Gomg After Cacciato T t M O ' B R I E N

I t

1978

G O I N G A F T E R C A C C I A T O # I t was a bad t i m e . Bi\h Boy Watkins was dead, and so was FrencJiW!^,; Tucker. B i l ly Boy had died of fright, scared to death on the field battle, and Frenchie Tucker had been shot through the nose. B e n j j i ^ ^ L y n n and Lieutenant Sidney M a r t i n had died i n tunnels. Pcdc was dead and Rudy Chassler was dead. Buff was dead. Ready M i x w. dead. They were a l l among the dead. T h e rain fed fungus that grew the men's boots and socks, and their socks rotted, and dicir feet tun white and soft so that the skin could be scraped off w i t l i a f ini jeni and Stink Harris woke up screaming one night w i t l i a leech on tongue. W h e n i t was not raining, a low mist moved across the padi' blending the elements into a single gray element, and the cold and pasty and rotten. Lieutenant Corson, who came to rejt Lieutenant Sidney M a r t i n , contracted the dysentery, 'i 'he ti i j i f were useless. T h e a m m u n i t i o n corroded and die foxholes f i lk 'd w-m u d and water d u r i n g the nights, and in the mornings t h t u always the next village and the war was always the same. The t soons were part o f the war. I n early September Vaught caUsjMI infection. He 'd been showing Oscar Johnson the sharp edge ni\ bayonet, drawing i t swiftly along his foi%arm to peel off a ];\\et mushy skin. " L i k e a Gi l let te Blue Blade," Vaught had said pi'H There was no b l ood , bat i n two days the bacteria soaked i n anil arm turned yel low, so they bundled h i m ' up and called i n a i l

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T I M O ' B R I E N • Gomg After Cacciato 235

ind Vaught left the war. He never came back. Later they had a letter (lom h i m that described Japan as smoky and A i l l of slopes, but i n the fiiclosed snapshot Vaught looked liappy enough, posing w i t h two ^lJ,'ht]y nurses, a wine bottle rising from between his thighs. I t was a Jiock to learn he'd lost the arm. Soon afterward Ben Nystrom shot himself through the foot, but he d i d not die, and he wrote no letters. Ihese were al l tilings to joke about. The ra in , too. A n d the cold . I )scar Johnson said i t made h i m th ink o f Detroi t i n the m o n t h of M;iy. " L o o t i n ' weather," he liked to say. " T h e dark an ' g loom, just ru;ht for rape an ' l o o t i n ' . " T h e n someone w o u l d say that Oscar had a

MrW imagination for a darkie. i hat was one of the jokes. There was a joke about Oscar. There

m i c man}' jokes about Bi l ly Boy Watkins, the way he'd collapsed of f i i i ' j i t on the f ie ld of battle. Another joke was about the lieutenant's

. tl\'.cntery, and another was about Paul Berlin's purple biles. There ' l u i c jokes about the postcard pictures of Christ that J im Pederson

u-.iil lo carry, and Stink's r ingworm, and the way Buff's helmet filled , •» iHi life after death. Some of the jokes were about Cacciato. D u m b as

I l i i i l lct , Stink said. D u m b as a month-old oyster fart, said Haro ld ^Iniphy.

In October, near the end of the month, Cacciato left the war. lh' 's gone away," said Doc Peret. "Split , departed."

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T I M O ' B R I E N • Gomg After Cacciato 237

T H E O B S E R V A T I O N P O S T Cacciato's round face became the m o o n . The valleys and ridges and " fast-flowing plains dissolved, and now the moon was just the mo<>ii.

Paul Berl in sat up. A fine idea. He stretched, stood up, leaned against the wal l o f sandbags, touched his weapon, then gazed out at. the strip of beach that wound along the curving Batangan. ThinfjJ.-were dark. B e h i n d h i m , the South China Sea sobbed in against tl»* tower's thick piles; before h i m , in land, was the face of Quang Nj

Yes, he thought , a fine idea. Cacciato leading them west thrones peaceful country, deep country perfimied by lilacs and burning hemp, a boy coaxing t h e m step by step through r ich and fertile co iui ' . try toward Paris.

I t was a splendid idea.

Paul Ber l in , whose only goal was to live long enough to establislt goals worth l i v i n g for st i l l longer, stood high in the tower by the seil|; the night soft al l around h i m , and wondered, not for the first t in about the immense powers of his own imagination. A truly awesoiiMi notion. Not a dream, an idea. A n idea to develop, to tinker w i t h a b u i l d and sustain, to draw out as an artist draws out his visions.

I t was not a dream. Nothing mystical or crazy, just an idea. Just possibility. Feet t u r n i n g hard like stone, legs stiffening, six and se' and eight thousand miles through unfo ld ing country toward Parij . truly splendid idea.

