Shock of War (25 page)

Despite all the detours, they managed to get to the square near the building a minute or two before midnight. Zeus practically leapt from the car.

“Wait!” yelled the driver, chasing after him. “You will call me.” He handed Zeus a card with a cell number. “I cannot stay for you.”

“All right. I'll call when I need you.”

“You call,” said the man.

Zeus crossed the street, walking briskly toward the battered building where the hospital was located. But when he found the door he'd come out of, he discovered it locked. He pounded on it, but no one came to answer.

He took a few steps back, surveying the area, looking for another entrance. There
had
to be another entrance.

On the block behind the building, he realized. He must be at the back.

Zeus started running. It occurred to him that he probably shouldn't run—a soldier seeing someone running might easily draw the wrong conclusion. But it was hard not to. He dropped to a trot, then walked, then trotted a bit.

When he reached the front of the building he managed to slow to a deliberate walk. There were people ahead, a half dozen about a third of the way down the street on the right. He picked up his pace, then slowed down, nonchalant, trying to relax. He scanned the faces, but didn't see her. She must be inside.

Two soldiers stood near the door. One raised his hand as Zeus approached.

“I'm here to see Dr. Anway,” he told them.

Neither man said anything. Zeus took a half step toward the door. The soldier who had raised his hand moved in front of him.

“Dr. Anway,” Zeus said. “I'm here to meet her. The doctor.”

Zeus held up the branch of blossoms.

“I have to see Dr. Anway.”

The soldier on the right said something in Vietnamese. His voice was soft; the words came slowly and distinctly, but of course Zeus didn't understand what he said.

“I'm an American,” he said, though this would be rather obvious. He reached into his pocket and took out his passport.

The soldier who had barred his way took it, leafing through slowly.

“Dr. Anway?” said Zeus hopefully.

The other soldier said something in Vietnamese.

“I'm sorry but I don't understand. I was told to meet her here.” Zeus glanced back at the people on the street. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to him.

“Does anyone speak English?” he asked.

No one responded. Zeus turned back to the soldier who had the passport.

“Dr. Anway,” said Zeus, pointing to the flowers.

The other soldier reached over for the branch. It wasn't a violent gesture; Zeus thought he was offering to take them to her.

“I want to give them to her myself,” said Zeus, holding them.

The other soldier handed his passport back.

Zeus started for the door, but the soldiers immediately raised their rifles to bar him.

“Does anyone speak English?” asked Zeus loudly. He turned and repeated the question.

One of the men on the street looked back at him.

“Do you understand?” Zeus asked.

“No to go inside,” said the man. “Only worker.”

“I'm supposed to meet someone,” Zeus explained.

Just then the door opened. Two older Vietnamese men came out. Both were dressed in button-down Western-style shirts, and wore well-tailored trousers and dress shoes. Zeus guessed they were doctors.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Do either of you know Dr. Anway?”

“Anna?” said one.

“Yes,” said Zeus, guessing that was her first name.

“She left hours ago. Her shift ended early. We sent her home. She needed rest.”

Zeus felt as if his lungs had collapsed.

“Oh,” he managed.

“You should check in the morning,” said the man. “She will be here by eight.”

“Thank you.”

The man glanced at the flowers in Zeus's hand and smiled. He and his colleague stepped over to the knot of other people. A van was just driving up the street.

“The van will take you to your hotel,” said the man who'd been speaking with him.

“No, that's all right. I have another ride.”

“You should be careful,” warned the man.

Zeus walked to the corner, dejected. He fished the card out from his pocket, and took out his satellite phone. Then he put both back—he'd rather walk. It would do him some good.

He dropped the flowers on the ground. He should have known.

A bell rang behind him. It was an odd sound in a war, a light ring.

When he was younger, he thought of war and peace as two very separate things, different parts of the universe. Now he knew they were entangled, shards of each poking through the fabric of the other.

The bell sounded again, louder. Zeus turned to see a bicycle bearing down on him. He hopped back as the bicyclist pulled up.

It was Anna.

Anna.

“I am sorry to be late,” she said, sliding down off the seat.

“Anna.”

“Yes?”

“I … they didn't let me in. Someone told me you had left.”

“Yes. I was able to get out. Come.”

She turned the bicycle around.

“I can call a cab,” Zeus said. “A taxi.”

“It is only a short way.”

“Oh … great,” said Zeus, starting to follow.

They came to the flowers. Zeus scooped the branch up and handed it to her.

“I … I got this, but I dropped it.” He winced, suddenly realizing he was underlining his loss of faith.

“It's very beautiful,” she told him.

“Like you.”

“Hmmmm.”

Was she blushing? He couldn't tell in the dark.

“You speak English so well,” he told her.

“I left Vietnam as a child. My parents sent me to Australia. Where I went to school.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I was always to come back,” she said, as if the question were odd. “Vietnam is my home.”

They walked past the street where the hospital was. Zeus felt his energy coming back.

“Do you like being a doctor?” he asked.

Another dumb question.
Where is my brain?

“I like helping people.” She glanced up at him. “Do you like being a soldier?”

“Sometimes.”

“We are very grateful for your help. I have heard of your sacrifices. You destroyed enemy tanks.”

“Actually, the trucks that would supply them. We blew up their fuel.”

“Ah.”

“Where's the restaurant?” asked Zeus.

“I have made dinner,” she told him. “At my apartment.”

“Oh,” he said. “We can do that, too.”

*   *   *

Anna's apartment building
had so far escaped damage. Eight stories high, it was a plain, boxy building, the sort of nondescript structure that would have been anonymous in the West and even in most of Asia. Here, however, the newness and size of the apartments made it a place of luxury. Little cues signaled its status: a black wrought-iron fence around the small courtyard, a well-tended if small garden at the front, a fancy plaque that held the address.

