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Published: April 16th 2008
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The End
Sat 01/03 - 05/03/08
"This is the end."
Cat Ba Island, Sapa, Tam Dao, Yen Bai; they melt away and fade. We creep back through the jungle, back, on our bellies, to where it all began. Hanoi. The Youth Hotel. Reception. Trung and Ly drop us off. The mission is over, and they're heading back to HQ to make reports. We're to be disbanded, and sent our separate ways. Now one can know the things we've done. Nobody can know about The Canadian, the puppets, or the evil Internet Whore. This is all top secret shit; classified, red-taped, a dirty little secret the top brass want to keep to themselves.
The first man to get his papers is Gregg, a.k.a Chicken. Discharged, honourably, with distinction. He'll carry his scars home along with his bags; the limp will be a constant reminder of that day in Cat Ba when hell broke loose, and the wheels came off. He served his country well. The locals called him "stupid chicken", but he was as much a monkey as the rest of us - he just lost it that one time and crashed and burned.
We all go out into Hanoi to see him off. The same old story, the same old venues. Craig's off the lease now the war is over, and he gets his fill of boom-boom, fucking addict that he is.
"Of our elaborate plans, the end."
Morning. The car pulls away, and then there are only five. I walk the streets, a lonely soldier, thirsty for combat. I don't know where I'm going, but when I look up, I see I'm back at the beginning, where it all started. The Puppet Theatre. I close my eyes, and I can hear them screaming; I cover my ears, and I can see them splashing about. Those damn puppets. How could they do it to us? Plunge us knee deep into the filth, deep into the sick, decaying mind of a Canadian with too much time on his hands and not enough respect for common decency.
I freeze, and my heart stops beating. What if he's still here? What if he's watching me, right now? Maybe I should go back in and finish the job. Put out his fucking lights for good. I try to move forward, but something
holds me back. Some ghosts are better left alone. If he's still out there, eight rows back, rubbing his thighs, laughing like a pervert, then they'll catch up with him sooner or later. He's somebody else's problem now. We did our part. We went to the damn show. What else to they expect from us?
If not now in Vietnam, then maybe in Thailand - put him in with that other sicko, let him be in his gang. If not Thailand, then Cambodia or Laos. Shit. Words come flooding back: "Forget Thailand man, go to Laos".
Another bad memory - flashes of a balding head, a camp fire, and those fucking tricks of the desert. Let's hope that son of a bitch got what's coming to him - a few nights in a Japanese prison cell ought to soften him up.
"Of everything that stands, the end."
Sunday. Marianne's birthday. Reason to be happy again, and forget all the madness. One more big night out in Hanoi. We meet up with Candy and Doug again. After dinner, Trung takes us to the Green Mango. We get birthday cake and sing songs. Craig checks out early. He ships
out in the morning, back to Bangkok, where the seeds of his addiction where literally sown. I hope he can handle it; I hope his phone has enough memory for all the numbers.
Monday, March 3rd, 2008. Clock is ticking down now. Craig packed his bags, and they took him away. He'll get some time in the hole for all the shit he did, but it's no big deal. He'll still get his medal. They can't take that away from him. In the evening, we go back to the Green Mango, and drink some cocktails. When we get back to the hotel, I sit and watch Kat and Marianne pack. 'Nam has messed up their shit pretty good, and there's just too much stuff to fit in their bags. Marianne looks like she might be losing it - all the things she's seen and done have jumbled up her mind. Now, every time she speaks, the words come out backwards or tied in knots.
"No safety or surprise, the end."
Tuesday. Kat and Marianne load their bags into the back of the transport and check out. I look at Zoë. Just the two of us now. The
last remaining survivors of a senseless and costly war. Nobody came out of it in one piece. Everybody’s livers groaned under the strain. I take a deep breath. My lungs are battered and worn from all the smoke that was inhaled on the battle field. My eyes are red, my bowels irregular. When I sweat, I sweat rice wine. When I sleep, I dream drunk dreams. For a month, when I woke up each morning, it felt like somebody had shat in my mouth. When I lick my lips, I can still taste that shit, bitter, like a shot of Hanoi Vodka.
Wednesday. This really is the end. The cab pulls away and I sit in silence and reflect. Vietnam loved me a long time, and I loved it back like a stalker with personal issues. Now, she's taken out a restraining order, and I'm being told to move along. Shit. I started out missing the desert, now I just wanna be back in the foot hills and the mountains, tugging away on a fat bong. Instead, they're sending me on another mission. I did what I could with the Canadian. I tried real hard to
put an end to all the horror. I faced down that one animal, now, for my reward, they're sending me to tackle a whole zoo. And I haven't even had my rabies jab. Those motherfuckers.
"I'll never look into your eyes...again."
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