"We'll be back here someday."

I didn't reply.

She said, "He was going for his gun, Paul."

"Don't p.i.s.s off people who have guns."

"You p.i.s.sed him off," she reminded me. p.i.s.sed him off," she reminded me.

"I was trying to bond with him. It came out wrong."

She ignored that and said, "This makes the rest of the trip more difficult."

"It makes it more challenging."

We crossed the small bridge over the moat and headed back through the paths of the village toward the road.

There were electric lights in the houses that we pa.s.sed, and I could smell the distinctive odor of charcoal in the cool, humid air. This was the smell I most remembered at twilight in the winter of 1968.

Susan said to me, "Sorry I didn't tell you about Bill sooner."

I replied, "It wasn't your place to tell me." I smiled and said, "So I need a name, and I use the name of the CIA station chief. Nice going, Brenner."

She held her cigarette between her middle fingers, Viet style, and said in a Vietnamese accent, "So, Mr. Brenner, you have made contact with the hill people. Yes? And Miss Weber informs me you are going to organize them into an army. Yes? And you will own the hills. Yes?"

"Not funny. Hey, do you think Mr. Loc is waiting for us?"

"I very much doubt that."

We kept walking through the dark village, and at night it was difficult to find the main path from the road where Mr. Loc had left us. I could smell fish cooking and rice steaming in the humid air.

We came to the road, and I said, "Mr. Loc did not wait for us. Too bad. I wanted to break his neck. How do we get back to Hue?"

"I don't know. You want to stay in Quang Tri City?"

"There is no Quang Tri City," I said.

"Maybe there's a guest house. Or I'll bet we could stay in any one of these houses for a few dollars."

"They'd have to pay me me. Let's get on the highway."

We walked toward Highway One over a kilometer away. I said, "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d left us here in the middle of nowhere."

We got to the highway, but there weren't any vehicles in sight, and it was two days into the new moon, so it was pitch dark.

Susan looked around, then said, "The buses go up and down Highway One until maybe midnight. I'll go check with a local. You stay here and flag down a bus, if one comes along. They stop if you flag them down."

Susan went into the closest hootch, about thirty meters down the road, and I waited.

I thought about the day and realized I'd done a five-month tour of combat duty in an afternoon. I may have wanted to linger awhile in the A Shau or Khe Sanh, but maybe enough was enough. I knew I'd never be back.

I thought also about all the stuff I'd filled Susan's head with and decided that that, too, was enough.

Susan came back up the road and said, "We're invited for dinner and to stay overnight." She added, "We missed c.o.c.ktails."

"What's for dinner?"

"Rice."

"Long grain or sticky?"

"Sticky. There will be a bus along within half an hour. It's a local."

"When does it get to Hue?"

"When it gets there."

"Did you have fun today?"

"Paul, I had an incredible day, and I truly thank you. The question is, How are you?"

"I'm fine. When I'm not fine, I'll let you know."

She lit a cigarette. "This war... that war was unimaginable. I can't even begin to comprehend how you and the others lived like that for a whole year."

Not everyone lived the whole year, but I didn't say that.

We stood silently on the blacktop of Highway One and waited for headlights going south.

Susan asked, "What if an army patrol comes by? Do we duck out, or just stand here?"

"Depends on the mood I'm in."

"Well, we're waiting to flag down the Hue bus. Ten-dollar fine."

"This place sucks."

Susan replied, "The people are mostly nice. That family I just spoke to practically begged me to stay for dinner."

"Peasants are nice. Cops, politicians, and soldiers suck."

"You're a cop and and a soldier. You're nice." a soldier. You're nice."

"Sometimes." I said, "Colonel Mang wants to kick you out. Why don't you go?"

"Where am I going to?"

"Lenox, Ma.s.sachusetts."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

She asked me, "Why don't you go back to Boston instead of living in Virginia?"

"There's nothing for me in Boston."

"What's in Virginia?"

"Nothing."

