message from nam [067-011-5.0]

by dannielle steel

Synopsis:

Journalist Paxton Andrews wants to discover the real truth about
Vietnam, and by getting to know the soldiers fighting there and by
experiencing their patrols in the jungle, she reveals the full tragedy
of war.

Delacorte Press

copyright 1990

ISBN: 0385299079

To the love of my life, John,
who makes every moment worth living.  And to our beloved boys, Trevor,
Todd, Nicholas, Maxx, may you never, ever have to fight a war, like
this one.  With all my heart and love, d.s. The torch has been passed
to a new generation.  From John Fitzgerald Kennedy's inaugural address.

The Boys Who Fought in Nam Passed hand to hand, the wishes, the
dreams, the hopes of an entire generation, an entire nation sent to
war, a score of old men leading all our boys to die, while we watched
in horror, in pain, in grief, the disbelief that we had to lose so many
of our boys, their toys barely left behind, their eyes so young,
sobright, so full of hope, the fight so long, so sad, the pain so bad,
the wounds so deep until at last our young men sleep in their maker's
arms again, their names carved in stone, never to come home, never to
touch our tears again.  - lest we forget, lest we grow old, our hearts
must never be so cold, we must not run and hide, we must remember them,
the boys who died - let it not be in vain, let us not forget, the pain,
the cries, the agonies, the braveries, the heroes, and the smiles, the
time that was so long ago, across so many miles in a land so bright so
green caught in a place just in between hope and lies, we must remember
still, must promise that we always will touch their hearts while still
we can, remember, friendsremember.the boys who died, who lived, who
cried, the boys who fought in Nam.  1. SAVANNAH... BERKELEY... November
1996.

3-June 1968It was a chill gray day in Savannah, and there was a
brisk breeze blowing in from the ocean.  There were leaves on the
ground in Forsyth Park and a few couples were wandering hand in hand,
some women were chatting and smoking a last cigarette before they went
back to work.  d in Savannah High School, the hallways were deserted.
The bell had rung at one o'clock, and the students were all in their
classrooms.  There was laughter coming from one room, and silence from
several others.  The squeak of chalk, the looks of bored despair on the
faces of sophomores ill prepared for a surprise quiz in civics.  The
senior class was being talked to about College Boards they were going
to take the following week, just before Thanksgiving.  And as they
listened, far away, in Dallas, gunfire erupted.  A man in a motorcade
catapulted into his wife's arms, his head exploding horrifyingly behind
him.  No one understood what had happened , and as the voice in
Savannah droned on about the College Boards, Paxton Andrews tried to
fight the sleepy waves of warm boredom.  And all of a sudden in the
still room, she felt as though she couldn't keep her eyes open a moment
longer.  Mercifully, at one-fifty the bell rang, all doors opened and
waves of high school students poured into the halls, freed from
quizzes, lectures, French literature, and the pharaohs of Egypt.
Everyone moved on to their next rooms, with an occasional stop at a
locker for a change of books, a quick joke, a burst of laughter.  And
then suddenly, a scream.  A long anguished wail, a sound that pierced
the air like an arrow shot from a great distance.  A thundering of
footsteps, a rush toward a comer room normally used only by teachers,
the television set flicked on, and hundreds of young worried faces
pressing through the doorway, and people saying No!

and shouting and calling and talking, and no one could hear what was
being said on the television, as still others shouted at them to be
quiet.  Hush up, you guys!  We can't hear what they're saying!

Is he hurt?  ishe .  No one dared to say the words, and through the
crowd again and again, the same words What's happening?  what happened?
 President Kennedy's been shot the President I don't know in Dallas
what happened?  President Kennedy he isn't .  No one quite believing it
at first.  Everyone wanting to think it was a bad joke.

Did you hear that President Kennedy's been shot?  Yeah then what?

What's the rest of the joke, man?  There was no rest of the joke.

There was only frantic talking, and endless questions, and no answers.
There were coded images on the screen with replays of the motorcade
breaking up and speeding away.  Walter Cronkite was on the air, looking
ashen.  The President has been seriously wounded.  A murmur went
through the Savannah crowd, and it seemed as though every student and
teacher at Savannah High School were pressed into that one tiny room,
and crowding in from the hallways.  What'd he say?  what did he say?  a
voice from the distance asked.  He said the President is seriously
wounded, 'a voice from the front started back to the others, and three
freshmen girls started to cry, as Paxton stood somberly in a comer in
the press of bodies around her, and watched them.  There was suddenly
an eerie stillness in the room, as though no one wanted to move, as
though they were afraid to disturb some delicate balance in the air, as
though even the tiniest motion might change the course his life would
take and Paxton found herself thinking back to another day, six years
before, when she was only eleven... Daddy's been hurt, Pax.  Her
brother I George had told her the news.  Her mother had been at the
hospital with her father.  He liked to fly his own plane to go to
meetings around the state, and he'd had to bring it down in a sudden
thunderstorm near Atlanta.  Is he?  will he be okay?  I - ."

There had been a strange catch in George's voice, a terrible truth in
his eyes that she had wanted to run and hide from.  She had been eleven
then, and George was twenty-five.  They were fourteen years apart and
several lifetimes.  Paxton had been an accident, her mother still
whispered to friends, an accident that Carlton Andrews had never ceased
to be grateful for, and which still seemed to startle Paxton's mother.
Beatrice Andrews had been twenty-seven years old when their son George
was born.  It had taken her five years to get pregnant I with him, and
as far as she was concerned, her pregnancy was a nightmare.  She was
sick every day for nine months, and the delivery was a horror she knew
she would always remember.  George was born by cesarean section,
finally, after forty-two hours of hard labor, and although he was a big
beautilul tenpound baby boy, Beatrice Andrews promised herself that she
would never have another baby.  It was an experience she wouldn't have
repeated for anything, and she saw to it with great care that she
wouldn't have to.  Carlton was, as always, I patient with her, and he
was crazy about his boy.  George was the kind of boy any father would
have loved.  He was a happy, easygoing, reasonably athletic boy, with a
serious penchant for 1 his studies which also pleased his mother.
Theirs was a quiet, happy life.  Carlton had a healthy law practice,
Beatrice had an important role with the Historical Society, the Junior
League, and the Daughters of the Civil War.  Her life was fulfilled.
And she played bridge every Tuesday.  It was there that she felt the
first twinge, that for the first time she felt suddenly violently
nauseous.  She assumed she had eaten something off at the League
breakfast that day, and went home to lie down right after her bridge
game.  And three weeks later she knew.  At the age of forty-one, with a
fourteen-year-old son about to enter high school, and a husband who
wasn't even gracious enough to hide his delight, she was pregnant.
This pregnancy was easier for her than the first, but she didn't even
seem to care.  She was so outraged by the indignity of it, the
embarrassment of being pregnant again when other women were thinking
about grandchildren.

She didn't want another baby, she had never wanted another child, and
nothing her husband said seemed to appease her.  Even the tiny,
perfect, angelic-looking little blond baby girl they put in her arms
when she awoke barely seemed to console her.  All she could talk about
for months was how foolish she felt, and she left the child constantly
with the huge, purring black baby-nurse she had hired when she was
pregnant.  Elizabeth McQueen was her name, but everyone called her
Queenie.  And she wasn't really a nurse by trade.  She had borne eleven
children of her own, only seven of whom lived, and she was that rarest
of rare gifts of the South, the old beloved black mammy.  She was
filled with love for everyone, but most especially for children and
babies, and she loved Paxton with a passion and a warmth that no mother
could have surpassed had she given birth to her, and certainly,
Beatrice Andrews didn't.  She remained uncomfortable around the little
girl, and for reasons she herself couldn't really explain, she always
kept her distance.  The child always seemed to have sticky hands, or
she wanted to touch the delicate bottles of perfume on Beatrice's table
and she invariably spilled them, and somehow mother and child always
seemed to make each other nervous.  It was Queenie who forted her when
she cried, whose arms she ran to when she was I hurt or afraid, Queenie
who never left her, even for a moment- There were no days off in
Gueenie's life.  There was nowhere she really wanted to go on a day
off, her children had their own lives now, and she couldn't imagine
what would happen to Paxxie if she wasn't there to help her.  Her
father was always good to her, and he loved that child so, but her
mother was a dilferent story.  As Paxton grew older, the difference
between them grew, and by the time she was ten, Paxton had already
guessed that they had almost nothing In common.  It was difficult to
believe that they were even related.  To her mother, her clubs were
everything, her women friends, her auxiliaries, her bridge days, and
benefits for the Daughters of the Civil War, her life I with those
women were what she lived for.  She almost seemed uninterested when her
husband came home, and she listened politely to what he said at the
dinner table at night, but even Paxton noticed that her mother seemed
almost bored by her husband.  And Carlton noticed it too.  Although he
would never have admitted it to anyone, he felt the same chill
emanating from his wife as Paxton had for years.

Beatrice Andrews was dutiful, loyal, organized, well-dressed, pleasant,
polite, perfectly bred, and she had never felt a single emotion for
anyone in her entire lifetime.  She simply didn't have it in her.
Queenie knew it, too, although she expressed it differently than
Carlton would have, she'd long since said of her to her daughters that
Beatrice Andrews's heart was colder and smaller than peach pits in
winter.  The closest she ever came to loving anyone was what she felt
for her son, George.  They had a kind of rapport that she had never
been able to allow herself with Paxton.  She admired I him, respected
him, and he had long since affected a kind of cool, aloof, clinical way
of looking at things that eventually led him into medicine, and she was
impressed by that too.  She liked the fact that her son was a doctor.
He was even brighter than his father, she secretly told her friends, in
fact, he reminded her a great deal of her own father who had been on
the Georgia Supreme Court, and she felt certain that one day George
would do great things.  But what would Paxton ever do?  She would go to
school and graduate, and eventually get married and have children.  It
hardly seemed an impressive path to Beatrice, and yet it was the one
that she herself had followed.  At her father's insistence, she had
gone to Sweet Briar.  And married Carlton two weeks after graduation.
But in truth, although she enjoyed their company, and sought it out at
every opportunity, she had no great respect for women.  It was men who
impressed her, who accomplished the great things.  And there was no
doubt in her mind that the pretty blond child who put her sticky little
hands everywhere at every opportunity was certainly not destined for
greatness.  Walter Cronkite's voice droned on, as Paxton and the others
stared silently at the television screen at school.  The few people who
were still talking were doing so in whispers.  And every few minutes,
Cronkite was switching over to the reporters now standing in the lobby
of Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas, where the President had been
taken.  We don't have any real answers for you yet, the face on the
screen said, all we know is that the President's condition is critical,
but there haven't been any new bulletins in the last few minutes.  With
that, a teacher's hand reached out and switched the dial, just in time
to hear Chet Huntley say almost exactly the same thing on another
network.  The students were looking at each other, with terror clearly
etched on their faces.  And again, Paxton could remember George coming
to pick her up at school to tell her about their father.  The accident,
the plane coming down and George's face as he told her.  He had just
finished medical school then, and he was waiting to start his residency
at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta.  He had managed to stay in the
South for his entire education, although their f father was a Harvard
graduate and had encouraged him to go north.  But Beatrice felt that it
was important to stay close to their roots, and support the educational
institutions of the South, and she frequently said so.  It was two
o'clock, and Paxton stood breathlessly in the corner of the room trying
to believe that he would be all right, fighting back tears, and not
sure if she was crying for their President, or her father.  Her father
had died the day after his plane crashed, his injuries too great, his
wife and son at his side, while Paxton waited at home with Queenie.  At
eleven, they thought she was too young to see him at the hospital, and
he had never regained consciousness anyway.  She had never seen him
again.  He was gone, with all his warmth and his love and his broad
wisdom about the world, his fascination with people and history and
things far, far from Savannah.  He was a southern gentleman of the old
school, and yet in some secret ways he didn't fit into the mold he had
been born to, and it was that that Paxton loved about him.  That and
everything else in fact, the way he hugged her tight when she ran to
him, the way he sounded when they went for long walks and talked about
things she wondered about, like the war, and Europe, and what it had
been like to go to Harvard.  She loved the way he sounded and the way
he smelled, the spice of his after-shave would leave a fresh smell in
the room after he'd walked through it and the way his eyes crinkled
when he smiled, and the things he said about how proud he was of her
she felt as though she had died when they played Amazing Grace at his
funeral, and I Queenie sat in the back row and cried so loud, Paxton
could hear her from where she sat between George and her mother.  Her
life had never been the same again since her father died.  I It was as
though he had taken a piece of her with him, the piece that used to
smell wild flowers with him, and go to his office to I visit him when
he had to work on Saturday mornings, the piece that could talk to him
as though she really understood world, and ask him all kinds of
questions.  She had an uncanny sense about people, and she had once
said to him that she didn't think her mother really loved her.  It
didn't really bother Paxton anymore.  It just was.  And she had Queenie
and her father.  I think I think she needs someone like George.  He
doesn't make her nervous, and he talks about the things she cares
about.  He kind of is like her, don't you think, Daddy?  Sometimes when
I say I really love something, I think it scares her.  She was more
perceptive than she knew, and Carlton Andrews knew it too, but he never
admitted it to his only daughter.  She doesn't express her feelings the
way you and I do, he said honestly, sitting back in the comfortable old
leather chair that she liked to swivel in until it threatened to fall
off its moorings.  But that doesn't mean she doesn't have them.  He
felt an obligation to protect his wife, even from Paxton, although he
knew that what Paxxie said was true.  Beatrice was as cold as ice.