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He checked his watch. I t was not quite midnight . For a t ime he stood quietiy at the tower's north wal l , looking out to

where the beach jagged sharply into the sea to form a natural barrier against storms. The night was quiet. O n the sand below, coils of barbed wire circled the observation tower in a perimeter that sepa­rated i t f r o m the rest of the war. The tripflares were out. ' I l i ings were in their place. Beside h i m , Harold Murphy's machine gun was ful ly loaded and ready, and a dozen signal flares were l ined up o n the wal l , and the radio was working, and the beach was mined, and the tower itself was h igh and strong and fortified. T h e sea guarded his rear. Th e moon gave l ight . It would be al l right, he told himself. He was safe.

He l i t a cigarette and moved to the west wall . Doc and Eddie and Oscar and the others slept peacefully. A n d the

night was peaceful. T i m e to think. T im e to consider the possibiliUes.

Had i t ended there on Cacciato's grassy h i l l , flares coloring the morning sky? Had i t ended i n tragedy? H a d it ended wi th a jerking, shaking feeling—noise and confusion? O r had it ended fardier along the trail west? Had it ever ended? Wliat , i n fact, had become of Cacciato? M o r e precisely—as Doc Peret w o u l d insist i t be p h r a s e d -more precisely, what part was fact and what part was the extension of fact? A n d how were facts separated from possibilities? What had really happened and what merely might have happened? H o w did it end?

The tr ick, of course, was to think through it carcfidly. That was Doc's advice—look for motives, search out the place where fact ended and imaginat ion took over. Ask the important questions. W h y had Cacciato left the war? Was i t courage or ignorance, or both? Was it even possible to combine courage and ignorance? H o w m u c h of what happened, or might have happened, was Cacciato's doing and how inuch was the product of the biles?

That was Doc's theory. "You got an excess of fear biles," Doc had said one afternoon be­

neath the tower. "We've all got these biles—Stink, Oscar, everj'-body—but you've got yourself a whole bellyful of the stuff. You're oversaturated. A n d my theory is this; Somehow these biles are warping vour sense o f reality. Follow me? Soiuehow they're screwing up your

I'M' lis

238 The Vietnam Reader

basic perspective, and the upshot is you sometimes get a httle mixed'g up. That's a l l . "

Doc had gone o n to explain that the biles are a k ind of glanduW;^' substance released d u r i n g emotional stress. A perfectly normal thing. Like adrenaline. D o c had said. O n l y instead o f producing quick crv'.^.' ergy, the biles act as a soothing influence, quiet ing the brain, numb* -ing, counteracting the fear. Doc had listed the physical symptom* numbness of the extremities i n times of extremity; a cloudiness oj vision; paralysis of the mental processes that separate what is truly happening f r o m what only might have happened; floatingness; rc- -moval; a releasing feel ing i n the belly; a sense o f dri f t ing; a l ightne** . ' o f head.

" N o r m a l l y , " D o c had said, "those are healthy things. But in y o i » ' ; case, these biles are . . . we l l , they're overabundant. They're leaking'ir out, infecting the bra in . This Cacciato business—it's the work of t h f i - ^ biles. They're flooding your whole system, going to the liead an<I«^ fucking up reality, h y i n g in all the goofy, weird stuff."

So Doc's advice had been to concentrate. W h e n he felt the symp.J toms, the soluHon was to concentrate. Concentrate, Doc had said^^ u n t i l you see it's just the biles fogging things over, just a trick of 1 glands. -.J,

Now, facing the n ight f rom high i n his tower by the sea, Paul. '" Berl in concentrated. 3,

The night d id not move. O n the beach below, the barbed wirp sparkled i n moonl ight , and the sea made its gentle sounds behinil h i m . The men slept peacefully. N o w and then one of them w o u l d stir, turn ing i n the dark, b u t they slept wi thout stop. Oscar slept i n mesh hammock. Eddie and Doc and Harold M u r p h y slept on tower floor. Stink Harris and the lieutenant slept side by side, th t backs touching. T h e y could sleep and sleep.

Paul Berlin kept the guard. For a long t ime he looked blankly ini tlie night, inland, concentrating hard on the physical things.

'1 rue, he was afraid. Doc was right about that. Even now, w i t h night calm and u n m o v i n g , the fear was there l ike a k ind o f b a d groimd sound that was heard only i f listened for. True . But even I )()c was wrong when he called i t dreaming. Biles or no biles, i t w a s n ' t - ^ .

T I M O ' B R I E N • Going After Cacciato 239

d r e a m i n g - i t wasn't even pretending, not in the strict sense. I t was an idea. I t was a working out of the possibilities. I t wasn't dreaming and i t wasn't pretending. It wasn't crazy. Blisters on their feet, streams to be forded and swamps to be circled, dead ends to be opened into pas­sages west. N o , i t wasn't dreaming. I t was a way of asking questions. What became of Cacciato? Where did he go, and why? W h a t were his motives, or d i d he have motives, and did motives matter? W h a t tricks had he used to keep going? H o w had he eluded them? H o w d i d he slip away into tiie deep jungle, and how, through the jungle, had they continued the chase? Wl ia t happened, and what might have happened?

