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Anna -- and the recognition that a plan might be necessary.
It was full dark by the time they reached the hotel. They grabbed a table at the caf, the only one
available, on the edge of the beach, where flagstones gave out into mucky yellow sand. A poor location if
you were thirsty or hungry: The Vietnamese waiters were not highly motivated, spending most of their
time smoking beneath the paper lanterns that overhung the entrance to the hotel, and rarely did they
respond to signals from patrons sitting far from their station. At the adjoining table -- two tables, actually,
that had been pulled together -- were a dozen or so twentysomethings, clean-cut boys and girls who
were given to hugging one another and jabbered away madly, eagerly, leaning forward and gesturing with
bottles, cigarettes. Happy animals at play. Given their uniform age and appearance, Mizell thought that
they must be members of a group, some church- or university-sponsored excursion. The journalist cast a
disconsolate eye on them, and with a gesture that included the entire caf, all the motley assemblage,
said, Everywhere I go I wind up falling in with these people. I guess I don t spend enough money on
hotels.
You could do a lot worse, Anna said; she looked annoyed, and Mizell could relate -- the
journalist s habit of editorializing his negativity had become grating, and as a result, the drive had not been
much fun.
Hell, yes, said the journalist. This place is so sad and fucked up, you can always do worse. It s
different up north, but once you drop below the Seventeenth Parallel, it s a theme park of defeat.
Everybody tells the same goddamn story. Reeducation camp. Lost their wife or their brother, and now
they re living in a dormitory. One of their kids blown up by an old land mine. And then you ve got all the
bonehead ex-pats and their business. The Vietnamese form of hideous business. Even the ex-pats you
meet who re not total boneheads... like this couple I met in Hue. This twenty-seven-year-old Yalie and
his perfect girlfriend. Getting rich and tootling around all day on their motorbikes. I mean there was
nothing wrong with them, they were nice people. They were just somehow horrifying. The war wasn t
even on their radar screen.
Anna sniffed, disgusted. We must be horrifying, then. The war s not on our radar screen, either.
All that perspective you ve got happening must be a pain in the ass, said Mizell. Maybe you should
try to relax. Go with the moment.
The journalist said, That s your secret, is it?
Mizell thought it best not to respond.
Out over the water, a bloated, bone-china moon was sailing among low clouds, and there was a
heavy brine smell. From behind the hotel came a blast of techno that veered into distortion, this followed
by an amplified voice giving instructions: a sound check in progress. The clicks and pops from the PA
seemed connected to slight fluctuations in the heat. Sweat trickled down Mizell s neck, soaked through
the back of his shirt.
Anna touched his arm, pointed to a slender middle-aged man in a tailored beige suit standing off
among the tables, his receding hair trimmed to stubble, sharp-featured, a prissy set to his mouth. David!
she called. The man spotted her, hurried toward them.
Don t get pushy with him. All right? Mizell said to her. Just let it happen.
I ll be fine. She said this airily, and that worried Mizell. Though she seemed to be on top of things,
he thought he detected a looseness in her, evidence of some new unraveling.
Remember what we know about this guy, he said.
I ll be fine! She poisoned him with a stare, then smiled at the man as he came up, stood and
embraced him.
Mistuh Mizell! said the man; he draped an arm about Anna s shoulder and beamed. I preciate you
givin Anna a ride. I would have sent my car, but I jus had so much to deal with heah.
Mizell told him it wasn t a problem.
The man gave the journalist a cursory glance, then favored Mizell with an oily, good-buddy smile.
Well, I preciate it anyway. I hope we ll get a chance to chat later. In fact, let s make a point of it. He
looked to Anna. Shall we?
The journalist watched them walk away. That s a seriously attractive woman. Then, after a pause:
What s the deal with you two? I started out thinking she s your girlfriend, but now I don t get it.
She works for me. Guys like to tell her things. Sometimes they tell her things I can use.
But she sleeps with you, too.
When she feels like it. When we both feel like it.
She works for you, sleeps with you. And -- the journalist held up three fingers -- you keep her
high.
She keeps herself high, Mizell said testily. I know her head s not right. I can t do much except try
to protect her.
The journalist gave a rueful shake of his head. The amount of brain damage in this country is fucking
unbelievable, he said.
Mizell tended to agree but doubted they were thinking about the same thing. He tapped a passing
waiter on the arm, asked for a beer. The waiter -- a man with a face so crumpled by age, it was
impossible to discern his expression -- recoiled. As he scuttled away, Mizell realized that he had touched
an old napalm scar on the man s arm, the skin bubbled, mottled, like pink plastic and crispy bacon
melted together.
Where d you meet her? asked the journalist. Saigon?
Djakarta. She had some trouble with the police. I put the police captain together with a couple of
Malaysian businessmen who helped him with a project. Afterward, Anna and I hooked up and came
here.
So what you do now, your business, you were doing it back then, huh? Why d you leave
Djakarta?
The more you learn about a place, the deeper the shit you re stepping in. Things get too heavy, it s
best to move on. Find some place less complicated.
Like Vietnam?
Like Vietnam used to be five, six years ago.
That s when you came here?
I got in on the ground floor. Mizell said this with relish, knowing it would irritate the journalist.
The group at the adjoining table began to sing an old Tom Petty song, Free Falling, linking their
arms and swaying to the tune. The journalist slouched in his chair, hunched his shoulders, as if preparing
to absorb a blow. How s Vietnam different now? he asked.
Things are starting to get deep. Like the guy Anna s checking out. The guy she left with. David
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