Denis Johnson - Tree of Smoke

There are many gods, she would say, with Buddha things are too simple,

just look around, do things look simple? No, no.

Because in order to talk to her he must enter her world, he asked, “What do your dreams tell you lately?” “That my breathing will stay clear and my cousin will be married

soon.” “Cousin? Which cousin?” “Lang! Do I have to take you to the side room and show you Lang

sleeping on her pallet?” “I forgot which one was staying with us.” “There are two! Lang and Nhu.” “It’s time to talk about our situation.” “Talk.” “You realize Mr. Colonel has a project near Cu Chi, around Good

Luck Mountain.” “It’s dangerous to help him. Can you dodge the wind?” “I’m already helping him. I’ve talked to several headmen, I’ve

marked the location of tunnel openings on his maps.” “If you take sides, what will happen to us?” “I’ve taken a side. I believe we have to consider what happens when

the country’s reunified. I think we’ll have to leave.” “Leave?” “Leave the country. Emigrate. Go to another country.” “But we can’t!” “What keeps us? There’s nobody left in the household.” “There’s nobody left because you don’t have work for them. Why did

you sell the other two shops when this one was already closed? Anyway, there’s Minh.” “Minh has his own opportunities and will make his own arrange

ments.” “You mean sooner or later he’ll be killed.” “Wife, please, it’s time to consider these matters carefully.” Often when they spoke of things that upset her, she stood up and

moved around without realizing it. Picked up the pillows and tossed

them between her hands and clapped the dust from them, or used a knee-high whisk to stir the lint on the wooden floor. Hao’s mother had used such a broom. His grandmother too. There’d been one in every household he could remember having entered.

“I met Mr. Colonel’s nephew. His name is Skip. Let’s have him to

dinner.” “It’s not good to have Americans in the house.” “If we don’t choose sides, neither side will trust us. We’ll be the peo

ple in the middle. That kind of person is eventually put into a camp

somewhere, no matter which side wins.” “So you’ve joined the Americans. If the Americans win, we can stay.” “No. The Americans won’t win. They’re not fighting for their home

land. They just want to be good. In order to be good, they just have to

fight awhile and then leave.” “Hao! Then why help them?” “They can’t win, but they can prove themselves a friend to their

friends. And I believe they’re honorable and will do so.” “But you have friends in the Vietminh.” “They’re called the Vietcong now.” “Trung. Trung Than is your friend.” Hao said, “I don’t want to talk about the Vietcong. The Communists

believe only in the future. In its name they’ll destroy everything, they’ll

fill the future with nothing. I want to talk about the Americans.” “Talk. I can’t stop you.” “If I help these Americans, we don’t have to be refugees, they’ll help

us get away. Maybe to someplace like Singapore. I believe it can be done. Singapore is a very international place. We won’t be made to feel like outcasts.”

“Have you talked to them about Singapore?”

“I’ll talk when the time is right. There are other places too. Manila, maybe Jakarta, maybe Kuala Lumpur. As long as we don’t have to be refugees in a camp.”

“I’ll pray the Americans destroy the Vietminh.” “I don’t hold any hope, Kim. There’s an old saying: The anvil outlasts

the hammer.” “Which one are we? We’re neither one. We get smashed between.” “And another: Every cock fights best on his own dunghill.”

“Hah! Here’s one more old saying: A rooster is a chicken, but men are like a bunch of hens.”

“I never heard this saying.”

She laughed with delight, heading toward the kitchen.

“I know,” Hao called, “you’re happiest when you make a fool of your husband.” But it warmed him to hear her laugh, she did it so seldom since Thu had gone. She’d treasured Thu as a gift. The two brothers had come from her dead sister. They were all she had. Now she had only Minh.

In the kitchen Nguyen Kim lit the Primus stove under the teakettle. Paused before the shelf and uncapped, one by one, her small bottles of fragrances and inhaled from each. The therapy of breath occupied her much. These days rosemary in particular intrigued her. She wanted to blend it with the extract of patchouli, not as a curative but just for the perfume, and she couldn’t find a way; concocted, they seemed to produce a third fragrance, not entirely pleasant.

Her asthma remedy had been delivered to her in a dream. She hadn’t told him that. And she used a syrup from a Chinese herbalist in the Cho Lon District. He wouldn’t say what it was but she’d heard they used the meat and skin of the gecko. Hao disapproved of these things.

Kim viewed her husband as a gambler and a dreamer. He’d surprised them all by selling two of their dry-goods stores and leasing the third to a man who’d quickly lost the business. Now her relatives camped among its naked shelves. Rather than putting his money into something else, Hao used it to meet their daily needs and had instead invested all his time, his very soul, in these Americans. Did he think that wasn’t clear? Did he think she had to be told?

She appreciated the two girls living with them, Lang and Nhu, they helped out, cousins from her ville who couldn’t be called servants. She had no way of telling them that under certain circumstances she wished they’d behave like servants. But it was no good unless they understood this, unless their good-for-nothing mother, her aunt, had already told them this—

She steered her mind away from ungenerous thoughts.

She believed that when the blood exhaled a disease it took with it certain spiritual impurities, and the convalescent experienced a fleeting state of purity.

In such a state, she believed, clear thought was possible. Even inspiration, perhaps.

Hao didn’t discuss finances with her other than to say if they didn’t make major purchases, they could go on as they had before. That was good enough. Gambler, dreamer, yes; but he was a dependable man, and she respected him. His father, bringing native goods down the Saigon River to trade with the French, had built a good business. Hao— cursed with a childless marriage, the scion of a dwindling line —Hao had overseen its slow destruction. She wouldn’t ask him to stay here. If he wanted to run, they’d run. And why cry about tomorrow? Maybe long before they had to tear up their roots they’d be dead.

She carried the pot and two cups out to him where he sat with his hands on either arm of the chair, his eyes closed, meditating in the breeze from his electric fan.

She settled herself and poured for them both. “I need an oath from

you,” she said. “Tell me.” “I want you to promise me that whatever happens, you will take care

of Minh.”

ŤT • 77

1 promise. “Too quick!” “No. Understand me, wife: when I said Minh had his own opportuni

ties, I meant he’s already making his way. He no longer flies jets, you know. He flies U.S. transport helicopters —only for transport, and only for the colonel. He’s already safe. And Mr. Colonel and I will keep him safe. Hear me again, wife: I promise.”

“And one more.” “How many more?” “Only this: If we leave, will we ever come back?” “If it’s possible.” “Promise me.” “I make this vow to you. If it’s possible, we’ll come back home.” “Even if I come back as ashes,” she said.

T o hear Kim speak openly of her concerns surprised him. She’d never said anything like this, was careful always to hide her best hopes from the scrutiny of the powers, from the vague assembly of her innumerable gods.