A collection of stories to thrill, entertain, and enlighten . Thought provoking tales of fantasy, mystery, murder, love, sci-fi, and war. Within the mind and around the globe and universe, journey with the heroes and fools, the victims and the villa...
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It didn't take long for me to become a nihilist. There was no ground beneath my feet that seemed real enough to rest upon. I was a stranger in a strange land with the pall of impending doom hanging purposefully ignored above my head. Each day seemed the calm before the storm and passed with me marking an ex on my calendar in anticipation of returning home to reality, if it still existed.
It was the spring of 1972. The weather was surprisingly cool and pleasant. It was Vietnam and I found myself in Huế staring at the Perfume River, with the Citadel, a massive fortress containing the Imperial Residence, behind me. A few years earlier it had been the site of the most brutal battle of the entire war. Bullet holes pock-marked the walls and I could sense the ghosts of the killed swarming around its boundaries.
Being stoned didn't help the feeling of otherness that engulfed me. Of course, I was high most of the time. There are countless bad things I could say about the Nam, but the availability of good, cheap pot wasn't one of them. We all smoked. It helped in ways that are difficult to describe. Mainly, it made the things we saw less real, less likely to carve themselves into our psyches. It was insulation.
As I sat on the bank watching the locals diving into the river's depths to collect sand, I heard someone approaching me. I turned to see a Buddhist monk with a simple bowl, begging for alms. I liked the monks, they were the only locals I didn't mistrust, the only ones I felt safe with. He was dressed in the orange robes of his sect and wore an honest and calming smile. When I dropped several đồng into his bowl, it came as a pleasant surprise to hear him address me in English.
"You seem... disturbed," he said soothingly.
I returned his smile and shrugged, "Don't want to be here, this country doesn't like me."
"Perhaps it doesn't trust you. Are you trustworthy?", he asked in the same quiet tone.
"I'm not sure... maybe."
The monk let out a hearty laugh, "You are honest, though. My name is Quang... walk with me back to Thien Mu."
I had nothing better to do and was in no hurry to return to the grind of war. "The temple?" I asked and when he nodded, I did as well. "I can use the walk. It's about three klicks... kilometers, I mean, right?"
He laughed again, "Three klicks, yes." We walked a while without speaking, just taking in the cool air and watching the flow of the river to our left. Finally he addressed me again, "What faith are you?"
"I was raised Lutheran, but now... who knows?"
"Lutheran? That faith opposed the Catholics. We have many Catholics here... they do not like those who follow the path of the Buddha... they have caused us great harm," he said very matter-of-factly.
"I'm sorry to hear that, but we... the Americans, have caused you great harm too. Let me ask you, do you hate us for what we're doing?"
Quang stopped and put his hand on my arm gently, "I hate no one, it is others who hate us... the Catholics, the Communists, even the Army of the Republic. The American soldiers are quite kind to us, they do not view us as a threat."
