The Lotus Eaters_ A Novel Part 6

Each stone laid in place here is laid on top of blood. Violence all around you, but you don't recognize it. It's easy for you--you don't belong here."

"I didn't make the war. I was just a mediocre photographer, headed toward wedding shots. War made me famous."

"What about duty?"

"Far as I can see, you don't belong, either. Officially disappeared." Darrow stared at him. "So why not run?"

Linh bowed his head and was silent so long Darrow thought he would not answer.

"From what happened to me, there is no running. 'Which way I fly is h.e.l.l; myself am h.e.l.l.' "

Darrow was speechless at his Milton-quoting, AWOL soldier-turned-a.s.sistant.

What in the world more would he find out about this man?

On their day off, Linh woke to the usual smell of cardamom-scented coffee being brewed but then smelled something else--sweet like the French bakeries in Saigon.

He found Darrow outside nursing a skillet over an open fire.

"Pancakes," Darrow said, not turning. "My wife sent me a box of mix. It even has dried blueberries in it. And a bottle of Vermont syrup. Get a fork."

"You're married?"

"She thought it would make me homesick. You know how women are."

"I'll never get over my wife's love."

Darrow looked at him. "I'm sorry..."

Linh waved away the apology. He didn't want to be one of those people who couldn't stand another's happiness. "She would make my favorite, banh cuon banh cuon, rice cakes, each time I left."

When breakfast was ready, Linh looked down at the golden cake on his plate, the brown puddle of syrup.

"Dig in!" Darrow said.

Linh took a bite and gagged. The texture and the sweetness and the flavor, all peculiar. He poked at the blue pools of fruit in the cake with the p.r.o.ngs of his fork and felt queasy.

Darrow ate a stack of five cakes, along with cup after cup of coffee. "This takes me home."

When he turned away, Linh threw the pancake into the bushes behind him. When Darrow turned around again and saw the empty plate, he smiled and plopped another on it, despite Linh's protests. "You're turning more American by the minute."

Later in the morning, Veasna had a question about drop dates, and Darrow was nowhere to be found. After searching for an hour, they finally tracked him down to where he stood in front of the carved stone face of Avalokiteshvara, the Buddha of Compa.s.sion.

Motioning Veasna away, Linh watched Darrow study the sculpture--blank, unseeing eyes, serene smile of the lips, the chips and cracks and lichen, shadows that changed the expression as the sun crossed it--until nightfall. Linh could work with such a man.

At his usual late hour, Linh returned from the village and stretched out on his hour, Linh returned from the village and stretched out on his mat. Darrow, as always, wide-awake and reading. Gla.s.s of scotch at his side, he insisted Linh join him with a small gla.s.s. Linh wet his lips with the alcohol--he would have drunk it even if it was poison to please--then closed his eyes and felt the walls spin. When Darrow came across interesting parts in his book, he read them aloud, regardless of whether Linh, muddled with drink, had fallen asleep or not, so that Linh acquired his knowledge of Mouhot's history of the ruins in dreamlike segments. He would never be sure if the stories were real or his imagination. The king of Cambodia, along with an The king of Cambodia, along with an entourage that numbered into the thousands, went elephant hunting through the dense forests northeast of the great lake, Tonle Sap, in the year 1550. In some places, pa.s.sage was so restricted that his slaves had to cut away vegetation and trees in order to pa.s.s through. They came upon a particularly thick, overgrown place through which they could make no progress. Finally they realized these were solid stone walls beneath the dense foliage--the outer wall of Angkor, rediscovered by the Khmers after having been forgotten since the twelfth century.

One day when work had finished early, Darrow rounded the corner of a building had finished early, Darrow rounded the corner of a building and ran straight into Linh, who quickly stuffed a sc.r.a.p of paper away into his pocket.

"What are you writing all the time?"

"Nothing. Scribbled poems, stories."

"Really?"

"I used to write plays."

