Farewell Uncle Ho 106
This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.
Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments. And last but not least, Nifty would like your donations.
Farewell, Uncle Ho
by Dennis Milholland
questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu
Chapter 106 (Monday, July 31, – Tuesday, August 1, 1967)
We got up early to say good-bye to Uncle, Suzanne, and Père Martin. After a big breakfast with Père Martin’s and Uncle’s having gorged themselves on Linh’s spectacular, warm, fresh bread. we also wanted to leave, as soon as possible.
Yvette had earlier suggested that we go clothes shopping in Saigon, since the selection at Au Printemps wasn’t nearly as provincial as at the market in Dalat. Of course, to get the real deal, we’d have to return to Paris. And of course, that would have been a specific Paris, the Paris, which had been the capital of that France, about which her wealthy French father had once enthused and not the post-war, post-colonial, much less affluent, slightly down-at-the-heel France, that I’d come to know and love as a student, and which Yvette and several thousand French citizens, living in Vietnam, had never seen.
The drive back to the City went without incident. The boys kept eyeing the two Algerian mercenary guards, as if possibly searching for their father. Hao only smiled when I asked him if he were on the lookout for their dad. He contently placed his head on Gerry’s chest and sighed. “No, no. we’ve already found them.” Without having understood what Hao and I had said, Gerry instinctively cuddled his son and kissed his forehead. Hao soon drifted off to sleep in Gerry’s arms, as did Bu in mine.
As we’d decided before leaving Dalat, Jules pulled his car into the alleyway at the back of our block, which connected Tu-Do Street and Nguyen Hue, and which ran parallel to Lê Loi. He stopped just long enough for us to get out; he would bring our suitcase up in about half an hour, he told us.
Linh led us through the dark, dingy entrance to the multistorey parking garage. He unlocked the steel fire-door, hidden in the shadows at the back of the ground floor, next to the roll-down garage door, which led to the concrete courtyard of our building. Now, I knew how the cars got into the showroom windows on the ground floor below our apartment and what the extra key on our rings was for.
Gerry and I carried the boys, since I was concerned about their getting motor oil on their bare feet. Both were wide-eyed and shaking with anticipation. Once we got into our stairwell, I set Bu down onto the tiled floor, and he asked me to pick him up again. “The floor’s too cold, and the air’s too sticky.” He looked tortured by the climate. Hao didn’t seem to be coping any better.
Unaccustomed to the heat and humidity in Saigon, both boys were uncomfortable, and, along with us, they were sweating profusely. I knew that it was going to be difficult to reason why they should give up their loincloths in favor of wearing a shirt and trousers. Truth be told, I would much rather have had a loincloth right at that moment than being fully dressed.
I gave the door to our apartment close scrutiny, seeing if Captain Duvet’s team had caused any damage when they removed my uniform from the place. My heart almost stopped when the door flew open and I was looking down the barrel of a handgun.
When Wade’s employee recognized me, he grinned and withdrew the gun from my face. The rest of our little group was fearfully flabbergasted and frozen to the spot. “Sneaking ‘round is dangerous. This is a war zone.”
“So I found out last week.” Setting Bu down, I grinned back and stuck out my hand.
Jonny grabbed me into a hug. “Yeah, I heard about the chopper crash. Good to have you back.” He let me go and stuck our his hand. “And you must be Gerry.” They shook despite Gerry’s look of befuddlement.
I took the initiative. “This is Jonny, our shadow, who works for Wade.”
“Yeah, ol’ man Chung called me the minute the Amerloques took you off.” he said to me, then to Gerry: “Mr. Chung was afraid that the fuckers had damaged something when they broke in.” Jonny chuckled. “At least, their burglary techniques are far better than their abilities in the field.”
Then Jonny patted Linh’s shoulder with his left hand. “好不好 灵”, he asked Linh how he was doing. But the twins thought he was talking to them, since the question was pronounced ‘Hao Bu Hao?’. Hao glared at Linh, when he answered in Chinese.
It dawned on me that the boys hadn’t understood anything, so I explained what was going on and that ‘Hao Bu Hao?’ was how to ask ‘Ça va?’ in Chinese. Not really listening to me, Bu still had his eyes glued to the gun in Jonny’s right hand and was shivering, even with this heat.
