Two months later, on a night with air as dense as bricks, Mai walked the streets in Cholon. She was barely making ends meet and had no plan for the future. She was trying to take it one day at a time, but that wouldn’t last. She was depressed, thinking about the desolate night ahead, when an Asian man approached her. He was wearing a black double-breasted jacket with three gold stripes around the cuffs, the uniform of a South Vietnamese navy officer. Although the Americans were gone, North and South Vietnam were still locked in their bitter war; a new offensive by the North had just begun.
He came closer, but then paused. She noticed his posture was erect, his hair combed. She wouldn’t call him handsome, but he was slim and lithe, and his face, with a flat nose and chin but kind eyes, was pleasant. It flashed through her mind that he was somehow different. She smiled at him.
He smiled back. “You are available?” he asked politely. Most men barked, “How much?” When she nodded, he said, “Good.”
She approached him, took his arm, and led him around the corner to the hotel. She told him her name.
“I am Phan Trúc Vinh.” He’d given her his full name. Not just a first name. Or an obvious phony name, she thought. That was different.
Inside the small hotel above the restaurant Mai stopped at the front desk, picked up a key, and motioned him to the stairs. They climbed to the fourth floor. She opened the door and went to the bed and sat.
“First we take care of the money, then—” She cut herself off. She was going to say, “I will make sure you never forget this night,” but it sounded hollow—she must have recited it a hundred times. This time, she simply told him her price. He slipped the bills out of his pocket and handed them over.
“Thank you. What would you like, Anh Vinh?”
“You.” He hesitated.
“Here I am.” She bit her lip. “Would you like to watch me take off my clothes?”
He reddened. “Anything will be appreciated.”
She smiled. He inclined his head, as if puzzled. “It’s not you,” she said. “It’s just that no one has ever said that to me before.”
“They should have.”
Afterward Mai started to put her clothes back on, but Vinh lay still naked under the sheet, hands behind his head. “Could we talk? I’ll pay you for another tryst.”
She stopped dressing. She should take the money. She needed it. “What is so important?”
He shrugged. “I—I do not have anyone else to talk to.”
Mai’s mood darkened. She wasn’t here to soothe an unhappy husband whose wife didn’t “understand” him. She had heard it before. Men liked to feel sorry for themselves, she’d discovered, and rarely thought they had any responsibility to make their wives happy. She was about to ask for another 12,000 đồng when she stopped and gazed at Vinh. Something about him seemed sincere. Honest. Perhaps a bit naïve about love. Perhaps she should give him an extra few minutes.
No. She changed her mind again. She knew nothing about him. What if he was an undercover cop? The police had started to crack down on prostitution in Saigon. Or perhaps he was loosening her up for something truly evil. She debated with herself. Then she ventured a smile. She would hear him out. “All right. But just for a few minutes.”
“How much do I owe you?”
She shook her head.
He smiled then, a smile so radiant that Mai was glad she’d taken the risk. “Come lie down with me,” he said.
She did. He slipped an arm around her and started to talk. He was a senior captain in the Vietnamese navy, one of the highest ranks there was. He was married with two children.
“How old?”
“Eight and six.”
She was surprised. She had expected them to be older. “My son is three.”
He laughed. “A wonderful age. They soak up life in huge chunks.” His happy expression faded. “My wife is—concerned with her position in society. For her it is the only thing that matters. She doesn’t spend much time with the children. Or me. We have a bảo mẫu, a nanny. And a cook. She married me because of my career. I understand that. She came from nothing. A very hard life. So I make sure she wants for nothing.”
“Where did she grow up?”
“A village in the Mekong Delta.”
“That’s where I am from.”
“Then you know,” he said, “how desperately poor the people are.”
She nodded.
“She never loved me,” he said. “And, you know, I can live with that.”
“Did you love her?”
His eyes took on a reflective cast, as if he had never had the thought before. “I thought I did. But now . . .” Then he smiled. “I adore my children. They shower me with their love and trust. With them it is simple. It just comes naturally. Sometimes when I’m with them, I feel like I am stealing a tiny piece of their love to keep in my heart when I’m away.”
“I feel the same way about my son. I spend every free minute I have with him. Perhaps you should spend more time with your children. They’ll never be this age again, you know.”
He leaned over and brushed his fingers down her hair. “You’re not only beautiful on the outside.”
Mai’s felt her cheeks get hot. They had just met; how could he act as if they’d known each other for years? For some reason, though, she said nothing.
He cleared his throat. “But, as I said, there is more.”
Mai tensed.
“It is the war. I have been fighting since 1968. I am tired. So are my men. We want it to be over. To be honest, who wins no longer matters to me. But I cannot share that with anyone. Least of all my wife. She’s pinned everything on my career and the South’s victory. How can I tell her I want to quit? And now that the U.S. is gone, it’s just a matter of time. I fear the end will be ugly.”
“You believe the Viet Cong and the North will win?”
“They are more committed. They’ve already formed shadow governments in the areas they’ve conquered, ready to pounce once the war is over. Nor do they care how many of their own soldiers die. They only care how much territory they’ve gained.”
A buzz skimmed Mai’s nerves. She had always assumed the South would somehow win. Most of the important battles, at least the ones she heard about, had ended with a Southern victory. To hear a South Vietnamese navy captain say he doubted it was shocking. She propped herself on an elbow.
“When will it happen? And what will happen to the South?”
“That I do not know.” He looked steadily at her. “Now I want to talk of more cheerful matters. I have a confession to make to you.”
Mai’s alarm rose. What was he going to say to her? Did he know Tâm? Or one of her other relatives? Were they all dead?
He smiled. “Don’t be worried. It’s not bad. It’s that I have seen you before. I have studied you several times from across the street, and I have seen how you look when you do not think anyone is watching. You are a beautiful woman, but I see how sad you are.”
Mai swallowed but didn’t reply.
“You don’t want to be here. Doing this.”
What woman, if she is honest, does? Mai thought. Still, she said nothing.
“I don’t want you to be here, either,” he said. “Which makes me think we have something in common. I have dreamed of this moment for weeks. But I had to work up the courage. Now that I have, I want to make you happy. So that the beauty of your heart”—he touched her chest gently—“matches that of your body.” He cleared his throat again. “Mai, I would like to have the pleasure of your company again. Tomorrow evening. For the entire evening. I will arrange for a hotel. And I will pay in advance as much as you require.”