Behind the Dark Room

  Sài Gòn, 1969

  Trang took another step back from the soldier. There was no way she’d go to a private room with him.

  The tiger madam clicked her tongue. “Now . . . don’t be silly. You’re lucky he likes you. Look how handsome he is. And how young.”

  “No, Madam . . . He’s drunk.”

  “She a virgin? A cherry girl?” the soldier asked the tiger madam, swaying to the music. He eyed Trang’s chest.

  “For sure she is. Fresh from the countryside.”

  The soldier pulled out some bills. “I want a short time with her.”

  The tiger madam nudged Trang. “That’s a lot of money. Take it. No need to buy a ticket for a short time this time.”

  “No.” Trang took another step back.

  “Are you stupid or what?” She grabbed Trang’s hand, her long fingernails digging into Trang’s skin. “He’s one of our best customers. No one is allowed to make him unhappy.” She caressed Trang’s cheek. “Come on, beautiful . . . He’s impatient. Look, he’s already eyeing some other girls.”

  “Madam, I don’t want to.”

  The woman tried to push the money into Trang’s palm. “No need to share with me this time.”

  Trang pulled her hand away, shaking her head.

  “Think you’re so good?” the madam hissed. “I thought you wanted to help your parents with their debts.”

  “I do, but—”

  “Well, I won’t ask you again. How many customers did you have tonight, huh? One! And he didn’t buy many drinks.” She signaled toward Quỳnh, who was flirting with another man. “Watch how well your little sister is doing. That’s her third customer. She’s meeting her quota. It looks like you’ll have to go back to your village and she can stay.”

  The tiger madam returned the money to the soldier. She got on her tiptoes and whispered something into his ear. He shook his head and went to the bar, grabbing a girl by the waist, dancing with her.

  Trang found a vacant table, sat down and waited. Her eyes were fixed on the entrance, but no new customers came in. Quỳnh was doing well; her man was buying her one Sài Gòn Tea after another. Trang’s chest grew heavy. She couldn’t leave her sister alone here. She had to stay, to protect Quỳnh.

  When the clock above the entrance showed nine thirty, she bit her lip. She only had one more hour until the bar closed due to the city’s curfew. She looked for the tiger madam. “The back room, Madam, is it just for a private chat?”

  “You don’t have to do anything in there that you don’t want to.” She then turned toward a bartender, shouting, “They’re asking for more drinks. Are you deaf as well as blind?”

  When the soldier finished dancing, he returned to Trang and gestured toward the back room. Trang closed her eyes and nodded, cold sweat dampening her neck.

  The back room was dark, lined with sofas and filled with the murmurings of other couples. Trang folded her arms across her chest.

  The soldier tapped on a sofa. “Ngôi xuong đi em.”

  Trang told herself to stay calm as she sat down beside him. If they talked, he wouldn’t do anything to her. “Your Vietnamese is good,” she said. “Where did you learn? I can help correct your accents.”

  The soldier inched closer to her. His lips were wet on her cheeks, his breath ripe with the pungent smell of liquor. She pushed him away. “Madam said we only talk.”

  “Hm, talk? Yes, I like talking, too.” His hand was on her thigh, slithering under her skirt.

  “No.” She tried to stand up. He put his leg across her stomach. He was heavy, and she wanted to scream. But she feared she’d upset the tiger madam.

  “Shh.” The soldier caressed her face. “We shouldn’t disturb other couples.”

  “Please . . . I don’t want to be here.”

  “Come on, sweetheart, be a good girl.” He reached for her shirt.

  She tried to get up, but his strong arms held her back.

  “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” He chuckled. “Is it your first time with a man? Hmm, your shyness turns me on. Just stay calm. Don’t you want your madam to praise you?”

  His hand left her body, but his leg was still on her stomach. She felt him fumbling with something and heard a zipping noise.

  “Touch me.” He reached for her arm, placing it on his chest. He had opened all of his shirt buttons and his chest hair reminded her of the pet monkey her neighbors had kept in their back garden. She shuddered, pulling back.

