They left Ap Iat in the predawn darkness, well-rested and well-fed. The village was small, populated almost exclusively by children, their young mothers, and those too old to b e of any use to the war effort. Despite this and the obvious poverty of the tiny community, the small band of guerrillas were greeted generously. An old pullet was slaughtered in their honor, supplementing the good brown rice and the hot tea that was served to the soldiers. The villagers housed them all gladly, too, providing pallets of woven reeds to sleep upon, shelter in the little huts, and even hot water and kettle-made lye soap for washing.
Rested and feeling far better than she had in many days, Titi set out happily, applying herself to the language lessons. She walked ahead with her teacher, which also meant that she did not need to witness the prisoner's pathetic attempts to keep pace with his captors. He had passed the night in a tiger cage at the edge of the village—a remnant of the days when the men had hunted the great cats, before the bombings, before the war and before the French had come to tear the nation of Vietnam apart.
As in Ap Hiep, the villagers had seized upon the opportunity to exact some small measure of revenge from the helpless American. Thanh had not allowed an unrestrained beating, for the man was scarcely able to walk as it was, but once he was secured in the little bamboo crate she had let the peasants do as they pleased. The Air Pirate was now covered in small cuts and punctures where sharpened bamboo had prodded him. The smock he wore was laced with holes from the same. When Thanh had hauled him out of the cage this morning, his face had been smeared with dung, his hair matted with offal. The guerrillas had loosed his hands and allowed him to wash in the creek. To deny this small dignity would have meant suffering his stink, and though Khoi argued that the downed pilot was unworthy of any such kindness Thanh had had her way in the end.
It had fallen to Titi to stand watch, holding the lead rope while the prisoner crouched in the mud and tried to wash. Between his dislocated shoulder and the broken collarbone he could scarcely move his arms, but as best he could he cleaned himself, then drank loudly and frantically from cupped and trembling hands. He had next groped blindly about until he found a sharp rock, and with it tried futilely to scrape away some of the pus and filth that clung to his mangled feet. Titi had watched, sickened but entranced, as he flinched, and stifled whimpers of pain, and still persisted, doing what he had to in order to fight infection and blood poisoning.
Her mind was in turmoil. She knew he was an American, a justly hated barbarian from across the sea who was paid to fly the swift, shrieking planes that rained down terror and carnage upon the innocent. He was a slave of the capitalist monsters of the den of corruption called Walstreet, and he hated Titi and her people without cause. He and all like him deserved whatever torments and ignominies could be dealt out, and yet…
Titi dared to glance over her shoulder at the craven figure, hideous and misshapen, clad in rags and streaked all over with blood and grime despite his makeshift bath scant hours ago. Still he fought to hide his anguish. Still he set one ruined foot ahead of the other. Still he did not cry out. He was an American, a criminal, an Air Pirate, and yet he was a man, too. And so brave. He was all but silent as he bore his pain with fortitude such as Titi had never seen. She doubted very much that she would be able to muster similar courage in such circumstances. His eyes were an alien shape, and his skin, beneath the filth, was inhumanly pale, and yet he had two harms, two legs like Titi. His blood was the same color as hers, as Major Quon's, as that of the little children that she had taught not so long ago, and missed sorely now. The Air Pirate seemed so weak and so wounded. It was hard to remember that he was a criminal, a murderer who deserved every moment of this suffering.
And yet he was, and he did, and Titi knew that she must never forget that. She knew that even thoughts of mercy were wicked. It was wrong to want to return the loose shoulder to its socket, or set the broken collarbone. It would be a crime to bathe his feet and find sandals to protect them from further harm. It would be evil to unbind him and allow him to rest. Titi was filled with terror when she thought how Bian or Major Quon would react, if they knew of her thoughts of pity for the American.
Instead, she filled her mind with visions of the horrors of war. Me Dè dead in the midnight jungle. Valiant Major Quon blinded by shrapnel from an enemy shell. Cam Lan disgraced, and Thanh disfigured. Razed villages, rice paddies bombed into barrenness, one-armed children, old men robbed of their legs by American mines, broad expanses of jungle left black and ruined by the unseen menace called napalm. She filled her mind with these, contrasting them to the peace of her girlhood, and she felt the stirrings of hatred again.
