Tâm told Cô Cúc about Mai’s resignation the next afternoon. To her surprise, Cô Cúc didn’t seem upset. “She is young and impatient. She would not have made a good waitress. Where did she go?”
Tâm shook her head, embarrassed to tell her the truth.
Cô Cúc didn’t press her, which made Tâm wonder if she already knew. Tâm thought she saw a glimmer of sympathy in her expression. Then it disappeared and she said briskly, “You, on the other hand, might work out well as a waitress. I will start training you.”
A few nights later, Tâm was filling in as a waitress. So much for beauty, she mused. When help was needed, the criteria for waitressing became more flexible.
It was late, and most of customers had gone. She was replacing a white tablecloth on one of the tables when the door opened, and the most elegant woman Tâm had ever seen glided in. She was petite and delicate boned, with almond-shaped dark eyes and makeup that looked perfect but not showy. Her hair was swept up in back with chopsticks holding it in place. She wore a pale blue silk blouse embroidered with colorful Chinese birds, and a pair of Western white linen pants that had no wrinkles. The sandals on her feet gave her an additional two inches of height. With her was a man, less memorable, Tâm thought, in a navy sport coat and slacks.
Cô Cúc greeted the woman with a big smile, which was effusive behavior for her, Tâm noted, and seated her at their number one table. The woman sat down gracefully, unfolded her napkin, slipped it into her lap. Napkins were rare back home.
Cô Cúc gestured at Tâm. “Bring us the wine menu.”
Most people came for the food, not the alcohol, so the selection wasn’t huge: three reds and three whites, as well as the requisite liquors. The woman took a quick glance and ordered the Bordeaux. Cô Cúc motioned with her chin for Tâm to get it and sat at their table. Tâm was surprised. Beyond a pleasant greeting or farewell, Cô Cúc rarely chatted up her customers. These must be important people.
As Tâm served their wine, she asked if they were ready for menus. “Not at the moment,” the woman said. She looked Tâm up and down. “A new employee?” she whispered to Cô Cúc.
Cô Cúc waited for Tâm to retreat, then whispered back. She must be telling the woman Tâm’s story, Tâm figured. The woman nodded at Cô Cúc, but her eyes lingered on Tâm, as if she was sizing her up for a dress. Tâm felt uneasy.
The conversation between the woman and Cô Cúc seemed intense, the woman gesturing with her hands. She was graceful even when she gestured, Tâm thought. She bit her lip, anxious to know what they were talking about but stayed out of earshot, lest Cô Cúc think she was eavesdropping. But ten minutes later, Cô Cúc waved Tâm over.
“No menus necessary, tonight, Tâm. I will order for them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tâm nodded. Cô Cúc ordered the house special, plus a noodle dish that Cô Cúc’s husband made only on important occasions.
The woman smiled at Cô Cúc. “Thank you, dear Kim Cúc.”
“I only wish the outcome had been better.”
The woman shrugged. “We lost our best people during Tết. We overestimated our strength and underestimated the weapons used against us. We need to rebuild our forces.”
Her voice was louder now, and Tâm, back at her station, could easily hear. When Cô Cúc sighed, the woman went on. “No disappointed sighs, my friend. We must remember what Hồ Chí Minh told the French twenty years ago.”
“What was that?” Cô Cúc darted a glance at Tâm, who’d jerked her head up at the mention of Hồ Chí Minh.
“You can kill ten of my men for every one I kill of yours. But even at those odds, you will lose and I will win.”
Tâm froze, startled by the frankness with which the woman spoke about the Viet Cong’s losses during Tết. It was quite dangerous to openly support North Vietnam here in Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam. Who was this woman?
Then the woman did the oddest thing. She looked up at Tâm and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Isn’t that right?
Tâm opened and closed her mouth, bowed slightly, and backed into the kitchen. Her pulse was racing.
Before the massacre Tâm and her father had shared many conversations about the war. He disparaged the South Vietnamese government and the American presence. He tacitly supported the Communists, as did many in the Mekong Delta. They wanted a unified Vietnam. Not only did many still have family in the North, but the government of the South was notoriously corrupt. The Communist notion of equality for all, which Hồ Chí Minh advocated, was appealing.
Still, there wasn’t much the villagers could do. Most were farmers or fishermen, and the struggle to feed their own families took all their time and energy. Some, including Tâm’s parents, helped in small ways, by feeding the Viet Cong guerrillas.
Tết was supposed to be the battle to end the war. During the Lunar New Year on January 31, the People’s Army of the Communist North and their Viet Cong allies launched dozens of coordinated surprise attacks on the South. Nearly 80,000 troops tried to overwhelm Saigon, Hue, Da Nang, Khe Sanh, and the American installations in and around those cities. Initially, the surprise worked, and the Communists penetrated the American embassy in Saigon, overran the American airbase, and stormed Hue, which they held for more than a month. Gradually, though, American firepower defeated them, and the Communists were forced to retreat.
But now, to hear a woman she didn’t know voice thoughts similar to those her father had was a revelation. It meant she was not alone. That others felt the same way.
She needed to catch up on what she’d missed the past few weeks. She returned to the table with the house special, a Chinese dish flavored Vietnamese-style. Chicken and vegetables, it was one of Tâm’s favorites. She set the plate down, bowed her head, and began to retreat.
The woman raised her chin. “What is your name, child?”
Tâm looked around, realized the woman was talking to her. “I am Trang Tâm, madam,” she said.
The woman placed a graceful, well-manicured hand on her heart. “I am Dr. Đường Châu Hằng. I work for the government.”
Confused, Tâm took a step back. “Excuse me?”
“The health department.”
“You work for the South Vietnamese government?”
A smile slowly unfolded across Dr. Hằng’s face. “Things are not always as they seem. Perhaps we could chat. I believe we have much in common. Lê Kim Cúc will give you my phone number.”