Farewell Uncle Ho 108
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 108 (Wed., August 23, 1967)
As soon as curfew was over at six in the morning, Lihn tapped lightly on the door, waking Gerry to return to our old apartment, so he could get ready for work.
I escorted Gerry down to Jules’ newly reactivated private entrance on Tu-Do Street. I kissed him at the door, and was then suddenly glaring at two MPs glaring back at us, when I opened up.
“Gor some ID?” the one MP glared at Gerry.
Gerry showed him his military ID.
“Where ya going?” the second MP wanted to know in an aggressive tone.
“Home.” Gerry snapped.
“Where ya been?” The voice of the first MP swelled with aggression to match that of his colleague’s.
“Here.”
This is when Lihn appeared with one of his large butcher knives, apparently going nuts and yelling at the MPs in loud Vietnamese.
The MPs scurried around the corner and down the lanewayj Denis et Vannier. between the Saigon Palace Hotel and Jules’ back gate.
Gerry gave Lihn the thumbs up and yelled: “Tu est beaucoup dinky dow.”
Lihn grinned and wielded the butcher knife, as if it were a Samurai sword, emitting sounds that he thought sounded like Japanese.
Gerry shook his head, laughed and walked at a brisk pace up Tu-Do toward Lam-Son Square.
***
Urs and Klaus came down from their room and wanted to know what all the commotion had been.
“Lihn was scaring off pesky military policemen.” I laughed in French, whereupon Lihn brought the knife round to his front, pointing the blade upwards, in sort of a modified present-arms position and uttered more Japanese sounding gibberish.
“And he also makes delicious coffee and croissants.” Urs casually told Klaus.
***
When I related the incident with the MPs to Jules, after breakfast, he seemed troubled. “I really don’t want MPs snooping about.”
“I can see your point. With your selling Cuban cigars and the like to Yankee officers.”
“That’s not the half of it.” Jules forced a smile, as he looked up from his paperwork.
“What else is there?” I wondered.
“If the military police is hanging about, then Gerry could be in danger of being found out.” Jules stated matter-of-factly. “What would happen if they find out about you and him?”
“According to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, he could be given a dishonorable discharge, forfeit all pay and allowances and be sentenced to five years in a federal prison.”
Jules gave me a horrified look. For a citizen of France, where homosexuality has not been punishable since 1791 and as a resident of Vietnam, where homosexuality has never been punishable, the idea of sexual acts being a criminal offense is unthinkable.
“And what would happen to you, if they find you?” Concern was readily audible.
“I’d disappear into the depths of Cholon, where I look like a half-a-million others. They’d never find me.” I laughed and stroked his jaw with my index finger.
Jules grabbed me into a hug; he wept silently on my shoulder.
***
Klaus and Urs were in high sprits, lingering over after-breakfast coffee and smoking their first Park Lanes of the day. Of course, the excitement of being in Saigon and smoking high-quality marijuana, dipped in opium would kick-start even the dullest of days. Ah, the advantages of legalized dope…
“What time, do you want to get started?” Klaus wanted to know. His quaint Swiss-German accent in French was about how I imagined Gerry’s would be. But then again, there was no reason why Gerry would have a Swiss-German accent in French.
“Depends on when Bu and Hao have to be at Yvette’s for school.” I informed him, while taking a sip of coffee.
The twins, who had been following the conversation closely, replied in unison “By nine.”
Urs, apparently the more mellow of the two Swiss, leisurely glanced at his watch. “That gives us a little more than an hour.”
***
The five of us made our way up Tu-Do Street with Bu and Hao on each of my hands. Klaus and Urs brought up the rear. As we progressed toward Lam-Son Square, I pointed out the spots to get refreshed and/or laid, Thanh Lé, Capriccio, John, etc.
“You can also have fun at the Neptuna Swimming-Pool.” I pointed ahead of us across the street, as we stop to wait for a taxi to pass. Hao tugged on my hand: “What did you mean by fun?”