It comforted her. It was right. It was what was expected of her.
Khoi spoke in English again, and Titi forced herself to focus. "I did not hear that," she admitted.
Khoi repeated himself. Titi frowned and tried to translate.
"You have," she said cautiously. "You have… something… eyes…"
"Beautiful," Khoi said. "It means lovely. Becoming. Desirable."
Titi felt herself growing warm, her cheeks suffusing with embarrassed pleasure. He found her eyes desirable? No man had ever said such a thing to her. Why should they? She was but a girl, a school teacher, neither as beautiful, nor as bold, nor as brave as Bian. Her breasts were so small, her hips so narrow, her legs so thin. Her hair, though dark and smooth, was not long. Her lips, though full, were pale. And yet this grown man, a mighty soldier, a lieutenant, found her eyes desirable…
"Thank you," she said. Then she corrected herself, repeating it in the American tongue.
Khoi smiled. "You are welcome," he said.
"Where?" Titi asked.
Khoi laughed. "It is an American expression," he said. "It means that I accept your thanks, and I am glad I gave you cause to thank me."
"Oh," Titi said softly. "They have many strange expressions in America."
"Yes, many," Khoi agreed, offering Titi his hand as they scrambled over a fallen log. There was a minor commotion as Thanh and Cadeo tried to induce the American to follow. As Titi turned to look, Khoi took her chin between finger and thumb and guided her face back towards him. "You feel sorry for the Air Pirate," he murmured.
Stunned and frightened, Titi could only stare at him. Khoi smiled indulgently. "Do not be ashamed," he told her. "Bian has told me of your kind heart. You would feel pity for any dumb animal." He turned his head to spit the word scornfully in the direction of the prisoner. "So long as you do not allow emotion to cloud your judgement, it is not an unattractive trait. We need our women to be brave and strong. We do not need them to surrender their hearts."
Titi dared to smile in return. "He is a criminal," she said.
"And that is why we show him no mercy," Khoi agreed. "That does not mean that it is wrong for you to be human simply because he is not."
"Yes," breathed Titi as a muted scream tore from the prisoner's lips. She flinched.
The American cried out again as Thanh tried to force him to his feet. He spoke, his cracking, hoarse voice thick with desperation. Titi could only catch a few words. "Please! You… me… this…"
Khoi knelt by him, grabbing the collar and shaking him. "Give targets for coming week!!" he commanded.
The Air Pirate swallowed spastically. He repeated himself more slowly. "My arm. Please. Dear God, you can't leave me like this…"
Anxious to prove that she was neither weak nor overly soft-hearted, Titi pulled the 'forty-five from her waistband and crouched, holding it before the prisoner's head. "Answer question," she said. "Or I shoot you."
The captive shivered in despair. "Yes, shoot me! Shoot me, but don't leave me like this!"
Khoi laughed coldly. "You are black criminal," he said. "You not suffer enough."
"Please!" the man cried, turning his head blindly towards Titi. His swollen eyelids were wet with involuntary tears of sheer anguish. "Please, shoot me or fix my shoulder. Please!"
Thanh kicked the small of his back, and he fell forward with a tiny cry. "Vous ne parlez pas!" she snapped. "Marchez!"
The battered chest heaved with the effort of speaking. "God dammit, I'm a prisoner of—"
"You are not a prisoner of war!" Khoi roared, in his rage slipping back into his mother tongue.
"You are not prisoner of war," Titi said. She knew these words well. It seemed that sooner or later any interaction with the captive came to this point. She waved the gun in what she hoped very much was a threatening manner. "You country not declare war on my country. You come, drop bomb, kill children—"
"I'm a soldier! We follow orders. We fight. You think I give a damned about your damned jungle? You think this is personal, Charlie? Damn it…" He choked a little on what Titi thought might have been a sob, shaking his head wretchedly. "It hurts," he whispered plaintively. "It hurts."
