Message from Nam (29 page)

“See you in Saigon, Ralph. Maybe we can have dinner next week.” Ralph nodded, and Quinn waved to them as they drove off. They didn’t see the sergeant again, which was probably just as well, Paxton decided. He obviously hated them, and had no desire to cooperate with the press. Not that it mattered. They’d done a good day’s work, and both she and Ralph had gotten good stories. Yves said he’d gotten some good shots too. He’d gotten a great one when they shot one of the snipers. It was sick what constituted greatness here. Two dead men and a wounded girl made a “great” story here, a great shot, maybe even an award for brilliant journalism. It was strange how you won the prize for watching people die here.

But as they drove toward Saigon, all she could think of was Bill Quinn and his body covering hers as the grenade went off, the sheer power of him as he protected her, and the look in his eyes when she rolled over. She felt guilty thinking about it. He was a married man, and Peter had only been dead for a little over two months, and yet there was something, a raw energy about the man that was undeniable, an electric current that drew her to him and that she found irresistibly exciting.

C
HAPTER
14

F
or the next week, Paxton stayed close to Saigon. She wrote the story of the incident at Cu Chi, and a separate story just describing the tunnels. The paper was running her articles under the caption “Message from Nam, by Paxton Andrews.” And so far they had printed them all, and the
Sun
was syndicating them, which meant they might even turn up in Savannah, which she knew might impress her mother and brother. But it was Ed Wilson who called
her
himself and praised her for her insights and her obvious courage.

“You didn’t go down in one of those tunnels yourself, did you, Pax?” She smiled as she listened to him. And tears came to her eyes. He was so far away now.

“I’m fine” was all she said in answer to his questions. She asked him to let her mother know that she was alright too. She hadn’t had time to write to her yet and she knew she should have. She sent her love to Gabby and Matt and Mrs. Wilson, and after she spoke to him, she felt homesick for a day. But she got busy writing another story. She rented a car and drove herself to Bien Hoa, and she felt incredibly brave and independent. At twenty-two she was halfway around the world, discovering things she had never even dreamt of.

She was also fascinated with the black market, so one afternoon she went to Tan Son Nhut Base, where she’d arrived, to talk to some people there about the mass theft from the PX, of items that filtered directly into the black market, including uniforms and weapons. And as she walked slowly across Tan Son Nhut Base at sunset, she found herself watching a tall man in combat uniform far ahead. He had a rolling gait and a stride that seemed somehow familiar. But the sun was in her eyes, and she couldn’t see who he was. She knew so few people in Saigon anyway, that she couldn’t imagine it was anyone she really knew. And a minute later, he stopped and turned around to talk to someone. And as he did, he glanced at her, and then he walked slowly toward her. It was Captain William Quinn, from Cu Chi, and he looked incredibly handsome as he approached her, and in spite of herself, she could feel her heart pounding.

“Hi there,” he said, looking down at her as though he’d been waiting for her there. He had a slow smile that said he was seldom in a hurry. He always seemed to be relaxed and at ease, and yet from somewhere deep inside him you could sense an almost electrical tension. “What brings you here?” And then he grinned. “You look a hell of a lot cleaner than the last time I saw you.” She’d had dirt all over her face after she dived into the ground, covered by him, to avoid the hand grenade. And now she was wearing a white linen dress and flowers in her hair, and bright red sandals.

“Thank you. I’m doing a story on the thefts at the PX, of items that mysteriously reappear in the black market.”

“Oh, that.” He looked intrigued. “If you can solve that one, you get the Congressional Medal of Honor. But I think a lot of people here have a pretty big investment in seeing that you don’t. You’re talking some mighty big money.”

“So I gather. Are you down from Cu Chi for a while?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a quick meeting with the general. I was going to drive back tonight.” He paused and she didn’t know why, but she held her breath, waiting for him. She didn’t want to care, but she did. She was so drawn to him, she could hardly make sense in his presence. He made her feel terribly young, and in other circumstances than these, she would have felt almost silly. “I know it’s short notice,” he said quietly, “but is there any chance you’d want to grab a bite to eat before I drive back? I’m in no particular hurry.” He looked deep into her eyes and the sheer power of him almost made her tremble. He was an odd combination of strength and gentleness that was difficult not to find appealing.

Her heart skipped a beat. “I’d love that.”

He seemed pleased and then thought about it for a moment. “How foolish would it seem to you if we went to the officers’ club here on the base for a hamburger and a milkshake? I’ve had a hankering for one all week,” he confessed, looking like a kid, and she laughed.

He walked her across the base as they chatted easily about Saigon, and the Caravelle, the hotel where she stayed, and about where she’d gone to school. He had played football at West Point, he explained, which was easy to believe after the save he’d made the other day, rescuing her from the hand grenade. And when they walked into the club, the Beatles were on the jukebox, and lots of people were dancing. There was an easy, down-home American feeling in the air, and for the second time since she’d arrived, she felt suddenly homesick. The first time was when she talked to Peter’s father in San Francisco.

They ordered hamburgers and fries, and she had a Coke, and he had a beer, and they watched the people dancing and listening to the music. The Beatles were followed by “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” everyone’s favorite, and “Proud Mary,” which Paxton had liked when she was at Berkeley.

“So when did you graduate?” he asked comfortably as they listened to the music and chatted. He seemed somehow younger here, as though the pressure was off him and he could relax, and she no longer sensed his underlying tension. And she laughed at his question.

“I didn’t.” She grinned sheepishly. “I should’ve graduated in June, but I dropped out.”

