “Once the cinnamon starts flowing in, that warehouse will be extremely useful. The goods will head straight to the pier from there.”

“I’ll have everything set within two months.”

“Let’s go out to the warehouse.”

Nguyen got up first and walked out through the back door, then down a pathway that led to the side gate of the brick building. Minh remembered that he had used that side gate to enter the warehouse. When Cuong opened the aluminum door, the workers who had been moving goods out through the main entrance bowed to the owner. Cuong summoned a sturdy-looking man in shorts.

“This is Mr. Pham Minh. He’ll be your immediate superior. Mr. Pham Minh, this is our foreman.”

The man bowed politely and Minh extended his hand to shake. Inside the warehouse there were piled heaps of rice, cement, fertilizer, slate slabs, and plywood sheets. The workers had been lugging big sacks of fertilizer outside and loading them on a waiting truck.

“This fertilizer just came off the pier yesterday. We’re shipping it out to Quang Nai.”

“So his job will be to manage and release the goods here?” asked Pham Quyen.

“It’s best to start with that so he can get a feel for the business,” Cuong replied.

“Well, what do you think?” Quyen asked Minh.

“Fine, I’ll give it a try,” Minh answered.

Upon their return to the office, Nguyen Thach was waiting for them. He glanced at Pham Minh and greeted Pham Quyen with a smile.

“Ah, Major, long time no see, sir.”

“What brings you here?” asked Thach’s older brother, Cuong.

Thach scratched his head and said, “Well, there’s a payment I need to make today, and I’m a little short on cash.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred dollars. I need it in military notes.”

“You mean you don’t even have that small sum on you?”

“I’ve got plenty of piasters and checks, of course. But they want it in military notes, and if I change money on the market it’ll cost five piasters for every ten dollars, you know.”

“Introduce yourself. This is Mr. Pham Minh. As of today, he works here as warehouse manager. He’s Major Pham’s younger brother.”

Cuong casually introduced the two men. Minh unassumingly shook hands with Thach.

“Ah, is that a fact? Wonderful. Have you been discharged?”

“He’s on active duty. He was a student at Hue University,” Quyen answered, apparently bursting with pride for his little brother.

“That’s great. I’m a graduate of Hue University myself, which makes us alumni. Well, lunch is on me. What do you say? Let’s talk about our alma mater.”

Pham Quyen checked his watch and said, “I’ve got to head back to my office. What about you?”

“Well, you don’t need to work today,” Cuong declared. “Why don’t you start tomorrow?”

“No, tomorrow we’ve some business to attend to concerning his military service . . . how about the day after?” Quyen said.

“Whatever you say, Major,” Cuong replied, opening his arms wide. “To tell you the truth, it’s an honor to have your brother come work for us. From now on our business will be more alive than ever.”

“Let’s leave our big brothers behind and the two of us can go along to get to know each other,” Nguyen Thach said, patting Minh on the shoulder.

Quyen put his military hat back on and, as he left the office, said to Cuong, “I’m leaving him in your hands. There’s nothing to special to learn, I suppose. He’ll soon get used to the work.”

“Sure, he’s not his father’s son for nothing, I’m guessing.”

Quyen said goodbye with a nod and disappeared. Cuong gave the military currency to his brother. The latter said to Minh, “Now, you and I will go out for a nice lunch. What kind of food do you like?”

“How about buckwheat noodles with Chinese peppers?”

“Instead of that, how about we go get some fresh shrimp just pulled out of Da Nang Bay? I know a good place only a block from here.”

The two of them headed out side by side. Thach offered Minh a cigarette. Once they were outside Minh noticed a change in the expression on Thach’s face—he seemed to have become an entirely different man. A few minutes before he had been talkative and constantly smiling with wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes, but now his eyes had grown hard and his demeanor subdued.

“Seems everything worked out fine. Any sign of suspicion from your brother?”

“No, sir. Because I’m his own family.”