  “Please, sweetheart.” He found her fingers and guided them down to his thighs.

  “No.” She snatched her hand away. Heat rushed to her face. Did she just touch the man’s private part?

  “Don’t be shy, little darlin’,” he whispered, breathing hard. Before she had time to react, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her toward him. He kissed her hard on her lips. She struggled, freeing her mouth but found her face being pinned onto his sweaty chest. She turned to breathe, and in the dimness, saw his hand moving up and down on his sexual organ.

  She closed her eyes in disgust. His body tensed up like a rock under hers. He started to moan, whispering American words. Was he calling someone? Was it the name of his girlfriend, for he uttered it with such tenderness?

  She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming. She thought about Hiếu, who’d walked her home from school hundreds of times, and later from her home to the rice field. She’d never let him hold her. They’d never kissed. She wanted to be a good girl, the girl who remained a virgin until her wedding night, the girl with the four virtues her Má had taught her.

  The man shuddered as something hot and sticky shot toward her face. She turned away, trying to stop herself from vomiting.

  Trang walked into the night after the bar closed. The street was empty, lit up by lightbulbs suspended from tall metal poles. A wind swept through the air, sending a piece of paper swirling toward the black sky punctured by flares. She wished she could fly up like that piece of paper, above the streetlamps, above the half-moon. Only then could she be alone with all the darkness in the world.

  Quỳnh walked in front with the other girls. Trang stayed behind, her head bent. When she had left the back room, she’d gone to the toilet and locked herself inside. After a good cry, she stepped back into the bar. She just sat there staring at Quỳnh as she talked to another man. Whenever Quỳnh turned, she looked away. She couldn’t meet Quỳnh’s eyes anymore.

  She thought about home and fought back tears. When the problems first started with the lenders, she’d been angry with her parents for having been swayed by the con man. But after reflecting, she saw how her parents had tried all their lives to give her and Quỳnh the best possible opportunities. They had even dreamed about making enough money to send their two daughters overseas to study. That had clearly been a mistake.

  Ahead of her, someone had stopped and was waiting for her.

  “Our madam said both you and Quỳnh did good tonight,” Hân said. “You earned well, so you can stay. Well done!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Trang gritted her teeth.

  “Tell you what?”

  “The back room.”

  “Oh, someone asked you to go there already? You lucky girl.”

  “You should have told me, Hân.”

  “Come on, Trang. The back room, we call it the fun room. You go there, have fun with your soldier and get paid. Isn’t that a good deal?”

  “No, Hân. I don’t want to do the things people do there.”

  “You mean you’re better than us?” Hân snorted. “Look . . . I know this is new to you, but boys and girls do these things all the time. We give each other pleasure. Didn’t you like it when he touched you?”

  Trang looked away. How disgusting that Hân talked like this. She’d thought Hân was innocent. She’d trusted her.

  “You didn’t let him do anything to you?” Hân gasped. “Well . . . I hope he still paid you. I assume you haven’t had a real boyfriend, but soon you’ll like it. You know . . . men can give us a good time.”

  “Hân, please . . .”

  “Hey, I’m being honest with you. You should know that these soldiers, they don’t just want drinks. They want our bodies. The happier we make them, the more they pay us.”

  Trang glared at Hân. “I’m not a whore. I don’t want to be.”

  Hân paused in her steps. She opened her mouth and Trang thought harsh words would come rolling out. But Hân shook her head, looking down. The silence felt like a stretched rubber band between them. Hân released it with a deep sigh. She lifted her face. “You can call me a whore, Trang, but I’m proud to be doing this for my family. And these American soldiers, they’re here to save us from the savage Communists. Believe it or not, I want to make them happy. So go ahead and call me whatever you like.”

  Hân turned and quickened her steps, joining the girls ahead of them.