Dutiful and loyal and a good wife in her own eyes.  She kept a nice
home, was always polite and kind to him, she would never cheat on him,
or be rude to him, or betray him.  She was a lady to her very core, but
like Paxxie he wondered if she had ever loved anyone or anything,
except George, but even there she kept a cool, comfortable distance.
It was just that their son was sO much like her, he didn't expect more
than that.  But Carlton did, and so did Paxxie, and they both knew
that, from Beatrice, they would never get it.  She loves you, Pax.  But
even as he said it, Paxton thought he was lying.  She didn't totally
understand the subtle shadings of just how much the woman was capable
of, or wasn't.  Carlton had a much clearer picture.  I love you, Daddy.
 She had thrown her arms around him then, without hesitation or
reserve.  She never held back anything from him, and he laughed as she
almost knocked him off the ancient swivel chair.  'Hey, you you're
goin' to have me on the floor here in a minute.  He dreamed about her
going to Radclifle one day, and as he held her close to him, he could
imagine her grown and beautiful, and the pride of his sunset years.
She was everything he had ever dreamed of, warm and loving and giving
and caring.  She was everything he himself was, although he didn't know
it.  And then, he was gone, and Paxton was alone with them, except for
Queenie.  She studied hard, and she read all the time.  She wrote
letters to her father, as though he were away on a trip, and she could
mail the letters to him, except that she couldn't.  Sometimes she put
the letters away, and sometimes she just tore them up.  But it helped
her to write them.  It was a way of still talking to him, since she
couldn't talk to them.  Her mother seemed to jump at everything she
said, she disagreed with everything Paxton said, and sometimes Paxxie
almost felt as though she'd come from another planet.  They were so
different in every way.  And George was just like her.  He would urge
Paxton to behave and try to see things her mother's way, to be
reasonable, and remember who she was, which only confused her further.
Who was she?  Her father's daughter, or theirs?  Who was right?  But in
her heart of hearts, there was no confusion.  She knew that his broader
love of the world was the only way for her, and by the time George
finished his residency at Grady Memorial, and she turned sixteen, she
knew without a moment's doubt that she wanted to get out of the South
and go to Radclifle.  Her mother wanted her to go to Agnes Scott or
Mary Baldwin, or Sweet Briar where she had gone herself, or even Bryn
Mawr, but she thought it a ridiculous idea for Paxton to go to
Radcliffe.  You don't need to go to a northern school.  We have
everything you need right here.  Look at your brother.  He had every
opportunity to go anywhere in the country, and he stayed right here in
Georgia.  The very idea of it made Paxton feel claustrophobic.  She
wanted to get away from their narrow ideas, from her mother's friends,
from the things she heard about the horrors of Civil rights were
something she discussed with her friends, or with Queenie, sotto voce
in the kitchen.  But even Queenie clung to the old views and thought
that black folks should stay where black folks belonged, and that ain't
the same place as white folks.  The thought of mixing the two
frightened her, and it was only her children and her grandchildren who
wanted the same changes as Paxton.  But Paxton thought the things she
had grown up with were wrong, and she wasn't afraid to say so, or write
papers about it for school.  She knew her father would have agreed with
her too, he always had, and that added fuel to her fervor.  It was a
subject she had learned not to discuss with her mother and brother.
But that fall, she had applied to half a dozen northern schools, and
two in California.  She had applied to Vassar, Wellesley, Radcliffe,
Smith, and in the West, Stanford, and UC Berkeley.  She didn't really
want to go to a girls' school, and Radcliffe was the only one she
really wanted.  She had applied to the two western schools because her
adviser thought she should, and she had finally applied halfheartedly
to Sweet Briar, to appease her mother.  And her mother's friends kept
telling her how happy she was going to be there, as though her going to
Sweet Briar was a foregone conclusion.  It was something she couldn't
even think of now, as her eyes clung to the clock.  It was only two
o'clock, half an hour after the President had been shot, ten minutes
since they had been watching the television for news of him, as the
entire nation prayed, and his family knew what Paxton had learned six
years before when her father died that it was over.  At 2:01, Walter
Cronkite looked into the camera with a defeated look and told the
American people that their President was dead, and in the tiny room at
Savannah High, there was a murmur of grief that became a wail, and the
room was suddenly filled with the sound of sobbing.  People were crying
everywhere and teachers and students embraced, muttering incoherently
about how could a thing like that happen.

Walter Cronkite went on, two doctors were interviewed, and Paxton felt
as though she were moving underwater.  Everything seemed to have slowed
down, and everything seemed to be happening at a great distance.
People were crying everywhere, and Paxton could barely see as the tears
coursed down her cheeks and she felt a breathlessness she had felt once
before, as though someone had I squeezed all the air out of her and she
would never catch her breath again.  It was a pain and a grief almost
beyond bearing.  I And in an odd way, this was like losing him all over
again.  Her father had been fifty-seven years old when he died, and
John Kennedy was only forty-six, and yet both had been cut down in the
prime of their lives, filled with fire and ideas and excitement I about
living, both had families, both had children who loved them dearly.
And Jack Kennedy would be mourned by an entire world, Carlton Andrews
was only mourned by those who knew him.  But it felt the same to Paxton
now, and she could feel what his children must feel, the terrible
grief, the loss, the sorrow, the anger.  This was so terrible, so
wrong, how could anyone do it?  She walked blindly down the halls as
she left the school, without saying a word to anyone, and she ran the
halfdozen blocks to their home on Habersham, and the door to their
house slammed as she flew into the front hall, still crying, her
white-blond mane still flying behind her.  She looked like her father,
too, or as he had as a boy, with shining blond hair, and big green eyes
that always seemed to be searching for answers.  And she looked
frighteningly pale now as she dropped her I books and her bag, and
hurried to the kitchen to find Queenie.  Queenie was humming to herself
as she hustled around the kitchen she loved.  The copper pots shone to
perfection as they I hung on the racks above her head, and there was
the fragrant smell of her baking.  And she turned in surprise to see
Paxton standing staring at her with a wild-eyed look and her lovely
young face frightened and tear-stained.  At that moment, Paxton was the
symbol of an entire nation.  What happen', child?  Queenie looked
frightened as she moved her enormous bulk toward the girl she had
raised and loved like no other.  I .  For a moment, Paxxie didn't know
what to say.  She couldn't find the words, didn't know what to tell
her.

Haven't you watched TV today?  Queenie was addicted to' the soaps, but
she only shook her head and stared at Paxton.  No, your mom took the
kitchen set to be fixed yesterday.  It's broke.  And I never watch the
big set in the living room.  She looked hurt at the suggestion.  Why?
She wondered if something terrible had happened in downtown Savannah
maybe Dr. George or missis Andrews or even her own children might be
affected maybe one of those terrible civil rights demonstrations maybe
But she was in no way prepared for what Paxton told her.  President
Kennedy was shot.  Oh, my land .  Queenie sank her enormous bulk into
the nearest chair with a look of shocked horror.  Her eyes moved to
Paxton's then with an unspoken question.  He's dead.  Paxxie began to
cry again, and then knelt next to Queenie and put her arms around her.
It was like losing her father all over again.  That terrible feeling of
loss and despair and grief and betrayal.  And Queenie held her as they
both cried for a man they had never known and who had been felled so
young, and for what?  Why?  Who had they done it?  How angry could
anyone be?

What purpose would it serve?  And why him as an example?  Who a man
with two small children and a young wife?  Who anyone?  And why someone
so alive and so full of hope and promise for so many?

Paxxie mourned him in Queenie's arms, and the old black woman held her
and rocked her as she had as a child, as she herself cried for a man
she had never known, but believed to be a good person.  Lawd, child - I
can't hardly believe it.  Who would anyone do such a thing?  Do they
know who did it?  I don't think so.  But when they went to the living
room and turned on the TV, there was fresh news, a man named Lee Harvey
Oswald had shot and killed a Dallas policeman who tried to question
him, and had been traced to the Book Depository where the fatal shots
had been flred into the motorcade at one-thirty.  And he was believed
to be President Kennedy's killer.  Oswald had been apprehended, the
policeman and the President were dead, a secret service agent too,
Texas governor John Connally had been severely wounded, but was doing
well, and the President's body was on its way to Washington on Air
Force One, with his wife beside him.  President and missis Johnson were
on board, too, and there had been earlier reports that he had been
wounded slightly, which were later proven to be only rumors.  An entire
nation was in shock, and Paxton and Queenie stood there mutely, still
unable to believe what they were hearing and seeing.

They were still standing there, watching silently, tears streaming down
their faces, when Paxton's mother walked in a few minutes later.  She
went to the hairdresser every Friday afternoon and was just returning
from her weekly appointment.  She had heard the news there, and she
looked grim as she silently joined them.  Several of the women had gone
home with wet hair, and most of the hairdressers didn't have the heart
to fiNsh what they had started.  Everyone was in tears, and Beatrice
Andrews had been having her hair rinsed when they first heard the news.
 But she had stayed to have everything done, and even convinced one of
the girls to finish her manicure.