“Good. The problems of your military service and getting a job here at the warehouse worked out perfectly.”

“The day after tomorrow is the cell meeting, sir. Do I have orders from the committee?”

“Yes,” Thach replied curtly and stalked on ahead. “We’ll talk while we eat.”

They slipped out of the marketplace and stepped into a bar. The interior was dark with partitioned tables. Not a single customer could be seen. There were no waitresses, either, but two waiters stopped loafing and came over to greet them. They took a table in a corner and ordered shrimp curry and beer.

“The committee wants further training for you guys. We haven’t yet been entrusted with any full-dress mission. A company force of another fifteen is scheduled to arrive here to reinforce the Da Nang Special District. My comrades and I will be conducting missions as their operation agents. This week’s mission for cell C is to distribute NLF leaflets through all the campside villages down by the smokestack.”

“No combat, sir?”

“We aren’t given combat missions during the training period,” Thach whispered flatly and took a sip of a beer. “We start by carrying out small-scale tasks and then move up to larger, more important missions. Cells A and B will cover the areas of Dong Dao and Turen. You, Comrade Pham Minh, will also be responsible for contacts with those two cells. Cell A is having its meeting today, cell B tomorrow, and cell C the day after. I had the leaflets delivered to Chrysanthemum Pub. Divide them up and deliver a bundle to each cell. The cell A rendezvous is to be at the bookstore down on the corner of Doc Lap Boulevard. The time is always twelve noon sharp. As for cell B . . .”

Minh took a notebook from his pocket and was about to write down the information when Thach raised his finger and shook it.

“No. Writing is forbidden. Whatever the order, you always must commit it to memory with no errors. The contact point for cell B is a teahouse called ‘Hoa’ down at the edge of the pier.”

“How will I recognize them?”

“Ah, no need to worry about that. Members of the same company know each other’s faces, no? They belong to a single family, so to speak. It was unthinkable a few years ago when the cells weren’t as solid as now. Back then nobody could be trusted. We used to have three steps before any contact, but things are different now. The 434th Special Action Group has had only two instances of betrayal in the last year. One informant was eliminated in advance by a cell trial and the other defected. Since we realized the defector was a traitor before he left, we had time to sever the contact links and we didn’t even have to track him down for retaliation. Now, can you repeat to me everything I’ve said so far?”

Pham Minh repeated it all item by item to Thach.

“Good. Now go and retrieve the stuff at the Chrysanthemum Pub, then go to the bookstore.”

Minh rose. Without even looking back he walked out of the bar. When he reached the pub, he took a seat inside, ordered a cup of tea, and asked the waiter as he was leaving, “Would you check and see if the things I forgot this morning are here?”

“What did you forget?”

“Some books.”

“I see. Yes, I’ll get them for you.”

The young waiter came back with three bulky volumes with dictionary covers. Pham Minh picked them up and left the pub. He looked around outside. It would be better, he told himself, to take a rickshaw than to walk. There were plenty of rickshaws scattered around the parking lot. He signaled for one with his hand.

“Doc Lap Boulevard.”

“You can walk that far.”

“You’ll be paid, so what’s it to you?”

“Got a point there, but I don’t feel too proud of taking your money to go that far.”

“Let’s go.”

The rickshaw slipped through the crowded market. Minh called for the driver to stop at the corner across the intersection from the bookstore. He paid and crossed the street. That edge of Doc Lap Boulevard was always quiet in the early afternoon. The central avenue leading to the pier crossed at the next block down. Where he was, Doc Lap was mainly lined with government offices, hotels, and upscale shops. The traffic whizzed by but few pedestrians were on the sidewalks. The nearest school was some distance away. Once school let out, a flock of students would descend on their bicycles and scooters.

