Tâm took a train back to Saigon with no plan. She no longer had a destination or a goal to chase. Everything she believed in had turned to dust or death. With a clouded and uncertain future, she reverted to the past. She went to the Binh Tay market and used some of Chú Dũng’s bonus money to buy a tent and bedding. She pitched it at the Cholon refugee camp, the place that marked where she and Mai had begun their journey; perhaps she could figure out what she should do next. The Cholon camp would be relatively safe. She would be one of many lost souls. Hopefully, no one would pay attention to her.
A few days later she took a bus to the Saigon Café. It was risky, but she wanted to find out what had happened to Dr. Hằng. And how much General Minh knew about her. But the restaurant was closed and boarded up. She wasn’t surprised. Now that the Americans were gone, their business must have languished; most Vietnamese locals couldn’t afford the prices. The restaurant occupied the ground floor of a five-story tube house, so Tâm went to the other entrance of the building and climbed up the steps, hoping Cô Cúc and her husband still lived above the restaurant. But they were gone, and a new family had moved in. The occupants said Cô Cúc had left no forwarding address.
She told herself it was even riskier to visit Dr. Hằng’s apartment. It wasn’t that she expected Dr. Hằng to be waiting for her. But she might run into someone: a doorman, a maid, or a neighbor who recognized her and would tell Dr. Hằng they saw her. Dr. Hằng might tell General Minh, and his men would start looking for her in Saigon.
On the other hand, despite her fears, she might not be considered a person of importance to either Dr. Hằng or General Minh. Her mission had begun three years earlier. That was a long time. Perhaps no one cared one way or the other about a double agent whom they had sent to spy on the Cao Đài. Perhaps they assumed she had been uncovered, arrested, and executed.
But Tâm didn’t want to live in constant fear of being exposed. So she walked to the apartment house in District 1 where Dr. Hằng lived. The exterior of the yellow building looked dingier than before. Cracks ran down the stucco walls, and some of the decorative white trim had broken off. The front door was open, but she didn’t see a doorman. Was he on break? Or could the building’s occupants no longer afford the luxury? With the South now bearing the brunt of the war, times were hard. Money was scarce.
She walked up to the door and peered inside the lobby. A man in a janitor’s uniform was sweeping the floor. “Excuse me, but does Dr. Hằng still live here?”
“Who?”
“Dr. Đường Châu Hằng.”
“I have only been here one year. I do not know anyone by that name.”
“She lived on the third floor at the end of the hall.”
He stopped sweeping and leaned on his broom. “Oh . . . her.” He ran his fingers down the broomstick. “She and her husband were arrested by the South Vietnamese military and executed for treason.”
Tâm sucked in a breath. Her hand flew to her chest. “What?”
“She worked for the health department, yes?”
Tâm nodded.
“But she was secretly collaborating with the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese.”
“When did this happen? Her arrest?”
“Just before I was hired.”
“Are you sure the man arrested with her was her husband?”
He shrugged. “That’s what I was told. But the person who told me, the doorman, is gone.”
“I see. Thank you.” She started back to the bus stop, trying to put it together. Someone had betrayed Dr. Hằng. Was it Cô Cúc? General Minh? Perhaps Cô Cúc or her husband had been forced to expose her. Officials might have surveilled Dr. Hằng and discovered she was close to Cô Cúc. They could have threatened to close down the restaurant if Cô Cúc didn’t tell them what she knew about Dr. Hằng. But Tâm thought General Minh was behind it. When she first met him, he seemed to be an ally of convenience for Dr. Hằng. But if Dr. Hằng failed or if General Minh was under pressure from higher-ranking officials, Tâm suspected he would turn on Dr. Hằng without a backward glance.
Tâm shivered. Had he betrayed her to the Communists as well? She didn’t know. But she did know she’d need to stay as inconspicuous as possible, even if it meant remaining in her dank, muddy tent until the war was over.
Five months later, on April 30, South Vietnam fell. The Americans helped evacuate thousands of South Vietnamese with close ties to the United States. Some were shipped out before Saigon collapsed, but most of the 130,000 evacuations occurred within a month after North Vietnam declared victory. Then the American rescue operation waned.
Tâm’s situation hadn’t changed. In fact, it was worse. If the Communists believed her to be from the South, she would suffer persecution, perhaps be sent to a reeducation camp. But if the North Vietnamese found out she had fought for the North and had gone AWOL, they would kill her. She had to get out.