She hated to let it all go for a few more days.  She had a lot to do
that weekend before Thanksgiving, and her bridge club was giving a
dinner.  It never dawned on her that no one would be giving anything.
Every festivity able would be canceled, as people sat glued to their
TVs and an entire nation went into mourning.  But that hadn't occurred
to her, and she had come home, feeling subdued, but not hysterical by
any means.  She thought some of the women got a little too carried
away.  She knew what real grief was, she had lost her own husband,
after all, hadn't she, and it was impossible to feel the same emotion
for a public figure.  And yet people did feel that for him, that
intense kind of personal grieving as though they had known and loved
him.  He had brought new hope to everyone, the promise of youth brought
to ancient tasks, the magic of a world they would never know and could
only dream I of.  And his beautiful wife reminded everyone of a fairy
princess.

Beatrice Andrews stood solemnly beside her daughter and the woman who
had raised her, and then sat down to watch Lyndon Johnson take the oath
of office on Air Force One, but she did not invite Queenie to join her.
 The cameras showed Judge Sarah Hughes administering the oath to Lyndon
Johnson, as Jacqueline Kennedy stood beside him, and everyone watching
suddenly realized that she was wearing the same pink suit, the suit she
had worn when he was killed, the suit that was still covered with his
blood.  And her face showed the ravages of grief, as Lyndon Johnson
became President, and Paxton sank slowly into a chair beside her
mother.  The tears were pouring down her cheeks, and she stared at the
screen in disbelief, unable to absorb what had happened.  How could
anyone do such a thing?  She sobbed as Queenie shook her head, and
still crying herself, went back to the kitchen.  I don't know, Paxton.
They're talking about a conspiracy.  But I don't think anyone knows yet
why it happened.  I feel sorry for missis Kennedy and the children.
What a terrible thing It made Paxton think again about her father-
Although he hadn't been assassinated, he had died unexpectedly, and his
absence still hurt her.  Maybe it always would.  And surely the I
President's children would always feel his absence too.  Who did I it
have to happen?  I These are tNTes of terrible turmoil, her mother went
on, all the racial disturbances the changes he tried to make perhaps
this is the price he paid for it in the end.  Beatrice Andrews looked
prim as she turned off the TV, and Paxton stared at her, wondering if
she would ever understand her.  You think this is because of civil
rights?  You think that's why it happened?  Paxton sounded suddenly
angry.  Who did she think that way?  Who did she want to keep
everything back in the Dark Ages?  Who did they have to live in the
South?  Why had she been born in Savannah?  I'm not saying that's why
it happened, Paxton.  I'm saying it's possible.

You can't turn an entire country around, and I change traditions that
people have felt comfortable with for hundreds of years and not pay a
price for it.  Perhaps this was the price to be paid.  A terrible one,
to be sure.  Paxton stared at her in disbelief.  But the argument
between them was not a new one.  Mother, how can you say people are
'comfortable with' segregation?  How can you say that?  Do you think
the slaves were 'comfortable' too?  Some of them were.  Some of them
had much better lives than they do now, when they belonged to
responsible people.  Oh, my God.  But she believed it.  And Paxton knew
it.  Look what happens to the blacks today.  They can't read, they
can't write, they work like dogs, they're abused, separated,
segregated, they don't have any of the privileges that you and I do,
Mama.  It was rare that she called her mother that, only when she was
desperate or very involved, or upset as she was now, but Beatrice
Andrews seemed not to notice.  Maybe they wouldn't be able to handle
those privileges, Paxton.  I don't know.  I'm just saying you can't
change the world overnight and not have some terrible repercussions.
And that is just what has happened.  Paxton didn't say another word.
She went to her room and lay on her bed and cried until dinnertime,
when her brother arrived, and she emerged pale-faced and swollen-eyed
for their regular Friday night dinner.  He came for dinner every
Tuesday and Friday night, unless his work interfered or he had an
important social engagement, which seemed to be very seldom.  And like
his mother, he was at opposite poles from his much younger sister.  But
he only smiled when she expressed her views, or pooh-poohed what she
said and told her she'd feel differently when she was older.  It was
why she seldom expressed her views to either of them, and she lived in
relative silence and kept a respectful distance.  She had nothing to
say to them, and trying to have philosophical or political discussions
with them only drove her crazy.  She saved her views for her friends at
school, or her more liberal teachers, or the essays she wrote, and when
she thought Queenie would understand it, she talked to her, and the old
woman had a wisdom that belied her very sketchy education.  But she was
wise in the ways of the world, and often a good person for Paxton to
talk to.  Paxton had even talked to her about the colleges she had
applied to, and what she thought of them.  And Paxton was adamant when
she explained to her that she didn't want to stay in the South, and
Queenie understood that.  It made her sad to think of Paxxie going
away, but she knew it would do her good.  She was too much like her
father not to.  I think it's a Cuban conspiracy, George stated over
dinner that night.  I think they're going to find there's a lot more to
it than meets the eye, once they start digging below the surface.
Paxton looked at him and wondered if there was any truth in that.  He
was an intelligent man, even if he wasn't an exciting person.  Most of
the time he was totally involved in his medicine, and nothing really
interested him except that.  He had tremely insular views, and the only
time he ever got really excited was over some new research development
in the fields which interested him, particularly adult onset diabetes,
none of which seemed overly fascinating to Paxton.  He was thirty-one
years old, and he had almost gotten engaged the year before, but it had
fallen through, and for some reason she had a feeling her mother was
relieved, although the girl was from a family I her mother knew, but
Beatrice had said more than once that she I thought George was too
young to get married.  He had to establish himself first before he got
bogged down with a wile and children.  And Paxton never liked the girls
he went out with anyway.

They were always nice-looking, but silly and superilcial.  There 1 was
no substance to them, and you couldn't have a serious I conversation
with them.  The last one he'd brought home to a dinner party their
mother gave had been twenty-two years old I and she had giggled all
evening.  She had explained that she I I hadn't gone to college because
she had such terrible grades, but I she loved doing work for the Junior
League and she was going to be in their fashion show that week and she
could hardly wait, and by the end of the evening, Paxton was ready to
strangle her.  She was so stupid and so irritating, she couldn't
imagine how her brother could bear her, except that she seemed very coy
and clingy when they left, and she was still giggling when they got I I
into his car to go out for a nightcap.  And Paxton had long since
become resigned to the fact that she would probably hate the girl that
George eventually married.  She would be sweet, simpIe, undemanding,
unthinking, unchallenging, and extremely southern.  Paxton was
southern, too, but in Paxton's case it referred to geography, not an
excuse or an aflliction.  There still I seemed to be so many girls who
wanted to play southern belle, and use it as an excuse for being
uninformed, or just plain stupid.  Paxton hated girls like that, but it
was more than obvious that her brother didn't.  I Paxton couldn't sleep
all that night, and she was obsessed by the TV.  She kept coming back
to it, and finally at about three in the morning, she just sat there.

She saw the casket carried into the White House at 4:34 A.M., with
missis Kennedy walking beside it.  And for the next three days, Paxton
felt as though she never left her television set at all.  On Saturday,
she watched members of the family and senior members of the government
come to see the man they'd loved.  And on Sunday she watched the coffin
taken to the Capitol by horse-drawn caisson.  She watched Jacqueline
Kennedy and her daughter Caroline kneel beside the casket, and the
little girl slipped her hand under the flag that draped it, their faces
filled with grief.  And then Paxton saw Lee Oswald shot by Jack Ruby as
they transferred him to a different jail, as she watched in amazement,
at first thinking it was a mistake, or some confusion.  It seemed
impossible that yet another person had been killed in this endless
horror.  On Monday, she watched the funeral, and cried uncontrollable
as she listened to the mournful sound of the endless drum beat.  And
when she saw the riderless horse again, for some reason, she was
reminded of her father.  The grief seemed interminable, the pain one
that would last forever, the sorrow hottomless, and even her mother
looked shaken by Monday night, I and she and Paxton barely spoke as
they ate their dinnerQueenie was still wiping her eyes alterward when
Paxton went out to the kitchen to talk to her, and she sat in a chair,
mindlessly watching her clean up, and then helped her dry the dishes.
Her mother had gone upstairs to call a friend.  As always, they seemed
to have nothing to say to each other, to offer I each other
encouragement or solace.  They were too far apart, and always had been.
 I don't know why but I keep feeling the same way I I did when Daddy
died as though I'm expecting something difierent to happen.  Like he's
going to come home any minute and tell me it's not true, it's all a big
joke or Walter cronkite is going to come on the news and say it was all
a test, the President is really spending the weekend in Palm Beach with
Jackie and the children, and they're really sorry they upset us I but
it doesn't happen like that.  It just keeps on and it's real it's a
weird feeling.  I' Queenie nodded her old gray head so full of wisdom.
She knew, as she always did, just what Paxton was feeling.  I know,
child.  It's like that when someone dies.  You sit and wait for someone
to tell you it didn't happen.  I felt like that when I lost my babies.
It takes a long time for that to go away.  It was hard to think of
Thanksgiving now.  Hard to be thankful for a confused, angry world that
stole people away before they were meant to leave it.  It was hard to
think of the holidays, and if Paxton felt that way now, she could
imagine how the Kennedys felt.  It must have been the worst possible
nightmare for Jacqueline Kennedy and her children.  She had done a
beautiful job I with the funeral, orchestrated everything to
perfection, right down to the mass cards printed on White House
stationery.  She I had handwritten herself the words Dear God, please
take care of your servant John Fitzgerald Kennedy and had excerpts from
his inaugural address printed as well.  It was the end of an era the
end ofa moment in time ofa time that had almost come ephemeral,
fleeting, gone.  The torch had indeed been passed to a new generation
who held it fast now, but were no longer sure where to take it.  And as
Queenie turned off the lights in the kitchen that night, I and kissed
Paxton good night, they stood there for a moment in I the dark, the old
and the new, the white and the black, the sadness of everyone's loss
enveloping them, and then Queenie I went downstairs to her room, and
Paxton went upstairs to hers, I to think of what had been lost, and
what lay ahead now.  She felt as though she owed something to him, so
he wouldn't have died in vain.

Just as she owed something to her father and to I herself.  She had to
be someone for them do something important with her life something that
mattered.  But what?  That was the question.  She lay in bed and
thought about both of them, about what they had stood for, and what
they had believed, the one man she had loved so much and known so well,
the other she could only guess at.  And suddenly, all she wanted was to
start her life to get on with it and get going - all she could think of
now was her dream of going to Harvard, just as they had.  She lay in
bed and closed her eyes, and silently promised both of them to make
something of herself, to be someone they would be proud of.  It was her
gift to them, the legacy they had left her, and a promise she knew she
would keep.  All she had to do now was wait for the spring and pray
that she would be accepted at Radcliffe.  he Iast envelopes arrived in
the second week of April.  Sweet Briar had sent its acceptance in
March.  And Vassar, Wellesley, and Smith all sent their acceptances in
the first few days of April.  None of which interested Paxton.  She
placed the letters neatly on her desk, and continued to wait for the
one that really mattered.  cliffe.  And in her mind, the two California
schools were backups.  She was praying she would get in to her first
choice, and in truth, the prospect of not getting in didn't seem very
likely.  Her father had gone to Harvard after all, and she had strong
grades.  Not perfect grades, but very good ones.  The only thing that
worried her was that she was not great in sports, and had never
developed a lot of outside interests.  She loved to write poetry and
short stories, enjoyed the photography classes she took, had taken
ballet as a child, and joined the drama club fresluhan year, but then
dropped out because she thought it interfered with her studies.  And
she had heard more than once that Harvard wanted people who were good
at everything, and had strong extracurricular interests.  But still she
was pretty sure she'd be accepted.  Her mother had been smug and
pleased when the early ac ceptance to Sweet Briar came, and as far as
she was concerned, Paxton had heard from the only school that mattered.
 It pleased her to be able to say that Paxxie had been accepted at the
other Ivy League schools, but like Paxton, she was unenthused about
them.  And as far as Beatrice Andrews was concerned, the schools in
California might as well have been on another planet.  She urged Paxton
to make the most sensible move, and accept Sweet Briar before even
waiting to hear from any of the others.  I can't do that, Mother,
Paxton said quietly, her big green eyes searching the face that always
seemed more like a stranger's.  I made myself a promise a long time
ago.