Without pausing, Minh walked inside the bookstore. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter, her face buried in a newspaper. Wary of the entrance, Minh kept his face directed at the shelves. There were textbooks in French, volumes of poetry, and all sorts of Vietnamese translations of foreign literature. He checked his watch: twelve thirty. He and the proprietress were the only ones in the store. Siesta, the dullest hour of the day, would start once lunch hour ended at one. Anyway, the bookstore was only busy before school in the morning, between one and one thirty when students were en route home for the siesta, and in the late afternoon when school let out for the day.

Someone walked into the store. Out of the corner of his eye, Minh recognized him as a youth he had often seen at the assembly camp. He was dressed in a clean white shirt and gray pants, with his hair neatly combed back. The black horned-rim glasses he had on were unfamiliar, so at first sight Minh had difficulty placing him, but he had kept the same moustache. Minh, standing with the three bundles of printed matter at his feet, turned around and gave him a questioning look. The youth strolled past the shelves and halted at his side. He then pulled a book down from the shelf and in a low voice said, “I’m the leader of cell A.”

Pham Minh glanced down at his own feet and whispered, “Take one.”

“Any other orders?”

“It’s all in there.”

The youth casually stooped down and picked up one of the books, then made a round of the store before leaving. Minh put the remaining package under his arm and picked a book at random from the shelf to buy and went farther inside the store. Before handing it to the owner he checked the cover and discovered that it was a collection of Baudelaire’s prose.

“Wrap this up, please.”

The woman wrapped the book without showing any sign of having noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“Two hundred piasters, please.”

Minh paid and the woman nodded in a cursory bow to him. Once back out on the street, Minh wondered where he should head next. The streets were still relatively quiet. He had no choice but to go home. It would still be two days before he could start working at Cuong’s warehouse. He had no idea what he could do with the bundles of leaflets for the time being. On his way home he bought some fresh pork and a can of condensed milk from a street vendor. When he arrived home, he found his mother and Mi sitting face-to-face drinking green tea.

“Come and sit down here, you,” his mother said.

Mi stared into the teacup and did not look up at him.

“Is this how you two boys are going to be? Do you think I’m a bump on a log? I hear you’ve been out to Son Tinh and seen that bitch . . .”

“Who told you that?”

“So, the two of you are pouring your hearts out to each other behind my back. If your father were alive, your brother would never dare do this to me. That bitch of a bar girl has nothing to do with our family. So why did you go snooping around there?”

“I went on an errand for Big Brother,” Minh said without giving his reply a thought.

“That’s a lie . . . you went there to ask her to help you get a job, didn’t you? Don’t you have any self-respect?”

What a great teller of tales his sister Mi had been, Minh said to himself as he let out a feeble laugh.

“Right, I asked her to talk to Big Brother. I see nothing wrong with that, do you?”

“Now that you’ve quit school, what good will it do for you to get a job with the help of those filthy creatures?”

“I need to make money. When I finish my military service, I’m going abroad to study. Anyway . . . all of us are eating the bread that Big Brother brings home, isn’t that a fact?”

“Quyen and you are both my sons. If he breaks up with that bitch, I’ll make a living even if I have to go out and peddle noodles on the street,” his mother said in a sniveling voice.

“You can’t find a man with a clear conscience in Vietnam anymore. I’ve no doubt I can make as much money as Big Brother can. I’ve already lined up a job, so don’t be worrying about me, Mother. And, Sister, I’d like to say a word to you, too. Will you listen to me?”

“Go ahead,” Mi said in a cold voice, avoiding Minh’s eyes.

“Do me a favor and stop comparing me to your husband.”

Their mother intervened. “Goodness, you’re giving me a headache. Don’t even mention that man in my presence. I trusted the bastard, you know, and such a vile Viet Cong he turned out to be . . .”

“Mother . . .”

Pham Minh’s tone was reproachful toward his mother, but Mi glared at him with fire in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare insult the dead.”

“Sister, what’s gotten into you? You never used to be like this. I’m still the same old me. I just don’t understand why our family always has to hurt each other when we sit down together.”