T H E O B S E R V A T I O N P O S T The issue, of course, was courage. H o w to behave. Whether to flee fight or seek an accommodation. T h e issue was not fearlessness.' issue was how to act wisely i n spite of fear. Spit ing the deep-runni biles; that was true courage. He believed this. A n d he believed obvious corollary: the greater a man's fear, the greater his poten courage.

Below, the tower's m o o n shadow stretched far to the south. Nearly two fifteen now, but he was not tired. Lightheaded, he fa

in land and listened. H e could recite the separate sounds—a r o l l i breeze off the sea, the incoming tide, the h u m of the radio. T others slept. Stink Harris slept defensively, knees tucked up and ai curled about his head like a beaten boxer. Oscar slept gracefl .spread out, and Eddie Lazzutti slept fitfully, turning and someti umttering. T h e i r sleeping was part of the night.

He bent d o w n and d i d F T by the numbers, count ing softly, lo ing u p around his arms and neck and legs, then he walked tw* around the tower's small platform. He was not t ired, and not afra* and the night was not moving.

Leaning against the w a l l of sandbags, he l i t another of Doc's c' rcltes. After the war he would stop smoking. Q u i t , just l ike that.

He inhaled deeply and held it and enjoyed the puffy tremor it " I i i n his head.

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T I M O ' B R I E N • Going After Cacciato 241

Yes, the issue was courage. I t always had been, even as a k i d . Things scared h i m . He couldn't help i t . Noise scared h i m , dark scared h i m . Tunnels scared h i m : the t ime he almost won the Silver Star for valor. But the real issue was courage. I t had nothing to do w i t h the Silver Star . . . O h , he would've l iked w i n n i n g i t , true, but that wasn't the issue. He would've l iked showing the medal to his father, the heavy feel of it , looking his father i n the eye to show he had been brave, but even that wasn't the real issue. The real issue was the power of w i l l to defeat fear. A matter o f figuring a way to do i t . Somehow working his way into that secret chamber of the human heart, where, in tangles, lay the circuitry for all that was possible, the f u l l range of wliat a man might be. He believed, l ike Doc Peret, that somewhere inside each man is a biological center for the exercise o f courage, a piece of tissue that might be touched and sparked and made to re­spond, a chemical maybe, or a lone chromosome that when made to lire w o u l d produce chain reactions o f valor that even the biles could not d r o w n . A filament, a fuse, that i f ignited w o u l d release the f u l l energy o f what might be. There wa.s a Silver Star t w i n k l i n g some­where inside h i m .

U P O N A L M O S T W I N N I N G T H E S I L V E R S T A R

They heard the shot that got Frenchie Tucker , just as Bernie L n i i i . t f ^ ^ .

minute later, heard the shot that got himself.

"Somebody's got to go d o w n , " said First Lieutenant Sidney M a i t i i v ! ^ '

nearly as new to the war as Paul Berlin.

But that was later, too. First they waited. TTiey waited on fli»>'f;s"

chance that Frenchie m i g h t come out. Stink and Oscar and Pedcr^mi.?;*"

and Vaught and Cacciato waited at the mouth o f the tunnel .

others moved off to f o r m a perimeter.

"This here's what happens," Oscar muttered. " W h e n you 'Oau.Jji^

the fuckers 'stead o f just blowing them and moving on, this here'"! liffi

f inal result."

"It's a war , " said Sidney M a r t i n .

"Is i t really?"

" I t is. Shut up and l is ten."

" A war!" Oscar Johnson said. "The man says we're i n a war Vi

believe that?"

"That's what I te l l m y folks i n letters," Eddie said.

" A war!"

They'd al l heard the shot. They'd watched Frenchie go d o w n , a

hairy guy who was scheduled to take the next chopper to the fear

T I M O ' B R I E N • Going After Cacciato 243

liavc his blood pressure checked, a b i g guy who liked talking polit ics; .1 >;reat big guy, so he'd been forced to go slowly, wiggling i n b i t by bit .

" N o t m e , " he'd said. " N o way you get me down there. N o t I ' icnchie Tucker . "

" Y o u , " said Sidney Mart in , "Bul lshi t , " Frenchie said. " I ' l l get stuck." "Stuck like a p i g , " said Shnk Harris, and some of the m e n m u r -

imired. Oscar looked at Sidney M a r t i n . " Y o u want i t done," he said, " t h e n

do it yourself. T h i n k how good you ' l l feel afterward. Self-improve­ment an' all that. A swell f i i ckin feel ing."

Ihi t the yoimg lieutenant shook his head. H e gazed at Frenchie I ucker and to ld h i m i t was a matter o f going d o w n or getting himsel f

(ourt-martialed. One or the other. So Frenchie swore and took off his ji.K'k and boots and socks and helmet, stacked them neatly on a b o u l -ilcr, cussing, taking t ime, complaining how this would screw u p his blood pressure.

