Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
were moved to action by the mere idea that other people were waiting for me, perhaps
learning their guest was a journalist would have given getting me out of there even more
urgency. Hard to know.
In any case, before long there was a flurry of activity. The Evil Communist—I don't
know what else to call him—emerged from his office and dispatched Dah-lot on an er-
rand and he hustled off. He returned shortly with a fellow cop (who was closer to my
size), and all three men entered a small cottage in the corner of the compound. I tried
to follow them, but the Evil Communist shot me a look, and Dah-lot, looking a tad
frightened, made a plaintive gesture: Please stay outside.
I watched from the doorway as Dah-lot and the other man knelt beside a device I
couldn't immediately identify and began taking turns churning a crank; it was a generat-
or, and they were supplying the power for a telephone. The Evil Communist was holding
the receiver.
I don't know how many different phone calls were involved, or how many bureau-
cratic levels they traveled among, but the three men were ensconced in the hut for a
full hour. I wandered impatiently around the compound, taking pictures, but every few
minutes I'd stop back in the doorway of the hut and the Evil Communist would be speak-
ing into the mouthpiece of the receiver, and either Dah-lot or his friend would be on his
knees, cranking away to keep the generator thrumming.
When the three men finally emerged, the Evil Communist confiscated my camera—to
this day it irks me that I let him do that—and disappeared into his office. I asked Dah-lot
what was happening and he said I had to wait.
Another hour went by. By this time I was impatient but far from frightened. It was a
brilliant, bright morning and it wasn't at all unpleasant to be lazily sunning in the court-
yard of the compound, but the day was spending itself, and if and when I was released
I had a long trip ahead of me. It looked, from the map, to be about sixty miles to Hué,
with some mountains between here and there. I was eager, even excited, to get going,
partly as a cyclist with pent-up energy and a challenging ride on a beautiful day ahead
of him, and partly as a guy with a story to tell who couldn't wait to report to his friends
on his adventures.
Eventually, I heard the putt-putt of a motor, and a woman wearing a pink dress and
a white hat cruised purposefully into the compound on a moped. She and the Evil Com-
munist disappeared into his office for several minutes, and when they came out we all
sat at the picnic table on the porch for what turned out to be an interrogation. This was,
evidently, an exciting event; Dah-lot, who stood behind me, had spread the word, and I
counted fourteen other people standing around us.
Search WWH ::




Custom Search