Mi grabbed the cups and the teapot and jumped to her feet.

“Ask Quyen. Maybe he’ll explain.”

The loud clinking of dishes being washed in the kitchen started to grate on Minh’s nerves. He went into Quyen’s unoccupied room. In it there was an old wicker bed with the bamboo sticking out, and some chairs and odds and ends. He tossed the bundle of leaflets down and fell onto the bed. He lit a cigarette but soon felt as if his chest and neck were bursting from suffocation. He wanted to scream: I have to leave this house, get away from this family. But he couldn’t go anywhere without permission from the committee.

In his training he had been taught that the first essential condition for an urban guerilla to carry out his mission was to lead an ordinary existence. Revolution was not something realized by some dramatic events that occur one day out of the blue. A revolutionary fighter must battle with everyday routines and constantly build resolution as he lives day to day. Only upon such a foundation will he gain a capacity to induce dramatic events. Like the simple farmer who takes up his weapon as a sign of resistance after generations of his ancestors have lived in misery, revolution is not a brilliant flare but a rock-like sediment of silence.

Consequently, a revolutionary is not an anarchistic flower but a rock thrown into the wilderness of indifference surrounding it. At long last, these rocks will one day make a mound of rocks and they will strike and sparkle, roll and fly, their whole beings transformed into weapons. Unless he could survive at home, unless he tried to be one with his family, Pham Minh realized he would never be able to carry out a single task effectively.

His heart lightened. He extinguished the cigarette. He heard the sound of a bicycle bell. Lei must have come home for lunch. Minh reached over his head and locked the door. He heard Lei’s footsteps entering the kitchen. Broken-hearted, his mother seemed to have retreated to her room. As he lay there using his arms as a pillow, Minh’s thoughts again focused on the leaflets: I’ll be an effective agent, I’ll carry out missions never before accomplished by anyone in any of the units. He picked up the bottom bundle of leaflets, the one for cell C. Inside the thick dictionary cover there were about two thousand sheets of paper. A note was tucked into the top of the bundle. He took it out and read:

The purpose of the present leaflets is twofold: one educational purpose is to enhance the personal capacities of liberation fighters and the cooperative operational ability of each cell. The other is to constantly remind the people of the actuality of the NLF. The members of each cell should distribute them extensively in the areas under their responsibility, keeping within the bounds of personal security. Time: this Saturday evening. Place: the whole expanse of refugee hamlets from Bai Bang to Somdomeh. Each cell must fix individual mission areas and conduct at least two preliminary surveys and dry runs. The leader of the cell is to collect opinions of the cell afterwards and make a verbal report of the results through the chain of operations.

Pham Minh picked up a copy of the leaflet and read it. It was the essential principles of the South Vietnamese National Liberation Front. He had read it dozens of time and was even tested on it while training at Atwat. The text began as follows:

Ever since the French colonialists first occupied our country, we, the Vietnamese people, have never ceased to fight for the independence and freedom of our nation. Our fellow countrymen throughout the nation, who had shattered Japanese and French imperialism in 1945, continued their cooperation and, as a result of the heroic war of resistance, won a great victory over the French invaders and the American interveners, thus leading the building storm of national resistance to culminate in a glorious victory. At the Geneva Conference in July 1954 the French imperialists had no choice but to agree to the withdrawal of their military forces from Vietnam. The nations participating in the Accords made a solemn declaration on the sovereign independence of Vietnam, promising her unification as well as approving the preservation of her territorial frontiers.

From then on, leading a peaceful life, we faced the task of constructing an independent, democratic, and unified Vietnam with all of our fellow countrymen. However, the American imperialists, who had lent support to the French in the past, once again are seeking to permanently divide our nation, and are scheming to enslave the people of the southern part of Vietnam by means of a restructured colonial system, making our southern region a military base for control of Southeast Asia in preparation for a war of conquest. They set up the facade of an independent state by planting their puppets in powerful posts, and use their economic policy advisory group to place all of the military, economic, political, and cultural structures of South Vietnam under their control. Conspiring with traitors to our people, the invaders established a system of merciless dictatorship without precedent in the long history of our nation. They deprive the people of all liberty and persecute all democratic and patriotic activity. They implement monopolies in the economy; suppress industry, agriculture, and trade; and extort farmland from all classes.