Bu giggled mischievously and said something in their Montagnard dialect, and the giggles from both continued.
Of course, our two Swiss friends wanted to know what Bu had said. I shrugged and Hao stuck his left middle finger into the balled fist of his right, making the in-and-out motion of fornication.
“How old did you say they are?” Klaus chuckled with his question.
Bu clicked his tongue at Klaus. “You do know that it is very impolite to talk about people in their presence."
***
Rounding the corner onto Lê Loi, we walked the couple hundred meters, unable to talk, due to the deafening traffic noise and suffocating exhaust fumes.
Fortunately, the door to Yvette’s stairwell was already unlocked for the day, so we didn’t have to fiddle with keys.
We climbed the stairs to Yvette’s apartment, thanking the Buddha for the coolness of the stairwell. The moment Yvette opened the door, loud American voices drifted up the stairs from the front door. I shushed Yvette and Wade, while pushing my way into her home, dragging the boys and herding the two Swiss inside.
Through the closed door, I could hear Colonel Sanders talking to First Sergeant Magsaysay. They were apparently trying to open the door to what was now only Gerry’s apartment, using a passkey.
Yvette pushed past the boys and me, opened the door enough to slither through and confronted the two Americans.
“How can I help you, Gentlemen?” she said politely but firmly.
“Who are you?” Magsaysay wanted to know, and I was surprised when Yvette understood his thick Filipino accent.
“I own this building and am consequently Mr. Helmstedter’s landlord.”
Wade pushed by, and I ducked into Yvette’s dining room, as not to be seen by Sanders and Magsaysay.
“Good morning, Colonel.” Wade ignored First Sergeant. “What’s going on?”
“We’re here to collect Specialist Loughery’s belongings.”
“As the attorney last retained by the deceased, Specialist Loughery, and as his closest blood relative in this country, I demand that you get his belongings in the presence of Specialist Helmstedter and myself.”
“And what if we don’t?” Magsaysay was repaying Wade’s slight.
“Then, I’ll have your sorry asses arrested and thrown into your rat-infested, infamous Long-Binh Jail, while you await separate courts martial for violating Article 134 of the UCMJ.”
“What’s that, Sir?” Magsaysay wanted to know from the Colonel.
“Unlawful entry, Sergeant.” Colonel Sanders chuckled incredulously. “Let’s go.” And when they started down the stairs, the Colonel added: ”And you claim to run a JAG office…”
***
We stayed long enough for a quick tea, so we would cool off. Wade was joking about how Colonel Sanders and First Sergeant seemed to take instant notice, when he’d threatened them with, Long-Binh Jail or LBJ, as most everyone in country called it.
I mentioned the fact that Gerry and First Sergeant were driving out to LBJ, this morning. They were to hand carry some paperwork for the trial convening authority, or something.
When we left Yvettte’s, Klaus, Urs and I crossed over onto the park-like, wide central island between the two lanes of traffic on Lé Loi. I was joking about how Gerry would say that the concrete monument looked like the second marine was sniffing the lead marine’s butt, when I caught the grenade flash out of the corner of my eye. The sound then quickly followed.
I became anxious, and my pulse started racing at the sight of the explosion at Lê Loi Circle, the roundabout around the stagnet pool of the disused fountain at the intersection of Nguyen Hue and Lê Loi Boulevards.
The three of us ran the few meters to where I recognized the mutilated and singed body of my Gerry, seated in the back of the olive-green, open jeep, The lifeless body of First Sergeant was on the front passenger seat. just three short lanes of traffic away from where I now stood. Only seconds after a grenade had landed in the jeep, I was still blinded by the flash and stunned by the explosion. I smelled ammonia fumes, petrol flames, blood frying, flesh exploding, ripping, apart and charring my Gerry, my life.
My eyes forced me to focus on the wreck, as to never forget him, and how he died at Lê Loi Circle between the TAX building on the left and the Rex Hotel on the right, at the point in this senseless war, where my life, as I knew it, ended.