Ihey watched h i m go down. A big cussing guy who had to wiggle Ins way i n . T h e n they heard the shot.

They waited a long while. Sidney Mart in found a flashlight and ii-tned down into the hole and looked.

And then he said, "Somebody's got to go d o w n . " l l i e men filed away. Bernie L y n n , who stood near the l i p of the

l i iunel , looked aside and m u m b l e d to himself "Somebody," the new lieutenant said. "Right now." Stink Harris shrugged. "Maybe Frenchie's okay. Give h i m t i m e ,

vou never can t e l l . " Pederson and Vaught agreed. The feeling of hope caught o n , and

liicy to ld one another i t would be al l right, Frenchie could take care III h imself Stink said it didn't sound like an A K , anyway. " N o crack," 111' .said, " l l i a t wasn't an A K . "

"Somebody," the lieutenant said. "Somebody's got t o . " No one moved. " N o w . Right now." Stink turned and walked quickly to the perimeter and took off his

liclmet, threw i t down hard and sat on i t . He l i t a cigarette. Eddie and

244 The Vietnam Reader

Vaught joined h i m . They all l i t cigarettes. Doc Peret opened medic's pouch and began examining the contents, as i f doing inv tory, and Pederson and Buff and Rudy Chassler slipped off into Jli** hedges. "-^^

" L o o k , " Sidney M a r t i n said. He was tal l . Acne scars covered h chin , "1 d idn ' t invent this sorry business. But we got a man down ihetp/.^''

and somebody's got to fetch h i m . N o w . " Stink made a l o n g hooting noise. "Send down the g r e m l i n . " " W l i o ? " " T h e greml in . Send Cacciato d o w n . " Oscar looked at Cacciato, w h o smiled broadly and began removii

his pack. " N o t h i m , " Oscar said. "Somebody. M a k e u p your m i n d . " Paul Ber l in stood alone. He felt the walls t ight against h i m . He

careful not to look at anyone. Bernie L y n n swore violendy. He dropped his gear where he stot

just let i t fal l , and he entered the tunnel headfirst. "Fuck i t , " he hi^^i saying, " fuck i t . " Bernie had once poured insecticide into Frenchit-'*,^; -j^ canteen. "Fuck i t , " he kept saying, going down.

His feet were still showing when he was shot. The feet thrashed ] a swimmer's feet. D o c and Oscar grabbed hold and yanked h i m The feet were st i l l clean, it happened that fast. He swore and wt down headfirst and then was shot a half inch below the throat; pulled h i m out by the feet. N o t even t ime to sweat. T h e dir t fell dr off his arms. His eyes were open. " H o l y Moses," he said.

T H E T H I N G S T H E Y D I D N ' T K N O W "Lui lai, Lui lail" Stink would scream, pushing them hack. "Lui lai,

vou dummies . . . Back up, move!" Teasing ribs wi th his rifle muz­zle, he would force them back against a hootch wall or fence. "Coi rhungi" he'd holler. Bl inking, face white and teeth c l icking, he w o u l d kick the stragglers, pivot, shove, t h u m b fl icking the rifle's safety catch. "Move! Lui lai . . . Move i t , go, go!" Herding them together, he would watch to be sure their hands were kept in tlie open, empty. Then he would open his dictionary. He would read slowly, retracing I lie words several times, then finally look up. "Nam xuong dat," he'd s.iy. Separating each word, trying for good dict ion, he w o u l d say i t in a loud, level voice. "Everybody , , . nam xuong dat." T h e kids w o u l d )ust stare. T he women might rock and moan, or begin chattering among themselves like caged squirrels, glancing up at Stink w i t h firaz-/led eyes. " N o w ! " he'd shout. "Nam xuong dat . . . D o i t ! " Some­times he wovUd fire off a single shot, but this only made the villagers lidget and squirm. Puzzled, some of t h e m would start to giggle. O t h -crs w o u l d cover their ears and yap w i t h the stiff, short barking sounds of small dogs. I t drove Stink w i l d . "Nam xuong the fuck d o w n ! " he'd snad, his t h i n lips curl ing i n a manner he practiced whi le shaving. 'Lie down! Man len, mama-san! N o w , goddamn i t ! " His eyes w o u l d

bounce f rom his rifle to the dictionary to the cringing villagers. Be-l imd h i m . Doc Peret and Oscar Johnson and Buff would be gr inning