They have a baneful influence upon the mentality of the people, deploy tactics calculated to annihilate the national spirit of our fellow countrymen, and use all available means to attempt to befuddle our consciousness and make us into degenerates, even as they expand their military presence, build new bases, and exploit their military power as an instrument to persecute the people and to execute the belligerent preparations for war that are none other than the basic policies of imperialism. Their cruel policies and dictatorial politics have led to the commission of innumerable crimes. The sound of gunfire has never ceased throughout the South and thousands of our compatriots have been atrociously slaughtered. Hundreds of thousands of people are now being tortured and victimized, suffering in concentration camps and prisons. Countless abodes have been incinerated into ash; people have been driven from their homes and coerced into their armies. The tactic of concentrating the people in prosperous zones or on newly developed land has resulted in a great number of families being broken up and scattered to the winds. Heavy taxes, white terror, lost jobs, and impoverishment have become a great hardship to the general populace and constitute a threat to the very survival of the people.

Peace, independence, democracy, personal security, peaceful unification of the nation—these are the desperate desires in the depths of our hearts. These longings, having been turned into ironclad resolutions, are giving us singular strength and are overthrowing the cruel domination of the imperialists and their agents. We are appealing now to our countrymen to rise up for a full-scale struggle to protect our families and to save our nation. For the sake of the essential interests of our nation, and to lead a full-scale struggle that will meet the demands of the people for justice, following the progressive trend in global development, we hereby declare the establishment of the National Liberation Front of Vietnam.

“Brother, are you in there?”

Lei knocked at the door. Quickly concealing the leaflets behind him, Minh instinctively pressed the door with one hand. It was locked.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Let’s have lunch together.”

“I don’t feel like eating.”

Lei did not go away.

“Open up for me.”

“Leave me alone. I’m going to take a little nap.”

“There’s something I need to talk over with you.”

“Later, all right?”

Lei left. As he read the pamphlet, Minh had been daydreaming that he was back in Atwat—the room had become his barracks. If he had been from the countryside, by now he would have been assigned combat duty in the jungle. For an urban guerilla, the primary object of his watchfulness was his own family, his own neighbors. Wasn’t the whole city his battlefield? When the instructors said he would have to overcome the temptations of city life, they had meant he had to be on guard against the pleasures and the frivolity of the city, but on another level they could have meant that he has to defeat the vanity that urged him to reveal himself. Under his breath, Minh rehearsed the ten essential points of the NLF oath, followed by the final moving phrases: “Victory certainly shall be ours. For the combined strength of our people is not to be broken, justice is on our side, and colonialism has had its century in the sun and is now bound for extinction. Peace, democracy, and the national liberation movement are spreading far and wide like a storm, winning one victory after another.”

Pham Minh wrapped the leaflets back up and put them back inside the dictionary cover. He wondered how long he had been sleeping. He rose from the wicker bed and threw open the latticed shutters on the window. It was nearing evening and the twilight sky was beautiful. Monday had almost flown away. Feeling thirsty, he went out to the living room and found Mi there playing with her three-year-old daughter. His little niece came over into his arms and he put the girl into the hammock and rocked it jerkily. She screeched with laughter. Mi seemed uncomfortable and quietly went into the kitchen. Minh took his niece outside into the yard and played with her for a while. Then, with the little girl in his arms, he went through the reed screen into the kitchen where his sister Mi was washing rice. He spoke first to her back.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

She didn’t stop what she was doing, but seemed to be waiting for him to continue. After a few seconds, he went on.

