Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“Tomorrow,” he said.
After dinner we walked back to the compound, past the houses with the glowing
TVs, and Dah-lot suggested again that we go in and watch, but I demurred. I went direc-
tly to his room, went to sleep in his bed. When we said good night, I was struck again by
his littleness, his sweet temperament, and his plight, which was one of wanting. I don't
know where Dah-lot spent the night.
I slept surprisingly well.
When I woke the next morning Dah-lot was waiting to walk me into town again for
breakfast.
“Eat?” he asked.
We repeated the ritual from the night before, trudging the half mile to town, being
served (
pho
and boiled eggs and rice and tea) at a small table in back of the grumpy wo-
man's dirt-floor home and trudging back again.
Our conversations had evolved a tortuous but semi-effective style involving elaborate
hand signals and words repeated over and over again, and while we were eating Dah-lot
nervously explained to me I would not be released that day because it was Sunday. From
what I could gather that was significant because no one was available to authorize my
release.
I'd begun to recognize that when I raised my voice Dah-lot grew fearful—perhaps be-
cause I towered over him, perhaps because he was used to a life in which he had no au-
thority whatsoever—and on the way back I kicked up the decibel level, stabbed my fin-
ger at him with extra vehemence, and made it clear that I
had
to leave, that there would
be no gainsaying that, that many people in Hué were waiting for me.
I'd inadvertently said the magic words. When Dah-lot realized what I was saying
about people expecting me his eyes widened for a moment, and as soon as we arrived
at the compound he hurried away. I saw him enter the office where the evil Communist
officer sat; I followed him there and began making the point, once again at significant
volume, that a crowd of Americans, very important Americans, would be waiting for me
in Hué, and who knows what would happen if I didn't arrive on time.
Through the whole business, I had kept my identity as a reporter to myself, thinking
that to reveal it might be inflammatory or unhelpfully flummoxing, but in the years
since I've often wondered whether that was a mistake. My captors—maybe I should say
hosts—were probably more easily intimidated by me than I realized at the time. In ret-
rospect, I understood they didn't see me as a threat so much as a problem, or a puzzle.
My presence in their midst was a situation not covered in the rule book. And if they