246 The Vietnam Reader

at the show. Tl iey 'd given the EngHsh-Vietnamese dictionary to Stink? as a birthday present, a n d the)' loved watching h i m use i t , the way heSf mixed languages i n a k i n d of stew, ignoring pronunciat ion and g iam-t mar, turning angry w h e n words failed to produce results. "Nam thi xuong dat'." he'd bel low, sweating now, his tongue sputtering over the impossible middle syllables. "Man len, pronto, you .sons o f bitciies!^ H a u l ass!" But the villagers would only shake their heads and cacklei and m i l l uncertainly. T h i s was too m u c h for Stink Harris. Enrage<J,f he'd throw away the dictionary and rattle off a whole magazine of| anununi t ion . T h e w o m e n w o u l d moan. Kids would c lutch their| mothers, dogs would h o w l , chickens would scramble in their coop» 3 " D o n g fvickin' lat thiU" Shnk w o u l d be screaming, his eyes dusty and| slit like a snake's. "Nam xuong dat! D o i t , you ignorant bastards'"| Reloading, he would keep f i r ing and screaming, and the villagers! would sprawl i n the dust, arms wrapped helplessly around their heads j And when they were al l down. Stink would stop f ir ing. He woul(l| smile. He would glance at Doc Peret and nod. "See there? Th«s j understand me fine. Nam xuong dat . . . Lie down. I ' m gctt in ' t h t i hang of it. You just got to punctuate your sentences." I

Not knowing the language, they did not know the people. They did| nol know what the people loved or respected or feared or hated. T h did not recognize hostil i ty unless i t was patent, unless it came in ft)nu other than language; the complexities of tone and tongue wers^ b i y o u d them. Dinkese, Stink Harris called it : monkey chatter, birrfj talk. N o t knowing the language, the men did not know whom to tnvstii 'I'rust was lethal. They d i d not know false smiles f rom true smiles, oi' in Quang Ngai a smile had the same meaning it had in tlie Stat "Ma\be the dinks got things mixed u p , " Eddie once said, after t l l ime a friendly-looking farmer bowed and smiled and pointed the?: into a minef ie ld. " K n o w what I mean? Maybe . . . wel l , maybe t i * | gooks cry when they're happy and smile when they're sad. W h o tf" l iol l knows? Maybe when y o u smile over here i t means you're ready J cut the other guy's throat. I mean, hey . . . d idn' t they tell us vsj back i n A I T that this here's a different culture?" N o t knowing v people, they d i d not k n o w friends f r o m enemies. They d i d not knows

T I M O ' B R I E N • Going After Cacciato 247

it was a popular war, or, i f popular, i n what sense. They d i d not know i f the people o f Quang Ngai viewed the war stoically, as i t sometimes seemed, or w i t h grief, as i t seemed other times, or w i t h bewilderment or greed or partisan fury. It was impossible to know. They did not know religions or philosophies or theories of justice. M o r e than that, they d i d not know how emotions worked i n Quang Ngai . Twen ty years of war had rotted away the ordinary reactions to death and disfig­urement. Astonishment, the first response, was never there i n the faces of Q u a n g Ngai. Disguised, maybe. But who knew? W h o ever knew? Emotions and beliefs and attitudes, motives and aims, hopes —these were unknown to the men in Alpha Company, and Quang Ngai to ld nothing. " F u c k i n beasties," Stink w o u l d croak, m i m i c k i n g the fren­zied village speech. " N o shit, I seen hamsters wi th more feelings."

But for Paul Berl in it was always a nagging question; W h o were these skinny, blank-eyed people? W h a t d i d they want? T h e kids espe­cial ly—watching them, learning their names and faces, Paul Ber l in couldn't help wondering. I t was a ridiculous, impossible puzzle, but even so he wondered. D i d the kids like him? A l i t t le g i r l w i t h gold hoops i n her ears and ugly scabs o n her b r o w — d i d she feel, as he d i d , goodness and warmth and poignancy when he helped Doc dab iodine on her sores? Beyond that, though, d i d the giri like him? l ,o rd knows, lie had no vil lainy i n his heart, no motive but kindness. He wanted health for her, and happiness. D i d she know this? D i d she .sense his I ompassion? W h e n she smiled, was i t more than a token? A n d . . . and what did she want? Any of them, what d i d they long for? D i d they have secret hopes? His hopes? C o u l d this little g id —her eyes squint­ing as Doc brushed the scabs wi th iodine, her lips sucked i n , her nose puckering at the smel l—could she someliow separate h i m f rom the war? Even for an instant? Could she see h i m as just a scared-silly boy l iom Iowa? C o u l d she feel sympathy? I n it together, trapped, you and me, al l o f us: D i d she feel that? C o u l d she understand his o w n fear, matching it w i t h hers? Wondering, he put mercy i n his eyes like lighted candles; he gazed at the g ir l , fijll-hearted, draining out suspi-l i o n , opening himself to whatever she m i g h t answer w i t h . D i d the gir l sec the love? C o u l d she imderstand i t , return it? But he didn' t know, l ie d i d not know i f love or its analogue even existed i n the vocabulary

