December 10, 1966
Thanh did not speak the American language. Titi watched as she addressed the prisoner in French instead.
"Comment allez-vous?" she said, squatting before him.
The captive was sitting in the dirt, his bound legs straight out before him. He was hunched forward so that his whole collarbone, the left one, pressed against the stake to which he was bound. He was affixed to it by a rope and iron collar, like a calf set out on a picket. Had it not been for the support of this pole, Titi could not see how he could have positioned himself without agony. His dislocated shoulders and the broken collarbone gave his torso a bizarre and inhuman appearance. Coupled with his battered face, bruised ribs, and contused abdomen, they surely would have made it impossible for him to lie on his stomach. His wrists, bound so tightly that his fingers were swollen and purple, would have rendered lying upon his back painful also, even without the raw red welts where Bian had flogged him with a knotted rope when he had refused yet again to answer any of Major Quon's questions. A sheen of perspiration coated his unclothed body, glossing over skin now red with sunburn. His bloated lips gaped to allow breath, for his nostrils were caked with blood and grime. He was conscious, Titi was quite certain, but she had never seen such a portrait of misery. After four days of questioning, the American already looked more like a beast than a man.
Thanh leaned closer and poked the prisoner's ribs, careful to choose a black and inflamed place. The captive cringed as if expecting worse to follow, and a moan of suffering escaped his throat.
"Comment allez-vous?" Thanh repeated. "Nous départons aujourd'hui. Il faut vous mangez."
Titi did not speak French, but she understood it quite well. Thanh was telling the captive that he had to eat. Titi carried the meal: a bowl of good white rice, and another of water laced with ground ginger. The captive did not seem to understand what was being said. His eyes opened as far as they could, but they were scarcely more than slits in the swollen face. He mumbled something incoherent.
Thanh shook her head. "Je ne comprend pas," she said. "Es-que-vous parlez français?"
"I do not think he does," Titi ventured.
"Bring the dishes," Thanh said. Titi stepped forward, watching the hideous, labored breathing of the wretched man. Thanh took the bowl of rice. "Il faut vous mangez," she repeated, more sternly.
"Fuck you," the American muttered. The words were scarcely audible through the swelling around his mouth and lips, but Titi recognized them. He used those words whenever he felt that he was being persecuted. Bian had explained what the expression meant, and Titi bristled with indignation now. The uncouth and ill-bred Air Pirate disgusted her.
"Tais-toi!" Thanh snapped. She grabbed the rope where it was knotted to the collar, shaking it wrathfully. The captive's teeth ground together with a resounding squeak, and his eyes closed again. Thanh let go in order to reach for the rice. The prisoner fell backwards, collapsing over his bound arms. A hoarse, harsh shriek bubbled up from the back of his throat. "Damn him," Thanh muttered. She gestured at Titi. "Sit him up and keep him up," she ordered.
In the last few days, Titi had already learned that it was best to do as she was told, as swiftly as possible. Major Quon, Bian, Thanh and the others were soldiers, accustomed to having their commands obeyed. Whenever she hesitated, they would regard her strangely. She did not want to stand out. The strange new expectations suddenly forced upon her were frightening, and she was still trying to adapt.
She knelt behind the man and forced her hands beneath his back. The bloody weals were loathsome to touch, but she held fast, pulling him off the ground and pushing him forward into a sitting position.
He cried out like a dog struck with a broom: a sharp yelp of indignation and pain. His head lolled to one side as Titi shifted into a less uncomfortable position. Her hands navigated his bare flesh, trying to find a way to support his weight adequately. He was feverish and trembling, his skin covered in goosepimples from the cold winter air. The sunburn was peeling and he was rough with mosquito bites. Agony left him limp, and to keep him upright Titi was obliged to sit behind him. Her legs she spread on either side of his. She had been suited for the trail by Bian, and she wore the black uniform of the Viet Cong guerillas. For this she was glad. Such a position would have been impossible in an ao dai, and, given the man's state of undress and the position of his restrained hands, most disgraceful in a smock.
