Page 105 of Cry Havoc
“I’ve taken to calling him ‘Drags,’?” Tom said. “Short for ‘Dragon.’?”
“They eat mosquitos, you know.”
“I’ve heard that.”
He set the abstract against the wall next to the wardrobe, facing the wall, and then hung the Mandarin duck painting in its place.
“Now the ducks can watch us,” Tom said. “That’s much better.”
“Oh stop. I got you something else.”
“Ella, you don’t need to get me anything.”
“Oh yes, I do. Your fashion sense is clearly wanting, but at least with your new clothes you look more like a journalist than a soldier just out of the field. You will fit in perfectly around here, except for that watch.”
“Really?”
“Well, the watch is fine, but that strap and leather cover scream ‘military.’ Here,” she said, handing him a small green box from her purse.
“What’s this?”
“Just a little something to help you blend in.”
Tom opened the box and removed a stainless-steel watch bracelet.
“I can’t accept this.”
“You can and you will. We will get a jeweler to swap it out.”
“Once again, who am I to argue?”
Their first weekend together, Ella did not go to work. They stayed in bed and ordered room service. In the late afternoon, they stood on the balcony eating fresh mangoes and dragon fruit, watching the storm clouds gather, taking in the sweet smell of impending rain. Tom held her as the deluge soaked them both to the bone, passing over and moving in a sheet across the city. It was like the winds and rain washed away the war. For a moment, it was peaceful, even though they knew weather was fleeting, while wars were not. Wars were the constant.
She showed him her city, the hidden haunts and temples, the coffee and tea shops, the antique art dealers, the restaurants, cafés, and record shops.
Ella was an admirer of French cinema, and Saigon was home to more than a few movie theaters showing French films. Tom wondered if this was something she had done with the boyfriend she mentioned in Paris. Afteran early dinner at the popular My Canh floating restaurant on the Saigon River, she took him to a double feature ofLe SamouraïandLes Aventuriers,both starring Alain Delon.
Tom had a hard time concentrating on the films, knowing that the Viet Cong had detonated two bombs at My Canh three years earlier, resulting in over thirty dead, most of whom were Vietnamese civilians. A photo of a U.S. Army major carrying a wounded child from the restaurant had made headlines. The girl became known as the “My Canh Child.” He could not help but note what a prime target the movie theater would be, a thought that kept him on edge for most of the evening, scanning the crowd rather than enjoying the films.
He let his guard down once they were back sipping drinks at the Continental Shelf.
“Couldn’t they find someone better-looking than Delon?” Tom joked. “Are there any French films he’s not in?”
She laughed. “I find co-productions like these fascinating,” she said. “Le SamouraïandLes Aventuriersare French-Italian. I sawThe Peking Medallionlast year. That’s a German-French-Italian co-production. Can you imagine? Just over twenty years ago they were all killing each other. Gives me hope for Vietnam. Maybe one day we will see a Vietnamese French or Vietnamese American co-production.”
“Maybe,” Tom said, though he did not sound hopeful.
The next afternoon, she had a car and driver from her father’s company waiting for them in front of the hotel.
“I want to show you something,” she said.
The car drove them to a rundown area on the edge of Saigon, creeping past demolished buildings, where they were forced to stop at multiple ARVN and U.S. checkpoints.
“There might have been a VC saboteur or two in these houses,” she pointed out. “They may have even been killed. Was killing them worth it?”
The car pulled to a stop.
“Where are we?” Tom asked.
