Linh smiled, sensing a shift between them, a new agreement. “It is a nice collection of rocks.”
“No, I’m serious,” Darrow said. He took a large gulp of his drink and turned toward Helen. “I need to take you there.”
“There’s just this little war thing going on,” Helen said.
“Don’t worry. You’re in luck. There’ll be plenty of war when we get back.” Darrow heard the cynicism in his voice, but it felt old and outdated; he had moved beyond it.
Linh finished his own drink and lifted three fingers to the waiter for another round.
“Someday,” she said.
Exchanged looks.
“ Phnom Penh is like the dream image- Vietnam before the war.” Darrow nudged Linh. “Do you remember the quiet?”
“Everyone thought we were crazy. Working all day in the hot sun.”
Darrow laughed. “But it was good, wasn’t it?” He said it eagerly, needing it to be true.
Linh wondered what was going wrong inside him. Had the outburst with the wagon really been justified? “Yes, it was good.”
The waiter set down three more drinks. “How about ordering some food on the side?” Helen said. “Not someday-now. You need to see it. Let’s leave tomorrow morning.” Frustrated that neither of them was paying attention, treating him like a cranky child, Darrow sulked.
She caught the waiter’s eye. “Leave for where?”
“You aren’t listening,” Darrow said. “Mouhot forgot his homeland, his family, blissful in his exploration. He couldn’t tear himself away.”
“What a selfish man,” she said.
“No, you’ve got it all wrong. He was like one of Homer’s lotus eaters. He simply forgot all thoughts of return.”
“But you don’t need to go to Angkor. You already have the war.”
The waiter stood ready for their order when Tanner walked in.
“Pass on the food. Bring the check,” Darrow said.
“Anyway, we can’t leave. Linh and I are scheduled out with Olsen’s unit day after tomorrow.”
Darrow drank down half his glass in one gulp. “I need to go back to Angkor. I’ve been here… too long.”
“What you need is to eat. You’re drunk.” He was childish and petulant, and she was bewildered by the change that had come over him. She saw this as a version of her own fear, and she tried to help him with her own mantra, Fear is not an option.
“We need to get back what we had in the village,” Darrow said.
“But the village was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Tanner scanned the tables and saw the three of them, changed direction, and walked the long way to a table in the back.
“You know what your problem is?” Darrow said, hunching his back against Tanner’s presence, running his finger down the center of the table as if tracing a line of thought. “You should have been an accountant. You can take pictures, but you take them like an accountant.”
Linh stood. “I am busy tomorrow. See you early on Friday?”
Helen ignored his effort to escape. “You know what you have, Sam? The great white correspondent’s ego. When did it all get to be about you? What you did today was all about you and Tanner, not those people. Poor you.”
Across the room, Tanner’s loud bark of a laugh rang out as people joined his table. Darrow flinched as if from a sharp slap and kept glancing over his shoulder. “He makes me feel like a ghoul. Feeding off people’s suffering. I’m tired… sick to death…”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave. This is my chance now,” Helen said, and in spite of her pity for him, she felt strong.
“You’re lucky. I was like you once. I didn’t care for a long time.”
Helen threw bills down on the table, wanting to leave before he caused more of a scene. “Help me out, Linh.”
Darrow dropped his hands into his lap. “I made a fool of myself. I know that.”
Linh laid a hand on his shoulder, then turned to leave, wanting no part in Helen’s hardness.
One of the street children, a young girl who regularly sneaked in, ran through the restaurant waving a twenty-dollar bill. “Thief!” A waiter grabbed her, lifting her feet from the floor, and she shrieked.
“He give, he give,” she cried, pointing. In the back of the room, Tanner stood and motioned the waiter over.
“Yes, I did. Just a little present, okay? It’s hers,” he said to the dining room at large, then turned and shrugged to his companions. “Maybe I should hire a cyclo to take her home? Or better yet, drive it myself.”
They had to drag Darrow out, as he muttered expletives behind him. On the street, Helen waved down a taxi. They arrived at the mouth of the alley, the meeting place of silk and lacquered bowl streets. The depression in the road was dry, and they walked through it and on to the crooked building, Darrow’s arm around Helen’s shoulder, half protecting, half supported.
They lay under the mint green bedspread, the light of the lampshade warming the shimmering expanse of silk and the barren room beyond it.
“One mission is blending into another. It’s time for me to leave. I have nightmares.”
Helen laid her head on his chest. “Watching Tanner made me sick, too. Forget him.” She wanted to say something that would help, but he was so far away from her now.
Darrow moved up on his elbow and put his hand across her throat. “What’s there to do other than war? It’s become my life.”
Helen held his hand against her mouth, kissing each fingertip. “I’m your life.”
“I don’t know how to repair.” He had never spoken like this before, and she wondered what she would do if he said the words she had so long waited for.
“My family’s name was Koropec… Hungarian. I was fifteen when I decided I was going to be a famous American war photographer. And famous American war photographers didn’t have names like that. I made myself into Sam Darrow. Who am I if not that name? Now I have to live up to it.”
“Says who?”
He lay back in the pillows. “If only I had met you twenty years ago.”
“We met now. That’s worth something. I’m the accountant, remember?”
Dawn lit the sky outside the bedroom window. The leaves of the flamboyant fluttered, somnolent in the last of the night breeze. Helen woke to a noise and saw Darrow sitting at the window, smoking, an ashtray full of cigarettes at his feet.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“I left a will at Gary ’s office a few weeks ago.”
Now Helen woke up fully, scared. “Morbid conversation first thing in the morning.”
“It’s not… The reason I’m telling you is that it caused a rumor that I had some kind of death wish. It’s just that if something did happen, I don’t want to be buried. A phobia.”
“It’s bad luck to talk-”
“My scaredy-cat. It’s the reality. I’m wagering to live to be an old man.”
She rolled off the bed and pulled clothes off the chair to slip on. Since the previous night she had been formulating a kind of equation: the idea that leaving to save Darrow would allow her to leave Vietnam without guilt. A chance. “Don’t you wonder if it’s worth it?”