"Bouvez!" Thanh instructed, holding the bowl of water to the prisoner's lips.
A tremor ran through his body, and Titi forced her hand between his left arm and his side, clutching his chest before he could fall.
"Bouvez!" repeated the guerilla. Thanh tilted the bowl so that a little water lapped against his split lip. The man gasped and then took a frantic, gulping mouthful. The unexpected taste made him choke, coughing and sputtering even as spasms of pain shook him.
Titi pressed her free hand to the American's forehead so that he would not strike his chin upon the broken collarbone. She looked up at Thanh, who was frowning in disapproval. The root with which the water was flavored was necessary. Since capture, he had been given very little water—only sufficient amounts to wet his mouth and allow speech during interrogation. Consuming any considerable quantity now would make him ill. Ginger-water would not sour in his belly as plain well water would, but that did no good if he would not take it.
"Does he think that it is drugged?" Titi asked.
"I do not know what he thinks! He is a fool!" Thanh snapped. She used the first two fingers of her right hand to scoop up a portion of rice, which she forced between his teeth. With her head over his left shoulder, Titi was well-positioned to see his tongue as it moved reflexively to push out the grain, the way a baby rejects food not to its liking. The rice spilled over his bare abdomen and into his lap.
Thanh set the dish on the ground and slapped him sharply. He whimpered deep in his throat, and the trembling of his body against Titi's worsened.
"Si vous ne mangez pas, je faisais vous mangez!" Thanh threatened. She raised the bowl of water again.
This time the captive sipped cautiously. Either he recognized the flavor at last, or he had decided that he needed fluid too desperately to care, because he began to drink frantically. He was swallowing with such force that his broken collarbone shuddered and wobbled. Between each desperate gulp he gasped raggedly, tormented with agony but unable to refrain from the action precipitating it. When Thanh took away the dish, still half-full, he cried out piteously and tried to follow it. Titi's hand held him back.
Thanh again pushed some rice into his mouth, and this time he swallowed it. She gave him more, and then more, until his jaw worked fruitlessly. Then she let him have another mouthful of water before resuming with the rice.
When both bowls were empty, Thanh stood up. "Good," she said levelly, as if she had not just spent the last half-hour feeding a grown man as if he were an infant. "Now, leave him alone and find him something to wear. It is undignified to travel with an unclothed man."
It seemed to Titi that it would surely be debasing for the prisoner, too, to go uncovered, but perhaps an Air Pirate and a criminal deserved such shame. She slipped carefully from behind the American, pushing him forward so that his left collarbone again leaned against the stake. She withdrew once it seemed he would not fall.
"Where shall I find a garment?" Titi asked, her eyes still fixed on the prisoner.
Thanh touched her mutilated cheek thoughtfully. "Surely Cam Lan has some rag she can do without," she said. "I must buy her a new smock. Though she is disgraced she is still of my blood, and it displeases me to see her so clad."
Titi felt a thrill of indignation. Did Thanh not want to know why Cam Lan was disgraced? She spoke of her as a sister, but she did not seem willing to tender her the benefit of a hearing. She was blindly accepting Quon's ultimatum.
Thanh was still speaking. "Yes," she mused. "Yes, take the oldest of Cam Lan's garments. It will be good enough for the Air Pirate. I have business with Major Quon now. Be back here in one hour's time. We will depart then."
Titi bowed respectfully, and hastened away. In her hut, she searched the basket that held Cam Lan's few garments. It did not seem right to take from her, merely so a criminal and a murderer did not have to go naked, but she remembered Thanh's words about purchasing something new for her. Titi wondered if, once she was herself trained as a soldier, she would receive payment. It would be nice to buy pretty things for Cam Lan. The older girl had so little pleasure in her life, and Titi did love her, however dishonored she was.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM
Lieutenant Khoi was nine years older than Titi. He was a little more than average height, muscular and very handsome. He had a strong courageous face, beautiful onyx eyes, smooth dark lips and caramel skin. He was one of the few men of whom Bian spoke highly. She considered him intelligent, gifted and courageous. Titi knew nothing more about him, except that he treated Cam Lan like a woman of the village (which in all practicality meant that he largely ignored her), instead of as a slave (as too many of the soldiers did). For that courtesy alone she was prepared to like him.