But it was more than just a promise to herself, it was something she
felt she owed her Daddy.  You'd never be happy in Boston, Paxton.  The
weather is appalling.  And it's an enormous school.

You'd be much better off closer to home, in familiar surroundings.

You can always take some graduate classes at Harvard later.  Why don't
we just wait and see if I get in, that makes more sense.  But what made
sense to her made very little sense to her mother.  It annoyed her no
end that Paxton was holding out so stubbornly for a northern school
when she could have gone to Sweet Briar and stayed so much closer to
home.  George turned up one Saturday afternoon to vent his views and
Paxton smiled to herself while she listened to him.  Talking to George
was just like talking to her mother.  They both believed that her life
was destined to be close to them, and that it was foolish of her to try
to spread her wings and expand her horizons.  I What about Daddy,
George?  He seemed to have come out okay, in spite of venturing up
north to go to school with the Yankees.  She was teasing him, which
amused her if not him.  Among his many other virtues, her brother
George had not been blessed with their father's sense of humor.  I
That's not the same thing, Pax.  And you know I'm not I fixated about
the South.  I just think that for a woman, Sweet Briar is a better
choice.  Mother's right.

And there's no reason for you to go all the way to Boston.  With that
kind of attitude, they might not even have discovered America, George.
Imagine if Queen Isabella had told Columbus that there was no reason
for him to go all the way to the New World.  . She was laughing at him
and he was not amused by it.  Mother's right.  You're still a child,
and it's ridiculous to do this just to prove a point.  You're not a
man, and there's no reason on earth for you to go to Harvard.  You're
not pursuing any career like medicine or law, there's just no reason
for you to go anywhere.  You should be close to home with us.  What if
Mama gets sick?  She's not as young as she used to be, and she needs us
here.  He tried everything on her, including guilt, and it served only
to enrage his sister.  She couldn't understand why they wanted to clip
her wings.  But they seemed to feel they owned her.  She is fifty-eight
years old, not ninety-three, George!  And I'm not going to sit here for
the rest of my life, waiting to take care of her.  And how the hell do
you know what career goals I want to pursue?  For all you know, I want
to be a brain surgeon.  Does that make it okay for me to go north to
school, or do I have to stay here and bake cookies no matter what, just
because I'm a woman?  That's not what we're suggesting.  He looked
pained by her bluntness.  I know that.  She tried to regain her cool.
And Sweet Briar is a wonderful school.  But all my life I've dreamed of
going to Radcliffe.  And if you don't get in?  He looked at her
pointedly.  I will.  I have to.  She had promised her father's memory.
She had promised him before that.  She had sworn she would make him
proud of her and follow in his footsteps.  And if you don't get in?
her brother persisted coldbloodedly.  Then will you agree to stay in
the South?  I Maybe I don't know.  . The three Ivy League schools
didn't appeal to her either, and she hadn't given any I I serious
thought to Stanford or Berkeley.  She couldn't begin to imagine going
there, and she didn't know anyone in California.  I think you'd better
give it some serious thought, Paxton.  And you'd better think twice
about upsetting Mama.  Who did he have to do this to her?  It wasn't
fair.  Who did she have to sacrifice her life for them?  What did they
want from her, and why did they want her there in Savannah?  It seemed
so pointless.  Just so she could go to luncheons and meetings of the I
Daughters of the Civil War with her mother, and eventually join a
bridge club, so Beatrice wouldn't be disgraced, so Paxton stayed within
the mold.

But she didn't want the mold.  She wanted something more.  She wanted
to go to the School of I Journalism at Radcliffe.  She had often told
Queenie as much, and Queenie was the only one who encouraged her, who
loved her enough to be I willing to release her.  She knew what Paxton
needed, and she wanted to see her fly free of the two people who seemed
to I expect so much from her and had always given her so little.  She
had a right to more than that in her life, and her mind was 50 I
bright, so full of new ideas, she deserved something more than I the
life she would have if she stayed in Savannah.  And if after she went
away to school, she wanted to come back, then Queenie would be there to
welcome her with open arms.

But she wasn't going to beg her to stay, or nag her like the others.  I
The envelope arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, and it was sitting in the
mailbox when she got home, along with one from Stanford.  And Paxton
held her breath the moment she saw them.  It was a warm spring
afternoon, and she had strolled slowly home, thinking of the boy who
had asked her to tne spring prom just that afternoon.  He was tall and
dark and handsome, and she had admired him for the past year, but he
had been going with someone else.  And now suddenly he was free, and
Paxton's head was full of dreams and wishes.  She was going to tell
Queenie all about him eventually, and now suddenly, there was the
letter she'd been expecting.  Her whole future on a sheet of clean
white paper, folded and sealed into an envelope from Harvard.  Dear
Miss Andrews, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted
to Dear Miss Andrews, we are sorry to inform you that which one was it?
 Her hands shook as she took the envelopes out, trying to decide which
one to open first, as she sat down on their front steps in front of the
solid-looking brick house, and decided to open the one from Radcliffe
first, because in truth it was the only one that mattered and she
couldn't bear the suspense of waiting till she had opened the other.
She flung her long blond mane over her shoulders and down her back,
closed her eyes and leaned against the intricate wrought-iron railings,
praying for her father's blessing on their answer please please oh,
please let me have gotten in She opened I her eyes and, as quickly as
she could, ripped open the letter.  And the opening line was not at all
what she had expected.  It gave nothing away at all, and droned on
endlessly about what a fine institution Harvard was, and what a fine
applicant she was, I and it was only in the second paragraph that they
said what I she'd been looking for, and she could almost feel her heart
stop as she read it.  Although you have all the qualifications to make
an excel- I lent candidate for Radcliffe, we feel that at this time I
perhaps another institution we regret we are sure that you will do
extremely well at any academic institution you I choose we wish you
well.  . Tears filled her eyes and the words danced in a blur of grief
as they cut through her heart.  She had failed him.  They had turned
her down.

All her dreams dashed in a single instant.  Radclifie had denied her.
I And what would she do now?  Where would she go?  Did she really have
to stay in the South, with all its narrow thinking, familiar themes,
and proximity to her mother and brother?  Was I I that it?  Had it come
to that, then?  Or would she go to Vassar?  I.

Smith?  Wellesley?  Somehow they seemed so boring.  Hesitantly, she
tore open the second envelope, feeling nervous now.  Maybe it was time
to give some serious thought to Stanford.  But not for long.

They said it in the first paragraph instead I of the second, and their
answer was almost identical to Radclife's.  They wished her well, but
felt she would do better at another institution.  Which left ...
nothing.  The choices she already knew she had, and an uknown quantity
at Berkeley.  I I She could feel her spirits plummet as she stood,
walked up the steps, and let herself into the house.

She dreaded having to tell her mother.  She told Queenie first, of
course, and the old woman was grief-stricken for her at first, and
then, finally, philosophical.  If they didn't accept you, then it
wasn't meant to be.  One I day you'll look back at that, and know it.
But in the meantime, the prospects it left her with were depressing.
She didn't want tO stay in the South, didn't want to go to a girls'
school, and she couldn't even imagine going to Berkeley.  Now what?
But Queenie's thinking was more advanced than Paxton's.  What about
California?  It's a long way from here, but you might like it.  One of
her daughters had moved to Oand several years before, and although
she'd never been there, she had always heard that San Francisco was
lovely.  I hear it's beautiful.  You won't be cold like you will up
north.  She smiled gently at the child she had loved and comforted
since she was born, and it hurt her now to see her so bitterly
disappointed.  Your Mama would kill me if she could hear me suggesting
it to you, but I think you ought to be thinkin' about California.
Paxton grinned.  Her mother would kill bOth of them if she could hear
half of their conversations.  It seems so far away so I don't know so
foreign.  California?  Queenie grinned.

Don't be silly, it's only a few hours away by plane, leastways that's
what my Rosie keeps tellin' me.  So you think about that too.  And you
pray about it tonight.  Maybe that school in Berkeley gonna be your
solution.  But that night at dinner with her mother and George, they I
continued to believe that her solution lay a great deal closer to home,
and as far as they were concerned, the answer from Radcliffe settled
the question.  They weren't even disappointed for her, they were
relieved.  And like Queenie, they said it was meant to be.  But unlike
the old black woman who had cared for I her, they seemed almost pleased
to see her dreams ended.  And through it all, Paxton felt as though
somehow she had disappointed her father, as though she had let him
down, because she had been turned down by his alma mater.  She wanted
to say that to someone, to admit how terrible she felt, but for once
she didn't think Queenie would understand, and it was obvious that her
mother and brother wouldn't either.  And her own friends were wrapped
up in their own miseries and joys.  Everyone was totally obsessed with
the schools they were hearing from, and whether they were getting
turned down or accepted.  The boy who'd invited her to the prom called
that night, and she tried to share some of her feelings with him but
all he could talk about was having just been accepted by Chapel Hill,
and he seemed not even to hear her.  It seemed to be a time for
solitary grief or celebration.  And that night when she went to bed,
she lay there thinking of what Queenie had said that afternoon, and
wondering if the idea was totally mad, or if it was worth thinking
about.  More importantly, if they'd even accept her.

But by the end of the week, her mother and George had worn her down,
and she agreed to enroll at Sweet Briar the following week, with a
silent promise to herself to re-apply to Radclifle the following year
and keep on trying until she got in, no matter how hard she had to work
to get in, or what it took to convince them.

She felt a little better having established that plan, and knew it
would be more bearable staying close to home as long as she knew it
wasn't forever.  And then on Monday, the answer came from Berkeley.

They were delighted to inform her that she'd been accepted.  And
although she wasn't even sure why, her heart skipped a beat, and
suddenly she was excited.  She hurried into the kitchen to show Queenie
the letter they'd sent.  The old woman beamed at her, as though it was
the answer to everything, and she had known all along it would come.
See that?  That's yo' answer.  What makes you so sure?

How could she know?  How could she be certain?  But the other options
certainly didn't appeal to her.  How do it make you feel?  Good.

Actually.  Kind of excited and scared... but And the other schools you
been talkin' about?  How do they make you feel?  Depressed bored pretty
awful.  That don' sound like a happy solution to me.

