Hạnh was still a problem. Their relationship was awkward, almost hostile. Mai wanted to forgive Hạnh for kicking her out of the apartment. The two rooms in which she and Đêm Nguyệt lived now were small, modest, and farther away from the Stardust, but Mai was now surrounded by women with decades of experience raising children and who loved her son. That was so much more important. And satisfying. She was grateful to Buddha for leading her to this place.
Mai invited Hạnh out for lunch or dinner, but Hạnh refused. Mai tried to understand Hạnh’s resistance. Was it coming from her boyfriend? He was an American corporal from New Jersey, wherever that was. But he never smiled, and he hustled Hạnh outside every few minutes. It was as if Hạnh was in a trance and only paid attention to him. Her duties as a hostess were an afterthought.
Madame was right. Hạnh had become careless about her appearance. She looked unclean, and her hair was listless and flat. She wore too much makeup. She was starting to look emaciated, and when Mai took hold of her arm one night, she saw track marks. She and Hạnh exchanged a worrying glance; then Hạnh shook her off and hurried out of the Stardust.
Mai understood. Hạnh must be humiliated to be seen by her closest friend when she was in such a state. Three months earlier Mai would have tried to help her friend get clean, but now she wasn’t inclined to. Hạnh had made her decision when she asked Mai to leave the apartment they had so gaily decorated the year before. Their lives had taken different paths. Đêm Nguyệt was Mai’s priority now. She had no idea what Hạnh’s was, but Hạnh wasn’t the girl she had been. Mai admitted defeat and let her go.
Madame was right about something else. The talk among the GIs had changed. One night she joined a small group at a table. There were three soldiers and three girls, but the girls spoke only rudimentary English, and their puzzled expressions told Mai they didn’t understand what the soldiers were discussing. They shared an intense conversation, ignoring the girls except to ask for more drinks.
“You hear about Operation Greene Bullet up in Pleiku?”
The second soldier shook his head.
“Third Battalion, Twelfth Infantry Regiment and First Battalion, Thirty-fifth Infantry?”
“Yeah?”
“One night they were able to rescue a few POWs from Charlie when the zips were out shooting their asses off.” He took a long pull on his beer. “But, apparently, the shit’s getting pretty deep. Our guys were tortured.”
Mai heard a sharp intake of breath from one of the GIs.
Another asked, “How bad?”
“They said the gooks screeched at them day and night. Wouldn’t let them sleep either, always waking them up when they drifted off. Starved ’em too, kept them in chains, and pissed on them whenever they felt like it. Then they covered their heads with a bag and poured water down their throats.”
One of the girls tried to insinuate herself into the conversation. “Water dun troats?” She smiled sweetly. “What is that?”
The GI glanced over. “Something you never want to experience, sweetheart.” He glanced back at his pals. “You think you’re going to drown. You don’t know when it’s gonna stop, so you choke.”
“Fuck me.” The soldier grimaced.
The girl who’d spoken must have thought the soldier was telling a joke, because she giggled. Pasting on a stern expression, Mai pointed a finger at the girl and shook her head.
“Said the motherfuckers beat them with billy clubs. Poured gasoline on them and attached hand-cranked generators with leads to their dicks, then cranked ’em up. One guy’s dick is all fucked up. He’s going home for an operation.”
The second solider gagged on his beer.
The GI who’d been speaking chugged down the rest of his, tipped the empty glass in the girls’ direction. “Another round here.”
The girls scurried toward the bar.
“And for what? Just to find out where the next fucking skirmish is? It’s shit. Total bullshit.”
“Assholes, all of them,” the third man said grimly.
The one who had gagged got up. “I’m going outside for some air.”
“Sure you are, pal.”
Mai swallowed, unsure what to say. The first solider went on as if she wasn’t there. “Those fuckers’ll use anything they can find to kill us. Grenades, bombs built from land mines, ripped off from our supplies, even TNT that’s been smuggled into Saigon. And their women hide shit in pineapples, bread, and other food. Even in their bras.”
Mai thought back to the soldiers who had ambushed her village. Their violence and their cruelty were unforgiveable. She could never accept what had happened, but they were fighting a war. Doing what they were instructed. For them it wasn’t personal.
She compared them to the Viet Cong, with whom Tâm was now fighting. Is this what her sister was doing? Mutilating human beings, just because she could? Drowning them with water? If so, Tâm had become a monster.