Child of the Dust

by Tom Wascoe

Overview

An American soldier (Richie) and a Vietnamese woman (Linh) fall in love and have a baby during the war in Vietnam. He attempts to marry Linh but fails to get permission from the Army and is then pulled out of Vietnam. Linh and her son make an incredible journey to potential safety and security in Hong Kong. Meanwhile, Richie builds his career and raises a family in the United States. They meet again in Hong Kong two decades later and achieve their ultimate destiny.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781634987004
Publisher:	Bookstand Publishing
Publication date:	06/22/2018
Pages:	428
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.87(d)

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

1970

Her eyes grabbed his heart. Her black, exotic, almond-shaped eyes appeared similar to those of most other Vietnamese women, but her eye's differed. Her smiling, animated eyes opened a small piece of her soul that exuded energy, humor, and a kind of innocence and purity. Richie, struck speechless, could not look away. She let her eyes hold his a second too long before she blinked and lowered them. When she looked back up at him, she had shielded her eyes, but, for a moment, she had lowered her defenses. Now her expression had become the normal, passive, impersonal face that most GIs saw in a Vietnamese woman's eyes. Richie wanted the exciting eyes back.

"May I help you?" she asked.

Richie stammered, "Yeah, I mean yes. I would like to look at a watch."

He did not need or want a watch. He just wanted to keep her busy with him. He wanted to engage her so he could find that look in her eyes again — but the eyes remained passive.

"Do you mean this watch?" she asked.

"Yes. Sure."

As she pulled the watch out from under the glass countertop, Richie searched his mind for something to say. He wanted her to know that he was interested in her, but not in the way most GIs would be interested. What could he say?

"Here you are, sir."

"Ah, thank you," Richie said. "Your English is very good."

The girl's back stiffened. "Oh no," Richie thought, "That's not the approach. She has probably heard that line from a hundred other guys — the typical pickup line."

"Do you like the watch?" she asked. "The price is fifty dollars."

Richie had not even looked at the watch. He searched to try to see the name on her ID badge.

"I like it very much, Linh, but I don't have fifty dollars right now."

Trying to keep the conversation going, Richie said, "Maybe I could come back after payday. Could you put it aside so I don't lose it? I can come back when I have the money. What days do you work so I can ask for you?"

"I am sorry, sir, I cannot do that," she answered.

Now Linh's eyes became cold and steely. She clearly saw through his ploy.

"Okay," Richie said, "I'm sorry. I don't want to get you into trouble."

Linh knew the GI was interested in her. He was tall, blond, and handsome with clear blue eyes, but she could not encourage him. She knew that, in the end, all any American GI wanted to do was to bed her, but yet, she saw something different in him when their eyes met. She did not see lust, but rather a kindness and tenderness.

"Should I put the watch away?" she asked.

"Yes, I guess so," he said as he glanced up into her eyes again. There was nothing there, so he said, "It's too bad because I really do like what I see."

For a second, their eyes locked again — with softness. Richie's heart grabbed again.

Linh also felt something. Maybe he was different from other GIs, but how could she really know?

"Thank you, Linh," Richie said, "I will be back. By the way, my name is Richie. Do you mind if I come back here again to look at the watch?"

Linh hesitated. She knew what he was really saying, but, for some reason, she did not mind. She told herself that she must be careful, but he did seem kind. She gave him a hesitant smile and said, "No, sir. Please come back when you want. The watch is very beautiful."

"Thank you," Richie said. "I will be back. I hope to see you again."

Richie knew he would be back. Now he had to figure out a way to show her that he could be trusted — that he was not like all the other guys. Linh knew he would return too, but she did not know if that was good or bad.