I'd say this be a better solution.  But you think on it, honey.  You
pray.  You listen to the lord, and listen to yo' stomach.  Always
listen to yo' gut - - always listen to what you feel inside.  You know.
 We all do.  We know it right here.  She pointed to her big belly with
a serious air.  When you feel good, it's the right answer for sure, but
you feel kinda sick, kinda squirmy, kinda miserable, then you done make
a big mistake, or if you didn't yet, you going 1 to!  Paxton laughed at
the simple wisdom, but she knew Queenie was right, as usual.  She
always was.  The old woman 1 knew.  She was a lot smarter than Paxton's
mother, or George, or even Paxton.  The crazy thing is I think you're
right, Queenie.  She sat down in a kitchen chair, nibbling on a carrot
stick and looking 1 pensive.

She was young and beautiful, and there was something very peaceful
about her face.  She was someone who was at one with herself, and had
been for a long time.  She was quiet and strong, and whole, which was
rare for a girl her age, but since her father's death almost seven
years before, she had done a lot 1 of thinking.  What am I going to say
to them?  1 The truth, when you know what that truth is.  And don't do
1 something 'cause I tell you to.  You too smart for that, girl.  You
l. do what you want to do, and what you know is right, when you know
it.  Thin about it first.  You'll know when it's right.  She 1 pointed
to her stomach again and Paxxie laughed and stood up.  She was tall and
lean and lanky, like her father had been, and '1 oddly graceful.  She
was taller than many of her friends, but she had never really minded.
And much to Queenie's surprise, she '1 had no particular interest in
her looks.  She was beautiful, but it was almost as though she didn't
know or care.  She was interested in other things, matters of the
heart, the head, the soul.  1 She was too much like her father to be
aware of her looks, and her indilIerence to her blond good looks
frequently irritated her 1 mother.  She wanted her to model in Junior
League fashion shows, and events for the Daughters of the Civil War and
Pax- 1 ton wanted none of it.  She was quiet and shy, and amused by all
1 the pressure and politics that went with those events, but she had no
interest in them whatsoever.  She liked talking about 1 serious things
with the teachers at her school, the recent developments in VietNam the
ramifications of Kennedy's death, 1 Johnson's stand on civil rights,
Martin Luther King and his marches and sit-ins.

She had a passion about the important 1 events going on around the
world, and their links and ties and effect on each other.  It was what
she liked to write about, and think about, and be involved with.  And
later that week, she sought out one of her favorite teachers and asked
him what he thought about UC Berkeley.  I think it's one of the best
schools in the country.  Why?  He looked directly at her and she
hesitated, but only for a moment.  I I'm trying to decide if I should
go there.  The news from Radclifle wasn't what you hoped?  He knew how
badly she had wanted to go there, how much she had counted on it, and
why, and he was prepared to be disappointed I for her if she hadn't
been accepted.  They turned me down.  Stanford too.  Everyone else
accepted.  She told him what the other choices were and without
hesitation he advised her to go to Berkeley.  He was from the I North
himself and he strongly believed in diversifying one's experience.  He
thought kids from the West should go east, eastern kids should go out
West for a year or two, and kids from the South should head north, to
see something different.  I wouldn't hesitate for a minute, Pax.  Grab
the chance while you can, and don't give Radcliffe another thought.
You can always go there for graduate school.  To hell with it for now,
go west.  He smiled at her.  You're gonna love it.  And as she listened
to him, she could feel her whole body fill with excitement.  Maybe
Queenie had been right after all.  Maybe this was the answer.  I She
didn't say anything to her mother for several days, and at the end of
the week, she sent her acceptance off, and on Friday night when she had
dinner with them, she told them.  I sent my acceptance off today, she
said quietly, waiting for the storm she knew would come.

Good girl.  Her brother was quick to offer praise.  She had done as
they had told her to, finally.  She wasn't as difficult as their mother
said after all.  Are you proud of yourself, Pax?  You should be.  She
smiled at the lavish praise, knowing what was coming.  I Yes, I am, as
a matter of fact.  I thought about it a lot, and I I think I made the
right decision.  I know I did, in fact.  Her mother looked at her
cautiously, afraid to say too much.  I'm glad things worked out this
way, Paxton, she said sparingly.  I So am I, Paxton answered.  A lot of
nice girls go to Sweet Briar, Paxton.  It is a wonderful school, her
brother said happily as Paxton looked quietly at both of them.  ' Yes,
it is, she agreed, but I m not going there.  For a moment, everything
stopped in the dining room.  This was not what anyone had expected.
I'm going to the University of California at Berkeley.  For an instant,
they were both stunned into silence and then her brother sat back in
his chair and threw his napkin on the table.  Now what made you do a
damn fool thing like that?  Queenie left the room with a smile, to
replenish the platter of roast beef.  I spoke to my senior adviser
about it, and a couple of my teachers.  They think it's an excellent
school and a good choice for me, since I didn't get into Radcliffe.
But California?

her mother said despairingly.  Why in ' God's name would anyone go
there?  Why would you want to go all the way out there?  But they all
knew why, whether or not they wanted to admit it.  Paxton wanted to get
away from them.  She had been unhappy at home since her father had
died, and they had done very little to change that.  Her mother and
brother had pursued their own lives, with only occasional attempts to
force her to join them, whether she enjoyed what they were doing or
not.  She was expected to fit into their lifestyle, I whether it suited
her or not.  To them, that just wasn't impor- I tant.  And now she
wanted her own life, she wanted to follow her own destiny.  And for the
moment that path was leading her to California.  This is something I
feel I have to do, she said quietly, the piercing green eyes looking
deep into her mother's.

She wasn't arguing with her, but she was absolutely definite about what
she was doing.  And her father had given her that luxury.  He had left
a small trust in her name, to pay for her education, which meant that
her mother couldn't threaten not to pay for college if she didn't go
where she was told to.  She had the freedom of choice, and she had
exercised that freedom when she accepted Berkeley.  Your father would
be very disappointed in you, her mother said coldly, which was a low
blow, and Paxton felt it.  I tried to get into Harvard, Mother, she
said as calmly as she could.  I just didn't make it.  I think maybe
he'd understand that.  She remembered his stories of trying to get into
Princeton and Yale and being turned down, and having to settle for
Harvard.  So she had settled for UC Berkeley.  I mean I think he'd be
disappointed by your leaving home so abruptly, and going so far away
from us.  I'll be back, she said softly, but even as she said the
words, she wondered if she really meant them.  Would she be back?
Would she want to?  Would she be dying to come home once she got away,
or would she fall in love with California and want to I stay forever?
In some ways, she was desperately anxious to leave, in others she was
sorry to go.  She was sad to leave her friends, and in some ways, she
was relieved to be leaving home.  She had always felt she didn't quite
fit there.

She never really did what her mother wanted.  But she couldn't do what
they wanted her to do.  It was too much to ask.  She couldn't stay in
the South, couldn't stay with them, couldn't go on pretending to have
something in common with them, when she didn't.

She couldn't pretend to be one of them anymore.  And suddenly she was
ready to admit how different she was, and to start her own life, in
Berkeley.  And just how often do you think you'll come home?  her
mother asked accusingly as Queenie watched from over her shoulder.  Il
come home for Christmas, I guess, and in the summer, of course.  It was
all she had to offer them, all she could give, and all she wanted from
them was her freedom.  I'll come home as often as I can.  She smiled
tentatively at them, wanting them to be happy for her, but they
weren't.  And you can come visit me, if you like, in California.  Your
father and I went to Los Angeles once, her mother said with a look of
stern disapproval.  It's an awful place.  I'd never go back there.  I
Berkeley is just outside San Francisco.  But she might as well have
said just outside hell from the look on her mother's face, and for the
rest of the meal, they ate in silence.  paxton Stood in the cozy
kitchen the morning she left, looking around her as though she were
being forced to leave home, with tears bulging in her eyes, and her
head resting on Queenie's soft, comfortable shoulder.  How am I going
to live without seeing you every day?  she whispered, feeling like a
child again.  Suddenly she had the same feeling of sadness and loss she
had had when she'd lost her father.  She knew she wouldn't be seeing
her anymore, and although Queenie would still be there, she couldn't
just reach out and touch her.  You'll be fine, Queenie said, bravely
fighting back her own I tears.  She was determined not to let Paxxie
see what she was feeling.  You be a good girl in California now.
Remember to eat yo' greens, get lots of sleep, and once a week rinse
that pretty I hair of yours with lemon.  She had been doing that for
her almost since she was a baby, and took full credit for the fact that
Paxton was still as blond as she was eighteen years later.  Wear a hat
in the sun, don't get burned .

There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but all she really
wanted to tell her was how much she loved her.  She pressed Paxton
close to her then, and the warmth of heart and her body said it all, as
Paxton hugged her back just as fiercely.  I love you so much, Queenie
take care prOmise me you'll take care of yourself.

And if you get a bad cough this winter-as she did every year-this time
you go to a doctor.  Don't you worry about me, chile.  I'm going to be
just fine.  You behave yourself out there in California .,' She hardly
dared to say the word, and yet it was Queenie who had encouraged her to
go, who had helped her to take her freedom.  They pulled away from each
other then, and Queenie's eyes 1 were damp, but down Paxton's creamy
face, there were two streams of tears, and her eyes looked greener than
ever.  I'm going to miss you so much.

So am I. Queenie dabbed at her eyes with her apron as she I smiled, and
then patted the pretty young girl's shoulder.  She had loved her as her
own as a little child, and she loved her even more now as a young
woman.  They were bonded to each other for life, and no distance, no
time, no place, could pull them apart now, and they both knew it.
Paxxie squeezed her hand for I a last time, kissed her soft black
cheek, and then left the kitchen I to go back to the others.  Il call
you, she whispered as she left, and Queenie winked at her, and then
after she was gone, she went downstairs to her room and sobbed into her
apron.  It broke her heart to see Paxton go, but she knew better than
anyone that Paxton had to move on now.

Her life hadn't been the same since her father's death, and she knew
that they didn't mean to be unkind to her, they were just so different.
 She was full of fire and life and I excitement about everything.  And
there was a warmth and love in her that she was aching to share with
the people around her.  But the love she had to give frightened her
mother, and George had no idea what to do with it.  George and his
mother were two of a kind, and Paxton was too much like her father.
Queenie felt as though she'd been caring for a rare tropical bird for
eighteen years, keeping it warm and safe and alive and feeding it from
I her very soul, and now she'd set it free, to go to a more hospitable
climate.  Paxton didn't belong there anymore, she hadn't for a long
time, and young as she was to leave home at eighteen, I Queenie knew
she'd be better off without them.

There was a whole new world waiting for her out there, and in some ways
Queenie could hardly wait for her to find it.  But deep in her I own
heart, she felt the pain of losing her, of not being able to I stand
right next to her anymore, or look into her eyes in the afternoon, or
kiss the silky hair on the top of her head when she sat down to
breakfast every morning.  But it was a sacrifice she was willing to
make because she loved her.  And she ran to the windows as she heard
them leave, just in time to wave at Paxton, hanging, blond mane and
all, as far as she could out the car I window.  Her mother was looking
very solemn as they drove out of town, and George said not a word as
they headed toward the airport.  Its not too late to change your mind,
her mother said quietly, which may have been her own way of saying she
would miss her.  I don't think I can, Paxton said just as quietly,
still thinking of Queenie's face before she left, and the warmth of her
shoulders, the safety of her arms when she hugged her.  I'm sure the
dean at Sweet Briar would be happy to arrange it, her mother said
frigidly.  She still took it as a personal afI front that Paxton was
leaving the South.