"Let me read them? You write in English, don't you?"

Linh looked down, his skin flushed. "Sometime, yes, maybe." His hand a firm no no over his pocket. When he came to his room to go sleep that night, he found a new thick spiral notebook and a package of ballpoint pens on his mat.

Finally, the last picture taken, exposures packed away in their cans, Darrow taken, exposures packed away in their cans, Darrow could not prolong the inevitable any longer. Finally he would go. He would not starve himself any longer, but must gorge himself on war. On their last day, as the trucks were loaded, he walked among the workers, handing out small gifts. Veasna and Samang were nowhere to be found. Since Linh had taken the morning off, Darrow went into the village alone with only a translator. He hoped to catch a glimpse of the young woman who came nights, who fed him the soft-fleshed jackfruit and mangosteens, but knew he could not ask for her. He wanted to make the brothers a farewell gift of an old Rolleiflex that he had taught them to use. Unable to find anyone, Darrow had the translator question the villagers. Long minutes of back-and-forth, indecipherable, while Darrow sat on a rock, sweating and swatting at flies that he hadn't noticed while he was under the spell of his work. A shaking of leaves, and the young woman appeared from behind a banyan tree.

She leaned against the trunk and rubbed her hand against her thigh, a smile on her lips, and Darrow felt twice as bad about going. Finally a shrug from the translator.

"What?" Darrow said in a raised voice. His irritation, a breach of etiquette. The girl's hand dropped from her thigh, and she hurried away. Screw the camera, more than anything else he had an overpowering urge to run after her for one last meeting.

"Samang die of snakebite two days ago. Veasna is in mourning." The brother had been climbing the side of an overgrown wall of the ruins when a cobra lurched out and bit him in the thigh.

Darrow slapped at the air. "Why didn't anyone tell us? We have anti-venom. A doctor is only a few hours away."

"He die fast. Not want to bother you."

Shaken, Darrow returned to the camp, slammed his belongings into bags, the spell of the place broken--the girl, the temples, the pancakes--all of it ridiculous and driving him crazy; he just wanted to get back to real work.

Linh walked in and considered him.

"You heard about Samang?" Darrow snapped.

"It is sad."

"Not sad! Stupid. Ignorant. It didn't need to happen. Forget this place."

"Samang could have been working on other job when the snake found him."

"But he wasn't. He was on my job."

Linh picked up his bags. "I'll go check equipment on the trucks." He turned away, then turned back. "He was very lucky, doing his duty, earning to support his family. You should give the camera to Veasna. If he does well, he can earn money. That is all that matters to Samang now."

Darrow snorted and shook his head. He shoved a heavy case out the door with a hard push of his foot. "I hope I'm I'm not as lucky as Samang." He grabbed a towel and wiped not as lucky as Samang." He grabbed a towel and wiped off his face, put his gla.s.ses back on. "d.a.m.n unlucky in my book."

"And then there is the young lady you entertained. Their sister-in-law. Widowed with two small children to feed. It would be thoughtful to give her some money so she could do something besides sell her body to foreigners."

The Europeans, upon finding Angkor, refused to believe that the natives could have built the original temples. Briefly they entertained the thought that they had found Plato's lost city of Atlantis.

The young woman dropping pieces of warm fruit into Darrow's mouth had given him a false sense of understanding that was lost again, that did not transport to the modern world, where a syringe and a dying man were separated more by fatalism than actual distance. He felt like that ancient king hacking through the jungle, stone walls of his own trea sure barring his way.