* * *

Richie had to tell someone about Linh. He set out to look for his best friend, Tony. Finding Tony meant going to one of his two hangouts — the NCO (noncommissioned officers) Club where Tony would be through his first six-pack by now, or the dog handlers' barracks where Tony would probably be on his second joint. The problem with finding Tony was that he kept on moving. Tony was short and thin with a shock of reddish brown hair that kept falling into his eyes. Tony's nervous energy kept him moving, and caused him to chain-smoke cigarettes and talk nonstop. His mouth got him into and out of trouble constantly. Not many of the guys liked him because of his sarcasm, but few really disliked Tony because of his openness. He fluttered around like a little sparrow — cute but a little annoying.

Richie opted to try the NCO Club since it was still early evening. Tony usually did his joint-smoking later in the night after he had downed a few beers. Usually he needed the beers to loosen his inhibitions to move on to the pot. Tony always said that he really was not a "head" — the term used for potsmokers — he just smoked a joint once in a while. By drinking the beers, he considered himself a "juicer," the term used for drinkers. Most juicers were not heads and vice versa. "Juicer" was more acceptable in the Army because it was legal. So Tony used his "juice" to free him up to smoke pot. That way he could always blame his smoking on being drunk. Drunk was okay with most of the low-level Army brass. Stoned was not.

Richie walked into the drab, cigarette-smoky NCO Club. The club consisted of no more than a large, dark room in a clapboard building with sandbags piled up on the outside walls. Mismatched tables and chairs were scattered randomly around the room with a makeshift bar set up against one of the walls. While a few bottles of hard liquor sat on the two plank shelves behind the bar, most of the GIs drank beer, especially the younger ones, partially because of the cost but mostly because of their ages. Back in the "World" (their term for the U.S.), most of them had not been old enough to legally drink hard liquor, but many of them had been either at clandestine high school parties or college beer bars. The older sergeants, mostly lifers (planning to retire in the Army), did most of the hard liquor consumption.

Richie maneuvered through the three-quarters-filled room. His movement caused a temporarily clear path through the crowd and hanging smoke.

He shouted, "Have any of you guys seen Tony?"

"Lost your girlfriend, Mary?" drawled Jethro B. Everyone called him Jethro B., not just Jethro, probably because it sounded more redneck, and he gloried in being a true redneck. A Mississippi state trooper in the real world, Jethro B. looked the part — short, stocky, and balding. He was a bear of a man. Strong in his body and strong in his opinions about blacks, homosexuals, Catholics, Jews, and anyone else who did not fit into his view of what the world ought to be. Jethro B. did not pull any punches or care if he offended anyone.

"Jethro B., you're an ass," Richie snapped back. "Come on, you guys, has anyone seen Tony?"

"Well boy, I may be an ass, but I'm not a Mary. Your girlfriend was here. He left about an hour ago. I think he had about two beers. That's about all a short-hitter can handle."

"Thanks, Jethro B., you've been charming as usual," Richie replied.

"Well, boy, come on over and sample some of my charms."

Richie pushed out the door with the laughter tracking behind him. Jethro B. could always get under his skin. Richie suspected that Tony must have gone to the dog handlers' barracks by now, so he started in that direction.

Richie walked into the unique world of the dog handlers. These guys walked the camp's perimeter at night with their specially trained German shepherds. Trained to sniff out the Vietnamese and to attack if commanded, these animals frightened the other GIs as much as they frightened the VC (Viet Cong). One of the biggest fears in the camp was that someday a rocket would hit the kennel and let the dogs free. The dogs could do much more damage than a company of VC.

Richie surveyed the barracks to see if Tony was there. Since the dog handlers worked all night, most slept during the day. From the time they woke, in the early afternoon, until they had to go on duty, a large number of handlers sat around the barracks smoking joints. The barracks windows were covered with blankets to keep out the daylight and the prying eyes of officers.

