the armband, a novel by luong minh dao - 2

     

                                        t h e   a r m b a n d    2
                                            a novel by   luong minh dao  (  usa )


     Van' s friends left his  house .   Less than ten minute later, they rang the bell hastily four or five times .  .   Van turned on the light at the gate and went outside.   A young man in a   khaki shirt with a rifle in his hand standing behind the iron bars on the gate.

     " Agents of the Public Security," the young man said. " Open the  gate ".
     Some more youths left the shadows of tall trees and stood behind the young man; they were also armed with rifles.   Van crossed the yard.

     " The people informed us of a counter-revoltutionary meeting in your house." said the young man ." Open the gate ".

     Right after Van lifted the  latch, they pushed the door open and stepped in.   The youths scattered around the house.   Lowering down his rifle, the young man told Van to go inside.   He and one of the youths followed Van.   Van felt a little chill on the back of his neck and gooseflesh on his arms, and then, he was comfortable in the bright light of the living room.

    " Show me the rooms ", the young man said.

     He wore a khaki shirt and green canvas pants.    On his shirtsleeve, there are a large red bank, the band that was assumed to be the badge of a member of any revolutionary organisation in the early stage of the occupation of the city.   Van uderstood that to ask about the search warrant was ironic and dangerous.   Van opened the door at the right side of the living room.

     " This is my study room," Van said and turned on the light, then stepped aside to give the way to the man.   The young man stood at the door and looked around.   There were only a table with a chair and books on the shelves around the room.   The window to the small yard was closed.   The young man stepped back, and they went me to open them ?".

     " They are bathrooms," Van said.  " Do you want  me to open them ?"
      The young man shook his head.   Van went to the other side of the living room.
     " This our bedroom," Van  opened the door and said.
     " I know, " The young man said.   He stepped in an looked at the other door.
     "Where does it go ?" he pointed at the door and asked.
     " To our children' s  room," Van answered. " They are not home ".
     " I konw," said the young man, calm and confident.
      Van crossed the dinning room and opened another door.
      " This is the guest room," Van said." It is a little smaller but there is a bath room inside.    Do you want to look at it ?"
     The young man shook his head again, and they went back to the living room.

     " And this room?" pointing at a closed door, the young man asked . " Open it," he said.
     " It is my wife's  room, " Van  spontaneously answered.  " It is her own room, she went abroad, I cannnot open it ."

     Suddenly, Van was aware of the possible consequences of his answer to the young man' s order.   He thought that the young man would force the door with the butt of his rifle or with anything he could find in Van's house.   Looking into Van's eyes, then, staring at the doorknob, the young man did not say a word.   Then he passed the rifle to his right hand and left the dioor.    Van surprised that he did not have to explain why he could not open it .
     " Where are the others ?" asked the young man  with some hesistation.
     " You mean my friends? They went home a half hour ago ."
     " I know.  What is the outcome of your meeting ?"
     " What meeting ?"
    " Why  they came here ?"
     Nothing unusual happened.  We see each other frequently.   We ate dinner because it was dinner time ."
     " What did you talk about ?"
    " It  was nothing really special ."
     " They shoud be something different?"
     " Any difference?"  said Van.   " One of my friends speaks fluently many languages.  He talked about the nuances of some Russian words and phrases. "
    " Con you prove it ?"
     " I dont know; I am afraid that we   already the board."

     Van walked to his study room and approached the green board on its easel in a  corner of the room.   The young man followed him.
    " Do you see some letters on the top of the board ;" Van said;" they are not clear but I can recongnize  them ."
     The young man stepped  chose to the board and looked at some Russian words written with white chalk.   Van looked at the same part of the board and suddenly was aware of his  lack of caution.
     " Why Russian, the language of the new priviliged ?"
     The young man did not say a word; he stepped back and left the room.   Van followed him.
     " You must go to our office, " the young man said and walked to the door.
      Van walked behind him, and the youth followed him.

