Reaching by Allen Dorfman

Author:Allen Dorfman [Dorfman, Allen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-04-11T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10: NUMBER ONE, NUMBER TEN

Baby-sahn. Baby. In a slitted dress that hinted of delicate skin and warm legs, a Saigon beauty peeked out from under dark hair. Softly she gazed at a stranger. "Hello, baby. Want to buy me a Saigon tea, baby?” Out came rock music.

Baby-sahn. Sahn. The word was soft like a southern drawl. "Sahn, you all come on over heah. Sahn, set down, and we talk.” The word slid like a lullaby, like a drink of tea.

Baby-sahn was a soldier who didn't quite fit, a squad member who was almost a stranger. He was 5' 4", and 110 pounds, built more like a Vietnamese peasant than an American soldier, except for his color. He had fair skin, blond crew-cut hair, innocent blue eyes, and a child's face. He shaved every morning, but once a year would have been enough. Chicago was his home town and he walked with a swagger like a gangster from the thirties.

"What you say, bud?" he said to the mirror as he took a swipe with his razor.

"Hey, Baby-sahn," yelled Italy. "Put a little milk on your face and have a cat lick it off."

"Your ass," snapped Baby-sahn.

"No bad words for Baby-sahn," said Camp.

Baby-sahn gave them the finger. "I'll walk your asses off on the next mission."

The day of the mission was hot and dry. The sky was an empty, endless bright blue. The earth shimmered in waves of heat. It stretched out flat and almost treeless to the horizon.

Baby-sahn took point and set a fast pace. After a couple hours, everyone was dragging.

"Come on, you pansies," yelled Baby-sahn. "Move it. If you're soft, get a desk job.” He stepped up the pace.

Patsin told him to slow down, but Baby-sahn stayed on point and kept moving. There were no V.C. and the day sped by.

In the twilight, they set up camp near a small village, just a couple dozen huts on the edge of a smelly, almost dry stream. The men sipped tepid water from their canteens and broke open their Crations.

Vietnamese children slowly materialized out of the twilight, and came timidly to the tired soldiers. They didn't speak. They rubbed their little bellies, opened their mouths, and pointed inside. The soldiers tried to ignore them and the children drifted closer. A little eight-year-old with a swollen belly uttered "American . . . food" and a few of the others started to cry.

The soldiers tensed their shoulders and looked away as they cooked their rations. After a few missions, they'd learned not to give food away, because each dole brought more and more of those sad little beggars until the food was gone, and the soldier sat there hungry and empty, surrounded by little, staring faces.

Baby-sahn was crazy. He loved the kids. "Come on over here, you little brats," he yelled. He sat down with his legs crossed like a Buddha. "Okay, you monkeys, move it."

They must have understood his tone because they gathered around him. He pointed to himself. "Me Baby-sahn.” He pointed to the semi-circle.

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