Before leaving Angkor, Linh dropped a sheath of torn-out notebook paper on Darrow's lap. During the reign of King Hung there lived two brothers, Tam and Lang, During the reign of King Hung there lived two brothers, Tam and Lang, who were devoted to each other. They were orphaned at a young age and came to live with a kind master who had a beautiful daughter. As they grew up, both brothers came to secretly love the girl, but the master gave her hand in marriage to the older brother, Tam. The young man and woman were blissfully in love, so much so that Tam quite forgot about his younger brother, Lang. Unable to stand his unhappiness anymore--the Unable to stand his unhappiness anymore--the loss of the two most important people in the world to him, and his jealousy at their happiness--Lang ran away, and when he finally came to the sea and could go no farther, he fell on the ground and died of grief, and was changed into a white, chalky, limestone rock. Tam, realizing his brother was gone, felt ashamed of his neglect and went in search Tam, realizing his brother was gone, felt ashamed of his neglect and went in search of him. In despair of not finding him, he stopped when he reached the sea, sat down on a white, chalky, limestone rock, and wept until he died, changing into a tree with a straight trunk and green palm leaves, an Areca tree. When the young woman realized that her When the young woman realized that her husband was gone, she went in search of him. Worn out, she finally arrived at the sea, and sat down under the shade of an Areca palm, with her back against a large white chalky rock. She cried in despair at losing her husband until she died, and changed into the creeping betel vine, which twined itself around the trunk of the Areca palm.

"Yours?"

"A famous legend of Vietnam. As best as I can remember. So you begin to understand where you are."

"It's sad. Tragic."

"These are our national symbols. We are a people used to grief. Expecting it even."

When they returned to Saigon, Gary paced the office with a summons from Saigon, Gary paced the office with a summons from ARVN headquarters demanding Linh's immediate appearance. The ident.i.ty papers he had submitted were all faked. "I knew it. I knew you were too good to be true. Who's Tran Bau Linh? Huh? They think he's a deserter from the SVA."

"h.e.l.l if I know. Linh's worked for me the last year."

"How's that since I introduced you a few weeks ago?"

"A year. I'll go down and talk to ARVN. You know with a little grease, they won't care."

Linh followed Darrow outside.

"How we met..."

"We've worked together for a year."

"You are sure?"

"Want to go soldiering again?"

"No."

"A little flattery and some pictures of the boss go a long way. I noticed how late you stayed out so you wouldn't run into my friend." Darrow squinted in the sunlight, breaking into a grin. "We make a good team. No one is exactly begging to work with me."

When Linh became Darrow's a.s.sistant, the war was small and new. A bush war, a.s.sistant, the war was small and new. A bush war, a civil war in a backwater country. The American presence was the only thing that led Darrow there, a reluctant last stop before retiring from the war business.

They sat in the gloom of rubber trees in Cu Chi, the Iron Triangle region, after a firefight. Linh had stood up to get the picture, before Darrow knocked him down, and small bits of shrapnel had nicked him in the face and neck. Even the Leica he had been shooting with had been damaged. Darrow bent over the medic, making sure he cleaned out the half-moon-shaped nick on his cheek. "Now you have a beauty mark. Women love scars."

"I can fix the camera," Linh said.

Darrow took a long drag on his cigarette. "Don't see how."

Linh picked up spent sh.e.l.l casings and a metal fork. Darrow watched him, amused.

"Where'd you learn that? SVA doesn't teach that kind of stuff."

Linh shrugged.

"You're the onion man. Peel back a layer and get another mystery."

"No mystery."

"I've read the NVA train photographers to work under any field conditions,"

Darrow said.

"I've read that also."

Darrow laughed. "They pose shots. Making heroes. Unlike us. We're showing the truth."

The rest of the company was out of earshot, but still Linh spoke softly.

"Make believe that a man's father, a professor at the university in Hanoi, fought the French to free our country. And the French became the Americans. And the Nationalists became the Communists. And pretend the son learned to fix a camera with casings and a fork for the North, but that he found their promises to be lies. He escaped but was made to fight for the SVA. And pretend that after all this time fighting, all he wanted was to flee the war. If this was true, would you take this a.s.sistant?"

"Why doesn't he run away?"

"He is tied to his country." Linh rubbed his hand over his wrist.

