Shock of War

The door opened into the kitchen. A pair of candles sat on the stove. A table was pushed against the opposite wall, with two places set. The appliances were all new. Zeus recognized an LG logo on the refrigerator.

“Sit, sit,” Anna told Zeus.

Zeus watched her bend down in front of the oven and gingerly touch a covered casserole dish inside, testing with her fingers to see if the handles were still hot.

They were. She straightened, retrieved a pair of pot holders from the nearby counter.

Zeus admired the curve of her body as she squatted back down in front of the stove. She removed the pot with the grace of a dancer, pulling it out and setting it in on the table, deftly maneuvering the pot holders so that they formed a place mat for the dish. She went to the refrigerator and took out a small plate of sliced garnishes: bean sprouts, radishes, and bits of lime.

“This is pho,” she told him, lifting the cover of the dish. “Noodle soup.”

She’d forgotten that the top was hot. It dropped from her hand. Zeus jumped up, grabbing not the pot but her.

“Are you okay?” he said, holding her protectively.

“I’m — ” She turned toward him.

Time melted away. Their eyes met, and they were kissing.

If there was anything beyond that kiss — a room, a war — Zeus didn’t know it. If there was pain or fatigue or fear — if there was courage or foolish bravery, thought or planned — it evaporated in the warm press of her lips.

Their lips. It was an infinite moment, a sensation of grace or bliss, of nothingness beyond the moment.

He held her for a long time, his arms pressed against her as gently as he had ever held anyone, or anything.

“I — ” He tried to speak, but couldn’t.

“We should eat,” she said finally, easing away.

* * *

How that moment occurred, or why it occurred, was inexplicable to Zeus. It was not lust, or at least not solely lust. If he were to analyze it, the only words he could have used would have come from the language of religion. It was a feeling he had never had before, through countless encounters and relationships, with past loves and flings. If it was not perfection, then he had no possibility of ever understanding the term.

* * *

They ate mostly in silence. Zeus used chopsticks, fumbling a bit though he was used to them. The pho was excellent, spicy and exotic. Anna had only water for them to drink, but it was just as well; alcohol would have gone to his head. He luxuriated in every sensation.

“So you studied in Australia,” he said when he’d finished eating.

“I went to school there. Yes. And my residency. First year.”

“It must have been difficult, leaving your home.”

She smiled faintly. “I went to study. It was good to have few distractions.”

Anna reached her right hand to the side of her face, where a few hairs had fallen. She swept them back into place. Zeus had never seen such a graceful gesture.

“I always knew I wanted to be a doctor,” she said. “To help other people.”

“And you are.”

“Yes. Though I was trained to work with children.”

“You don’t do that now? Because of the war?”

It had nothing to do with the war. Anna explained that the state, which had paid for her education, had initially assigned her to work with older people. Grandmothers, she said.

Two months before, she had been called to Hanoi to help open a clinic for older people. She dealt largely with women, since the men tended to be shy of a lady doctor. The first night of the war, the clinic had been destroyed, apparently by an errant bomb.

“No injuries. We were lucky. But there has been much work since then.”

“So you were assigned to the hospital where I was.”

“Yes. It is more a special clinic than a hospital. As you can imagine, we are stretched thin.”

Anna’s voice trailed off. She got up and began clearing the table.

“And you… Why did you come to Vietnam?” she asked, taking her plate to the sink.

Zeus rose to help. “I was assigned. It’s not really much of a story. I, uh…” He stumbled, not sure exactly how much he should say. “I’m like an adviser. I know a little bit about Chinese tactics.”

“They are very evil.”

“They’re not nice,” said Zeus. He didn’t see them as particularly evil; they were simply trying to win the war.

“They don’t care who they kill.”

Part of Zeus wanted to tell the truth: killing was what war was, ugly and ruthless. The Chinese were not purposely targeting civilians, but no matter their intentions, innocent people would die.

The greater part of him didn’t want to talk about it at all.

“What part of Vietnam does your family come from?” he asked.

“Yen Bai Province. Many of my relatives are still there. We lived in Hanoi when I was small. My father is with the government.”

Yen Bai was in the west, part of the area the Chinese had already overrun. It wouldn’t be pleasant for anyone there.

“Now my father is in the south,” Anna continued. “Ho Chi Minh City. Saigon to Americans. To everyone. It is an ancient name.”

She began running the water to clean the dishes. Then suddenly she stopped.

“We should conserve water,” she said, turning off the tap. “I forgot.”

Zeus reached to touch her.

She started to object.

“I don’t think — ”

“It’s okay,” said Zeus.

He put his hand on her arm, gently running it down past her elbow to her forearm, to her finger. She closed her eyes.

His satellite phone began to buzz. Zeus ignored it for another moment, his fingers lingering on hers.

“Your phone,” she said.

“Yes,” he said finally, pulling his hand away reluctantly.

* * *

“Where are you?” demanded Christian as soon as the line connected.

“Why?” said Zeus.

“Trung needs us right away. The Chinese have launched their attack.”

“I don’t know — ”

“Jesus, Zeus.”

Zeus glanced at Anna. Her eyes were wide, searching him.

“Zeus! I have a driver. We’ll pick you up.”

“Do you know the hospital where they took me?” Zeus said finally. “Meet me there in an hour.”

“An hour! No — right now.”

“Ten minutes, then,” said Zeus. “I need ten minutes to get there.”

17

The Gulf of Tonkin