  Lying on the sedge mat spread on the floor, Trang’s body ached. Next to her, Quỳnh was snoring. Trang closed her eyes but images flickered in her mind. Images of the mustached soldier weeping, of the tall soldier moaning, of Tina calling her younger sister an ugly pig, of Hân standing on the street with hunched shoulders. Images of her father reduced to lying in his bed, of her mother bending her back in the rice field, of the lenders charging into her home and taking away anything of value. Images of dead people scattered on the village road after the Tết Offensive, when the Communists launched vicious attacks on the ARVN in her village, images of the VC suspect dangling from the tamarind tree on that bright Sunday morning. These memories filled her vision, then her brain, the pain spreading to her chest. She sat up, panting, her arms squeezing her rib cage.

  She had to calm down. She took a deep breath, held it in her lungs and let it roll slowly out. After another inhale and exhale, her heartbeat slowed. She stared out at the balcony. To ease the heat, Hân and her roommates had left the balcony door open, and Sài Gòn’s life streamed in. Sounds of a baby crying and a mother humming a lullaby. A dog barked. A rooster crowed. Wheels of a bicycle rolling down the street. Soft bell of a cyclo. Hurried footsteps of someone, perhaps a street seller. Rumbling of airplanes from Tân Sơn Nhứt Airbase. The hooting of a train that blared then faded into darkness.

  A soft rustling from inside the room. She turned. A shadow was rising from the bed to her left, making its way out to the balcony.

  She followed, careful not to wake Quỳnh. Outside, the sky was still lit up by flares that exploded and hung in the air for several minutes. Her mother would be thrilled to see so many graceful arcs of light; she’d sewn pillow cases from the flares’ white cloth parachutes and made storage boxes out of their aluminum pipes.

  The balcony was narrow and cool, dimly lit by a streetlight several meters away. A girl stood, a red dot floating in front of her face.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” Trang whispered.

  Hân turned. “Can’t sleep?”

  Trang shook her head. “I’m sorry . . . for using that word . . . you know.”

  “You’re right. That’s what I am. A whore.” Hân took a drag of her cigarette, smoke spiraling out of her mouth.

  “May I try?” Trang asked.

  “Why? It’s bad for you,” she said but gave Trang the cigarette.

  Trang tried to imitate Hân. As she inhaled, a bitter taste invaded her tongue, mouth, and throat, she coughed and choked.

  Hân laughed, patting her back. “You okay?”

  Trang nodded, her eyes teary. Holding the cigarette between her fingers, she stared at its red dot. “Hân, I’m thankful you’re helping us earn money. . . . But I didn’t expect it to be like this. You said we’d be drinking Sài Gòn Tea only. I hung on to those words and let them take me and my sister here.”

  “If I’d told you everything, would you have come? Back home, what can you do, huh? You want to waste your life away working in that rice field?” Hân snatched the cigarette from Trang. The red dot blossomed as she inhaled. “I put my job on the line for you and Quỳnh by bringing you to the bar.” She blew out a plume of smoke. “But if you want to quit, just go home . . . Leave in the morning if you want to.”

  Trang swallowed. In addition to the amount she’d given her mother in the envelope, she’d borrowed more from Hân to pay for the bus tickets, the cyclo ride, and dinner last night—a quick bowl of noodle soup on the pavement opposite the bar. “Quỳnh and I counted the money we made. It was good . . . but we’ll need a week to pay you back.”

  “You know . . . you were much better than me at school,” Hân said, shaking her head. “You worked so hard, and I always thought you could become whatever you wanted to be.”

  Trang reached for the cigarette. The second drag tasted less bitter. “If I have money—” she coughed “—I’ll be able to study and become whoever I’m destined to be.”

  “You want to study more?”

  “Sure . . . I’d still like to be a doctor.” Trang closed her eyes. Her father’s doctors had saved his life, but she wished they’d do more to help him walk again, not to mention cure him of his invisible wounds.

  She turned to Hân. “I’m fed up with being poor, with being chased by lenders, with not having enough to eat.” She stared at the horizon. If she returned home, her future would be buried beneath the rice field’s mud. “I’m thinking . . . that perhaps I should give this a try. If I do it well, I might be able to save. And when this war is over, I can go to medical school.”

  “That’s a good plan, Trang . . . or should I call you Kim?”

