EMOTIONAL SEARING OF THE VIETNAM EXPERIENCE

LONG AGO LOVE

  I had just been on R and R, rest and relaxation. What the hell is that? You sure can't relax and it ain't no rest. It is like that Joe Sputnik cloud hanging over you, the old time cartoon of the Li'Abner character. You have to go back to that hellhole called Vietnam.

  She had that classic Vietnamese look, probably from the Cholon district of Saigon. Saigon is one of those cites that isn't pretty but, has an energy that is hard to beat.  The endless long buildings, slapped together like so much local on steroids. It is like a jungle without the vegetation. The narrow streets are like tiny alleys of a labyrinth. The alleys are everywhere, with a possibility of eats from carts, gourmet for sure. Mostly little old ladies wielding spatulas moving with intension to feed all for a few piaster’s but dollars are better. She's standing across the street, looking at me. She has that look, a look that she thinks American GIs like: big, ugly platform shoes. Leather. She kept glancing at me. She's thinking how to approach. I am so damn tired that I'm not sure I even want to think about a women. Oh wow, it was a glorious first night.

  I’m seriously thinking about going AWOL (absent without leave). Why didn’t I stay in Hawaii anyway. I could have gotten lost, made it back to the States, gone to Canada. What in the hell am I doing back here. This war is shit. I’ve lost half my squad to bullshit. We fight for something and then give it right back to Charles (Viet Cong). Fuck.

  Fast forward 40 years. There she is again. Probably my imagination. But, the classic look, a little more business like but could be her. Suddenly my entire tour in Vietnam flashes forward. A bullshit war. Only a few idiots like myself, too stupid to avoid the draft. Here I am. We are in a restaurant, Mai's on Clement Street in San Francisco.

  Mai's is one of those restaurants that serves it all, want eggs and sausage,  you got it. I always laugh. They probably have a Mexican cook. She glances at me with no recognition. There's an entourage with her. She's a Grandmother. Probably her daughter, mid thirties. Her son-in-law I guess, two small girls. Amerasian, beautiful children. Her grandchildren I surmise. The thing about Asian Women with black eyes, they can look at you while not looking at you. You never know really. I once knew an American love that could do the same thing. She was an opera singer and had trained herself to look at her audience but then not really looking. It was a kind of communicating she said. I was skeptical. I would occasional catch her looking at me but not looking if you get my drift.

  Mai's is a small restaurant. I'm sitting in the middle, reading the paper, multitasking, writing on my iPhone, Buffy Saint Marie is playing overhead. How do I know? I gave the CD to Mai and every time I'm in, she plays Buffy. Mai's husband's, the father-in-law was an ARVN (Army of Vietnam). Mai's husband and I bond over the fact that we are two old soldiers who did our duty. My infantry unit always had several Vietnamese with us. Sometimes, they were ARVN and sometimes Choi Hois, who had come over to our side. Occasionally, we had a group called the Ruff Puffs, usually what would be comparable to the National Guard. On occasion, we would have some joint operation with the ARVN. We didn't think much of their fighting prowess. The problems, by in large, weren't the Vietnamese, but ours. We may have had the "America's the best" attitude, let us do our stuff, next case. Probably, it was attitude on our part. After we’d been in the Nam a couple of months, we “got it.” Figure out how to stay alive and be there for your buddy. The war was BS to the max. None of us sat around and thought about the philosophy of what it meant to be in Vietnam and how the Vietnamese saw it. And now, I regret it. It was their country. The Vietnamese soldiers were doing the best they could. They were the instruments of a legitimate government in the South, fighting to keep from being taken over by the North or at least with some perspective that might be it. I have come to appreciate the efforts of our Vietnamese allies in Vietnam. In fact, as I think about it now, we were so terribly unfair; they were brave soldiers, many of them dying for their country just as we were. What the hell! Often what amazed us was that the Vietnamese in America embraced traditional American old time values better than most Americans. They had a great sense of family, commitment to each other, and an unusual respect for their new country. What most Americans don’t have a clue about and could care less about is what happened to the South Vietnamese. From 1957 to 1973, the National Liberation Front (NorthVietnam) assassinated 36,725 South Vietnamese and abducted another 58,499. The death squads focused on leaders at the village level and on anyone who improved the lives of the peasants such as medical personnel, social workers, and school teachers.

  We made a lot of promises to the Vietnamese and then split. But, who the hell knows, many came to the states and have been very successful. Maybe our most successful immigrant group. Over the last several years, I've made it a point to ask the Vietnamese I've met in America two questions: What is your view of life in America? If you had a chance to go back and live in Vietnam, would you? Rarely have I found one who would go; and, I might add my informal research has included a good number. Why am I insistent on asking questions to Vietnamese immigrants? I think it is guilt! I hope that somehow for all the suffering we caused, some good came out of it. The presence of the successful Vietnamese in America may salvage a little of our guilt, Nothing is ever very definitive. I  constantly patronize whatever they do, restaurants, nail salons. What the hell!.

  I can't help myself, keep glancing across to the family, just a few breaths away. Their food comes. The daughter is sitting closest to me. She is obviously Amerasian.  How do I know? I just know, beautiful coloring. They are chatting, mixing Vietnamese and English. The daughter uses her fork to divide her eggs, which are over easy. She makes a sandwich. I smile. Who the hell makes a sandwich out of their eggs? I do for one.

  I'm back in Vietnam. It is a time when everything is suspended. It is three days of heaven, war is forgotten, I'm with this fabulous woman. I'm twenty. I'm in love. I am crazy. Saigon is behind us. We are on beautiful beaches in Vungtal. We are laughing, making love everywhere. I am AWOL(absent without leave) but don't care. We laugh and cry. I leave and go back to war. It is all a blur. The Army busts me but in a couple of months I'm back at Sergeant. I want to go back to Saigon and find her. "Forget her. She's a prostitute," my buddies say. Not to me I. Finally the memory fades but I never forgot. I'm through with my tour. I go to Saigon on the way home. I can't find her. Nobody can help me. I catch the big iron bird for the States, land of the free and home of the brave. Buffy is singing Until It Is Time For You To Go. Seems pretty appropriate. The Grandmother looks long at me. A broad smile creases her face as suddenly a long lost memory maybe intrudes. She looks at her granddaughter and gives a big hug. I smile at her.