[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.“You know.If the people doing it are crazy enough, it just might work,” she said.They came out of the dense side streets and onto a broad French boulevard on which thousands of people waited patiently in line.Trin pointed at the top of a gray stone pyre that poked through the trees.They parked and waited while Trin ran into an office.He returned with tickets and slipped a guard a U.S.dollar.The guard escorted them to the head of the line.American tourists were allowed to take cuts.Broker averted his eyes from the squints of dour peasant veterans, their shirts clanking with medals, who stood patiently in the sun.They joined a procession of elementary school kids who wore white shirts, blue trousers and skirts, and had red scarves tied around their necks.The kids walked in orderly ranks minded by their teachers.“Pioneers,” sniffed Trin.“Communist youth movement.”The shrine rose in blocky tiers of pharaonic Russian granite.Soldiers in red-trimmed rust-brown uniforms stood mannequin-stiff at attention.White gloves.Gleaming carbines.Huge urns of bonsai flanked the carpeted entrance.Trin smiled tightly.“I’ve never been in here.”“Me either,” said Broker.The joke died on their faces under the quiet brown gaze of the Young Pioneers.Feeling like someone being initiated into a solemn pagan ritual, Broker walked up the steps, around a corner and shuffled down a ramp into the chilled, dimly lit inner sanctum.Nina squeezed his hand.“This is our first real date,” she whispered reverently.Holding hands, they filed past the glass sarcophagus that held the frail, embalmed cadaver of the little man with the goatee who had stared down the Free World.Back in the sunlight Trin fidgeted and lit a cigarette in an explosion of nerves.He muttered in Vietnamese.Broker put a hand to his shoulder.“You all right?”Trin bared his teeth.“We said a lot of things.He said a single thing, ‘Vietnam is one.’” Trin exhaled and recited under his breath.“The mountains can be flattened, the rivers can be drained, but one truth remains: Vietnam is one.” Trin shook his head ruefully.“That guy was focused.”“I know somebody like that,” said Broker playfully.Nina punched him softly on the arm, then she raised her hand.“Listen,” she said.Broker cocked his head and heard music in the trees.A PA speaker played Hanoi Muzac near the tomb.The procession of Young Pioneers marched away to a twanging rendition of “Oh Susannah.”Broker stared at Trin.Trin shrugged and shook his head.“On traditional instruments, too.”Nina laughed, really starting to enjoy herself.“I’m beginning to see how this place could screw up your mind.”Trin reverted to tour guide, leading them past an opulent French Colonial building to the contrasting austere wood house on stilts where Ho had lived, pointing out the pool where the carp would come when he clapped his hands.“There’s a debate in the party,” said Trin on the way back to the van.“In his will President Ho specified that he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered on three mountain tops.Maybe he will finally get his wish and be liberated from that Russian meat locker.”“Now what?” asked Nina.“The military museum,” said Trin, giving directions to Mr.Hai.The museum was a few minutes away, through the swarm of bicycles.Nina sat up abruptly and said, “Hello! Is that what I think it is?”“Absolutely,” said Trin.“The last statue of Lenin in the world, I think.” The statue dominated a square directly across from the museum.“I should have brought a camera,” said Nina.Trin immediately dug in his bag and produced an Instamatic.“I want you two in front of the statue,” said Nina.Trin had Mr.Hai pull over and explained the simple camera mechanism to Nina.They got out and a swirl of street kids surrounded them like blown gum wrappers.Selling postcards.Trin brushed off the kids and they walked up the shallow steps into the paved park toward the obstinate charcoal-gray statue.Paralyzed in larger-than-life bronze and contradictions, Lenin clasped his right lapel in one hand and knit his sooty devil’s eyebrows.Nina, camera in one hand, shooed a group of kids playing soccer out of her way.She directed Trin and Broker to stand back a few paces, took several snapshots, and then moved down the steps to get a wide-angle shot.Broker put his arm around Trin’s shoulder.It was very warm.A spoon band of cicadas clacked in gaps in the traffic.Foliage swooned in the breeze.A bright trickle of sweat ran from Trin’s hairline down his temple and into his scars.Mr.Hai wove across the busy street toward the military museum ticket booth
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]