Titi looked at Thanh, who was watching the prisoner with intense scrutiny. "Can we not fix it now?" the younger girl asked softly. "My hand has almost healed."
Thanh looked at her, eyes flashing despite the disfigurement of the left socket. "He has earned the pain," she said.
"He cannot walk much farther like this," Titi reasoned. "Unless we mean to carry him."
As she had hoped, these words had meaning for the guerrilla. Thanh frowned, and then bent to untie the ropes holding the captive's hands behind his back. He swallowed a scream as the limbs fell forward and disused muscles protested. Titi looked away as Thanh buried her sandaled foot in the man's armpit and hauled on his wrist. There was a sickening pop! and a bloodcurdling shriek. A drove of black birds rose from the trees, flying away to the east. Next came the noise of fruitless retching.
"Now he will walk," Thanh said coldly, twitching the rope affixed to the iron collar.
The next hours passed without incident, unless one counted the frequent falls that were by now part of the rhythm of their march. No matter what, the Air Pirate would lose his footing. At least he made no further attempts to beg for favors.
Khoi was silent again, scowling blackly. Titi knew that he did not approve of any leniency. In his eyes, the prisoner deserved his pain, and perhaps he did. Titi tried to rationalize her weakness by reminding herself that surely he would never have lasted much longer in such torment.
When at last the sun set and they halted to make camp, Khoi wandered off into the gloom. Titi cooked rice upon a small fire, and she and Thanh and the three privates ate. What was left Trieu wadded into a ball and set on the ground within the American's reach. He picked it up and devoured it desperately. Though he made retching sounds, and his abdomen heaved, he did not bring the food up again.
It was Titi's turn to take the first watch, and Khoi had still not returned when the others lay down to sleep. Titi sat by the embers of the dying fire, her blanket around her shoulders. Above, she could see a star glimmering through the gaps in the canopy. She wished she were at home, with Cam Lan. The night was cold, the dark jungle frightening, and her heart bewildered and hurting. She wished she could lie next to her sister, warm and safe in the little hootch, and feel Cam Lan's calm, gentle breathing as she fell asleep. She felt lonely and frightened and so isolated. She had only the cold night for company: the ragged gasps of the Air Pirate, the soft snores of the young men, and the distant scream of a fish owl.
A strong hand closed over her mouth. Hot air on her back made her stiffen. Lips brushed her ear.
"Come with me," Khoi whispered.
Titi got to her feet and let him lead her from the small encampment. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt a pang of guilt for leaving her post, but the arms around her were assured and consoling.
Khoi halted, and was now lifting her out of her sandals. Her bare feet were set down amid the soft fronds of a low-growing fern.
"You are very beautiful, Titi," Khoi said. His fingers were working deftly at the fastenings of her tunic. Titi felt a thrill of fear and something else… pleasure? Yes, it was pleasure and anticipation. She felt her trousers fall, and she was lifted out of these, too, by the strong, hot hands. Khoi kissed her bare arm, and then her neck. "Very beautiful," he repeated. "A fine woman."
As he began to undo her breast-band, Titi realized what he wished to do. She was afraid, and yet she was not. She wanted to cry out, or run away, and yet she wanted him to continue.
Continue he did. The cloth fell away and he took her breast in one hand, feeling it with practiced sensuality. Her whole body responded, jolting against his. She found his lips and tasted them ravenously.
"Little Titi," Khoi said. "Bian has told me…"
She drew breath and pressed her mouth to his again. Her body was alive with passion, every nerve ignited with a strange fire. A memory tugged at some corner of her mind, and she guided him down among the ferns, lowering both of them to their knees. Then she lay back in the soft, sweet-smelling foliage. She gasped as he responded. Then there was pressure, and pain, and unbelievable pleasure. Khoi gasped loudly, grunting in surprise.
"A virgin?" he wondered aloud. "A virgin at sixteen?"
Titi could not answer, for there was a moment of agony deep within her, and then all-consuming glory swallowed her consciousness.