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 51 (Sun., March 5)

We checked out, and I left my bags at the desk, where I would get them later. Breakfast at Howard Johnson's at 46th was a happy event, even though Maxine wasn't working. Even Moffett seemed to be in an up-beat mood, and was content enough not to pry into Ju-Long's relationship to Gordon.

When the subject of Cam came up, Ju-Long became animated, pulled out his wallet, like any other father, and showed us the obligatory pictures.

"This one was taken in our apartment in Cholon." He put it onto the table so Gerry, Moffett, and I could see. There was the still uninjured Sergeant Healy holding a baby with his arms raised and laughing; he looked like a porcelain Budai, the Happy Buddha. "And here's one that I took last week."

This one was of a three- or four-year-old, still laughing but minus the baby fat. "He does look just like you, Ju-Long." I remarked, and Gerry nodded. Moffett appeared to be poised to ask something, but dropped it. "Why did you name him Cam?" I wanted to know.

"Well," He looked at Gordon, who nodded. "we named him Cam, which is a Vietnamese boy's name, but his full name is Cam Ranh Clark, Clark being my innocuous last name." His voice hit a rough spot, and he braced himself. "Because his dad died at Cam Ranh Bay." I must have looked like I needed more information; he continued. "Russ was on a recon mission, to see if any installations of the old French harbor would still be usable for American ships." Then, Ju-Long laughed ironically but with moist eyes. "He got hit by a jeep."

Moffett looked puzzled. "Aren't you the boy's dad?"

"No, I'm his stepdad. His dad was just a friend." I was sure that Moffett didn't hear the regret in Ju-Long's voice that the boy's father had never become anything other than 'just a friend'.

***

After we settled the bill, Gordon took me aside and asked me in Cantonese if he shouldn't take my suitcases to their place at Fire Island. I was pleasantly surprised, since I hadn't been happy with Gerry's idea of leaving them at his parents' place. "Tell me, if it's none of my business," Gordon gave me a defensive glance from the side. "but Top at the Reception Center told me that you don't have a home of record; why is that?" He countered the grin forming on my own face.

"It's a long story, Gordon." I hesitated, but decided to fill him in. "The day after I got my draft notice, I told my Confucian mother--" He looked puzzled. They'd taught him the language but not the culture."--told my ethically conservative mother, that I'm Queer, and she kicked me out, since she saw it as an affront against her and my father, and not because she thinks it's immoral. She would probably have been okay with it, if I'd sired a son, first."

"Wow, so that's why Ju-Long's mom is okay with us, because she thinks that Cam is his." He pondered and liked the idea. He got back on topic. "Okay, no matter why, you're more than welcome to give personnel our address as your home of record. And anyway, you and Gerry will always have a place to stay, when you're on leave."

"Thanks for watching our backs." Six weeks ago, I'd have told him to mind his own fucking business. But now, Gerry was soothing Haruki's hurt, and, besides, Haruki had been absolutely wrong about this particular Drill Sergeant's not being my buddy. "You sure it's okay with Big Dragon?"

He laughed. "I wouldn't dare offer it to you, if I hadn't cleared it with him, first."

***

Moffett had decided to go investigate the Museum of Natural History, and rode in the taxi along with Gordon and Ju-Long up to 74th Street and could walk the rest of the way. That left Gerry and me standing in front of the hotel with suitcases, making us look like uniformed tourists, since the civvies had been packed.

On his way to work on Times Square, a scam-scalper spotted us. He approached, as if he'd known us since childhood. And the spiel started. I listened for and heard the usual keywords. His face revealed a hard life, more than likely a conviction record, if not for drugs, for at least vagrancy, which would preclude him from gainful employment, if not from voting. He didn't strike me as a malicious man; life had just crapped on him. He was physically clean and as respectable as he knew how and as life would let him.

When he got to the part, where he produced the theater tickets, I grabbed them and saw that they were already three months out of date. He hadn't been able to afford more up-to-date replacements. I smiled at him, as I handed them back. "Business hasn't been too good, lately, huh? Your tickets are ancient."

He blushed. "You guys ain't pigs, are ya?"

"No," I laughed quietly. "but we are fellow New Yorkers." I reached into my overcoat's pocket and came out with the ten-dollar bill, which had been part of the change I'd received for a twenty at breakfast. Needless to say, I wasn't about to pull out my wallet, but I did palm him the banknote. "Treat yourself to something, like breakfast."

"What do you guys want from me?" He looked frightened, after all there were two of us and only one of him.

"Nothing, just be happy." I grinned.

"What are ya, nuts?" He and I repeated in unison. I laughed. He looked almost angry, then laughed along with me.

"Okay, thanks." He saluted us casually and continued along 48th toward Broadway.

Then, we hadn't been waiting for any time at all before two taxis arrived only to argue boisterously about who was to get the fare. The second one finally drove off, flashing the finger at humanity in general, and the first one to have picked up on the scent tried to grab my suitcases to put in his hack.

"Hey, Doofus!" I tried, although I knew politeness would not prevail. "I'm waiting for somebody."

He ups the volume to just short of operatic intensity. "So, why the Fuck didn't you say any-fuckin'-thing, ya fuckin' good-for-nuttin Gook?"

My intensity went automatically to command bark, projecting from the diaphragm. "Because you didn't fucking ask, you spaghetti munching," I quickly wondered if I should or should not place an ethnic slur, when I glanced at his back tire and laughed. "dumber-than-shit taxi driver with a fucking flat tire." I laughed cruelly; Gerry came around to have a look, and he laughed. The cabbie jumped into the driver's seat, flashed us the finger, killed the engine, restarted, and proceeded flopity-flop down 48th.

