David A. Poulsen's Young Adult Fiction 3-Book Bundle. David A. Poulsen
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Yes, sir.
4
0600 hours was about oh three hours less sleep than I would have liked.
I knew about thirty seconds after I had my “feet on the floor” that today was a big deal. The old man was different. He wasn’t twirling his hair like he had at the border, but I knew something was going on inside him.
He was quiet, pointed to the bathroom and said, “I’m done, it’s yours.” When I came out, there was fruit and cereal and milk on the table. Since we didn’t have any of that stuff with us, I knew he must have ordered room service. I hadn’t thought of the old man as a room service kind of guy.
While I ate, he rolled clothes and other stuff we’d need into two sleeping bags, then threw them into two dull green duffel bags. He also threw in some sandwiches, matches, bug spray, and a knife the size of a small sword. Maybe it was a machete. I wasn’t sure since I’d never seen a machete up close. If we needed to chop our way through the forest, I figured that thing would do the job.
When I’d finished eating, the old man told me to brush my teeth and put my toothbrush and some clothes in my backpack. He said I wouldn’t need my duffel bag. Okay, so that meant we were sleeping somewhere else tonight. Of course, the sleeping bags were pretty much a giveaway, but the toothbrush thing sealed the deal.
There was a knock at the door. I answered it and found myself looking at a guy about a hundred years old who came up to my chin. He looked serious, not grumpy exactly, but real serious. He looked like the kind of person who was serious all the time. Chinese or Vietnamese, I couldn’t tell. He also weighed maybe 125 pounds total. Not a big guy, but even with the age and how little he was, he didn’t look like a guy you’d want to mess with. Kind of like the old man that way.
He was wearing a black shirt over a black T-shirt and green real baggy pants like the kind you see American soldiers wearing in war movies. Except they looked a few sizes too big. He was also wearing a Pittsburgh Penguins ball cap. That made no sense to me. Watch a lot of hockey do ya, little fella?
The old man stepped around me and shook hands with the guy, invited him in.
“This is Mr. Vinh. Mr. Vinh — my son Nathan.”
“Nate,” I said.
Mr. Vinh nodded but didn’t offer to shake my hand.
“Mr. Vinh and me, we got some stuff to talk about.” The old man pulled some money out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Why don’t you go shopping or something for a half hour?”
I handed it back to him. “First of all, I’ve got money. Second of all, since it’s oh six hundred hours plus about twenty minutes, I figure the shopping is going to be a bit scarce. Third of all, I get that you want me out of here. So this is me leaving.”
I started to leave, then stopped and turned back. “We’re coming back here right? To this hotel?”
The old man nodded.
As I walked through the door into the hall, I heard him say, “Thanks, Nate,” behind me, but I kept going toward the elevator.
I’d seen a computer in the lobby and there were a couple of things I wanted to do. I bought a coffee at the little restaurant on the main floor, got a password from a drop-dead gorgeous Vietnamese woman at the desk and set myself up at the computer.
First thing. Jendoll at westcom dot au. I worked my way to the email function, typed in Jen’s address and started tapping out an email.
Hey, I’m the guy you met at the tunnels. How you doing? My old man and I are going somewhere for what looks like a couple of days, then I should be back here. Feel like taking in a movie or just getting a burger or something? Notice I didn’t invite you for noodles, which should tell you that I’m a really nice guy. You can email me if you want to at [email protected]
LOL
Nate
I hit send. I figured she’d still be sleeping like most of the normal people in the world at that moment, so I didn’t expect an answer back. Maybe later. Maybe.
Then I googled something called My Lai. It was something I’d seen pictures of in the War Remnants Museum. I wanted to know more about it.
I spent twenty minutes reading and looking at pictures. It’s a good thing I’d already eaten because I wouldn’t have wanted to after I finished finding out about My Lai.
I could have just cut and pasted something from Wikipedia or some other site, but I wanted to write it out in my own words. This is My Lai …
March 16, 1968.
American soldiers went into two small villages — one was called My Lai, pronounced Me Lie. The soldiers killed over four hundred people — unarmed men, and women, and children. They herded them together and machine gunned them, bayoneted them, even killed the animals that lived in the villages. There were pictures of groups of women holding their little children and babies just a few minutes before they were all shot. One old man was thrown into a well and then shot after he was down there. Some soldiers refused to kill innocent civilians, but most didn’t. When the world found out what had happened there that day, twenty-six American soldiers were tried for murder and other war crimes. One was convicted.
I was still sitting at the computer looking at one of the pictures — it was these people, all women and little kids dead in this ditch — when the old man came down to get me. I minimized before he saw what I was looking at.
“We’re ready to go. Come on up and help us with the stuff.”
I shut off the computer, stood up, and followed him to the stairs. I was having trouble getting the pictures I’d seen from My Lai out of my head.
When we were back in the room, I saw that Mr. Vinh had one of the duffel bags over his shoulder and was just reaching for the other one.
The old man and I both said “I’ll take that” at about the same time. The old man got there first and took the duffel bag. I offered to take the one Mr. Vinh had slung over what there was of his shoulder, but he shook his head and made for the door.
The old man pointed to a briefcase-looking thing on the bed. “You can bring that. Don’t set it down, and don’t lose it.” It was one of those old-style ones, rectangle shape, and there was masking tape wrapped around it a few times to keep it together.
Great. I get to look like a total nerd out there.
“And leave your cellphone here. Where we’re going you won’t need it, and you could lose it.”
I tucked the phone into my duffel bag, which wasn’t making the trip, and shoved the duffel bag in a corner, not hidden but not totally out in the open. My style of security.
I pulled my backpack on, picked up the briefcase, and followed Mr. Vinh down the hotel stairs. The old man came down behind me.
Don’t set it down, and don’t lose it. So it’s either a bomb, or drugs, or money. And I’m carrying it. Lovely.
5
I know now why the iPod was invented. It’s for driving through Vietnam in a Land Rover that looks like it could quit at any moment and never ever go again with two guys, one who doesn’t speak English and the other who doesn’t feel like talking. In any language.
For a couple of hours I looked out the window, especially when we passed through some village. The brief case was at my feet, which didn’t leave a lot of room for actual feet, but god forbid I should lose our drug stash.
Ever play that game where you count horses while you’re driving? I played that same game except with pagodas. Since I was the only one playing, I won twenty-six to nothing.
Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I discovered something else about the Land Rover. It didn’t have air conditioning. It was the hottest day since we’d arrived — as in freaking hot — and after I sat there soaking in my own sweat for a while,