  “Kim doesn’t exist outside the bar.” Trang ran her fingers along the metal railing. “I need to make money. Tell me how?”

  “Ha? Just a moment ago, you wanted to leave.” Hân eyed an airplane that thundered above their heads.

  “I know, but if I leave, Quỳnh won’t join me. As they say, I’ve thrown my spear, I have to follow its path.”

  “You won’t blame me later?”

  “I think I might regret it if I don’t give this a try.”

  Hân shook her head. “Alright . . . as I said, most soldiers want to have fun with us. So here are some tips. If an American soldier asks ‘you cherry girl?’ he wants to know if you’re still a virgin. In that case, you should act shy, cover your face with your hands and pretend you don’t know. The more innocent you look, the better chance he’ll think that you haven’t had sex before. Then he’ll pay three dollars for a short time.”

  “That means going to the back room with him?” Trang thought about the tall American soldier who’d paid her four dollars.

  “Right. A long time means going to a private room, or a hotel. In that case, the money is double.”

  Trang shuddered. A long time must involve real sex.

  Hân flicked her cigarette. “Trust me, sex doesn’t have to be bad. If you relax, you might enjoy it, you know . . .” Trang blushed to hear the word “sex” spoken out loud. No one had talked to her about it. It was a taboo subject, something she was supposed to find out about after her wedding night.

  “As I said, men can make us happy,” Hân added and Trang squirmed, thinking about the hairy chest of the American soldier and the odor rising between his legs.

  “For a short-time or long-time, our madam will take sixty percent.” Hân blew smoke from her nose. “That’s a lot, but we need her. She protects us. You don’t want to know how many crazy men are out there . . . Our madam also has to pay bribes to get us each an ID card, for example. Without this special ID, we might be arrested by the police at the bar, or on the street when we go home late at night.”

  “You’re walking on a rope of fire, Hân!”

  “Nothing will happen to us, trust me. I heard our bar is protected by giang hồ—thugs who help keep us safe as long as the money flows. Our madam is well connected, and her husband is a high-ranking government official. She seems to like you so don’t make her change her mind.” Hân threw the cigarette down onto the street below.

  “Hang on . . . You said our madam safeguards us. What about the girl who was beaten up by the gangsters?”

  “Tina hired those gangsters. That’s why our madam did nothing.”

  Trang bit her lip. Her job was more difficult and dangerous than she’d imagined. “I’ve been thinking about Quỳnh, you know . . . I don’t want her to go into the back room or spend the night with a stranger. She’s my little sister . . . And the fact that she confronted Tina last night . . .”

  “Let me talk to Tina and make peace among you guys,” Hân said. “And about Quỳnh’s decisions with the men, don’t you think it’s her choice? She’s smart and seems to know what she’s doing.”

  “She’s too young for this. Please . . . help me watch out for her.”

  Hân nodded.

  “Are you not worried about becoming pregnant?” Trang asked. “I was thinking . . . that if I get a child before being married, my parents would die . . .”

  “ . . . from shame, I know. But there are rubbers. If we can convince the men to use them, we won’t get babies.”

  Trang’s eyes widened.

  “I only learned how to use them once I got here, of course,” Hân said. “If a man puts a rubber onto his thing before he goes into you, you won’t get pregnant. And you won’t get bad germs from him, either.”

  “Bad germs?”

  “Nasty things that make you itch and hurt down there. . . . But some men . . . they don’t like rubbers. If you insist that they put the rubber on, they get angry and won’t pay you . . .”

  Trang shook her head. “You do these things with men, and you don’t worry that your future husband will know?”

  “How will he?”

  “Well . . . you won’t be bleeding on your first night.”

  Hân giggled. “Don’t you know it’s quite easy to fake? Chicken blood, for example . . . Men are more stupid than you think.” She yawned. “I mentioned the nurse. She checks on us every two weeks, to make sure we don’t carry yucky germs. Men come to our bar because they know we’re clean.”

  “She checks the men, too?”

  “I wish. . . . Apparently only us girls are supposed to carry diseases.”