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of Quang Ngai , or i f friendship could be translated. He simply d i d ncrt " ' know. He wanted to be l iked. He wanted them to understand, all of , them, that he felt no hate. I t was all a sad accident, he would l i nc told them—chance, high-level politics, confusion. He had no stake in the war beyond simple survival; he was there, i n Quang Ngai , for th« .. same reasons they were: the luck of the draw, bad fortune, forcca | beyond reckoning. His intentions were benign. By God, yes! He was ^ snared i n a web as powerful and tangled as any that victimized tiic , people of M y Khe or Pinkvil le . Sure, they were trapped, just as «h -4 f

jured. He w o u l d have to ld them that. He was no tyrant, no p ig , i i n , i Yankee killer. He was innocent. Yes, he was. He was innocent. H e w o u l d have told t h e m that, the villagers, i f he'd known the langu i f there had been t ime to talk. He would have told them he wanted harm no one. N o t even the enemy. T h e enemy! A word, a c rum word. He had no enemies. He had wronged no one. I f he'd known language, he would have told them how he hated to see the vi i la^ef burned. Hated to see die paddies trampled. H o w it made h i m aiigrv 4, and sad when . . . a m i l l i o n things, when women were firisked v " free hands, when o l d men were made to drop their pants to searched, when, i n a v i l l e called T h i n M a n , Oscar and Rudy C h sliot down ten dogs for the sport of it . Sad and stupid. Crazy. M i spirited and self-defeating and wrong. W r o n g ! He would have them this, the kids especially. But not me, he would have told t T h e others, maybe, b u t not me. Gui l ty perhaps of hanging on letting myself be dragged along, of fal l ing v ic t im to gravit)' and obi t ion and events, but n o t — n o t ! —gui l ty of wrong hitentious.

After the war, perhaps, he might return to Quang Ngai. Years-years afterward. Return to track down the g i d wi th the gold through her ears. B r i n g along an interpreter. A n d then, wi th the ended, history decided, he would explain to her why he had let self go to war. N o t because of strong convictions, but becaui didn ' t know. He d i d n ' t know who was right, or what was rigjll d idn ' t know i f i t was a war of self-determination or self-de; outright aggression or national liberation; he didn' t know speeches to believe, w h i c h books, which politicians; he didn' t nations would topple l ike dominoes or stand separate like

didn' t know who really started the war, or why, or when, or w i t h what motives; he d i d n ' t know i f i t mattered; he saw sense i n both sides of the debate, but he d i d not know where truth lay; he d idn ' t know i f C o m m u n i s t t^'ranny would prove worse i n the long r u n than the tyrannies of Ky or T l i i e u or K h a n h — h e simply didn ' t know. A n d w h o did? W h o really did? He couldn't make up his m i n d . O h , he had read the newspapers and magazines. He wasn't shipid. He wasn't u n i n ­formed. He just d idn ' t know i f the war was right or wrong. A n d w h o did? W h o really knew? So he went to the war for reasons beyond knowledge. Because he believed i n law, and law told h i m to go. Because i t was a democracy, after a l l , and because LBJ and the others liad r ightful c la im to their offices. He went to the war because i t was expected. Because not to go was to risk censure, and to br ing embar­rassment on his father and his town. Because, not knowing, he saw no reason to distrust those with more experience. Because he loved his (ountry and more, more than that, because he trusted it . Yes, he d i d . ( )h, he w o u l d rather have fought w i t h his father in France, k n o w i n g • crtain things certainly, but he couldn ' t choose his war, nobody Kiuld. Was this so banal? Was this so unprofound and stupid? He would look the l i t t le girl w i t h gold earrings straight i n the eye. H e would tell her those things. He w o u l d ask her to see tiie matter his w ay. W h a t would she have done? W h a t would anyone have done, not I-Mowing? A n d then lie would ask the gir l questions. WTiat d i d she «;int? H o w did she see the war? W l i a t were her aims—peace, any |i( ace, peace w i t h dignity? D i d she refuse to r u n for the .same reasons w refused —obligat ion, family, the land , friends, home? A n d now?

Now, war ended, what did she want? Peace and quiet? Peace and I'ii(k)? Peace w i t h mashed potatoes and Swiss steak and vegetables, a hill-tabled peace, indoor p lumbing , a peace w i t h Oldsmobiles and I londas and skyscrapers c l imbing f r o m the fields, a peace of order and ti.iMiiony and murals on public buildings? Were her dreams the tticams of ordinary m e n and women? Quality-of-life dreams? Mater ia l ttciims? D i d she want a long life? D i d she want medicine when she

*.is sick, food o n the table and reserves in the pantry? Religious titiams? What? W h a t d id she aim for? I f a wish were to be granted by

l l i f war's w i n n i n g army—any wish—what would she choose? Yes! I f

K K )

'1 •

250 The Vietnam Reader

LBJ and H o were to n i b their magic lanterns at war's end, saying. "Here is what it was good for, here is the f r u i t , " what would Quang ^' Ngai demand? Justice? W h a t sort? Reparations? W h a t kind? Answer^;? W h a t were the queshons: W h a t d i d Quang Ngai want to know?