He was waiting behind the bunker when Titi arrived with Cam Lan's smock in hand. He stood ten feet from the stake, studying the prisoner mildly. Clad in black fatigues, he had a bulky canvas pack strapped to his back, and an M-1 rifle in his hands. Nearby, three privates, all about Bian's age, were talking quietly. They were similarly armed and laden, though the looks they shot the American were very different from Khoi's. They looked far more eager, as if they could scarcely wait to do the stranger further injury.
The lieutenant saw Titi and motioned that she should stand near him. She approached, unsure of what was expected of her.
"I am told you are to be instructed in English," he said.
Titi inclined her head.
Khoi regarded her thoughtfully. "Do you have a rank?" he asked.
"I… I do not think so," faltered Titi. Major Quon had explained so little. Their meals together since the capture of the Air Pirate had not been the usual private affairs. With both Thanh and Bian present, there had been much talk of politics, which Titi understood, and combat tactics, which she did not. She had had no opportunity to ask about he details of her new position.
"How shall I address you?" Khoi inquired.
"Titi," she replied. "It is only Titi."
"Have you no surname?"
She shook her head. "Only Titi," she repeated.
"Very well," Khoi said. "Titi. In Vietnam, we say Air Pirate." He pointed at the prisoner. "In America it is Air Pirate."
Titi repeated the alien syllables awkwardly.
It was obvious that their meaning was understood by the restrained man, for his eyes opened a little and he murmured something. Khoi strode forward and grabbed his arm, pulling against the dislocated shoulder and broken collarbone. The prisoner screamed involuntarily as Khoi shook him. The lieutenant spoke sharply, and then gripped the rope bound to the iron collar and smacked the Air Pirate with an open palm. Titi flinched. Such blows were used only on errant children and disrespectful women. For one man to strike another in that way was as debasing and humiliating an act as spitting in one's face.
Khoi let the captive fall on his right side, and he cried out again, feebly, as his temple struck the ground. Khoi aimed his sandaled foot carefully so that it struck the broad bruise on the prisoner's pelvis. Then he drew back.
"What did he say?" Titi queried softly.
"His name and his rank," Khoi replied scornfully. "Again. He wishes to be treated as a prisoner of war. Fool." He spat upon the ground.
Before Titi could ask why he was not a prisoner of war, since he had been captured while engaged in battle as part of the war between North and South, Thanh came around the corner of the bunker. She too was ready for the trail, carrying one pack upon her back and another in her arms. The latter she gave to Titi. It was heavy, and the girl almost dropped it. She slung it onto her shoulders with care, feeling it settle against the small of her back.
With a nod of approval, the scarred guerilla took a slender knife from a sheath strapped to her left arm. She cut the knot affixed to the post, leaving the rope long, like the lead of an animal. Then, with her foot, she rolled the American onto his stomach. He fought the scream this time, so that it came out as a long, protracted moan. Thanh bent and severed the rope binding his wrists. She motioned to Khoi, who knelt with one knee on the prisoner's back. He planted one hand against the man's neck and the other midway down his ribcage. Thanh seized the captive's left wrist. Planting her foot in his armpit, she dragged on the limb, thrusting her whole weight into the act of pulling. The American cried out in anguish and terror as his shoulder popped back into its socket. Thanh let his hand drop to earth, and strode around while Khoi sprung over him, reversing the previous position. This time, however, the knee was applied with greater force, and Khoi gripped the prisoner's shoulder blade and the outside of his collarbone, shoulderward from the break. As Thanh took up the right wrist, the man began to struggle. This only brought Khoi's left knee down upon the nape of his neck. Both the Viet Cong soldiers pulled, each in the opposite direction, and that arm too returned to its normal conformation. Thanh sat the captive up and then stood back.