“Some people are strong, but there are weak ones in this world, too. There are strong plants like baobab trees and weak ones like violets. About the way I feel, I’m afraid you ... I’m in despair now. You could try to understand.”

Mi stopped washing the rice and turned her head.

“Come here.”

Minh set the child down and approached his sister. She embraced him and seemed about to weep.

“I’m sorry,” she said, patting his back. “Minh, you’re not like Quyen. Ever since you were a little boy, you were always my favorite.”

“I’ve got some ideas of my own.”

“I know, I know. I won’t drive you into a corner anymore. I couldn’t help thinking of my children’s father, that was why.”

The next day the Pham brothers appeared at the air force battalion headquarters in Da Nang. Minh was wearing a uniform given him by his brother, a sergeant’s chevron on the shoulder, and he carried transfer papers. They gave him a shiny set of dog tags with his new unit. His name must have been inserted into a space on the roster vacated by a deserter or an airman killed in action. Minh sat there in the outer office for about an hour leafing through newspapers as his brother chatted and chuckled with the commander. When Quyen emerged with a short lieutenant colonel, Minh saluted to the commander as his brother had taught him. The lieutenant colonel merely glanced at him.

Their next stop was the air base on the edge of downtown toward Dong Dao. The Vietnamese air force detachment was right across the street from the US base. A few patrol planes and two tired-looking squadrons of older fighters and helicopters were parked on the strip. Like the Vietnamese navy, the air force had no independent operational authority and only served as an adjunct to the US forces, so there were not many pilots around. Here, also, Minh was a ghost on the duty roster worth five thousand piasters a month to the commanding officer. He finished the formalities by shaking hands with the major who was in charge of the detachment. The major cautioned him not to go outside of Da Nang unless it was absolutely necessary.

“By April next year, you’ll be the first one in our family to emigrate,” Pham Quyen said brightly as they left, looking as though a load had just been lifted from his shoulders.

Minh went back home and changed his clothes. Then he picked up the disguised bundle of leaflets and headed for Hoa teahouse, the rendezvous point for cell B. He drank some tea with the leader of cell B and exchanged a few words before leaving.

“Any other orders?”

“None.”

“The date is unchanged?”

“Changes, if any, will be handed down from above.”

On Wednesday morning Minh put on black Vietnamese clothing and went to Nguyen Cuong’s store for his first day of work. Over his shoulder he slung a canvas bag containing two bananas, a shaving kit, and one of the dictionary covers. It was about seven thirty when he reached the warehouse in Le Loi market. Cuong was already in the office and the female clerk was making Tonkin-style coffee, boiling water over an alcohol burner.

“Ah, welcome. Let’s have a cup of coffee together.”

Cuong and Minh sat down across from each other.

“Let me introduce the two of you, since you’ll be working together. This is Miss Ran.”

Minh and the clerk nodded to each other. The coffee was strong and aromatic.

“We open the store at seven in the morning,” Cuong said, “like our competitors in Le Loi market. It’s the early bird that catches the worm, you know. From seven till twelve we move merchandise in and settle payments for transactions closed the day before. Lunch and siesta go from twelve to three. From three to six we ship goods going out of town and continue with collections. At six o’clock you can head home. Of course, things vary occasionally, but that’s more or less the routine. Now, Miss Ran, you have that detailed list of the incoming and outgoing merchandise for today, don’t you?”

Miss Ran handed the typed work orders over to Cuong, who passed it to Minh.

“Check the accuracy of the newly delivered stock as shown here and let me know. Same with the things being shipped. I’m doing the bargaining myself, but completing the deals will be your responsibility, Mr. Pham. I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Cuong pulled the telephone closer. “I’d better inform your brother what we’re up to,” Cuong said, looking over at Minh. He asked the switchboard at the provincial government office to connect him with the governor’s office.

“Major Pham, please. Not in yet? This is Nguyen Cuong Trading Company. Yes, yes, please do.”