She stared at the glow of her cigarette awhile, then asked, "Why don't we go someplace together?"

"You have to quit smoking."

"Can I have one after s.e.x?"

"That's still half a pack a day."

She laughed. "Deal."

The headlights of a big vehicle approached from the north, and I could see the lit windows of a bus. I stood out on the deserted highway and waved.

The bus stopped, the door opened, and we got on. I said to the driver, "Hue."

He looked at Susan and me with curiosity and said, "One dollar."

Best deal in town, so I gave him two, and he smiled.

The bus was half empty, and we found two seats together. The seats were wood, and the bus was old, maybe French. The pa.s.sengers were looking at us. I guess we didn't look like bus people.

The bus continued south down the dark highway and stopped in every little village, and whenever someone flagged it down. People got on and people got off. Susan was happy to be on a smoking bus, which was one hundred percent of the bus fleet. She held my hand and looked out the window at the black, desolate terrain.

There was not one major town between the dead city of Quang Tri and the resurrected city of Hue. But at some point, the countryside started to look better, from the little we could see-houses, lights, rice paddies-and I had the feeling we'd pa.s.sed out of Quang Tri Province and into the province of Hue.

I thought about Quang Tri. I would've liked to have seen my old base camp, Landing Zone Sharon, or the old French fort named Landing Zone Betty. But those places where I'd spent most of a year existed now only in my mind, and in a few faded photographs. It was strange to feel any nostalgia for a war zone, but those places-the base camps, the vendor stalls, the wh.o.r.ehouses and ma.s.sage parlors, the hospital where we'd donated food and medicine, the Buddhist and Catholic schools where we'd given paper and pens from our monthly allotment, the church where we'd befriended the old Viet priest and the nun-were all gone now, obliterated from the earth and from the memories of everyone except the oldest of us.

Maybe I'd waited too long to return. Maybe I should have come back before so many of the visible and psychological scars had healed, before most of that wartime generation had died or grown too old. I may have seen something different here ten or fifteen years ago; more rubble, and more amputees, and more poverty, to be sure. But also some of the old Vietnam, before the DMZ tour buses and Cong World, and backpackers, and j.a.panese and American businesspeople.

But life goes on, things get better-Quang Tri Province notwithstanding-and one generation pa.s.ses away, and another is born.

I said, "Sorry if I upset your pleasant life here."

"It wasn't that pleasant. I asked for a little excitement, and I got it. I asked about the war, and you told me."

"I'm done with that."

The bus continued on, and we didn't speak for some time, then I asked her, "How are we getting up country tomorrow?"

"Elephant."

"How many elephants?"

"Three. One for you, one for me, and one for my clothes."

I smiled.

She asked me, "Do you think Colonel Mang will be following us?"

"I'll see that he isn't." I added, "You're leaving the gun here."

She didn't reply.

We retreated into our separate thoughts as the old bus chugged on over the bad road. Finally, Susan said, "I'm not upset about that fax."

"Good. Which fax?"

"The one where you said, 'Sleeping with the enemy,' and 'Love to C.'"

I didn't reply.

She changed the subject and said, "When Colonel Mang mentioned the police car accident, my heart stopped."

Again, I didn't reply.

She said, "What if he finds Mr. Cam or Mr. Thuc?"

I replied, honestly, "Then we've got a big problem."

"Paul, I'm frightened."

I didn't reply.

"Maybe we should get out of the country before we get charged with murder."

"That's a good idea. You should fly to Saigon tomorrow and get out."

"And you?"

"I need to push on. I'm not available to Colonel Mang after I head up country tomorrow. Then when I get to Hanoi, I'll call a guy in the emba.s.sy and have him get me inside. After that, it's up to Washington and Hanoi to cut a deal to get me home." I added, "I hope it costs Washington at least a billion in foreign aid."

"This isn't funny."

"Susan, go home. Fly to Saigon and catch the first plane out."

"I will if you will."

"I can't."