Fifty Years Later

Short Fiction

I

After successfully completing my business dealings in Singapore and Bangkok, my Asian itinerary took me to Saigon (as I used to know it and prefer now to Ho Chi Minh City), where I was welcomed cordially and graciously. I also saw what I wanted to forget.

50th anniversary celebrations of North Vietnam’s victory over the South and its American ally made me eager to move on to Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur and the rest of my dealings, but business is business. After all, Vietnam is not only a leading supplier of clothing to the United States, but a nation with whom we now have both economic and diplomatic ties and a potential military ally in the troubled South China Seas. 

2025 is not 1975. The past is past, but for some, what happened here long ago is not easily forgotten or forgiven. Mr. Nguyen, one of my Saigon hosts, remarked on this issue, curious as he was about the unending number of veterans he’d seen returning to the site of a former base or battlefield.

“I imagine it helps some of them find a measure of peace,” he told me as we shared an elaborate meal some of whose offerings would never be found on an American menu given its share of heads, tails, organs and waste parts. “Unfortunately there is no magical moon or sublime star that can grant them the respite they are seeking. It may take a lifetime. And yourself, sir? By any chance, in addition to your official duties, have you come here seeking – ?”

“Just a businessman, sir, just a businessman, here to coordinate sales, profits and good will for both our nations as we draw closer together,” I pardoned myself and ended the conversation. 

II

I returned to California in June and made a stop at a plush hotel rooftop in downtown San Francisco to join Bay Area financial experts and hear their news and views on game-changing AI, robots imitating human ingenuity, stock trends, market expectations and investment analysis.   

 After getting fully up to date on these and other matters, my attention span moved on to admiring the beauty of Golden Gate Bay and its seascape of sailboats. I was lost in thought about my adventures abroad until a woman passing nearby suddenly did a full stop to take a second look at me and ask an unexpected question.             

“Excuse me, sir, but don’t I know you from somewhere?”         

“That makes two of us. Any idea where that somewhere might be?”    

“I’m pretty certain I’ve seen you before, but I can’t place it. Business convention? Corporate conference? Are you based locally?”       

“Mostly overseas. I’m just back from consulting with our Asian suppliers about tariffs and taxes. Have you been in Bangkok, Singapore or Saigon recently?” 

“Not even close. I’m strictly local. So what’s cooking these days over in Asia?”    

“Interesting as always. My Saigon hosts were welcoming and more than slightly worried about where we are going. They were also celebrating the end of the old war with military parades and shows of force. As if they’d won the war.”

“Didn’t they? I thought they did.”   

“Not really. We decided that it was a waste of time, money and lives to remain there. So we let them have it back. Today we do a great deal of business with them and do our best to calm them about where America is heading. They look to people like me to reassure them, and I do, though I, too, have to wonder.” 

Not knowing what to make of my interpretation of history, she nodded, said it was a pleasure meeting me, wished me well and hastened to meet an investor with whom she seemed to be far better acquainted than myself. 

III

Home again and enjoying a welcome California coolness after Asian heat and humidity, summer ambushed me one afternoon with a 90-degree surprise for my golf game. Tempted as I was to wait for a cooler day, and lacking a cart that I had loaned to a physically limited friend, common sense urged me to retire to the club terrace for a shaded table overlooking a vivid green expanse filled with imprecise putters and frustrated hitters, all of whom intense on scoring an elusive par. 

On the other hand, the never-say-die sportsman in me urged my rising to the challenge and embracing the benefit of exercise.

“You need the practice,” my sporting instinct insisted. ”You’re here. The 18 holes are waiting. What are you waiting for? Get your clubs and get moving!”

Long before I finished, I stopped keeping score. When I lost my last ball in a golf lagoon, I escaped to the comforts of the clubhouse, showered and exited in search of a friend or acquaintance willing to share a meal and conversation. It was then I heard a voice calling my name. 

“Hey there, Josh! Over here, honey! Come join us!”

IV

I turned and saw my real estate friend Felicity waving me invitingly to the shaded table she was sharing with women absorbed in studying their menus and quizzing one another about the quality and desirability of its offerings.

“We happen to have an empty chair here,” Felicity beckoned. “Sit yourself down. Let me introduce you to the ladies, some of whom I think you know. The twins–Marissa and Melissa. Next to me, April and Crystal, my office aides. And my neighbor Tricia and her daughter Alicia. Well, is everyone ready to order? Ah, thank heaven! The breeze is coming in now. It’s going to be a lovely evening.”   

It was even lovelier when a June full moon rose and remained so extraordinarily low in the sky that you felt bathed in its colorfully tinted light. The ladies fell silent at the spectacle as if under a spell. The vision was one of beauty and wonder. I felt a sense of peace I had not known for many years.

Thanks to the magical moon, Vietnam was now so distant from my thoughts that it was as if the war that nearly cost me my life had at long last come to an end.

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