Cuong hung up the phone and said to Minh, “Now let’s go to the warehouse.”

As they opened the back door leading to the warehouse, it was still dark inside but for a few beams of morning sunlight streaming through the cracks in the big door. Cuong turned on the light. He took out a set of keys and handed them to Minh.

“So, this one’s the key to that door over there that opens from the side path. This one opens the warehouse from the office, the way we came. And this one is for the front gate. Hold onto these.”

Once Cuong had left, Minh did a count to confirm all the stock on hand in the warehouse. Three hundred bags of cement, twelve hundred galvanized iron sheets, two hundred fifty sacks of fertilizer, two hundred bags of food, and five hundred sheets of plywood. Then he checked the delivery orders and opened the main gate all the way up. Bright sunlight flooded in, bathing almost half the warehouse. He moved the desk and chair into the shadows to avoid the heat and sat down.

The door from the office opened and Nguyen Thach came in. “Ah, already in, I see,” Thach said. “Contacts with the cells on Monday and yesterday went fine, I hope?”

“Yes, I delivered the books.”

“Where do you meet C today?”

“An open cafe down by the pier. All the members will be there. Am I to be dropped from cell C, sir?”

“There’s been a call up of reinforcements. I’m afraid only the leader will show up today. Now I’d like you to become friendly with some of the clerks and shop owners in the market. The sooner the better. Might not be a bad idea to treat them to lunch in a few days. As for the traders who bring trucks from outside Da Nang for pickups, you’ll meet them through your work. One of the merchants on our side is coming up today, so I’ll introduce him to you.”

“What’re my orders for next week, sir?”

“Each cell in turn will change their contact days. By then you’ll have new tasks. Reports will have to be made on the results of dissemination of the leaflets. The training period is four weeks. After that, the real missions will begin. But you, Comrade Pham, will have to help me with my responsibilities for procurement and finances. C-rations and arms are what you should have in mind. We have to keep the guerillas on the outskirts of Da Nang supplied with ammo and mortar shells as well as food and medicine. We’ll also have to find weapons for the recent reinforcements.”

“Will each cell be supplied with weapons, sir?”

“Yes. Pistols and automatic rifles are the most useful arms in Da Nang. Then, too, there’s a need for hand grenades, explosives, and blasting caps.”

“Are we stealing them?”

“No . . . there’s plenty of such stuff floating around this city. Over across from the smokestack is the center of the black market for arms. We have to secure as many mortars, rocket launchers, artillery pieces, and shells for them as we can from the US forces. We also need a lot of antitank mines. And then . . .”

Nguyen Thach looked at the list of goods to be delivered that Minh had set down on the desk and said, “Didn’t your brother tell you about the phoenix hamlets project?”

“Yes, he also mentioned cinnamon up in the highlands.”

“Cinnamon?”

“Yes, sir. Looks like he plans to mobilize troops to harvest cinnamon.”

Nguyen Thach gently laughed. “He did come up with a brilliant idea. The two of them will soon recover the glory of the Bao Dai era. Cinnamon operations . . . probably more than half of all the AID-funded supplies for the phoenix hamlets project will be channeled through the provincial government here. Three hundred hamlets are to be built. Already relief food for the refugees is moving through here . . . there’ll be a mountain of rice pouring in. But what we have our hearts set on are the new carbines, M1s and M2s, to be supplied to arm the militias in the new hamlets.”

“My brother would never get involved in such risky business. He’s a very cautious man, sir.”

“I’m not saying you should talk to your brother about this. Make friends with Lieutenant Kiem on the adjutant’s staff at the provincial government office. I’m certain he’s now scheming to find a way to develop some business of his own. The money that falls into his lap for helping Major Pham is chicken feed. As far as I know, militia matters are under the jurisdiction of the ARVN Second Division, but since their headquarters are up in Hue, the commander who should be in charge has no practical control. Acaptain dispatched from First Division Headquarters, along with Colonel Cao, superintendent of military police in Da Nang, will be delegated power to conduct the training and take command of the militias. Lieutenant Kiem, I think, will be responsible for liaison between those concerned.”