“That’s perfect,” he smiled, “perfectly in tune with your whole generation.” He was teasing her and he didn’t seem to care, and it no longer seemed so dramatic as they sat there. Whether she had her degree or not was of absolutely no importance.

“Things kind of piled up on me last spring, and I got … I don’t know …, disillusioned.…”

“And now?” He looked her straight in the eye. He didn’t really care what she’d done in school. He was interested in her as a grown-up. This was a grown-up world filled with real life and urgency, and people who died suddenly, whether or not they had gone to college.

“It no longer seems very important.”

“Viet Nam does that to you,” he said cryptically, sipping at his beer, and Paxton tried not to focus on how handsome he was. After all, he was married. “The things you used to care about don’t matter much anymore, the house, the car, all the little bullshit stuff that used to seem so important. And the things you took for granted matter a lot … it’s the people you care about here … that you stay alive for.” His eyes never left her. “Home seems a long way away sometimes, and yet supposedly, that’s what we all fight for.”

“And is home what you’re fighting for?” she asked softly.

“I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure what the hell we’re fighting for here, if you want to know the truth. This is my fourth tour here, and I swear I don’t know why I do it. We’re supposed to be winning the hearts and minds of the people, but that’s crap, Paxton. We’re not winning shit. All they can see is that we’re killing their people and destroying their country. And they’re right, we are.”

“So why do you stay?” she asked sadly. She kept wanting to know why people volunteered to be there. No one really knew why they were there, except the boys who’d been drafted. The others didn’t seem to know, and if they had known once, they had long since forgotten.

“I stay because they’re killing American boys over here. And if I stay, maybe I can protect them. Maybe I’ve been doing what I do long enough to know how to do it just a little better. Or maybe not,” he said with a sigh, finishing his beer, “maybe it doesn’t make a fucking bit of difference.” It was a disheartening thought, but something everyone had said at one point or another. Everyone felt, at some time, that what they were doing was futile. “You’re a brave girl,” he said then, remembering her willingness to go down into the tunnel. “No one else who’s visited the base has ever done that, no woman anyway. And most of the men are scared to death, too, but they won’t admit it.” His eyes shone bright with admiration.

“Thank you. Maybe I’m just stupid.”

“Maybe we all are,” he said gently. He had lost two more men the day after she left, including the young radiotelephone operator whose call name was Tonto. But he didn’t tell her that. This wasn’t the time or the place for that, and it didn’t really matter.

They walked out into the warm night air afterward and strolled for a little while. At least on the base, they were relatively safe. Except, even there, from time to time, there were bombs or snipers.

“I’d like to show you some of this country sometime. It’s a beautiful place, even now.” There were times when he really loved it.

“I’d like that. I went to Bien Hoa last week. I want to see more, but I’m not quite sure where to go yet.”

“I could show you,” he said softly, and then he turned to her. “I’m not quite sure what to do about you,” he said with a look of confusion. “I … I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” She was flattered and she was drawn to him and she didn’t know what to say either.

“What about your wife?” She decided to be open with him, and she wanted him to be honest with her, and he looked as though he would be.

“We’ve been married for ten years, since I graduated from the Point. We have three kids. Three girls, funnily enough.” He smiled. “Somehow I always thought I’d have sons. And she’s fed up to the gills with the army. She was an army brat, too, just like I was, and I thought she knew what she was getting into, but she didn’t. Or maybe she did, and she just didn’t figure she’d get so tired of it. She wants me to come home now, and I’m just not ready.”

“Do you love her?” Paxton looked him squarely in the eye, she wanted to know what this man was about, and he wanted to tell her.

“I did. I don’t know anymore. I meet her in Tokyo a couple of times a year, or Hong Kong, and we fight about the future. She wants me to get a job, and I’m not sure I could anymore. I’m thirty-two, and what the hell do you sell? The fact that you’ve been crawling around in VC tunnels for four years? The fact that you haven’t stepped on a land mine? That you take pretty good care of your men? What would that make me? A good director at a Boy Scout camp? I don’t know. I was trained for this. I guess that’s it,” he said sadly, “I’m a trained killer.”

“How many men have you saved since you’ve been here?” Paxton asked quietly. “Isn’t that really what you do best? Saving your men from being killed by the others?”

“Maybe.” She was very perceptive, and he liked that. He liked how smart she was, and how honest, and how gutsy, and how pretty. She was everything Debbie wasn’t. His wife complained all the time, and whined, about the kids, and the house where they lived, and her parents, and his, and Viet Nam, and their pay, and the PX, until he just couldn’t stand it. He wanted something more than that. But he didn’t know what yet. Or he hadn’t. Until the week before, when he’d seen Paxton. “I want you to know something.” He wanted to be straight with her. “I’ve gone out with a couple of other women before. Nothing important. A couple of nurses … a Wac in Long Binh … a girl in San Francisco once, but it was always on the up-and-up. They knew I was married and it was just a quick, straight thing. But … I don’t even know if you like me … but this is different … I’ve never met a woman like you.…” And he wanted her to know that.

She smiled in the light where they stood, and without thinking, she reached up and touched his cheek. “Thank you.” And the gesture brought tears to his eyes. No one had touched him like that in so long that he had forgotten what it felt like.

“I think I’m in love with you. Is it possible for a grown man to fall in love with a girl in a place like this and have anything good come of it?” He didn’t see how, and yet there was an intensity to their situation here, a sense that life was only for the moment.

“I don’t know.” She looked sad for a moment, thinking of Peter. And this was so different. This was only for now, with no promise of anything more, no tomorrow, and very probably no future.

“I never thought I’d leave my wife,” he said honestly, as they walked along, “and I’m not sure I would. We’ve been married for a long time and I love my children.”