Denis Johnson - Tree of Smoke

She lit a Salem off the burner on the stove. She boiled water for powdered coffee and sat at the kitchen table, a collapsible card table, set the cigarette in the ashtray, and pulled her shirt neck closed with one hand while she brought the cup to her lips with the other. Greenish streaks of light to the east. The window was dirty. Prayer was all she had. Prayer and Nescafe and Salems. This was the one time of day she didn’t feel crazy.

She spilled some coffee when the phone rang on the wall. God be with us all. She went to the wall and lifted the receiver wanting words to plead for mercy from whatever was coming. Before the terrors of possibility she only knew how to say, “Hello?”

“Hi, Ma. It’s James.”

“What?”

“Ma, it’s James, Ma. I’m calling to say Merry Christmas. Guess I’m a little late.”

“James?”

“It’s James, Ma. Merry Christmas.”

“James? James? Where are you?”

“I’m in Vietnam, like before. Like always.”

“Are you all right, James?”

“Fm fine. Fm perfect. How was Christmas for y all?” “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” “No, no. Fm fine.” “Fm scared to hear you calling me.” “I don’t mean to be scary. I just thought I’d say hi.” “But you’re all right.” “I’m just fine, Mom. Don’t be scared or nothing. Hey, I just sent you

another money order.” “I’m very grateful.” “Sorry I slacked off there a little while.” “I know it’s hard. I don’t count on it, I just say it sure helps us along.” “I’ll try to do a little better. I truly will. How was your Christmas?” “It went all right, James. It went just fine. I’ve got to sit now. Let me

get a chair. You scared me.” “Nothing to scare you about, Ma. I’m doing pretty good here.” “Well, I’m glad to know it. Did you call Stephanie?” “Stevie?” “Stevie. Did you call her yet?” “I mean to ring her right up. She’s next on my list tonight.” “What time is it there?” “Just about eight p.m. We call that twenty hundred hours in the mili

tary.” “It’s six-oh-eight in the morning here in Phoenix.” “There you go.” “Get off, sweetie,” she said. “Not you—I got this old cat here.” “You still got that cat?” “No. Another one.” “What happened to that other one?” “Run off.” “Coyotes got it.” “I expect.” “Well, you got you another one.” “James—” she said, and her voice broke. “Now, Ma.” James. “Ma. Ain’t nothing to worry about.” “I got to worry.”

“Its not like you’re thinking it is. We’re very safe where we’re at. I

haven’t seen one bit offighting. It’s just patrols. The people are all friendly.” “Are they friendly?” “Yes. They sure are, Ma. Everybody’s nice.” “What about the Communists?” “I’ve never seen a one. They don’t get around our part. They’re

scared to.” “If it’s a lie, I appreciate it.” “It’s no lie.” “And I expect you’ll be home soon. How long will it be?” “Ma, I’m calling to say I’m signed up for one more go here.” “One more?” “Yes, ma’am.” “One more year?” “Yes, ma’am.” She didn’t know what to say, and so she said, “Do you want to talk to

your little brother?” “Burris? Okay. Right quick, though.” “He’s in trouble at school. The teachers have told me he wanders.

One minute he’s there, next thing he’s gone.” “What does Burris say?” “He says he doesn’t like it at school. I told him to go anyhow. Nobody

likes it, or they wouldn’t give it away free.” “Put him on.” “He’s sleeping. Just a minute.” “Never mind, then. Just tell him I said he better get his tail in gear.” “Thank you, James. I’ll tell him what his brother says.” “Well, I’m talking on a radio unit, so I better let you go.” “A radio unit?” “Yes, ma’am. Up at the base camp.” “You’re on the radio? And I’m on the phone!” “Happy New Year’s, Ma.” “Same to you.” “Have a happy New Year’s, Ma.” “I will. You do the same.” “I sure will. All right, then, so long.” “So long, James,” she said. “I pray for you day and night. Don’t listen to what they say. You’re doing the Lord’s work to keep his faith alive in a world going dark. It’s one of them Old Testament times.”

“I know. I hear you, Ma.”

“Communists are atheists. They deny the Lord.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Look at the Old Testament. Look how many slain in the name of the Lord. Look at First Samuel, look at Judges. Be the Lord’s smiting hand if you have to be.”

She heard him sigh.

“I just mean to take your arm and buck you up. Read your Bible daily. There’s doubters and demonstrators and God knows what. Traitors is what they are. If you hear about those people, shut your ears. Thank God they don’t come around Phoenix. If I saw a demonstration I’d get in a truck and come through that pack like a boulder down a mountain.”

“They’re telling me my time’s up, Ma, so I better say ‘bye, so —’bye.” There had been a washing sound coming over the phone. It stopped when her son rang off. “Well,” she said to nobody. She rose and put the phone back on the hook.

A rare, brilliant morning. Nguyen Hao stayed in bed late, watching feathers of mist turn in the light outside the bedroom window, thinking what it meant to do battle with —no, not to fight against, but simply to face unwaveringly—the dragons of the Five Hindrances: lust, aversion, doubt, sloth, restlessness.

Sloth kept him in bed awhile. Restlessness drove him downstairs to the tiny court behind his kitchen, where the sun made more mist. Under its warmth everything gave off ghosts. They woke from the bricks, rose with a deep reluctance, disappeared.

Hao spread his white handkerchief on the stone bench, seated himself carefully, and tried to find some quiet in his mind.

At nine-thirty, Trung rattled the back gate. Hao got up and found the key and opened the padlock. The Monk possessed forged papers now. He walked around Saigon with impunity. He looked healthy, even happy. They sat together on the marble bench as they’d done many times, never, in

Hao’s opinion, making any progress. Anywhere ahead lay the turning point. “Are you all right?” “Kim is sick. Worse than before.”

1 m sorry. “I’ve been thinking about the Five Hindrances.” “Sometimes I do too. Do you remember a poem? —’I’m caught up in

the world like smoke blown everywhere.’ ” “The dragons have defeated me,” Hao said. “They’ve driven me so far into the world I can’t get back to the silence.”

The Monk appeared to be thinking about it all. Hao was too weary to prod him. After a while the Monk said, “I try to get back too. I want to find the silence again. But I can’t get back.”

“Will you stop trying?” “I think I have to finish the life I’ve lived. I’ve been very confused.” “I’ll be honest. You’ve confused me too.” “Do you criticize me for taking so long?” “I’ve spoken to the colonel about you many times. He suspects you

might be taking our money falsely. But you keep turning up. I’ve told him you’re worth supporting because you keep coming back.”

Trung said, “I remember when the cadres came to my village in 1945 and read Ho’s speech to us. A young woman got up and read in a voice like a song. The world rang with Ho’s words. In the girl’s beautiful voice he talked about freedom, equality. He cited America’s Declaration of Independence. He won my heart. I gave everything. I left my home behind. I spilled blood. I suffered in prison. Can you criticize me for taking so long to betray all of that?”

Hao was shocked. “Your language is strong.” “The truth is strong. Put it this way: the people’s thirst for freedom has driven us to drink bad water.” Whether or not he lied, here was a story the colonel would under