       They walked on the road; the streelights scattered the shadows of leaves on their shoulders.   The fives youths walked behind Van, their rifles of different types on their shouders made rythmic noises.   They stopped in front of a large villa after crossing some  intersections.   There were two guards armed with AK-47s standing in the shadow at the gate.   The young man approached and talked to them, they opened the gate, harsh noises vibrated in the humid air.   The young man gestured them to go in.   The dew seemed to soften the sounds of their footsteps on the graveled path.   The young man told Van to follow him; they walked to the garage beside the main buiding.     The youths walked towards the main house, all its windows were closed,  and it was dark inside.   The young man slid open the door of the garage and turned on the lighht.    Under the  electric lamp, there were a table and  some chairs in the center of the room.   The young man gestured Van to sit on one of the two benches along the right side wall.
     '  Wait here, I go for my superior's instruction, " he said and left the garage.

    When the young  man disappeared behind the corner of the main building, Van sat down and leaned his back against the wall.   Not long after, Van heard a motorcycle starting in the corner of the grass yard, and then, he saw its headlight moving on the path along the fence near the  street.   The motorcycle left the gate, nad th sound ot its engine faded out fradually.

    " He went for his superior's instructions," Van thought but could not guess who his superior was.   Van stared at the door of the garage.   Light form the lamp fll on a small square area on the path and lit up tiny drops of water floating in the air.   Van wondered where his friends were; possibly. they arrested them at the gate of Van' s house and kept them in one of the rooms in that main building.   It semmed that all the street activities had ceased.   Van  missed the sound of hovering helicopters echoing in all streets just a week before-they picked up the last American officials from their residenes  --  and the moises of cars and motorcycles running up and down in the streets; they gave the impression that the whole city was looking for the way out before the new regime stepped in.   Van closed his eyes, he felt tired and fell asleep.

     When Van opened his eyes, the young man was standing his motorcycle on the right area of the path.   He took his rifle from the handlebars and walked into the garage.   He  put his rifle on the table and stood in front  the table, leaning his hands against it and bending little forwards.    Van sat up, staring at him.   The young man looked at Van. The red band on  his right arm  was exposed to the light of the lamp above his heads, new and spotless.   The young man cleared his  throat.

     " In the name of the Revolution, " he said with a clear and cold voice, " I declare your innocence and release you
.
     Stiff, Vanm looked at him, he did not have enough time to understand the young man.
    " You are free to go" , the young man explained.

     Van stood up and walked to the door without saying a word.   He walked on the gaveled path and reached the gate in only a moment.   The guards opened the gate; Van left and walked on the road.   The shadow of leaves moved incessantly on his white shirt.   He could not think of anything ecxept the wayhome.   When he was approaching a crossroads, an man armed with a rifle left the dark behind a tall tree beside the road and motioned Van to stop.   He stopped immediately and stood still.   He heard the firing of some rifles and saw a motorcycle running unsteadily into the intersection.   An man from the back seat fell on the road; the arm of his shirt stained with blood.   The motorcycle driver made a circle, and the wounded man jumped to his seat, the motorcycle left the intersection with the loud explosions of its engine.   Some seconds later, two other motorcycles, crossed the intersection with high speed.   Van heard the firing at the end of the street, and then, the noises of the motors died out.   Van saw the tiny drops of water in the air falling slowly above the brightly lit crossroads.

     The armed man gestured Van to cross the road, Van resumed walking.   When he reached the intersection, Van saw a man kneeling on the sidewalk by the lamppost at the right corner of the street, his arms were tied to his ankles; his head leaned forwads, and the  nape of his neck was exposed in the  bright light of the street lamp.   Van thought of a prisoner waiting  for his decapitation.

     Van crossed the road and went home.   He made coffee and drank it at the dinner table.   He could not concentrate of any idea and did not want to go to bed.   He though of the crossroads, the young man, the youths, the red armband, the blood on the white shirt, the guillotine at the corner of a prison backyard in a foggy morning, the garage and the dark building, the tom black robe hung on a telephone line above the front   yard of the City on his crossed arms on the table . []

luong minh dao