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 82 (Tues., July 11, Wed., July 12)

By the time we woke, it was almost dark outside. The knock on the bedroom was again restrained. When the door opened, the smell that drifted in was beyond delicious. Linh gave us the dinner call in his peculiar English. "Gentil-men, deenir is servi."

Gerry didn't need a second invitation, as he jumped out of bed, stomach growling, and leapt into the bathroom. It took longer for me to come to my senses, so my motions were slower. I noticed Linh giving my cock and balls the once over. However, he did discreetly close the door and let us get dressed in peace.

When I emerged, I noticed that the table was set for two. Gerry was on my heels and gave the table setting a disapproving frown. He darted into the kitchen and gathered up Linh's place setting from the side table and took it without a word into the dining room. "Monsieur Linh, no deenir weesout vous." Both Linh and I had to laugh at Gerry's mimicking him. But he accepted graciously.

The first course was fennel and watercress soup with lightly roasted croutons and warm baguette. Linh excused himself that dinner had been hurried. I glanced at the clock, and it was the very civilized time of 2100 hours.

Linh rushed out the soup bowls and came back with the roast beef under a bourbon mushroom sauce with just a hint of garlic. Instead of potatoes, he'd roasted generous cubes of celery root with chopped coriander leaves in drawn butter. And again in drawn butter, he served us princess beans. This delight of a dinner came with a lightly chilled rosé.

Finally, he served us Vietnamese coffee with condensed milk in the bottom of the glass and strong black coffee on the top. To accompany the sweet coffee, we had fresh chunks of pineapple on toothpicks and French cognac.

Then came the real surprise. Linh had a pack, in a genuine flip-top box, of Park Lane cigarettes, resting in the amber-glass ashtray, which some previous tenant must have snatched from some Army office. He passed the cigarettes around with a candle for lighting.

"Holy Shit!" was Gerry's fitting first comment.

"Very well, Linh, what are these?" I wanted to get to the facts.

He smiled, winking. "Buddha grass dipped in opium."

"With a filter? And where do you buy it?" My paranoia was again sneaking to the surface.

He giggled softly and shrugged. "Anywhere."

"Do you mean to tell me--" He interrupted me with a finger over his lips, and motioned for me to accompany him.

He took Gerry and me to the window, overlooking Nguyen Hue Boulevard and pointed to the advertisement on top of the TAX building directly across the road, on the third floor of which the Office of the Staff Judge Advocate, Headquarters, US Army Support Command, Saigon was located. And sure enough, there it was, a huge, well lighted billboard on the roof, advertising Park Lane cigarettes.

***

We were on our second cognac and cigarette, this time a disappointing American brand, the only side effect of which was lung cancer. I asked Linh where he'd come up with the bourbon and cognac, afraid that he'd spent his own money on the booze. He got up and went to the would-be china hutch in the dining room and opened the large mirror-glass doors. There was not one piece of china in sight.

"Good," I lit another cigarette, and took another sip of cognac. "did you spend any of your own money on the food for tonight?"

"Naturally," His grin was a little sheepish, and I expected him to call me 'dinky dow' again, but he didn't. "there were no supplies."

"May I reimburse you?" This was a tricky topic.

"Surely." His smile was cordial, and we were getting a little drunk. "Everything came to three dollars." I translated the Chinese for Gerry.

"Okay," Gerry pulled out his wallet and took out forty dollars. "you paid for his first month, so I'll match you for the food fund." Linh didn't understand, since he was talking to me. He gave Linh the MPCs. "For chow porte monnaie."

Linh understood perfectly, jumped up and took it to the kitchen. I looked puzzled. "Where did you pick up 'porte monnaie'?"

Gerry feigned surprise. "Why? It's a perfectly good German word." And I let it slide.

***

Around 0200 hours the next morning, according to the Wesclox, we woke from what sounded like a commotion and crying in the kitchen. Thinking that it could be burglars, who'd come through the back door from the gallery walkway, and who could be threatening Linh, I moved cautiously toward the kitchen with Gerry in the shadows behind me.

When I couldn't see anyone in the kitchen, I looked into Linh's room. He was hunched into a ball in the corner, next to his bed, crying and talking but apparently still asleep. He was obviously having some sort of nightmare.

Gerry, who seemed to be able to identify with what was going on, knelt next to Linh and whispered sounds into his ear. It wasn't anything specific, just sounds like the wind would have made. Then he softly stroked Linh's cheek with the back of his index finger. Linh stopped crying and slowly opened his unfocused eyes.

Gerry moved into position and picked up Linh, which made him look as if he were carrying a child. He brought him into our bedroom and placed him gently in the middle of the mattress. We carefully removed his sweaty pajama, and this was when I realized that Linh was still asleep.

