Tâm knelt in the stern of the sampan on the Mekong River. Mai sat in the bow, her paddle across the gunwales. Streams of blood ran down Mai’s wrist, the result of her wound from the fishhook. “Why do we need to stay on the river?” Mai wailed. “Can’t we take a bus to Saigon? Or get a ride on a truck?” Tâm didn’t have an answer. Her own hands were raw and blistered from paddling. She gritted her teeth and dipped her paddle deep in the water. Suddenly a helicopter appeared above them, trailing orange smoke that drifted down to the sampan. “Smoke! The Americans are going to kill us!” Mai coughed and gagged. Tâm realized she was right. Death was imminent. The smoke, heavy and dense, descended into the Mekong, where it triggered powerful waves that crashed into the boat and flung them from port to starboard.
Tâm startled awake. Blinking away the dream, she slowly oriented herself. It was late morning, a sullen sun baking the air. She slouched in the back of a truck lumbering down a rock-strewn road. The jungle encroached on both sides, tree branches, leaves, and overgrown bushes threatening to engulf the narrow road. The uneven pitch of the terrain threw her from side to side. Six new recruits in the truck rolled with her. All of them were somber, perhaps thinking about the war to which they’d just committed. Wondering if they would survive. With the superior American firepower, the odds weren’t good.
They were headed to a training camp for two weeks. Dr. Hằng had told her it was in a rural area but wouldn’t say exactly where. Security, she said. But Tâm would be safe once they arrived; there was practically nothing near the camp.
“Two weeks?” Tâm had said. “Is that enough time? Will we be prepared to fight a war in two weeks?”
Dr. Hằng sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s all we can manage. Continuing the war is consuming all our resources. Money, soldiers, and time. Our military commanders were overconfident. They expected Tết to succeed. Their plans were—how do you say it?—too ambitious. Unrealistic. Don’t forget—we lost 40,000 men.”
It had taken a month for Tâm to decide whether to join the Communists. But Dr. Hằng was persuasive, especially after Tâm accepted her invitation to stay at her apartment in the French Quarter. Thrilled to finally be leaving the refugee camp in Cholon, Tâm gave her few remaining possessions to a young woman with two small children.
The irony was that Dr. Hằng’s apartment in the French Quarter was the most luxurious place Tâm had ever seen. She recalled how the French nuns at her Catholic school had declared the French were the most civilized people in the world. But when, as a student, she showed pictures of French civilization to her father, he’d hissed, “Power-hungry imperialists!” and disparaged the leaders who’d colonized Vietnam for more than a century.
Tâm was smart enough to realize her father’s hostility stemmed from the occupation of Vietnam by China, France, and Japan. Like many patriotic Vietnamese, he longed for continuous independence. Where the French were concerned, however, Dr. Hằng didn’t agree. It was complicated, she said. Yes, France exploited Vietnam for its resources, but they spurred development too. Their architecture, education system, even their cuisine helped raise the standard of living for many. And compared to the rest of Indochina, the French afforded the Vietnamese a higher social standing than Cambodians or Laotians. Tâm was confused. Precisely what was Dr. Hằng trying to say?
In fact, if she was honest, Tâm’s decision to fight with the Communists might have had more to do with Dr. Hằng herself than with her history lessons. There was something puzzling, even mysterious, about this woman. Highly intelligent, a skilled professional who’d earned her medical degree in Paris, she operated at the pinnacle of South Vietnamese society. But she also was an eloquent advocate for the Communists. She could see all sides of an issue simultaneously, which made her a walking contradiction. It also made her dangerous. Tâm wanted to know more about her. What made her tick. And why she’d decided Tâm was worth fostering.
Tâm got an answer the night before she left for training. After a light supper of bread, cheese, and fruit, she and Dr. Hằng sat on the balcony watching twilight descend. One or two brave stars glimmered in the purple sky. The monsoon rains that afternoon had rinsed the air, and a fresh breeze promised a cooler night.
Dr. Hằng sipped a cup of tea. “Did you visit your sister?”
Tâm nodded but said nothing.
“It did not go well,” Dr. Hằng said softly.
Tâm shook her head. “She is involved with U.S. soldiers. I think there is one in particular she is sleeping with.”
Dr. Hằng tipped her head to the side. “That could be valuable.” When Tâm flashed a quizzical expression, she replied, “Intelligence. If the two of you were on better terms, you might be able to discover and report back American troop movements and scheduled bombing raids.”
Tâm shook her head again.
“Why not? Are you still too angry? Or do you not wish to manipulate her?”
Tâm’s mouth opened, and she sucked in air. Dr. Hằng knew her too well. “Both, I suppose.”
“What if that became your assignment after training?”
“Please, Dr. Hằng, I beg you. It would not work out.”
“Sometimes we must do what we would rather not. For reunification. And our countrymen.” She set the teacup down. “How did you leave it with her?”
“It was bad.” She recounted how she’d told Mai she was no longer her sister.
A sad smile crossed Dr. Hằng’s face. “At least you have family to be angry with.”
“But your husband is alive and in Paris, yes?”
Dr. Hằng rose and went to the balcony rail, looked down at the garden in back of the apartment building. She didn’t turn around. “We had a son,” she said slowly. “He was about your age when he told us he wanted to fight the ‘American War.’ He was an enthusiastic recruit. One night he went on a mission to the airfield, not long after his training. He was killed by an enemy mortar attack.”
Tâm sat without moving, afraid that if she did, even a little, Dr. Hằng might shatter into fragments of grief. A long silence ensued. Finally, the doctor turned to face Tâm. Her eyes were wet.
“You have been sleeping in his room. I redecorated it after he died. I vowed to fill it with new recruits as a memorial to him. I would only choose the best of the best. Young men whose courage and dedication reminded me of him.” She cleared her throat. “You are the first woman.”
Tâm was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I am honored.”
“To the Americans he was just one more number for their body-count statistics. But he was my world. I thought I would go insane after he died, but eventually, after many months, his death gave me purpose.” She watched as someone on the ground below walked past the garden to their apartment. “Just as the massacre of your family did you.”
Tâm was quiet. After a moment she rose, went to Dr. Hằng, and stood beside her. She and Dr. Hằng stared down at the garden until the darkening sky of twilight faded into night.