***
By the time Yvette had left for her place, across the landing on Monday evening, Gerry and I had given her and Linh money, and they had agreed to take the twins clothes shopping on Tuesday morning, leaving Gerry and me some alone time. And after big hugs and my having admonished the twins to always stay close to Yvette and Linh and to take their hands while crossing the street, they were off in a breeze of excitement. I still thought that Linh was far more enthused than were the twins.
Not only did it give Gerry and me some alone time, it kept me out of public view. I was officially missing from the helicopter crash at Ea Drang. And I was hoping that the Army would finally classify me as presumed dead.
I watched them get into a taxi in front of the building. The blue and cream colored Renault pulled off into traffic, crossed three lanes at their usual rocket speed. Making a U-turn at Givral on Tu-Do Street, it headed back in the direction, whence it’d come. While I was watching from the dining-room window, Gerry was busy unfastening my black, cotton trousers.
I managed to keep myself from flashing Lê Loi Boulevard, by ducking back into the shadows of the half-closed shutters, and by dragging him to the bedroom with my right. He had his bad-puppy expression on display, and I knew that he would be humping more than just my leg.
According to the nurse at the Seventh-Day-Adventist dispensary, where we’d bought the anti-malaria meds, the back-up pills did not cause loose bowels. So, we went for it.
We cleaned out nicely. Then we got onto our bed, Gerry on his side. I straddled his right leg on the mattress, holding his left leg in the air, a bit bent at the knee. I aimed at his hole and entered, giving me access in unaccustomed depth. He was still giving me his bad-puppy look. We had time, and we were taking it slowly.
I was starting to increase the frequency of our fucking; he tapped me on the leg. “Switch?” I nodded.
“Doggie?” He nodded.
I got into position and allowed his middle finger in, loaded with petroleum jelly. He started out slowly, to let me get used to the intrusion but then, purposefully, picked up the pace. His prick was pounding my prostate.
The taught skin of his belly was slapping against the tightened muscles of my ass. For those uninitiated, it must have sounded like a barroom brawl. For those, who knew us, it was an obvious expression of love between two men.
When Gerry blew his copious amount of cum into my ass, it felt as if he were blowing it through me, letting it come out of my own cock, onto the sheets.
***
We napped; they returned; all still radiating excitement. To judge by the beige, Kraft-paper shopping bags, they’d been to Au Printemps, a branch of the huge department store in Paris, known for its equally huge, stained-glass cupola, and they had paid a visit to a Bata shoe store, probably the branch on Tu-Do Street, since they had collected Jules, on their way.
Of course, Linh and Yvette insisted on the twins’ modeling their new clothes; Gerry and I insisted on getting a gin and tonic before the show started. Gerry, Jules and I settled in on the couch with ice cubes clanking in the glasses and lit up a Park Lane each.
The first huge drops of today’s rain thumped onto the exterior, wooden shutters, which we still hadn’t fully opened, since our return. The bottom halves were propped open at that typical forty-five degree angle to let air freely circulate, while blocking out the view of prying eyes.
Both boys had on matching shirts and black cotton slacks and black canvas shoes. Canvas shoes had been a compromise, being that they didn’t need breaking in.
They’d climbed onto our laps to show us their sandals, which they’d fished out of the Bata shopping bag, when the telephone rang. As Linh moved toward the phone, I said quickly: “Don’t forget, that I can’t come to the phone.”
Linh asked: “Why not?”
“Because I’m dead.” The answer got glares from everyone, except Gerry, simply because he didn’t understand French. But it also triggered a flashback, a feeling of intense grief, which jolted me back into the scene of the crash, the reason for which the Army would classify me as missing in action.
***
Gerry looked slightly troubled, too, the moment Yvette translated what I’d said. Only his expression was also one of compassion. I quieted, when I realized that they were concerned friends. The twins were all over me, but not to the extent of keeping Gerry away. He had me in his arms, muttering something in German, and rocking all four of us, back and forth.
My feeling of distance left me, as I felt Linh, Yvette and Jules joining our group hug. Neither Linh nor anyone else had answered the phone. This was more important and the confirmation that this was, indeed, the family, that all of us desperately desired. And I had to laugh at the thought of what Bernice would say every time the phone’s ringing went unanswered: ‘If they want to talk bad enough, they’ll call back.’