Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

She gently nudged him away and straightened her posture.

“I slept.”

“I think you’ve been tripping too often. What about the rent?”

“I already paid it.”

Hae Jong went into the bedroom and returned with a piece of paper from the dresser drawer.

“Look, these are the figures from the past five days.”

The previous week Pham Quyen had gone with Hae Jong in the general’s sedan to the navy supply warehouse at the end of Bai Bang Cape. He had gone to negotiate on the rations for the night sentries guarding the outskirts of Da Nang. Actually, that matter fell under the jurisdiction not of the provincial government but of the QC headquarters; a bureaucratic discrepancy of that kind, however, was considered trivial. Pham Quyen had handed over an official document and received in return a requisition issued by MAC 36.

The next day Hae Jong took a three-quarter-ton truck Pham Quyen had arranged for to the navy cargo dock at the North Cape and loaded the goods. She then brought them herself from the base into town. In the backyard of Chin Pei’s house, concealed under coconut fronds, they had stashed four pallets holding 240 cartons of C-rations. A few days later he had sent another truck to her and during the afternoon siesta she and Chin Pei’s father had loaded a batch and delivered them across the river to the campside market near the navy hospital.

“So, the total is fourteen hundred forty dollars?”

“No, fourteen hundred even. I gave the driver and Chin Pei’s father twenty dollars each. And then I paid thirty thousand piasters for rent, so that leaves eleven hundred dollars.”

“It brought us one month’s living expense, then.”

“I don’t have much time,” Hae Jong said in a cold tone. “I know those people very well. I’ll teach you. What will you do for me in return?”

“I’ll give you love.”

“Then, will you come with me?”

“Mimi, you can always live with me in Da Nang.”

“No, I can’t. We’re just two people who somehow ended up sharing a room. If you come with me to Bangkok or Hong Kong or some other third country, we could be man and wife.”

Pham Quyen said nothing for a time, exhaled smoke, then spoke in a slow and deliberate voice. “There’s Singapore. I really like port cities. You can put up a hammock near a window that lets a sea breeze in and read a good mystery novel. Like the rich and famous on the French Riviera.”

“Quyen, don’t be so naive. I know you like I know myself. We’ll probably be betrayed. I can only wait for three more months. After that, I’m leaving.”

“Without my permission you can’t go anywhere. Not even to Saigon, let alone out of the country. Your passport is invalid.”

Hae Jong began to laugh, swinging her legs.

“See here, Major Pham. I know a little about men. If I went right now to the US Army Officers’ Club, I’m sure I could become quite intimate with a high-ranking officer. And, you know, they could have your general transferred in a snap. If I wanted to, I could even get married and become a US citizen. But I just don’t want those Americans looking down on me.”

Pham Quyen listened in silence to Hae Jong’s heartless voice. He put out his cigarette.

“I’ll keep my promise. I can make you a Thai woman tomorrow and send you to Bangkok. Just stop talking about three months, four months, please. I’ll make sure your passport is ready by next week.”

They sat staring into space, shadows darkening both of their faces. Hae Jong undid one button on his uniform, then said, “Why don’t you have a bath?”

“Right, I really should. I’ve been running around in the dust all day.”

Pham Quyen took off his army boots and peeled off his clothes, and soon came the sound of the shower running. Hae Jong also undressed and then put on a robe. Sitting at the head of the bed, she smoked a cigarette.

Pham half-shouted from the bathroom, as if the thought had just struck him, “I’ve been too busy lately with the resettlement program. From now on, I’ll take care of everything for you.”

“It’s all right. I’m bored with not enough to do anyway.”

“You’re a woman and a beauty at that. Too conspicuous.”

Hae Jong let out a soft laugh. “What have I got to be afraid of? Nothing.” With those words she banged loudly on the bathroom door, adding, “I’ve got you, don’t I? So make me your Vietnamese wife, or give me some nationality.”

“All right.”

She turned the radio on. A wailing lead guitar was playing soul music. From the kitchen cabinet she got an aluminum plate and an alcohol lamp, then she removed two pipes and a small lump of opium from a drawer in the bedroom closet. The Vietnamese pipes had trumpet-like fluted bowls, long bamboo bodies, and mouthpieces fashioned from pieces of juniper. To prepare enough for two smokers, she tore off chunks with her fingertips a bit at a time, then rolled them into balls and sat the balls on the heated plate. The opium began to sizzle. Ever since learning this routine back at Chin Pei’s house, she no longer had any fears about the future. Her initial concern about becoming addicted had long since disappeared. She would not regret it if some day she became so desperate she started sticking needles in her arm. For now only the peaceful present would last, like a dream. She wasn’t worried about the next ten years. Pham Quyen came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

“What’s that? The dream flower?”

“Today you should try one, too.”

“What if it snatches me by the ankle?”

“Smoking is no problem. More than half the old people in your country smoke.”

“Because it’s a country where death is all too common.”

“Death doesn’t bring you back, but this stuff does. You come back fresher.”

Hae Jong nimbly picked up the burning lumps of opium with bamboo chopsticks and pushed them into the bowls of the pipes. She gave one to Pham and put the other pipe in her mouth.

“Lie down comfortably on the bed. Take a deep puff and repeat it several times to make it spread quickly all through your body.”

They lay side by side, drawing on their pipes. The sound of sucking was like the squeaking of mice and the opium bubbled under the flame.

“I can feel myself relaxing.”

“Yes, and your eyes are getting dimmer. You said you liked the seaside. Come closer, this is no place for us to live.”

“You’re right. Now let’s fly together.”

The spent pipes slipped out of their hands. Lazily they rolled onto their sides and Hae Jong parted her gown, revealing her nakedness. Lifting one arm, she pulled the string to switch off the lamp above her head. The streetlights seeped into the room and fell diagonally across the walls and floor. Slithering like a spineless creature, Pham Quyen fumbled with Hae Jong’s body. The two intertwined.

Ahn Yong Kyu was sitting at a dark corner table. It was too early for the band to be playing, and jazz was flowing from a record player behind the bar. A profusion of orchids and other broad-leafed greenery had been placed between the tables, and a couple of potted banana trees stood in the center of the room. To the rear were two more rows of tables and out of sight through an arched corridor, a number of private rooms seemed to offer seclusion to customers in search of it. Near the entrance was a long bar, where the two bartenders in white dress shirts and bowties were making cocktails.

It was ten thirty in the morning. The only other patrons were two people sitting facing each other on the opposite side of the room. Yong Kyu had just been to the office to report to the captain on yesterday’s duty. But the report had been doctored at Toi’s recommendation to omit a few parts. He had made no mention of Oh Hae Jong, the navy PX employee who had been fired for possession of narcotics.