A large, low, circular coffee table sat in the middle of the barracks. Ten or so lawn chairs, easy chairs, or table chairs surrounded it. A hookah sat in the middle of the table surrounded by plastic bags (filled with either pot or hashish), cigarette rolling papers, ashtrays, and cigarette lighters. Against the wall was a stereo system assembled from a hodgepodge of components. Two black lights hung from the ceiling providing illumination for a number of black-light posters hanging on the wall. A waft of marijuana smoke filled the air. Janis Joplin's voice screeched from the stereo. Six or seven guys sat around the table smoking. The smoke cloud and the black-light glow made it hard to identify any individuals.

Richie tried hard to see if Tony's slight, skinny figure and curly uncombed hair was in any of the chairs, but it was useless. Finally Richie shouted, "Is Tony here?"

"Over here, man," came from a body on the other side of the table. "Richie, my man, come on over here and have a 'jay.'"

"Hey, Tony, nah, I don't want a jay right now. I just want to talk with you."

"Well, then," Tony said, "come over and sit anyway. What do you need, man?"

Richie was not so sure that talking to Tony was a good idea right now. Tony had drunk a couple of beers and who knows how many joints in him. He did not know if Tony could focus.

"Tony, I want to tell you about this girl I met. She is awesome."

"Hey, where were you, man, at Mama-san Lucy's whorehouse? Why didn't you come and get me? I would have gone with you. I love the chicks there."

"No," Richie replied, "I wasn't at Mama-san Lucy's. This girl isn't a whore; she's a nice girl."

"Nice girl?" Tony asked. "Where would you meet a nice girl? I thought all the gook chicks that hung around GIs were whores?"

"Come on, Tony," Richie said, "knock it off. I'm serious. This is a nice girl that I just met at the PX."

"What was she doing at the PX?"

"She works there. I went in to buy something and I saw her. Pretty as a doll in her ao dai [Vietnamese national dress]; she has a sweet face and unbelievable eyes."

"So did you hit on her?" Tony asked.

"I tried talking to her but she wouldn't talk much. She was sweet and polite, but she clearly put up a wall," Richie replied.

"Then forget her," Tony said. "There are plenty of chicks at Mama-san Lucy's who would be very friendly."

"That's not what I mean, Tony. I just wanted to meet her. I think I'm in love, man."

"Love? You said she wouldn't even talk to you."

"I know," Richie said, "but there's something about her. I can tell she's different."

"So what do you want from me, man?" Tony asked.

"I thought," Richie answered, "that maybe you could help me figure out how to get her to talk to me."

"Me? I have never met any nice girls here. What do I know?"

"Come on, Tony, help me figure something out."

"Not now, man," Tony answered. "I'm in no shape for thinking right now. Maybe tomorrow. Come on, Richie, have a joint with me now."

"No thanks, Tony. I've got to think."

Richie left to go back to his barracks. How would he be able to get past Linh's cold shoulder? He knew that she probably did not trust him or his motives. She had, most likely, been hit on by half of the GIs in the camp. He had never experienced this kind of love-at-first-sight kind of feeling. Richie fell asleep with her face and her eyes floating in his mind.

* * *

As Linh continued doing her job throughout the rest of the day, her thoughts kept coming back to the American she had just met. She dealt with soldiers every day at her job. She often met some of them in the streets of Pleiku, the city where she lived. She had never given any of them a second thought, so she could not understand why the picture of this particular GI kept popping into her head. There was nothing really special about him. She berated herself for thinking about him. She knew she had to forget him. He could only mean trouble for her — both at work and with her family. She had to either avoid him, or, at the least, be very cold to him if he ever returned to see her as he had promised. She had successfully fended off the advances from many GIs over the years. She knew how to do it and was sure she could also do it with this Richie. He probably would not come back anyway. GIs were notorious for saying anything to try and sleep with a young woman. She hoped he would not come back, but, deep below the logic of her thoughts, she felt a small flutter of excitement in her heart about the possibility of his return. She immediately took a deep breath to suppress the flutter.

