It was a long convalescence. Tâm was in hospital until the first week of May, 1970. Two more skin grafts were performed. The ruptured spleen healed slowly. So did the gash in her left leg, but she would have a limp for the rest of her life. During the final month, they got her out of bed so she could learn to walk again.
She didn’t know why Dr. Giang lied by claiming to the authorities that she was a South Vietnamese fighter when he had to have known she was fighting with the North. Perhaps he harbored his own Communist sympathies? She had no visitors the entire time she was hospitalized, but she didn’t expect any. It was a time for mourning and reflection. She mourned Bảo’s death and grieved the loss of their passion.
When Tâm was finally released, she felt bewildered. She couldn’t think of anyone in Saigon she could call a friend who would take her in for a night or two. After some thought, however, she realized she did. She made her way to Dr. Hằng’s apartment in the French Quarter, the last place she’d lived before she joined up. At least she would not need to pretend who she was and what she’d done.
Was it her imagination or did the building look a bit shabbier, a bit grimier than she recalled? The doorman was still there in his ridiculous uniform, but he, too, looked a bit rumpled, his posture bowed and tired. His eyes widened when he saw Tâm limp toward him.
“Mademoiselle, you are back!”
Tâm nodded.
“You have been injured.”
“I am here to see Dr. Hằng, please.”
“Of course.”
A few minutes later, Tâm knocked at Dr. Hằng’s door. She opened it as if she’d been expecting Tâm.
“Tâm!” She opened her arms. “I am so happy to see you. I was hoping you would come here after you were released.”
“You knew?”
“Dr. Giang is a friend from the health department. He has given me regular reports on your progress.”
Ah, Tâm thought. That made sense. “He took good care of me.”
“He saved your life.” She ushered Tâm into the plush living room.
“Yes. He did.” Tâm’s response was muted.
“You were a brave, courageous fighter.”
“I tried.” She pointed to her leg. “But it is over now.”
Dr. Hằng faced Tâm. “Who told you that?”
“Dr. Giang for one. And everyone else. Look at me. I can barely walk.”
“Wars are won by loyal soldiers performing whatever they are ordered to do. Not all of those orders include combat.”
“I am finished with the war. Or should I say it is finished with me.”
Dr. Hằng bade Tâm sit down on the elegant silk sofa. “I know you fell in love with a woman while you were near the tunnels. And her death triggered your—run-in with the tunnel rat. I am truly sorry for your loss.” She placed a sympathetic hand on Tâm’s arm. “But I have something new in mind for you. Something at which I know you will excel.”
“I was thinking I would—”
Dr. Hằng cut her off. “A man will be visiting tonight. He is an important officer. He will tell you about an upcoming mission. I think you would be the perfect candidate for it. But you can decide after he talks. Fair?”
Tâm agreed, but questions nagged at her. How did Dr. Hằng know Tâm would come here after she was released from the hospital? Tâm hadn’t told anyone where she was going. And how did she know to arrange a meeting for them on Tâm’s first night here? Either Dr. Hằng was clairvoyant, or her flow of intelligence was so precise that she could manipulate people without them realizing it. Was that what Dr. Hằng had done when she recruited Tâm to fight with the Communists? Ingratiated herself. Invited her to stay in her dead son’s room. Complimented her bravery and talent, although Dr. Hằng had no proof Tâm had done anything of note. Tâm wasn’t eager to be manipulated again. She had almost died the first time.
Dr. Hằng cooked dinner that night, the young girl in the French maid’s uniform having left a month earlier, she claimed. Had she tired of Dr. Hằng’s manipulation, too? After dinner, she and Tâm relaxed on the balcony.
“What do you think of the American withdrawals?” Tâm asked.
“It is not important what I think,” Dr. Hằng said elliptically. “But I can tell you that in America they do not think it is fast enough. The anti-war activists are incensed that the U.S. is helping South Vietnam invade Cambodia. It had to be done, of course, but it has triggered protests, some of them dangerous, like those college students shot in Ohio.”
“The bombings are supposed to wipe out the NVA forces that massed near the border, yes?”
“Yes. But they did not succeed. More troops are gathering there as we speak.”
“It seems a bit desperate at this point,” Tâm ventured.
“On whose side?” Dr. Hằng peered at Tâm. “The South and the U.S. invading yet another country to ‘protect’ the world from Communism?”
“Or the NVA invading another country to seize more territory and push south?”
Dr. Hằng threw Tâm a shrewd smile. “I see your experiences have turned you into a skeptic.”
“The war has been going on for six years now, Dr. Hằng. Even World War II had ended by that time.”
“Vietnam is but a pebble compared to the boulders of England, France, Germany, and America. We fight slowly, but methodically. The North may not have adequate resources, but we will win. It will take more time, more soldiers, but Vietnam will be reunified.”
Tâm didn’t reply.
“You must believe that.”
“I believe you believe that.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. A man in his forties, dressed in black farm pants and a black tunic, entered. A holster around his waist held what looked like an automatic pistol. He wore glasses, which softened his military bearing and expression. He was followed by a younger man, identically dressed. Dr. Hằng greeted them warmly.
“This is General Ngô Văn Minh,” she introduced him to Tâm. She faced General Minh. “This is the woman I have been telling you about.” She turned to Tâm. “The general is with the Viet Cong, but he used to live in the North. He was a student of General Võ Nguyên Giáp, whose reputation I believe you are familiar with.”
Tâm rose and extended her hand. She couldn’t help but be impressed. General Giáp was one of the greatest military strategists of the twentieth century. If this man studied with Giáp, he must share Giáp’s deep knowledge of guerrilla as well as conventional strategy and tactics, tactics that became the guiding principles of the North’s war philosophy. In the company of such an important man, Tâm felt self-conscious. Was he here to talk to her? What could she possibly do for him? Did Dr. Hằng know every North Vietnamese official?
General Minh nodded at her. “I have heard reports of your ingenuity. And your bravery. And your struggles. Particularly with the Long Hairs.”
Tâm felt her cheeks burn. “Thank you, General. I have tried. But now . . .” She motioned to her leg. “I am not fit for fighting.”
“Those who serve do so in many ways. I want to tell you about a mission that Dr. Hằng and I think you can handle.”
General Minh was one of the most important generals in the war. And he had singled her out from every other soldier. Who was she to say no? “I am honored,” Tâm said quietly.