Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

“Can you get an American navy uniform?”

“If need be, I can go get one right now.”

“A navy blue shirt over blue jeans and a blue hat will be good enough,” Yong Kyu said. “Still, that beard and hair would never meet navy regulations.”

“Exactly. Better get them cut.”

The lieutenant agreed with Yong Kyu, but Stapley stepped back and protested.

“No way. That’s why I’m running away. Nobody touches my beard. When I get to Saigon, I shouldn’t smell like a soldier or sailor. Passing by the sentry post, that’s done in the blink of an eye.”

Toi and Yong Kyu exchanged looks. Stapley had a point there.

“All right, but get some work clothes and put on a hat to cover the hair.”

“I’ll meet you tonight at ten o’clock at the Vietnamese navy gate. Now, everything is settled, right?”

The lieutenant shook hands with Stapley. Yong Kyu, Toi, and Stapley came out of the kitchen and went up to Stapley’s room.

“Phew, it stinks in here,” Yong Kyu said, holding his nose.

“Don’t complain. It’s the true odor of a human being. I barely get a chance to take a shower once in three days. And when I do, I just get a little splash from a bucket in the back yard.”

“Clean up the room, too.”

They looked down at all of the things Stapley had piled up: dirty plates, bowls, chopsticks, cans, a hotplate, and so on. All his clothes were in a bundle at the corner of the iron bedframe. Stapley sat down on the bed and Toi and Yong Kyu sat in the wooden chairs.

“Toi and I will see you get to the pier tonight,” Yong Kyu said.

“When I get out of this country, I’ll write to you from the first port I reach,” Stapley said.

“Leon wanted to come and say goodbye, but we wouldn’t let him.”

“He’ll win the bet.” Stapley acted like a man who had departed Vietnam long ago. “If not for the war, I wouldn’t mind living here in one of the seaside villages.”

“Right, thanks to American tourists like you, before long this place will soon become a hell of a place to live. You’ll turn round and round a few times and then end up back in your own country.”

“Ah, don’t tell me horror stories like that.”

“We’ll be back tonight. In the meantime, get some sleep.”

At nine that night, Ahn Yong Kyu and Toi drove over again to pick up Stapley. Instead of the van, they had deliberately taken the sergeant’s army Jeep, keeping the canvas top up. It was Toi’s idea, to get through from the smokestack bridge to Bai Bang without any strict inspection from the guards at the checkpoints. Toi was dressed in his army uniform and Yong Kyu had on his jungle fatigues. When they got there, Stapley was waiting with a small vinyl bag. He wore a navy work shirt and a blue work hat with a warrant officer’s insignia on the front. The beard posed a little problem, but he might conceivably pass for a seaman just back from a long voyage.

Stapley was not in a mood to talk much. They drove up White Elephant Street, passed the oil tanks with the Shell markings, and headed down toward the bridge. The area was lit up like broad daylight. Briefly, they stopped at the guard post and a Vietnamese QC came out with the American guard. Toi raised his hand to wave, and the guard recognized him and with a smile lifted the barricade. At the Bai Bang entrance they had to pass through another inspection checkpoint at the three-way junction leading to the pier and the naval headquarters, but made it through and headed down along the shore. On the left side there was nothing but the ocean and some barren yellow dunes, and the searchlights set up at intervals shone all the way to the pier standing ahead in the distance. Offshore, navy vessels and patrol boats of various sizes were blinking their signal lights. One of the searchlights whipped by and then slowly licked the surface of the water.

“Let’s stop up here.”

Toi pressed on the brakes. They pulled the Jeep to the side of the road and got out, then walked down toward the asphalt square at the entrance to the pier. A high wire fence had been set up and there were indeed two gates side by side. On the right gate, “Stop!” was written in red, and on the left “ Dung Lai ” in yellow. Yong Kyu said to Stapley, “It’s the left entrance over there. Do you see the sentry post?”

“Thanks. Now you two should head on back.”

“No, we’ll keep a lookout from here. Looks like the ship is up there by the red signal light.”

“Hurry up,” Toi said, “it’s ten now.”

When Yong Kyu extended his hand, Stapley didn’t shake it but instead removed the wooden pendant from around his neck and put it in Yong Kyu’s hand.

“Bye.”

Stapley gave Yong Kyu a friendly pat on the back and twisted his knuckle on Toi’s cheek.

“Good luck.”

Without looking back, Stapley walked out toward the gate. Every so often the searchlight glided by just offshore with a sudden flash. Toi and Yong Kyu stood there with cigarettes in their mouths and watched. From that point forward, everything happened in little more than an instant.

Stapley’s tall and lean figure approached the left gate and he exchanged a few words with the guard. Presently, the lieutenant appeared and went inside the sentry post. Then, an American SP emerged from the sentry post at the American gate on the right side. His white helmet was visible. He went over to Stapley and seemed to be asking some questions. Then, another American SP came outside and walked over outside the fence separating the two gates. Stapley walk around with the American guards, who seem to ask more questions. Then, suddenly, Stapley took off s running toward the pier. They could hear someone shout “Hey!” and what followed was distinctly audible even from where they were: “Come back! Stop! Stop!” then the sound of gunfire. Toi and Yong Kyu saw Stapley fall but could see nothing more.

“He’s been hit,” Toi said in a faint murmur.

Yong Kyu tensed up, ready to dash over to the scene, but Toi grabbed him from behind by the waist.

“It’s no use. It’ll only get us in hot water.”

From inside the fence the commotion got louder. Toi pulled at Yong Kyu to leave. They walked back to their Jeep, then sped out the way they had come. Yong Kyu gripped the wooden pendant tightly in his hand.

“Bad luck,” Toi said, gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.

Yong Kyu wanted to cry, not just for Stapley, but also for himself. No tears, however, came out.

By the time the storm passed, business in Da Nang had shriveled. The stores that had closed down began to reopen one by one, but quite a few still had their shutters shut tight.

Pham Minh emerged from his house, hopped on his motorbike and drove toward the customs house across from the air force PX. Lately, this trip had become part of his daily routine. The public pier was down below the customs house, and to the left from there all the way to the barge docks was the inner port exclusively for military use. Down to the right of the customs house was a cluster of civilian wharves and warehouses as well as the main fish market for Da Nang. The fish market area was surrounded by restaurants, bars, wholesale fish stores, marine tackle shops, dried seafood processors, and so on.

Nguyen Thach had succeeded in obtaining a license from the Da Nang district office to open a nuoc mam factory in that neighborhood. There were two more of the same kind of factories nearby, so the area reeked with an unbearably foul odor. American soldiers referred to the awful smell as the stench of hell, or as corpse perfume. Often they cracked dirty jokes by saying that gook girls had their crotches pickled with nuoc mam . A salty sauce made from boiled and fermented fish, nuoc mam was used in just about all Vietnamese food.