The Air Pirate was ashen, uncontrollable tears of agony streaming down his swollen face. With his arms where they belonged, his aspect was not so nauseating as it had been, though still Titi could not look at the collarbone. It was now more crooked than ever, and the bruised skin around it was pulled taught, shining with sweat.
"Give him his clothing and let him put it on," Thanh said, wiping her hands on her tunic.
Titi stepped forward and thrust the smock into the captive's lap. He stared stupidly at it, his left hand clutching his right arm to his chest. Titi felt a rush of scorn. She had heard that Americans were savages, but was this man such a barbarian that he had no wish to hide his nakedness?
Khoi spoke to him sternly, as Bian came around the building. She took in the scene and anger flashed in her dark eyes as she approached Thanh.
"His arms!" she said sharply. "You have fixed them. They were not to be set until he talked!"
"Even an Air Pirate cannot be expected to march in such a condition," Thanh said practically. "I have no wish to carry him to Hanoi. If I desire to question him, they are easy enough to pull out again."
"He deserves no mercy!" Bian snarled.
"I show him none," Thanh rejoined. "As I have said, I have no desire to carry him. Therefore, he must walk."
"See that you do not lose sight of your duty," Bian warned, suspicion grooving her lips. "I have eyes enough in your party to know if you do, and you shall rue it."
Thanh fingered her marred face again. She was about to respond when there was a roiling, retching sound. Making none of the usual civilized efforts to cover his mouth or turn his head, the prisoner vomited. A pink, soupy mixture of rice, acid, ginger-water and blood spilled from his mouth, cascading over his chin to the collar, his chest, and his lap. Titi stood, transfixed with disgust, as the mess continued to expel itself all over the prisoner's legs and the smock in his lap. Her stomach churned, rebelling at this loathsome sight and the sickly stench of half-digested starch that filled the air.
The others were watching, also. The privates seemed to find it a source of amusement. Lieutenant Khoi seemed neither surprised nor phased. Bian's lip curled: clearly she had expected no better of the criminal. Thanh cursed in frustration.
"Fool!" she snapped, and then strode away.
The man was coughing and trying with all his might not to. Titi could not imagine the pain he must now be suffering.
Bian turned to her. "Always remember that he is a criminal," the guerilla said, firmly but quietly. "He has dropped bombs on villages. On schools and hospitals. He has poured napalm upon the jungle. He killed Giang."
"Not him," Titi said. It could not be so. Me Dè had been killed by ground troops, not a pilot. "He did not kill her."
"He is an American. They are all the same," said Bian with conviction. "Never forget that."
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMPresently Thanh returned with a bucket of water, which she used to douse the prisoner and wash away the worst of the filth. Then Bian dressed him with rough and expert hands. His arms they bound behind his back, wrists to elbows. Then it was time to depart. Titi accepted a kiss from Major Quon. He had a gift for her also: the 'forty-five pistol that Titi had fired on the hellish night of the Battle of Ap Bac. Tucking it into the waistband of her trousers now, she realized that she was truly set upon the path of the warrior. Cam Lan was watching from a cautious distance, obviously hoping to remain unnoticed. Titi tried not to see the sorrow in the young woman's eyes.
When the farewells were said, Khoi led the way into the jungle, Thanh following close behind, leading the stumbling captive by the rope bound to the collar. Titi followed her, and the three other men formed a rearguard.
For the first hour they moved through territory that Titi knew well. They passed the rice paddies, where the peasants paused in their work to jeer at the Air Pirate. Then they moved into the denser jungle, and finally Titi no longer recognized the trails. Her pack grew heavier with each step, and the trees grew blurry. She wondered when her lessons in language and warfare were to begin. Quickly boring of travel, she watched the prisoner instead.
