Farewell Uncle Ho 81
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 81 (Tues., July 11)
I left Gerry and Linh, the taxi driver, at the curb in front of 11-23, to see if Mme Duras was in, and if she would freak to see my not quite Caucasian face. The door to the stairwell, nestled between the workshop and the showroom of Saigon-Garage, was fortunately unlocked. Once inside, the air was soft and cool, giving off whiffs of incense and spiced food. I found the brass plaque above the bell on the right-hand door of the third floor landing, from behind which the sounds of an orchestral rendition of Debussy's La Mer threatened the tranquil air in the Streamline Moderne stairwell. I rang.
A tall, thin, elegant Eurasian woman of possibly thirty-five answered the door. "Monsieur?"
Adapting to my surroundings, I offered a pleasant smile and bourgeois French. "I would like to speak to Mme Duras, if I may."
"And who, may I ask, might you be?" She returned the smile.
I introduced myself and stated that I had written her about renting June and Earl's old apartment. When she laughed and invited me in, I knew for sure that my being half Chinese was not going to be an issue. When she offered me something to drink, I politely declined and explained that Gerry and Linh were waiting at the curb.
She removed keys from the hook behind her own apartment door, and led the way across the landing, explaining which keys opened the door downstairs and which the apartment, front and back. Yvette unlocked and opened the door and a whiff of lilac and cinnamon came rushing out, as if all the ghosts of everyone who'd lived here since the 20's had come rushing out to greet us.
The floors were tiles of streamlined design, like the building, but still with a hint of chinoiserie. To the immediate right was the dining room, to the immediate left, the kitchen with servant's quarters and the back entrance. At the end of the entry was a spacious, well appointed living room, which had three large windows in a semicircle, looking out onto the stagnant pool in the center of Lê Loi Circle in the intersection of Nguyen Hue and Lê Loi Boulevards.
The window of the guest bedroom had a nice view of Nguyen Hue Boulevard and, consequently, of our future office. The master bedroom had a view of the back gallery walkway and courtyard, and a nice en suite bath, which also had a door to the living room. I asked her what the rent was, as I took a deep breath. After all, Earl had been a colonel, who was married and consequently whose pay was clearly higher than mine.
It was Yvette's turn to sigh. "One hundred and fifty American dollars per month in advance plus utilities." She looked anticipatorily disappointed, as she may well have known that one hundred fifty dollars was just twenty seven dollars and ninety cents less than my basic monthly pay. But with Gerry's pitching in, our housing allowances and possibly a little help from my Hong-Kong bank account, it was doable.
I smiled appropriately. "Good, we'll take it." It was debatable, which one of us let out the most heartfelt sigh.
When I took out my second wallet to exchange one hundred fifty dollars in green backs for the keys, she held the two bills carefully, looking at the faces of Ulysses Grant and Benjamin Franklin with an expression on hers just short of panic. "You do know that this is illegal."
"As is the war." Upon hearing my political stance, she produced a sophisticated smile of delight and gave me a perfunctory hug, kissing both cheeks. "But in the future," I offered. "I can transfer dollars from my bank account into yours, should you have one, say in France."
"Switzerland?" Her voice was subdued.
"Switzerland it is, then." Again we both sighed deeply, smiled knowingly and nodded in mutual appreciation of the fine art of getting over.
***
When I saw Linh trying to carry my duffel bag, I tried to take it, and he virtually fought me for it. "Look, Linh, it's easier if I take it. It's not that I don't trust you. There's nothing in it except for uniforms and playing cards." At the mention of cards, his eyes lit up, but he did let me take it. After all, it was more than half as long as he was tall. However, he did insist on toting my carry-on.
Yvette was waiting for us at the top of the stairs. She gasped. "Monsieur Linh, what are you doing driving a taxi."
And our taxi driver, whom I'd assumed spoke only Vietnamese and Chinese, answered in fluent French. "Times are hard, Mme Duras, since the embassy closed."
My mouth must have flown open in amazement, failing to comprehend the situation. "You know each other?"
Yvette nodded. "Your taxi driver was the chef cuisinier at the French embassy."
I followed Gerry into the apartment, who was obviously stunned as he let his duffel bag sink to the floor. Linh and Yvette were on my heels. Gerry took the dust covers off the huge overstuffed couch from the 1930's and the two matching arm chairs. He ran his hand over the upholstery, which resembled a silk carpet. "Can we afford this?"
"Just." was my quiet response. I looked around for Linh, and Yvette gestured toward the kitchen.
He was inspecting the American-sized fridge-freezer, and plugged it into the wall socket. I was surprised that it immediately clicked on.
"Didn't you have the electricity turned off?" I wondered about the extra cost.
"It's much less of a problem to pay the pittance basic charge than to wait for a year to have it reconnected." Since I looked puzzled, she added: "Welcome to Saigon."
When Gerry came out of the master bedroom, looking pleased, I asked him what was up. "I found an abundance of clean sheets in the linen closet."
Yvette and Linh glanced at one another, and Linh shook his head. "So, your colleague doesn't speak French?" Yvette wondered, then added with a cordial smile. "That, we will change."
***
Linh had the knack of speaking English by using his basic knowledge of the language supplemented by pronouncing French words with an American accent. Oddly, this technique worked amazingly well. Enough so, that he could carry on a basic conversation with Gerry. Yvette was mortified, but I was intrigued.