It had been insult enough that she wanted to leave Savannah.  I Maybe
if things don't work out in California, Paxton said politely, and
started to reach out to touch her mother's hand, I and then thought
better of it and pulled her hand back.  Her mother made no effort to
move closer to her, and there was no I further conversation on the way
to the airport.  Paxton knew she was supposed to be consumed with
guilt, and she felt sad to I leave, but she was also very excited.
Lately, she had been learning a lot of interesting things about UC, and
she could hardly wait to see California.  She had sent a trunk and two
duffel bags ahead, and her brother took her single valise out of the
trunk and handed it to a skycap.  He then handed Paxton the baggage
check, and ushered the two women inside to find the right gate, and
wait for Paxton's plane to Oakland.  I suppose the weather will be
pleasant there, her mother said in a strained voice, and Paxton nodded.
 She looked at her mother then, and tears filled her eyes.  It had been
a very emotional morning.  Even leaving her room at home had brought
tears to her eyes, and she had spent a few imnutes in her father's old
den at six o'clock that morning.  She had sat across from his desk,
still seeing him there, and told him what had happened in I a low,
audible whisper.  I didn't get into Harvard, Dad - - It was a
confession she somehow imagined he already knew.  . But I'm going to
Berkeley.  And she hoped he'd be pleased.  She was sad to leave home in
a way, sad to leave the people and places that were familiar.

But she also knew that, unlike the others, she took her father with her
everywhere.  He was a part of her now, just as he was a part of the
morning sky, and the sunsets she loved to watch when she borrowed the
car and drove to the ocean.  He was part of everything she did, and
was.  She would never lose him.  Mom.  She cleared her throat as they
waited for the plane.  I'm sorry - about Sweet Briar, I mean.  I'm
sorry if hurt you.  The directness of her words took her mother aback
for a moment and it was obvious that she didn't know what to answer.
She almost stepped back and recoiled from her daughter, but what she
was really recoiling from was the sincerity of the emotion, the
intimacy that had always threatened her, and which was sO much a part
of Paxton.  I'm sorry I just I wanted to tell you that before I left.
She had learned some- thing early in life, that you didn't leave things
unsaid with p pIe you cared about, because you never knew if you would
ever I have another chance to say them.  It was a lesson she had
learned too early and too dearly.  I uh .  Her mother spluttered on her
own words.  It's all right.  Maybe this will work out for you, Paxton.
You can always transfer next year, if it doesn't.  It was an enormous
concession for her, and Paxton was grateful that she had given in that
much.

She hated to leave them on bad terms, and even George didn't look quite
as annoyed as he kissed her good-bye and warned her to behave herself
in California, but he knew she would.  She was a good girl basically,
even if she was a little headstrong.  And considering what other kids
her age were up to these days, she hadn't really caused their mother
too much trouble.  They both waved to her as she boarded the plane, and
she left Ieelin relieved and free of them.

It was only Queenie she I missed as the plane took off and circled
slowly over Savannah.  It was a town she knew she wouldn't miss, and in
any case, she I knew she was coming back for Christmas.  Many of her
friends were going away too.  They were going to universities all over
the South, only two had chosen to go to college in the North, and she
was the only one going to California- And she leaned I back against the
seat and closed her eyes as the plane flew west toward California.  It
was only noon in California when they arrived, with the I time change,
and it was a gloriously sunny day as Paxton stepped off the plane and
looked around her.  The airport was I small and most people seemed to
be dressed in T-shirts and The driver told her everything he thought
she should know, about the best restaurants near school, the hangouts
where all the kids went, the action on Telegraph Avenue, and he
commented more than once on her accent and said he liked it.  When they
reached the campus, he pointed to a collection of tables at the corner
of Telegraph and Bancroft, and explained that they were organized to
support various causes.  There were signs everywhere for SNCC, for
CORE, peace symbols, and I there was a huge cardboard sign propped up
heralding Campus Women for Peace.  And she was suddenly excited just
being there.  Just breathing the air there excited her, and reassured
her that she had done the right thing in coming.  She could hardly wait
to get out and look around, start meeting people, and go to her
classes.  She already knew the name of the hall where she would live,
and the driver took her right there, and shook her hand and wished her
luck before he left her.  Everyone seemed to be friendly and open here.
 No one cared if you were black or white, rich or poor, Junior League
or a bum, northern or southern, all the labels and distinctions she was
so fed up with after growing up in Savannah among her mother's friends,
to whom I I it meant everything if your grandfather or
great-grandfather had fought in the Civil War, and whether or not you
had owned I a plantation and slaves.  It was like living plunged in the
past, a past she abhorred and wanted no part of.  The room she'd been
assigned was on the second floor, way at the end ofa long hall.  In
fact, it turned out to be the very last room, and it turned out to be a
quad, two bedrooms joined by a sitting room, with two girls assigned to
each bedroom.  There was a brown tweed couch in the middle of the
sitting room, with multicolored patches sewn all over it to cover the
abuses of I earlier tenants.  There were posters everywhere, a few
battered pieces of furniture, and an orange rug, with an avocado-green
vinyl armchair.  For a moment, Paxton stopped as she surveyed 41 Ii the
room.  It was far from lovely, and a far cry from the quiet elegance of
her mother's home in Savannah.  But on the other hand, this was a small
price to pay for freedom.  The bedroom she had been assigned to was
smaller and more austere.  It was a tiny room with two single metal
cots, a desk, two chests of drawers and a straight-backed chair, and a
closet barely big enough to put a broom in.  They would have to be I
good friends to live in a room like that, but she hoped that she was
about to meet three new people who would rapidly become soul mates.
She had quickly glimpsed three suitcases stacked up in the other room,
and a moment later, when she walked back into the sitting room agam,
wondering what they could do to it to make it a little less brutally
ugly, she saw that one of her roommates was there.  She was a beautiful
girl with long legs, and creamy coffee-colored skin, and she was quick
to tell Paxton that she was from Alabama, and her name was Yvonne
Gilbert.  Hi.  Paxton smiled warmly at her.  She was a striking-looking
girl, and she had bright, alert, almost jet-black eyes, and she wore
her hair in an impressive Afro.  I'm Paxton Andrews.  But somehow she
hesitated when it came to telling the girl where she was from.  But the
girl had heard it anyway.  North Carolina?  Georgia.  Savannah.  Paxxie
smiled easily, but Yvonne I looked instantly wary.  Great.  Just what I
needed.  A cracker.  What do they want us to do, re-fight the Civil
War?  Someone in central casting has a hell of a sense of humor.  She
looked deeply annoyed and Paxton continued to treat it lightly.  Don't
worry about it.  I'm on your side.  Yeah.  I bet.  I can hardly wait to
see where the others are from.  How about Mississippi and Tennessee?
Maybe you can I start up a chapter of the Daughters of the Civil War,
this oughtta be real fun, honey.  I'm just gonna love roomin' with
y'all.  She exaggerated her own drawl with a viciOus glance at Paxxie,
and then strode into her own room and slammed the door, as Paxton sat
down on the couch with a look of dismay.  It was going to be
interesting anyway.  And certainly different.  The next to arrive was a
pale, ethereal-looking girl with a milk-white face, jet-black hair to
her waist, china-blue eyes, and she appeared to be wearing an almost
transparent white nightgown.  Hi, she whispered, I'm Dawn.

And she was from Des Moines.  And her given name had actually been
Gertrude.  Dawn had come upon her more recently, with a little touch of
LSD, during her senior year, and she had decided to continue to use it.
 Dawn Steinberg.  She was also an honor student, and had played viola
with the local orchestra, and she'd been offered a scholarship at
Stanford.  She had been assigned to the other room, and she opened the
door Yvonne had slammed only moments before, and closed it gently
again, and no one emerged.  I There were no screams.  There were no
sounds at all, and Paxton could only gather that mis Gilbert was
satisfied with her new roonunate.  Des Moines did not have to live down
the racist reputation Yvonne had accused Savannah of having.  And as
Paxton pondered the two young women she had just met, she decided to
unpack her bags.  The two duffels and the trunk had been left in her
room the day before, and she decided to make both beds.  It would make
the room look friendlier when her roommate arrived, and she found
herself suddenly I praying that she wouldn't be black, angry, and hate
women from Georgia ... please, God ... she whispered to her self.  - I
know I may not deserve this, and you have better things to do today -
but could you please make her like me?  Her roommate still hadn't
arrived at four o'clock, and Paxton decided to stock their small
fridge.  Before she left for the near est market, she stopped and
knocked at the other girls' door, ill I and it seemed to take a long
time but finally Dawn came to the door and answered.  Yes?  she
whispered at Paxton, as though afraid someone would hear her.  Although
her hearing was good, Paxxie found I it almost impossible to understand
what Dawn was saying.  And the temptation when talking to her was to
whisper back.  Even a normal tone of voice sounded too loud when trying
to converse with this ethereal vision.  Do you want something from the
store?  Paxton whispered I back to her.  I wanted to go out and get
some food- I'm starving.  Suddenly, she was missing Queenie's
well-stocked kitchen.  And for her, it was seven o'clock at night and
she was ready for dinner.  Id love some herb tea and honey, and some
lemons and maybe some brown bread.  None of it sounded appealing I to
Paxton, but she was willing to bring anything back in order to make
friends, and she quickly jotted down Dawn's order.

What about Yvonne?  she said carefully- Would she like I anything?

Paxton glanced into the room and saw that they'd I been unpacking.

Dawn had put up some posters, and Yvonne had clothes everywhere, and
there were colorful blankets and a pair of pink satin bedspreads that
looked more like Alabama than Des Moines, but it was a little hard to
tell in the confusion.  I Do you want anything from the store?  Paxton
spoke directly to Yvonne as she approached the door with a hostile look
at Yeah.  Martin Luther King.  Think you can find him, sugar?  Don't
give me that.  Paxton looked annoyed.