Her day finished, Linh packed her few belongings into her large straw tote, put on her conical straw hat, and left to return to her family. She walked down the dusty, red-dirt company street lined on each side by wooden buildings with sandbags piled on the sides of their exterior walls. She headed toward the camp's main gate. Once she got through the gate, she would walk for about a mile to the entrance of the street on which her family lived. She dreaded that mile walk. The two-lane, potholed, blacktop street functioned as the main road between the village of Pleiku and the U.S. Army camp. Jeeps, armored vehicles, and army trucks rolled down that road. Hundreds of bicycles, some scooters, and a few Lambrettas — the motor-scooter-like vehicle with a small cab on the back for carrying people (it could fit six people comfortably but often carried as many as ten or fifteen Vietnamese) — dodged the larger vehicles that sped up and down the highway. Heat and baked-red dust constantly choked the air, and diesel fuel fumes stung the nostrils and filled the lungs. The heat, dirt, smell, and noise was not what bothered Linh about her walk, rather it was the gauntlet of GIs through which she would have to pass.

Along with dozens of Vietnamese workers with their IDs in their hands, Linh approached the gate, which was guarded by American MPs (military police). Most of the older mama-sans, who did the cleaning, laundry, and kitchen work for the GIs, and the papa-sans, who did the heavy manual work, received only cursory glances from the bored guards. Linh knew from past experience that would not be true in her case. It never was.

One of the guards said something to his laughing buddies and called out to Linh, "Hey, sweetheart, come over here and show me your ID badge. Something doesn't look right."

Linh sighed, steeled her emotions, and walked over to the leering guard. She kept her eyes on the ground and gave him her ID.

"My, my," the guard said, "I do think there is something wrong with your ID. It doesn't do you justice, Linh. You are much prettier than your ID picture. In fact, I think you're much too pretty to be walking home all alone with those nasty GIs out there. I think I should walk home with you to protect you. What do you say, baby? Wouldn't you like me to come home with you?"

"No thank you, sir," Linh replied, "I will be fine."

"Oh, I know you are fine. You are very fine. That's why I think you need me to help you," the guard replied.

Linh kept her eyes on the ground and said, "No, thank you, sir. May I please have my ID back so that I can leave?"

"Well, I guess so," the guard said, "but you don't know what you'll be missing, babe. At least I can escort you through the gate."

With that, the guard put his arm around her shoulders and steered her through the gate. As he released her, he let his hand slide over her buttocks. Linh tightened her lips and kept walking. She knew that if she reacted or caused trouble, that it could cost her the job and lead to even more dangerous harassment.

"Hope to see you tomorrow, honey," the guard called out. "We may have to do a little more thorough job tomorrow — perchance a pat-down search."

Humiliated, Linh kept walking with the sound of laughter from the other GIs, hanging around the gate, ringing in her ears. Linh knew that getting through the gate only started the gauntlet. She sometimes wished she were not so pretty or dressed so well in her lovely form-fitting ao dai with flowers embroidered on it. That tunic, which she wore over silk black pants, conical straw hat, large sunglasses, and the silk scarf she used to cover her face gave her an exotic look that seemed to arouse the American soldiers. The officer in charge of the PX required her to dress that way for work, but, at times, she thought how free from comments she would be if she could dress like the mama-sans who did the cleaning. Nobody ever asked to see their IDs.

She turned out of the gate and walked on the side of the road toward her village. A jeep with four GIs slowed as it passed her. One of the GIs shouted, "Hey, beautiful, nice tits for a gook."

An Army truck passed by, the back filled with GIs, every one of whom shouted something at her. A jeep with an officer in it pulled up in front of her. The officer offered her a ride home if he could stop in and visit, or she could have a ride to his billet if she wanted to make some money. This daily routine angered and saddened her, but she had to put up with it because she needed to keep her job to help her family.

(Continues…)

---

Excerpted from "Child of the Dust"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Tom Wascoe.
Excerpted by permission of Bookstand Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---