" i I n September, Paul B e r l i n was called before the battalion promotion /| board. -^i-

"Ycm'll be asked some questions," the first sergeant said. " A n s w e r ' / l them honestly. D o n ' t for Chris.sake make it complicated —just good, ^ honest answers. A n d get a fuck in haircut . " ' •

It was a three-officer panel . They sat l ike squires behind a tin? toj ipcd table, two i n sunglasses, the th i rd i n skintight tiger fatigues

Saluting, reporting w i t h his name and rank, Paul Berl in stood a t ^ attention unt i l he was t o l d to be seated. ^

" B e r l i n , " said one of the officers i n sunglasses, " ' l l ia t ' s a pretty! •|

h u k e d - u p name, isn't i t?" m Paid Berlin smiled and waited. The officer l icked his teeth. He was a p l u m p , puffy-faced m a j u t i

wi th spotted skin, " N o b u l l , that's got to be the weirdest name I ever! r u n across. D o n ' t soimd Am e r i can . You an American, soldier?"

"Yes, sir." "Yeah? T h e n wliere 'd you get such a screwy name?"

"1 don't know-, sir." "Slieeet." The major looked at the captain i n tiger fatigues. " Y d l ^

iicar that? This trooper don ' t know where he got his own name. Y o i j ^ ever promoted somebody w h o don't know how he got his own ftickirtla name?"

"Maybe he forgot," said the captain in the tiger fatigues.

"Amnesia?" " C o u l d be. O r maybe shell shock or something. Better ask T h e major sucked his dentures halfway out of his m o u t h , frov

then let the teeth slide back into place. "Can ' t hurt nothin ' . ( .soldier, one more t i m e — w h e r e ' d you find that name of yours?" \

"Inheri ted i t , sir. F r o m m y father." "You crappin' me?" " N o , sir."

T I M O ' B R I E N • Gomg After Cacciato 251

" A n d just where the hell 'd he come up w i t h it . . . your o l ' man?" " I guess from his father, sir. I t came down the l ine sort o f " Paul

Berlin hesitated. I t was hard to tell i f the man was serious. ' T o u a Jewboy, soldier?" " N o , sir."

" A Kraut! Berl in . . . by j iminy , that's a Jerry name i f I ever heard 1 "

one! " I ' m mostly D u t c h . " "The he l l , you say." "Yes, s ir ." "Balls!" "Sir, it's n o t — " "Wlieie 's Berlin?" "Sir?" The major leaned forward, plant ing his elbows carefully on the

table. He looked deadly serious. " I asked where Berlin is. You heard of l i ickin Ber l in , d idn ' t you? Like in East Ber l in , West Berlin?"

"Sure, sir. It's i n Germany." " W h i c h one?" " W h i c h what, sir?" The major moaned and leaned back. Beside h im, indifferent to i t

, i l l , the captain in tiger fatigues unwrapped a th in cigar and l i t it w i t h ,1 kitchen match. Red acne covered his face like the measles. H e winked quickly—maybe i t wasn't even a w i n k — t h e n gazed hard at a olicaf of papers. T h e t h i r d officer sat sdently. He hadn't moved since llic interview began.

"Look here," the major said. " I don't know i f you're dumb or just s tupid , but by G o d I aim to find o u t . " He removed his sunglasses. Surprisingly, his eyes were almost jolly. "You're up for Spec Four, that Mltht?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want it? The promotion?"

"Yes, sir, I d o . "

"Lots of responsibility."

Paul Berlin smiled. He couldn't help i t .

252 The Vietnam Reader

"So we can't have shitheads leadin' m e n , can we? Takes some brains. You got brains, Berhn?"

'Tes, sir."

"You know what a condom is?" Paul Berl in nodded. " A condom," the major intoned solemnly, "is a skullcap for m

swingin' dicks. A m I r ight?" "Yes, sir." " A n d to lead m e n y o u got to be a swingin' fuck in dick." "Right, sir." " A n d is that you? Y o u a swingin' dick, Berl in?" 'Tes, sir!" ' T o u got guts?" 'Tes, sir. I - " ' T o u 'fraid of gett in ' zapped?" " N o , sir." "Sheeet." T h e major grinned as i f having scored an important vic­

tory. He used the t ip o f his pencil to pick a speck of food f rom be­tween his teeth. " D u m b ! Anybody not scared of gettin' his ass zapped is a dummy. You k n o w what a d u m m y is?"

'Tes, sir." "Spell i t . " Paul Berl in spelled i t . T h e major rapped his pencil against the table, then glanced at

wristwatch. The captain i n hger fahgues was smoking with his " closed; the t h i r d officer, still silent, stared blankly ahead, arms fold t ight against his chest.

"Okay, " said tlie major , "we got a few standard-type questions ' you. Just answer 'em truthful ly , no bullshit. You don't know the swers, say so. O n e t h i n g 1 can't stand is wishy-washy crap. Ready?'