You're making some pretty crummy assumptions, considering the fact that
we only met two hours ago, and you don't know me.  Paxton wasn't afraid
of her, and the girl's prejudice made her angry.  What assumptions
should I make?  Yvonne stood almost nose to nose with her, but Paxton
didn't back down.  She knew she had to establish herself with the girl
now, or forget it.  And she didn't hesitate to stand her ground.
Paxton was passionate and strong, and she had a quiet kind of courage.
Livhig with her mother's constant chill had taught her to be strong a
long time before, and she wasn't afraid of the angry black girl from
Alabama.  You're from Georgia, aren't you?  Yvonne went on.  1 What am
I supposed to think?  You're supposed to give me a chance.  Just like
I'm supposed to do for you.  Isn't that what civil rights is all about?
 We judge each other on who we are, what we think, what we believe,
what we stand for, what we do, not the color of each other's skin or
just because your skin is black and my license I plate says Georgia.
Maybe it's not even my car.  Maybe you're dead wrong about me.  Maybe
there's a reason why I'm not I sitting around smelling magnolia
blossoms and drinking mint juleps in the Deep South.  Did you ever
think of that?  I'll bet that never even occurred to you.  Not everyone
white in the I South is related to George Wallace.  Give me a chance,
for chrissake.  It might pay off That was the whole point wasn't it?  I
What Martin Luther King marched for.  Yeah.  Great.  Bring me back a
six-pack of Coke and a pack of Kools.  No thank-you, no please.  She
just turned around and I strutted back into her bedroom.  And Paxton
added her requests to the list without saying a word, and walked out of
their quad I to flnd the nearest food store off campus.  It was going
to be interesting dealing with Yvonne, she thought to herself.  She was
angry, and filled with hate, and Paxton wondered if they would ever
make it.  She had tried to make friends with the few black girls she
met, at volunteer projects, and on a church camping trip, much to her
mother and Queenie's dismay.  Their genera- I tion was not ready for
that, and it had upset Queenie even more than her mother.  But it was
something she felt differently about.  Once, when she'd gone to lunch
with a black girl she knew slightly, they hadn't been served and Paxton
was livid.  They'd gone to three restaurants, and finally given up, and
shared a bag I of potato chips on a bench in Forsyth Park.  But the
black girl I understood.  She was used to it, and she'd been touched by
Paxton's caring and compassion.  And for a long time, Paxton had wanted
to go on a march, but so far she hadn't dared, because she knew that if
she got arrested, her mother would lock her in the house for a year.  I
And more than that, it would have mortified Paxton's mother among her
friends, and Paxton hadn't had the heart to put her I through it.  But
one day, she knew she would.  One day, she knew she would have to.  And
here she was, suddenly living with a black girl who hated her just
because she was from Georgia.  And suddenly she laughed as she crossed
Telegraph.  She I laughed so hard that a couple of people turned
around, because she suddenly realized what her mother would have said
if she knew one of her roommates was black.  And Queenie Paxton I was
glad.  And she was going to make friends with Yvonne, no matter what it
took to do it.  I She bought everything on their list, and then candy
bars for all of them, a couple of Cokes for herself, and a few things
to I make sandwiches with, and a box of doughnuts.  She carried the bag
back to their room, and as she walked up the stairs, she saw a slightly
overweight but attractive short redheaded girl trying to drag three
suitcases up the stairs at once, while a very goodlooking, tall young
blond man wrestled with an enormous trunk that seemed to weigh a lot
more than he did.

What the hell did you put in this thing, Gab?  Rocks?  Or barbells?

I Just a few books ... there's nothing in it, really I Bullshit.

You carry this thing.  I'll be damned if I'll get a hernia hauling your
goddamn luggage all over school.  He looked wildly exasperated as
Paxton attempted discreetly to get by them, and then decided to offer a
hand, although the trunk didn't look too appealing.  Maybe if the three
of us carry it?  she said hesitantly, looking from one to the other as
they stood on the stairs, and she juggled her groceries on one hip, and
prayed she wouldn't blush while she could feel the good-looking boy
look her overDon't do her any favors, he growled, she doesn't deserve I
it.  And he looked so annoyed that for a moment Paxton wondered if they
were married.  But something about the similarity of their profiles
suggested that they were either very narcissistic or related.  I'll
give you a hand with it, if you like, Paxton offered again, tossing her
long blond hair away from her face, and looking at the smiling redhead.
 That's nice of you.  My brother's being a big pain in the ass over
carrying one small bag.  One small bag!  he shrieked, as his words
echoed down the stairs.  Do you have any idea what this thing weighs?
It must weigh four hundred pounds if it weighs an ounce.  And I'm not
even sure the three of us could carry it.  We could try, Paxton
reassured him, and he looked her over again with warm appraisal.  Why
don't we just leave her with this mess of her own making, and you and I
go have a beer at Kips?  That sounds a lot better.  Paxton laughed, as
his sister threatened him with a look that I didn't begin to suggest
amusement.  Peter Wilson, you go anywhere and I'll strangle you.

Don't forget that your sheets are in my other bag, and if you don't
carry this stuff for me, you can sleep on your mattress for the rest of
the year for all I care.  You're breaking my heart.  He looked past her
at Paxton I again, smiling.  Come on, let's go have a beer and ditch
her.  Paxton was laughing, too, but she was gamely trying to lift the
other end of the trunk with the redhead.  1 Come on, asshole pick up
your end!  the girl was instructing him, and finally with a groan of
complaint, he did and they made it up the stairs, but barely.  He was
right, Paxton I' realized.  The thing weighed a ton, and she couldn't
begin to imagine what the redhead had put in it.  Where's your room?
He was looking annoyed again, and I he glanced at his watch.  He had
better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than play porter for his
sister.  I don't know yet.

Christ, are you even in the right building?  He looked like he was
going to murder her again, but she nodded.  I Yes!  She fumbled in her
handbag and found a piece of I paper.  She was wearing jeans and a
flowered shirt, and what looked like a pair of very expensive loafers.
But nothing else I gave her away, except for the fact that she must
have put gold bars in the trunk, and all of her luggage was leather.
Okay, here it is.  She read off the number and Paxton stared at her in
I surprise and then smiled.  She was lucky.  It had turned out I okay.
She already liked her.  You're my roommate, Paxton announced, and the
tall I young man groaned, and sat down on the trunk with a sympaI
thetic look at Paxton.  You poor thing.  You have no idea what you're
in for.  And I then he stuck out his hand and shook Paxton's.  I'm
Peter I Wilson, by the way.  I'm Paxton Andrews.  I I'm Gabrielle.
Gabby Wilson, she explained, and then snled warmly at Paxton.  Where're
you from?  I love your I'd never thought I had one till I came here.
Paxxie laughed.  And I'm glad someone does.  As you'll see in a few
minutes, one of our roommates is not exactly crazy about it.  Tell her
to go screw herself, Gabby said chattily, as Peter I stood up and began
wrestling with the trunk again with a look of disapproval.  That's my
little sister, ever the lady.  Come on, big mouth, if you can pack this
stuff, you can carry it too.  Help me get this to your room.  I have a
date at five-thirty.  You're breaking my heart, she said
unsympathetically as I she picked up the other end, and Paxton helped
her.  You're breaking my back, which is worse, he complained, but a
moment later they got the enormous trunk to the living room, and set it
down on the orange carpet, and then the three some went back for her
valises.  Where are you going to put all this stuff?  he asked, knowhig
full well that there was nowhere to put it.  I haven't figured that out
yet.  And then she glanced over at Paxxie.  Who decorated the living
room?  Dracula?  My God, where did they get that stuff?  The Salvation
Army?  Probably the dump, Peter said cheerfully.  That's where we got
our stuff.  Gabby looked at him and shook her head in despair, as
Paxton smiled at him again, while carrying one of Gabby's enormous
valises.  Where was she going to put all her stuff, Paxton wondered
too.  Having seen the single tiny closet in their room, it was an
interesting question.  Are you a senior?  Paxxie asked him.  I I was.
I graduated in June.  I'm just starting law school.  But I've been
living off campus for the last two years.  Thank God the brat didn't
talk my parents into that, or she'd really have driven me crazy.  They
were back at the entrance to the living room again and he looked as
though he was about to leave, and I pleased to do it.  Well, she's all
yours.  He glanced at the mountain of bags they had dumped in the
middle of the room, helped himself to a doughnut from Paxton's bag, and
waved as he made an escape, and Gabby stood smiling at Paxton.  Thank
you for your help.  And I apologize for him, she said I as soon as her
brother left.  He's a hopeless jerk.  But the truth is, I love him.

I wouldn't admit it to him, but I can to you.  He's hopeless, and he
used to beat me up - ortry to.  But it was obvious that they were very
fond of each other, and for a moment, Paxton envied them.  She and
George had never shared that kind of playful affection.  But he was
also ten years older than Peter, and had no sense of humor whatsoever.
Their conversation drew out the other two, and as Paxton I and Gabby
helped themselves to doughnuts and Cokes, Dawn I and Yvonne emerged
from their room, to stare at Gabby's mountain of valises.  My God,
where did all that come from?  Yvonne said with a 1 look of immense
irritation.  Did you get my Kools?  she asked Paxton.  I did.  Paxton
handed them to her, and Yvonne handed her the correct change.  She
didn't want any gifts from Savannah.  And Dawn went to unpack the rest
of the groceries, after Paxton had introduced them to Gabby- Yvonne was
looking suspiciously at her, smoking a cigarette, and she was quick to
ask her where she came from.  San Francisco.  I haven't exactly
ventured far from home, I she apologized with a small shrug.  But I
love it here.  I've been visiting my brother here for four years, and
all my friends are here, the ones who went to college anyway.  She
looked at the three of them enthusiastically.  You're gonna love it.
Yvonne shot a quick glance at Paxton, indicating that she wasn't so
sure, and even Dawn looked a little uncertain.  I didn't really want to
go to college at all, but my parents insisted I come here.  Her father
was a professor of English.  Did you want to go to school back home?
Gabby was interested in all of them, and she looked like an open,
easygoing, I happy person.  No.  Dawn shook her head with a sad smile.
I wanted to get married.  And we want to go to India to study Eastern
religions.  I want to go to law school, Yvonne confessed, smoking her I
cigarette and using an ancient, half-melted olive-green plastic
ashtray.  But it's a long road from here.  I'm here on a scholar ship,
and I've got to make the grades, or I'm gonna be out on my black ass
and back in Alabama before I know it.

And I'm not goin' back till I can do something to change it.  What
about you, Savannah?  Paxton didn't want her calling her that, but she
decided not to antagonize her further.  I I want to be a journalism
major.  She smiled.  So I can write about you changing the South.
Yvonne grinned in spite of herself, and lit another cigarette as soon
as she put out the first one.  She was nervous, but she was also very
beautiful, and Paxton found herself wondering if the black girl had
ever modeled.  I don't know what I want to be, Gabby admitted to all of
them.  I just want to have a good time and stay in school till I I get
married.  Are you engaged?  Dawn looked at her hopefully, feeling she
had found a kindred spirit, but Gabby shook her head sadly.  I Not yet.
 I haven't found anyone, but I'm looking.  Paxton and Yvonne laughed,
and Paxton couldn't help thinking that lots of boys would be running
after Yvonne and Gabby.

You should find plenty of what you're looking for here, Yvonne offered
her encouragement.  I've seen a whole bunch of cute guys since I got
here.  Me too, Paxton confessed with a shy smile.  She had seen several
on her way to the store, and Gabby's brother was the best-looking of
all, and he was even more attractive because he was a little older.
But she suspected that most law school students probably wouldn't be
caught dead with freshmen.  Which made it all the more surprising when
he turned up at their room I again several hours later.  Dawn had
already gone to bed, and Yvonne was reading on the couch and wearing a
very seductive dressing gown when Peter suddenly appeared with a friend
carrying a six-pack.  He saw Paxton coming out of the other room, and
held a beer out to her with a shy smile.  We came back to see if you
needed any help.  She was surprised to see him, and Gabby was even more
so.  What are you doing here?  she asked suspiciously.  And no, I can't
cash a check.