The American had no stamina. He swayed unsteadily, tripping over stones and roots. His bare feet were quickly battered by the rough trail, and soon he was leaving tracks of blood in the mulch. His staggering grew worse. They had been walking perhaps two hours when he fell for the first time.
He did not seem to trip over anything in particular. Rather, it was as if his legs gave out spontaneously from under him. He tumbled to the ground. With his arms bound behind his back, he could not catch himself, and his face smashed into the dead leaves and foliage. A muffled cry of torment escaped him. Thanh stopped, yanking on the cord affixed to his neck, and ordering him sternly, in French and in Vietnamese, to get to his feet. Khoi added admonitions in English, occasionally pausing to translate for Titi, who made an attempt to echo the sentiments. Somehow, the Air Pirate managed to totter to his feet, and he continued his unsteady march.
It was not long before he fell again. This time Thanh had to haul on the rope so hard that he began to gag before he made any attempt to force his knees under his chest. When at last he was upright, he rocked so that Titi was certain he would tumble. Yet somehow he managed to walk again.
By this time the afternoon shadows were lengthening around them, and Khoi increased his pace. This swiftly proved too much for the captive, and again he went down. This time when Thanh pulled on the rope, he merely hung passively, making choking sounds. Titi was not sure quite how it happened, but suddenly her foot darted out and struck his stomach. Horrified at her own action, she jumped backwards, but it was too late to undo what had been done. Following her example, the other young soldiers began to kick at him also. The American curled into a ball of anguish, trying to evade the blows. A thin froth of blood appeared on his lips.
"Stop!" Thanh ordered severely, backhanding Private Trieu when he was slow to obey. "Stop, that is enough. We will rest for a minute."
"Rest?" the affronted soldier snapped. "For the criminal?"
"For the schoolteacher," Thanh countered. "It is Titi's first day on the trail. We must break her in slowly."
To prove her words, she and Khoi forced the American to his feet, tying the lead to a tree branch over his head. He could not let his legs fall from under him now, or he would hang himself.
The travelers sat in a circle, and Thanh brought out bannock and a canteen. While they ate, Khoi taught Titi new English phrases.
"This is bread," he told her. "This is water." She also learned jungle, trees, prisoner and gun.
The captive was very pale despite the sunburn. He seemed scarcely conscious. When Thanh untied the tether and their small party resumed its journey, Titi watched in concern as the man's face grew ever grayer. His whole body was trembling now, and his bleeding feet moved erratically. He fell again, and could scarcely clamber back up; and again, he had to be dragged to his feet; and yet again, and this time Khoi had to hoist him back up and force him through the first dozen steps or so. The night was near at hand when Titi noticed his eyes, scarcely visible through the narrow gaps in his swollen sockets, roll back into his head as he fell for the last time.
Thanh tugged and Khoi shouted, the young men kicked, and Titi prayed, but the prisoner did not move. He was quite unconscious at last.
Khoi and the private called Diep carried the Air Pirate to a place of dense cover. The rope was bound to the trunk of an ash tree. Some distance from the miserable figure, the others set up their camp. Titi ate ravenously of the travel bread and dried beef and then lay down. She had a camp blanket, one of many useful things in the pack Thanh had prepared for her. This kept out the winter chill. Pillowing her head on a tree root, she was soon asleep.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMIn the middle of the night she awoke to the shrieking of a fish owl. The last sliver of the waning moon hung overhead. By its dim light she could make out a dark figure sitting watch over the camp, holding a solitary vigil against tigers and other nocturnal dangers. As she stared at it, still half asleep, the glow of a match illuminated the handsome features of Lieutenant Khoi. He lit his cigarette, and then doused the light.
Titi was still weary from the day's march, and lulled by the cicadas she soon drifted back towards unconsciousness. As she did so, she thought she heard another sound, low and timorous with pain and terror.
It seemed to her that the Air Pirate was weeping.