Gordon and Ju-Long arrived, having missed all the fun of standing at the curb of any street in Midtown Manhattan. We loaded the suitcases into the back of Gordon's Wagoneer, but we didn't get in, which surprised Gerry. He must have thought that they were going to give us a lift uptown. Quite a while after Gordon and Ju-Long had driven off, he looked slightly put out. "What's going on?"

I thought he was joking, until I remembered that Gordon and I had discussed this in Cantonese. "Whoops, sorry." I must have turned red, because he chuckled. "Gordon and I decided that it would be best for us to send our civvies out to Fire Island, since I'm going to use their address as my home of record."

"And why not my parents' place?" He wasn't being sulky, but disappointed that I hadn't talked it over with him but had gone it alone. I was going to have to get used to letting him in on my decisions.

"You told me that they have a two-bedroom apartment, and that you sleep in the maid's room off the kitchen." He nodded. "Where would they put those huge suitcases?" He shrugged. There was something else eating at him. So, I made an educated guess. "Und ich liebe dich, Herr Helmstedter."

He turned and literally threw himself at me, almost knocking me off balance. We'd already reached Radio City, and several passers-by stopped to watch the fight. This was almost a repeat of the Whitehall incident, but this time I knew it was love and not aggression. "I was certain that you were saying 'good-bye'." His whispered message cut me like a knife.

We walked in silence along the side of St. Patrick's and St. Bartholomew's on 51st, until we got to Lexington to catch an uptown IRT. "It's only you, mein Schatz." I took his hands; people gawked. "Other than their being just friends, the rest of humanity does not exist. Do you understand me?" He nodded. "Do you believe me?"

He shrugged, then smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I do."

***

We got off at 96th Street and walked toward Central Park until we got to a twelve-storey building from the early twenties. Forty years ago, it would have been considered to be lavishly elegant, now it would be quite pleasant. But after all was said and done, it was one Hell of a lot more stylish than where Bernice and William lived. There was a doorman on duty, who reminded me of the elevator operator at the hotel, except that he had both arms, but was about the same age and the same exploited class.

We got off the elevator at the tenth floor and walked down the carpeted hall. Gerry rang, and the door flew open, with a tall, buxom, older woman, who resembled Moffett in a blond wig and a starched, frilly apron, holding the handle. She greeted Gerry in German, and switched to English for me. "You must be Benton." She smiled awkwardly. "Where are your valises?" Her English had just a tinge of a foreign accent to it.

"I've made other arrangements, thank you, Mrs. Helmstedter." I was going to say: 'Nice to meet you.' but I wasn't too sure.

"Come in, come in." She said. "And we have a big surprise for our Gerhard. It will make him very happy." Without having offered to take my overcoat, she led us into the dining room where the table was set for high tea, or as she'd put it, for coffee. The table was set for four, which explained why she hadn't offered to take my overcoat. I wondered if there was a back entrance, which she expected me to use.

At the side of the table with her back to the windows and facing us was seated a young woman about Gerry's age, maybe a year younger. When she stood, she tilted her head to toss her long, straight brunette hair to one side and raced to Gerry throwing her arms around his neck and raising one foot off the floor. "I'm so sorry, Gerhard, I was so wrong. Can you forgive me?"

Of course, Gerry was dumbstruck, but I noticed, he'd left his arms at his sides. Then, he cleared his throat. "No, Harriet, it won't work." He gave Mrs. Helmstedter a nasty glance. "You had your chance. You called things off; I've moved on."

"Oh?" Obviously, used to getting her own way, she was only momentarily at a loss for words. "I see. She's not a WAC, I hope?"

"Who said it's a she?" His voice was quivering slightly, but his resolute was firm.

Just in time to hear this, presumably the Teddy-Bear impersonator, Georg Helmstedter, entered from the corridor to the kitchen and Gerry's room. "What's this nonsense that I hear. Of course, he forgives you, Harriet."

"That isn't for you to decide." Gerry said sternly. Then he looked at Harriet, as if he were looking through her. "And I couldn't imagine why it would be any of your concern, whom I've moved on with."

And at that, Gerry and his two cousins, or adopted parents became involved in a rather lengthy, loud and animated argument in German. I couldn't tell, how much was anger, and how much was just the structure of the language.

Harriet moved to me. "They do this a lot." She smiled, not looking at me. "Gerhard and I have been together for years, and at some point, I suppose I shall have to learn German." She then looked at me, tilting her head. "What part of Japan are you from?"

"Manhattan." I tried for friendly, failing miserably. "And yourself, what part of Japan are you from?"

"Oh, I'm not from Japan, Silly. I'm a white girl." She giggled, still watching the ruckus. Her attention drifted my way, once again. "Say, isn't Benton rather more reminiscent of a Darky than of a Jap?"

"I suppose, sort of like Harriet is rather more reminiscent of a harlot than of a bitch." I chuckled, and, yes, she slapped me. I thought about knocking her across the table, since I do support equal rights, but I didn't think it would be worth the effort. Besides now, I had the victim's advantage. And the slap killed the heated conversation.

Looking to be close to rage, Gerry stormed off to either his room or the kitchen. We heard what sounded like a suitcase scratching across an uncarpeted floor. A closet door slammed open; wire coat hangers were clinking to the ground. And when he returned with an ancient, scuffed, pasteboard suitcase, held shut with a belt, everyone knew that he would never be back.