slivers of the sky (2)

by cthurst6

last-minute we joined a tour of tunnels used by the Viet Cong during the American-Vietnamese war nearby Saigon in the rural jungles. after an hour on the bus we disembarked and toured a factory that employed people disabled by Agent Orange or landmines to sell arts and crafts. i bought a little jar to support the cause, though i am not sure how much of the profits went to the actual workers.
another hour drive took us to the location of an extensive network of underground tunnels, kitchens, armories, towns the locals had developed to fight the occupying coalition forces. we saw the physical and psychological booby traps the Vietnamese used against US infantry, the remains of bombs dropped by US warplanes, the tunnels guerrillas used to escape incoming explosives, and the ruined husk of an American tank.
people climbed up and posed for pictures on the tank, laughing and smiling and admiring the bullet holes and dents in the metal. it was strange to see them, where forty years earlier the tank would have been full of men my age driving through an unknown warzone. the forest was thick with foliage and hot. you sweat simply standing up. there were mosquitoes, swamps, rain. it was a war no soldier wanted to fight in a country they knew nothing about, killing men, women and children who set for them barbarous pits and hellish prisons a thousand miles from home.
i wondered what terrors they saw, the nightmares they had at night.
i wondered what became of them.

we returned to the city in the rain, the pouring, constant traffic packed full on every highway for rush hour. there was nothing but headlights one way, brake lights the other. a sea of drenched, shiny rain coats and umbrellas, taxis, tuk tuks and scooters. the light of the city danced in the rain, hard neon against an inky backdrop.
we ate pizza and fried rice (again) and watched as people walked by. that night Steve and Josh stayed out close to three and i woke to Steve vomiting in the bathroom.
all the following day Steve remained in bed, hot, nauseous, weary. i said goodbye to Josh before he set off south to the Mekong Delta, and later purchased tickets for a bus to Cambodia. Steve stayed inside till dinner, when we went to find something to eat. down the alleys were pretty girls in tight dresses and old white men visibly appreciating their attention in restaurants and bars.
after eating Steve ran down one of these alleyways and vomited. i washed it away with my water bottle but he sat on the curb of the street and retched again. i had no water left and he was weak so we walked on, people watching, an old lady following us with her judgmental eyes. just another two, i have no doubt she was thinking; just another two, falling and retching their way to the carnival.

“Tourist, Rincewind decided, meant ‘idiot.”

~ Terry Pratchett