We got in bed on either side of him and drifted off to the rhythm of the rain.

***

"Look, Linh," I tried to soothe his remorseful mood. "you weren't imposing."

"As you said." He was still looking at the table top rather than at me. "So, I just get into your bed, and it's not an imposition."

"You didn't." For the first time, he looked directly at me. "You were having a nightmare, and Gerry picked you up and carried you to our bed." Gerry heard his name and gave me an inquisitive look, so I translated what Linh and I had been talking about.

"I have nightmares, at times." Linh explained quietly. "Sometimes, I am afraid to be alone." He finished his coffee and started collecting the dishes. "But other times, I have ghosts of the past for company."

***

Gerry and I reported to the office across the street. The First Sergeant, a congenial Filipino, was in the front office, typing the morning report with two fingers. He looked up, and looked at our rank insignias and smiled as if to say that this job of counting peanuts every morning would soon be ours.

"Good morning, Top." I started out and handed him my pad of orders, as did Gerry.

When the First Sergeant saw our reporting date, he laughed out loud. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought we'd drop by and give you our leave address." Gerry clarified in a business manner and wrote our address on the back of a copy of his orders in his clear scroll. He turned to me. "Do you remember our telephone number?"

"It's Saigon 20-606."

"Do you have a room number?" First Sergeant wanted to know, ready to write down the information.

"No, Top." Gerry started to explain, when we noticed a colonel come in. "At-ten--"

"Don't you fuckin' dare." The colonel laughed. "We don't do that Army stuff, here. Only if an outsider happens in." And he offered us his hand. "Good morning, I'm Colonel Sanders, and again, don't you fuckin' dare."

We laughed and I introduced myself. "Specialist Loughery, Sir."

"And I'm Specialist Helmstedter." Gerry was still chuckling. "Good to meet you, Sir."

"We weren't expecting you for another month." The colonel said looking at our orders on Top's desk. Then, addressing First Sergeant. "You'll need the name of their hotel."

"I was about to tell Top that it isn't a hotel." Gerry's voice became less forceful. "It's our apartment." Both the colonel and Top looked surprised.

This, I determined called for pageantry, once again. "We were told by Personnel at Ben Harrison that we'd need off post housing and would be on separate rations. So, we got the apartment through a recommendation by a friend of General Paulson, whom we accompanied on his MAC hop from D.C. And the landlady has already been approved."

Since the colonel gave First Sergeant an annoyed look, I had to reconsider and downgrade the pageantry somewhat. "Gerry and I were supposed to interpret for a Belgian and a German officer, who were supposed to interview Mr. McNamara, which didn't happen. Anyway, that's why we had to postpone our leave. So, we're early and checked into the apartment. yesterday."

"Okay," Colonel Sanders sighed. "where is your apartment?"

Gerry pointed at the window. "Across the street."

Again the colonel sighed. "That's the Rex, where I live, and there are only officers."

"No, Sir, the other direction." I toned down my assertiveness. "We live on the other side of Nguyen Hue, not Lê Loi." I went to the window. "It's on the third floor, above the car dealership."

"Okay, we know where to find you." The colonel went toward his office. "But if I were you, I'd keep my curtains closed. Sergeant Magsaysay, here, has a rifle scope in his desk drawer."

***

Back home, Gerry and I changed into white dress shirts and black cotton pants. This was the predominant look for men out ages in town. At some point, we would have to get some shoes that didn't scream 'soldier'. Gerry was unpacking into the wardrobe in the guest room, which was his room, should someone ask. But since it was the one room that got only afternoon sun, we thought it a wise move to keep the roll-shutter down and propped open at the base.

Besides, we didn't know if the colonel had been joking about Sergeant Magsaysay's scope. But luckily, we were a little lower than the JAG office.

Since Linh was helping me, and Gerry was in the other room, I thought the time was right to ask about what had happened. "Did it bother you to sleep in the same bed with Gerry and me?"

"Not at all." His posture seemed to stiffen at the topic. "It's just…"

I smiled at him, while folding my socks. "Just what, Linh?"

"I love being held and I like for you to cuddle me." His voice went soft. "But I'm not like you."

"You're not Queer?" I suggested, and he nodded a little self-conscious.

"But I like, uh," He steadied himself on the door frame of the wardrobe. "like to dress up." He sighed.

I thought about it. The little guy could actually pass for a very pretty woman. "Do you mean that you like to wear make-up and a wig?"

He nodded emphatically. And, when I didn't react disfavorably, he smiled, somewhat shyly, but slowly stopped folding things to be stacked in the wardrobe and went to see if he could help Gerry.