“Plan?”

“Just think about it. Three hundred hamlets, each with between fifty and one hundred households—even if we assume only one adult male per household we are talking about at least thirty thousand guns.”

“Administrative tricks, maybe?”

“Sure. A few thousand ghosts can easily be fabricated on paper. Statistics are in flux because new hamlets are being created, the population is on the move, and the count of the dead changes daily. Depending on Kiem’s capability, the quantity could be even higher. If that works out we’ll have a regular supply of ammunition and other supplies for a whole division of local guerillas. That should do for small arms. We can start with one hundred and gradually increase the supply to one thousand or more. That’ll enable us to open a steady channel for continuing sales of weapons and ammo, but best of all, the money for training these ghosts and for related administration will roll into their hands and then straight into their pockets. We won’t even have to throw them any bait. Since we already see this opportunity, all we have to do is move fast and grab the chance before other merchants get the same idea.”

Nguyen Thach was going over the modus operandi he intended to carry out with Minh’s help. He continued: “And the next thing is the food and medicine. Those are items we must come up with through our own resourcefulness in trading.”

“Will it be rice, sir?”

“Rice is traded openly; it’s a basic commodity in the market. We can transplant rice twice a year, and even under the French our country was famous for exports of Annam rice, but over 40 percent of our paddies in central Vietnam, not to mention the Mekong Delta, have been turned into battlefields. So the main rice trading these days is concerned with relief grain from California. Just like with cement and fertilizer, it’s easy work. It’s plentiful all over the market. The more important thing is the combat rations—we can’t afford expensive food for guerillas in the jungle. Nothing is more convenient than C-rations for operations requiring blackouts or secret mobilizations, like night reconnaissance, infiltration, and ambushes. We also need C-rations to feed the wounded in the swamps.

“Along with guns, the trade in C-rations is one of the most sensitive for the American intelligence investigators. So we have to make small purchases and gradually accumulate stockpiles. As for medicines, in this tropical climate the items most in demand are antibiotics, antiparasitics, and painkillers. Terramycin, streptomycin, quinine and, most of all, anesthetics and morphine are hard to come by in the jungle. We use refined heroin as a painkiller sometimes, but it’s risky. If we carry out this task, the duty of linking up with the various cells will be transferred to another section.”

“Are we the only ones doing such work in Da Nang’s Third Special District, sir?”

“Ah, naturally there’s a transportation team that connects the city with the countryside and another team working across from the smokestack. And we have administrative agents in the market collecting taxes, of course. After being reinforced the total strength of the 434th Special Action Unit is now sixty fighters, divided into four companies. You’ll learn the details after you become a regular agent. By the way, your status is secure now?”

Minh took his dog tags out from beneath his shirt and showed them to Thach.

“I’m a sergeant in the air force, sir. I belong to the maintenance detachment at the air base.”

“Well done. That’ll be very useful later.”

Nguyen Thach walked toward the warehouse door. “I’ll be dropping in every day around this time or before you’re finished for the day,” he added.

Once he was gone, Minh went over their discussion and rearranged the information in his head, carefully organizing everything lest he forget. He heard a truck pulling up outside, and after it stopped the foreman came in with three men. The foreman greeted Pham Minh with a nod and a merchant from the country extended his hand. He said he had come from Hoi An.

“The payment has been made.”

Looking at Minh’s delivery order, the foreman pointed to the kind and quantity of merchandise that had been circled in red ink.

“Here it is. Hoi An.”

Pham Minh released the cement and fertilizer and got a receipt for the delivery. Nguyen Cuong, who had just walked in, nodded.

“I knew you’d do fine. Save those documents and give them to the major. I’ll give you the final approval.”