Darrow took another drag on his cigarette, handed one to Linh. "This man has suffered enough. I'd be proud to work alongside him."

Linh turned away. He could not help feeling he had lost face by telling so much, and yet he knew the Americans expected this, needed this abas.e.m.e.nt to feel comfortable.

"Question?" Darrow said. "This imaginary man who worked in the North, did he ever see Uncle?"

"I imagine... yes." The more one told, the less real the story seemed.

"Where?"

"Outside Hanoi. Visiting a friend who served as a guard. A tiny village, just a few huts strung along a ca.n.a.l. A small vegetable garden, and he was bent over the rows for hours, weeding. All alone. He was only in his fifties but was sick with TB and looked ancient. Just a glimpse. He was just an old man weeding his garden. Hidden because he was in plain sight."

They went out with an LRRP (long-range reconnaissance patrol) unit on patrol an LRRP (long-range reconnaissance patrol) unit on patrol into a guerilla-dominated province. Darrow favored these small, specialized units who went native because they allowed him to understand the nature of the particular place better than the larger units that turned everyplace into an American base. Special Forces had agreed to let Darrow go along on the condition that there would be no mention of the mission, no pictures. He knew from past experience it was worth it simply to get the lay of the land even though it drove Gary crazy.

For days they walked in silence in the dim claustrophobia of jungle, not coming across another human being. Day melted into night that melted back into day. They lost track of time, staking out spidery trails, unable to move or talk--the only sound rain slapping against leaves.

Linh thought of the blank stone faces at Angkor staring out at nothing. Centuries pa.s.sing without a single human voice intruding. Relieved by the sheer physical exertion, at night he sank down to the earth, asleep; in the morning he woke to find his hands clenched around his wrists, the skin bruised and chafed. The effect of the patrol on Darrow was unexpected. Maybe it was the time away at Angkor, sharpening his eye.

After all the wars he had covered, this place spoke to him. The quality of the light on young American faces in this ancient land that was by turns beautiful and horrific. He had found his war.

The patrol spent the night in a small clearing, a village of six huts along a small night in a small clearing, a village of six huts along a small tributary river. The people were kind, even killing a chicken in their honor, while the soldiers shared their rations. The chief brought out a bottle of moons.h.i.+ne to sip on.

Leaving at dawn, they stopped by again five days later to get out of the rain and came upon only smoldering ruins. A dozen villagers dead, stinking in a thick sea of mud. Since there would be no acknowledgment that Americans were even in the off-limits province, no report of the violence. The enemy had been watching and had taken vengeance. An enemy that ruthless commanded a certain awe. Darrow realized that Vietnam was going to be a very different thing from other wars he had covered. The surface of things was just the beginning. The surface of things was nothing. Linh had it right: things hidden because they were in plain view.

Four of the soldiers disappeared down a path toward the west in hopes of finding the trail of the departing enemy. They would meet back in six hours. Darrow, Linh, and the remaining soldier retraced their steps to the original landing zone.

They waited another full day in the long elephant gra.s.s, unable to talk or play music or even start a fire to heat food. The sun beat down on their backs, the air heavy, a wet sheet, buzzing with insect energy. Linh, hidden in the tall gra.s.s, dreamed of running away. But where would he go? Finally, as protocol demanded, the soldier radioed for an extraction, although it would give away their presence and endanger the others.

And then like three lean and hungry wolves in the far distance, the missing soldiers appeared, carrying the fourth. They were struggling, exhausted, each stumbling with a leg or an arm of the fourth, now unconscious, soldier.

As naturally as Darrow had picked up the camera at the first sign of movement, he now put it down and ran through the field to help carry the wounded man. A decision without hesitation because it had been made and acted on a thousand times before.

As instinctively as Darrow going out across the field, Linh forgot his dream of running and followed him. The lines and dirt on the soldiers' faces, the dry, unblinking stare of their eyes, showed the war had already started, the suffering begun.