Gerry and Linh were inspecting the kitchen, turning on the water supply, both in the kitchen as well as in both bathrooms. There was one en suite and one in the servant's quarters. This was the first appreciable hint, which he'd given us that he might have been applying for a job.
As soon as he and Gerry went off, looking for the gas meter, I quickly asked Yvette if she thought he would be looking for work. "Most assuredly." She took me to the window across from where we were standing in the living room, which opened out onto Lê Loi, directly above his cab. "He doesn't own the taxi, he works for a company, which pays him next to nothing."
"How much would he consider fair?" I was calculating how much we could afford.
"About forty dollars a month, was what I would guess he was making at the embassy." She gave it some serious thought. "But he didn't live there, so you could ask him to do more work, since he could live and eat here." Then she smiled broadly. "Having said that, though, you would save twice his wages by having him buy and prepare your food. The man bakes his own bread and pastries."
"And why can't he find a job as a chef?" I found it curious that he was driving a hack.
"He, uh, became a bastard." She blushed, and I assumed that she meant it literally.
"So, he doesn't have a father," I came to the rescue. "is that what you're saying?"
She shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the subject. "He's the oldest son of his father's second wife. When Mme Nhu, Diem's sister-in-law and convert Catholic moralist, got her 'Family Law' passed by the National Assembly, all the children of second and third wives became illegitimate and are allowed to work at only menial tasks except with foreign employers." She scowled her disapproval. "And this Catholic nonsense has been perpetuated by Thieu's military dictatorship." Yvette smiled as she talked of Linh. "But he is extremely dependable." She slowly stopped blushing. "As did everyone who worked at our embassy, he held a security clearance, issued by the French government."
***
When he and Gerry returned from turning on the gas and having noted the starting point for the meter, Linh checked the telephone; it worked. He seemed slightly panic stricken, when it didn't look as if there was anything else to do. "Linh, let me talk to you." I told him in Cantonese, assuming that Yvette wasn't conversant. When she nodded and moved Gerry by the elbow into the dining room, to give us some privacy, I had to revise that thought; she'd understood me.
I turned my attention back to Linh, who appeared to be shaking slightly. "I've just heard some things about you." He looked heartbroken. "Good things, like that you bake your own bread." He now beamed, with a broad smile, nodding. "Would you accept a job with us?" His nodding intensified. "Would forty US dollars a month be enough?"
"Would I live here?" He wanted to know but gave the question an odd intonation, which kept me from making him feel as if it were totally necessary.
"Would you want to?" I negotiated.
"I would." He said quietly. "Oh, and Sir, there are still two hundred dong on the taxi meter."
"Oh, and Linh, there is not one Sir in this entire place. My name is Ben and the blond guy over there is Gerry." This I did make an absolute condition.
"Cool." He said in English and grinned when I handed him three hundred dong. He then reverted back to Chinese. "When do I start?"
"You already have." I told him, and gave him a set of keys plus forty dollars in MPCs. Also I told him that he could feel free to use the front door.
At this, he laughed mischievously. "You fuckin' beaucoup dinky dow, G.I.", which, according to what we'd gathered from what two derelict veterans in New York's Fourth Ward had told us, was war-time slang, telling me that I was fucking crazy.
From the dining room, Yvette gasped, clicked her tongue and arched one eyebrow, but did join us in an earthy laugh.
***
Linh had gone shopping and to return the taxi, and Yvette had retired, saying if we needed anything, she was across the landing. And as soon as I'd closed the front door, Gerry was upon me with intent to violate Article 125 of the UCMJ. Neither of us had had a shower since Harrisburg, and the aroma below the belt was compelling.
I was looking forward to licking the musk from Gerry's cock, but I was reluctant to let him lick mine. The compromise was to use the enema bottle and the bidet in the bath to cleanse our genitals and ass, leaving the pits and feet for raunchy atmosphere.
I loved inserting the nozzle into Gerry's rosy-pink asshole, and then watching him strain to hold the glycerin water for as long as he could. Since there was no toilet bowl in our new apartment, rather a porcelain basin, about thirty inches square with two elevated surfaces for our feet and a large hole in the middle, which made his emptying his bowels clearly visible and seriously contributed in elevating this preparatory step into the realm of actual eroticism. Watching his hole slowly open to eject a huge, three-day turd, took me almost to the brink.
Gerry and Linh had already put a fitted, poplin sheet, obviously American in origin, onto the bed, so there was no time wasted. I got into position for a crude, animalistic, doggy-style fuck. I didn't need his making love; I needed his big cock up my ass in an abusive, hardcore fuck. And he knew how to give me just what I wanted.
His oozing cock juices and my licked, spit-moistened ass gave us enough slime to let him shove his cock into me with one plunge. He grabbed my ass by the skin, and slammed his pubic mound mercilessly against my ass cheeks.
After a good five-minute fuck, just as my hole was signaling enough, I growled, as I squirted against the leatherette headboard, and Gerry filled me to capacity. He collapsed onto my back, as I let myself fall onto the mattress.
The downpour outside was the most intense, I'd ever heard. After all, it was almost my first tropical rainfall, aside from the one in Japan. And despite its intensity, it conspired with jetlag to knock us out, within seconds.