"Yes, sir." Pul l ing out a piece o f yellow paper, the major put his pencil di

and read slowly. " H o w many stars we got in the flag?" " F i f t y , " said Paul B e r l i n . " H o w many sb:ipes?"

T I M O ' B R I E N • Going After Cacciato 253

" T h i r t e e n . "

"What's the muzzle velocity of a standard AR-I5?" " T w o thousand feet a second." "Who's Secretar}' of the Army?" "Stanley Resor." 'Why we fightin' this war?"

"Sir?"

" I say, why we fightin' this ftickin-ass war?" " I d o n ' t - "

" T o w i n i t , " said the third, silent officer. He d i d not move. His arms remained flat across his chest, his eyes blank. "We fight this war to win i t , that's w h y . "

'Tes, sir."

" Aga i n , " the major said. " W h y we fightin' this war?" " T o w i n i t , sir." ' T o u sure of that?"

"Positive, sir." His arms were hot. He tried to hold his c h i n level. " T e l l it loud , trooper. W h y we fightin' this war?" "To w i n i t . " "Yeah, but I mean why?"

"Just to w i n i t , " Paul Berlin said softly. "That's al l . T o w i n i t . " "You know that for a fact?" "Yes, sir. A fact."

The th i rd officer made a soft, h u m m i n g sound of satisfaction. T h e major grinned at the captain in tiger fatigues.

" A l l r ight , " said the major. His eyes twinkled. "Maybe you aren't so dumb as you let on . Maybe. We got one last question. This here's a cultural-t^'pe matter . . . listen up close. W h a t effect would the death of Ho C h i M i n h have on the population of North Vietnam?"

"Sir?"

Reading slowly f rom his paper, the major repeated it. " W h a t effect would the death o f Ho C h i M i n h have on the population of N o r t h \"

Paul Bedin let his chin fall . He smiled. "Reduce i t by one, sir."

254 The Vietnam Reader

111 Quang Ngai, they d i d not speak of politics. I t wasn't taboo, or bad luck, it just wasn't talked about. E\'en w h e n the Peace Talks bogged down i n endless b icker ing over the shape and size of the bargaining table, the men i n A l p h a Company took it as another bad joke—silh and sad—and there was no serious discussion about it , no sustained outrage. Diplomacy a n d moral i t j ' were beyond diem. Hardly anyone cared. Not even Doc Peret, who loved a good debate. N o t even Jim Pederson, who believed in virtue. This dim-sighted attitude enraged Frenchie Tucker. " M y G o d , " he'd sometimes moan i n exasperation, speaking to Paul Ber l in but a iming at ever\'one, " i t ' s your ass they'ie negotiating. Your ass, m y ass . . . D o we live or die? That's the issue, by God , and you blockheads don't even talk about it. N o t even a lousv opinion] Good L o r d , doesn't i t piss you off, al l this Peace Talk crap' Round tables, square tables! Idiotic diplomatic etiquette, power pla\s. maneuvering! A n d here we sit, suckin' air while those mealy-mouthe'd sons of bitches can't even figure out what k i n d of table they're gonn j sit at. Jesus!" But Frenchie's rage never caught on. Sometimes theie were jokes, cynical and weary, but there was no serious discussion. They fought tiie war, b u t no one took sides.

They did not even k n o w the simple things: a sense of victot\ n satisfaction, or necessary sacrifice. They d i d not know the feehiig oi taking a place and keeping it , securing a village and then raisii ig t l i f flag and calling it a victor)' , N o sense of order or momentum \ i i front, no rear, no trenches laid out i n neat parallels. N o Patton rush-ing for the Rhine, no beacliheads to storm and w i n and hold f')r lit? duration. They did not have targets. They did not have a cause Thi 'V-d i d not kno\\ i f i t was a war of ideolog)' or economics or hegemon\f spite. O n a given day, they did know where they were i n Quang N(4Ji,i' or how being there m i g h t influence larger outcomes. They d d iv4-. know the names of most villages. They d i d not know which N ' l l las ' i ' i " were critical. They d i d not know strategies. They d i d not know t l w terms of the war, its architecture, the rules of fair play. W i e n iUtf' took prisoners, w h i c h was rare, they did not know the questions .o . u k ; " whether to release a suspect or beat on h i m . They did not know l i i i * to feel. Whether, w h e n seeing a dead Vietnamese, to be happ)' or

T I M O ' B R I E N • Going After Cacciato 255

or relieved; whether, i n times of quiet, to be apprehensive or content; whether to engage the enemy or elude h i m . They d i d not know how-to feel when they saw villages burning. Revenge? Loss? Peace of m i n d or anguish? They did not know. They knew the old m)'ths about Quang Ngai—tales passed down from old-timer to newcomer—but they did not know w h i c h stories to believe. Magic , myster)', ghosts and incense, whispers i n the dark, strange tongues and strange smells, uncertainties never articulated i n war stories, squandered on igno­rance. They d i d not know good from evil.