Anna used a key to open the building's front door. Zeus held it for her as she wheeled her bike into the darkened foyer.

“The electricity has been turned off,” she explained. “The city has to conserve.”

“Sure.”

“I'm at the top.”

“I'll take your bike,” he told her, picking it up. “Show me the way.”

The bicycle was heavier than he expected, and by the first landing Zeus felt the strain in his arms. But pride kept him going. A skylight at the top of the stairwell supplied a faint grayish light, making it easier to see the steps as he worked his way up behind her.

“Here,” she said, putting her bike next to the door of the apartment at the end of the hall. “Wait.”

Anna put her key in the lock. A yellow glow spilled into the hallway as she opened the door.

“Candles,” she told him.

The door opened into the kitchen. A pair of candles sat on the stove. A table was pushed against the opposite wall, with two places set. The appliances were all new. Zeus recognized an LG logo on the refrigerator.

“Sit, sit,” Anna told Zeus.

Zeus watched her bend down in front of the oven and gingerly touch a covered casserole dish inside, testing with her fingers to see if the handles were still hot.

They were. She straightened, retrieved a pair of pot holders from the nearby counter.

Zeus admired the curve of her body as she squatted back down in front of the stove. She removed the pot with the grace of a dancer, pulling it out and setting it in on the table, deftly maneuvering the pot holders so that they formed a place mat for the dish. She went to the refrigerator and took out a small plate of sliced garnishes: bean sprouts, radishes, and bits of lime.

“This is
pho,
” she told him, lifting the cover of the dish. “Noodle soup.”

She'd forgotten that the top was hot. It dropped from her hand. Zeus jumped up, grabbing not the pot but her.

“Are you okay?” he said, holding her protectively.

“I'm—” She turned toward him.

Time melted away. Their eyes met, and they were kissing.

If there was anything beyond that kiss—a room, a war—Zeus didn't know it. If there was pain or fatigue or fear—if there was courage or foolish bravery, thought or planned—it evaporated in the warm press of her lips.

Their lips. It was an infinite moment, a sensation of grace or bliss, of nothingness beyond the moment.

He held her for a long time, his arms pressed against her as gently as he had ever held anyone, or anything.

“I—” He tried to speak, but couldn't.

“We should eat,” she said finally, easing away.

*   *   *

How that moment occurred,
or why it occurred, was inexplicable to Zeus. It was not lust, or at least not solely lust. If he were to analyze it, the only words he could have used would have come from the language of religion. It was a feeling he had never had before, through countless encounters and relationships, with past loves and flings. If it was not perfection, then he had no possibility of ever understanding the term.

*   *   *

They ate mostly in silence.
Zeus used chopsticks, fumbling a bit though he was used to them. The
pho
was excellent, spicy and exotic. Anna had only water for them to drink, but it was just as well; alcohol would have gone to his head. He luxuriated in every sensation.

“So you studied in Australia,” he said when he'd finished eating.

“I went to school there. Yes. And my residency. First year.”

“It must have been difficult, leaving your home.”

She smiled faintly. “I went to study. It was good to have few distractions.”

Anna reached her right hand to the side of her face, where a few hairs had fallen. She swept them back into place. Zeus had never seen such a graceful gesture.

“I always knew I wanted to be a doctor,” she said. “To help other people.”

“And you are.”

“Yes. Though I was trained to work with children.”

“You don't do that now? Because of the war?”

It had nothing to do with the war. Anna explained that the state, which had paid for her education, had initially assigned her to work with older people. Grandmothers, she said.

Two months before, she had been called to Hanoi to help open a clinic for older people. She dealt largely with women, since the men tended to be shy of a lady doctor. The first night of the war, the clinic had been destroyed, apparently by an errant bomb.

“No injuries. We were lucky. But there has been much work since then.”

“So you were assigned to the hospital where I was.”

“Yes. It is more a special clinic than a hospital. As you can imagine, we are stretched thin.”

Anna's voice trailed off. She got up and began clearing the table.

“And you … Why did you come to Vietnam?” she asked, taking her plate to the sink.

Zeus rose to help. “I was assigned. It's not really much of a story. I, uh…” He stumbled, not sure exactly how much he should say. “I'm like an adviser. I know a little bit about Chinese tactics.”

“They are very evil.”

“They're not nice,” said Zeus. He didn't see them as particularly evil; they were simply trying to win the war.

“They don't care who they kill.”

Part of Zeus wanted to tell the truth: killing was what war was, ugly and ruthless. The Chinese were not purposely targeting civilians, but no matter their intentions, innocent people would die.

The greater part of him didn't want to talk about it at all.

“What part of Vietnam does your family come from?” he asked.

“Yen Bai Province. Many of my relatives are still there. We lived in Hanoi when I was small. My father is with the government.”

Yen Bai was in the west, part of the area the Chinese had already overrun. It wouldn't be pleasant for anyone there.

“Now my father is in the south,” Anna continued. “Ho Chi Minh City. Saigon to Americans. To everyone. It is an ancient name.”

She began running the water to clean the dishes. Then suddenly she stopped.

“We should conserve water,” she said, turning off the tap. “I forgot.”

Zeus reached to touch her.

She started to object.

“I don't think—”

“It's okay,” said Zeus.

He put his hand on her arm, gently running it down past her elbow to her forearm, to her finger. She closed her eyes.

His satellite phone began to buzz. Zeus ignored it for another moment, his fingers lingering on hers.

“Your phone,” she said.

“Yes,” he said finally, pulling his hand away reluctantly.

*   *   *

“Where are you?”
demanded Christian as soon as the line connected.