She turned to Paxton with a conspiratorial air.  He passes bum checks
on me all the time, don't ever cash one for him.  And then she noticed
his friend, standing in the doorway.  Hi, Sandy, come on in, no one's
naked.  Damn, how disappointing, he said, blushing nonetheless, but
Peter looked more relaxed, as he glanced from Yvonne to Paxton.
Actually, we were hoping that you were.  Anyone want a beer?  Even
Yvonne smiled at him, as she offered Sandy a cigarette, and the two
boys made themselves at home on the floor and the chair, while Gabby
and Paxton sat on Gabby's trunk, which they had decided to use as a
coffee table.  Sandy was at the law school, too, and he was one of
Peter's seven roommates.  They had a house on Ellsworth, and it was
cozy and cute, and an utter shambles.  We'll have you over to dinner
sometime, Peter said cheerfully, after we get a bulldozer in to clear
out the kitchen.

I think we still have pizza in the oven from last year but I'm afraid
to look.  He smiled happily as he finished his beer.  What about you?
He looked suddenly straight at Paxton, and I the intensity of his blue
eyes surprised her.  Can you cook?  I try, she said shyly.  Can you
make grits?  Yvonne asked with sudden interest, I and Paxton wasn't
sure if she was baiting her again.  Or ribs, or hogbacks?  But Paxton
decided to tell the truth.  Queenie could, but she couldn't.  About the
best I can do is a steak, or an omelet and hash browns.  That'll do,
Peter said quietly.  Maybe we'll find someplace to cook dinner one
night.  Or maybe we'll just have to go out and eat.  He could think
of worse fates and there was a mo, ment's silence in the room as Yvonne
watched them with interest.

And Sandy was watching Yvonne too.  He thought she was a knockout, much
to Gabby's chagrin.  She had always liked him.  I Things were
definitely getting interesting very early, and very I quickly.  They
had all arrived only that day, but Paxton could I already see some good
times on the horizon.  The boys hung around for a little while, and
then went on their way.  They were meeting friends at Kips, and when
they left, Paxton admitted that she was tired.  It was two o'clock in
the morning for her, and all of a sudden she could really feel it.  You
didn't look tired to me when Gabby's brother was I here, Yvonne teased.
 You looked fine to me.  And you looked pretty fine to Sandy.  Paxton
gave it right back to her, and this time they both laughed.  And Yvonne
was still sitting on the couch and reading when Gabby and Paxton went
to their room to change into their nightgowns.  I can't believe it,
Gabby said to her as she slipped her nightgown over her head a few
minutes later.  He always hates my friends.  I can't think of a single
friend I've ever had that he's liked and suddenly, he's dropping by to
make friendly chitchat with a six-pack.  I can't believe it.  She
looked at Paxton with absolute amazement.  It's you.  It really is.
You're the first girl he's ever liked that he's met through me, or even
with mea' I, can't believe it. curiosity.  He won't be back.  There
are a lot more interesting girls out there at the law school.  I doubt
it.

Gabby had been impressed by her too.  She was a stunning-looking girl,
and one of the nice things about her was that she seemed not to know
it.  She was quiet, and smart, and when you talked to her a little bit,
she was really funny.  And Gabby still liked the sound of her accent.
And there was a lot more to Paxton than met the eye, more wisdom, more
compassion, and more inner beauty.  And Gabby knew from experience I
that her brother was no fool.  He had spotted a good one.  Maybe even a
great one.  He'll be back.  You'll see.  And then Gabby groaned as she
lay on the narrow, uncomfortable bed, and thought it over.  In fact, I
may see more of him this year than I've ever seen before.  I'm not so
sure I like that.  Believe me.  He'll forget us all by next week,
except maybe Yvonne - .  And then in a whisper, she decided to say
something to Gabby.  She's incredible-looking, isn't she?  She's so
beautiful!  But such a bitch!  Gabby whispered.  I don't think she
really is, Paxton defended her, I think she's just uptight about me,
because I'm from Georgia.  I don't know.  Gabby thought about it for a
little bit.  She looks like a tough customer to me.  I'm not sure I'd
want to get on her bad side.  Maybe life hasn't been easy for her.
Blacks have it rough in Alabama.  They have it rough everywhere, except
maybe up here.  Maybe she's got good reason to be the way she is.
Gabby shrugged, not particularly worried about it as she glanced at
Paxton.  What do you think about Dawn?  I think she's scared, poor
thing.  I don't thin she really wants to be here.  She sleeps all the
time.  She had taken two naps that after noon- Maybe she's got a
disease.  You know, like narcolepsy or something really exoticGabby
looked hopeful and Paxton laughed, she was so relieved to discover that
she liked her room mate.  And she really did.  Gabby Wilson was zany
and fun and Paxton couldn't think of a better person to room with.
We'd better get some sleep, Paxton finally whispered to 1 her.  She was
already half asleep, and it was long after midnight, and Gabby was
still rattling on, and sounded as though she could go on for hours, but
Paxton couldn't stay awake a moment longer.  We've got orientation
tomorrow, and I have to see my adviser and try and pick my classes.
Don't worry about a thing.

Just pick the easy ones, the stuff you've already done in high school.
Paxton laughed at the suggestion.  There's no point killing yourself
while you're here, Paxton.  We're here to have fun.  Don't forget that.
 Gabby was serious.  She had come to Berkeley to have a good time.  And
find a husband.  Remember, Pax, we're here to have fun.  I'll remember
that , Paxton whispered as she drifted off to sleep.  She was dreamhig
of Queenie, and a beautiful black girl, and a handsome prince who kept
offering her a beer, while somewhere in the distance her brother danced
with a crazy redhead.  - I -ton and Gabby bOth did exactly what they'd
set out to do when they'd come to Berkeley.  Gabby signed up for the
easiest I classes she could, and managed to go out almost every night.
I She was having the time of her life, although she had not yet found a
husband.  And Paxton, on the other hand, had signed I up for the
toughest classes open to her, particularly those involved with
journalism or writing.  She was also taking a political economics class
that was so hard it terrified her, physics, math, and Spanish.  Her
adviser had fought her on everything except Spanish and math, but she
seemed to be doing well in every class except physics, and that was a
required class anyway, and she was taking it on a pass/fail basis.  But
she was exhilarated by everything she learned and did, and still man
aged to go out with Gabby and her friends sometimes, and she almost
always enjoyed them.  They were a fun-loving crowd, and they seemed to
be involved in everything.  Two of the were involved in CORE, several
were trying to raise money for SNCC, which were causes that appealed to
Paxxie, too, as they benefited southern blacks, and one evening she met
Mario I Savio, the leader of the Free Speech Movement.  Gabby seemed to
know everyone, and although she knew the cause people, she I also knew
the more social ones, too, and most of her friends were pretty tame,
which was comfortable for Paxton.

By the second month of school, Paxton had had several runins with
Yvonne Gilbert.  The black girl seemed determined not to give Paxton a
chance about anything, and she constantly assumed that if something was
wrong, it was Paxton's fault, and it was beginning to seriously annoy
Paxxie.  It was prejudice in reverse, and it was getting to be a
challenge to hold her temper.  Not surprisingly, given her
extraordinary looks, Yvonne had found a boyfriend by the second week of
school.  He was the star running back on the football team, a huge,
handsome black boy from Texas, and by association and because of her
own personality, she was becoming quite a star on campus.  All the boys
were running after her, but she seemed to be serious about Deke, and
she'd already made it clear to several of her admirers that she had no
interest in white boys.  She was in Paxton's physics class, but she
never talked to her, and they hardly ever spoke except when they ran
into each other in their living room and really had to.  But the
exchanges were never really friendly.  And Dawn seemed to live her own
life too.  She still slept most of the time, and more than once Paxton
had wondered if she ever even went to classes.  She's never going to
make it, if she keeps it up like this, she'd said to Gabby several
times, who seemed to feel it was not her problem.  She had her own life
to lead.  And she was having a good time going out with two of her
brother's friends from the law school.  And her own prediction had
proven true.  She was seeing more of her brother than she had in years,
and although she complained about it constantly, she really enjoyed it.
 He had started turning up every few days just to make sure she was
alright, or to bring her things, like a six-pack or a pizza or some
pastry he'd just happened to pick up, or a bottle of cheap wine, but
Gabby knew he wasn't worried about her, he was interested in Paxton.
The two I would sit for hours sometimes, on the battered couch, or on
the floor, talking long into the night, drinking coffee or beer, or
just Coke, and talking about the things they believed in.  They seemed
to share the same opinions about everything, and it was rare that they
disagreed, and it almost frightened Paxton sometimes to realize how
much alike they were and how compatible on a broad range of subjects.
It was as though they had been destined to meet and become friends.
But it worried Paxton at first, because unlike Gabby, the one thing she
didn't want was to find a husband.  She had come to Berkeley to learn
and to I make something of herself, and one day she was going to be a
great journalist, or at least a hardworking one, and go out and I write
about the world.  She wanted to go to Europe, Africa, the Orient.

Sometimes she even thought about spending a year in the Peace Corps.
The last thing she wanted was to fall in love, settle down, get
married, move to the suburbs and have babies.  And she'd told Peter
that and he'd laughed.  Even his blond good looks were a lot like hers.
 People told them they looked alike, and he and Paxton looked more like
brother and sister, than he and Gabby.  Are you telling me I look like
the type who's going to get married and move to the suburbs?  Christ,
how insulting.  But I he was laughing and sitting on her living room
floor at two a.m. when he said it.  Gabby had just come in from a date,
Dawn had been asleep for hours, and most of the time now Yvonne was
sleeping at Deke's apartment off campus.  Did I hear someone say
marriage?  Gabby cupped her ears jokingly with one hand, and stopped on
her way to the bed No, you did not!  Paxton was quick to correct her.
She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and lying on the floor near Peter.
 She loved being close to him, loved what he thought, and who he was
and what he stood for.  But she didn't want to love him I more than
that, didn't want to really let herself fall in love with him, at least
not yet.  She just couldn't.  I Your friend just insulted me, he
informed his younger sister, but as he said it, he stroked Paxxie's
golden hair, and smiled down into the green eyes he was falling in love
with.  I think she just called me a square, or worse.  I did not!
Paxton sat up, laughing then.  I just said I didn't want to get
married, move to the suburbs, and have kids.  I want to see the world
first.  And you think I don't?  He still looked mildly insulted.  He
wants to see the world, Gabby assured her, Monte Carlo, Cap d'Antibes,
Paris, London, Acapulco, St. Moritz.  You know, the hardship spots.
The three of them laughed.  What do you think I am?  he demanded of
them both.  Lazy?  His sister knew him better than that as she replied,
shaking her head, No, just spoiled.  Like me.  She smiled benignly and
he threw an empty Coke can at her.  Well, it's true.  Can you see
either of us wanting to join the Peace Corps, like Pax?  Just thinking
about it gives me hives, and I can't see you digging trenches or
building latrines either, can you?  she asked him honestly, and he
shook his head.  Why do you think I'm in law school?  he teased, but
there was truth to it too.  He was going to graduate from law school at
twenty-five, and with luck he could avoid the draft till he was
twenty-six and it was no longer an issue.  He liked the deferral status
that law school gave him.  He had no desire to join the police action
in VietNam Only two months before, after the Gulf of Tonkin incident,
American aircraft had bombed VietNam for the first time, after years of
being there as advisers.  To tell you the truth, I can't see myself in
VietNam or anyplace else even remotely like it.  What makes you want to
join the Peace Corps, Pax?  I'm not sure I do.  I just want to make a
difference some- where, she said seriously, as Gabby left them alone
again.  I've spent my whole life watching people indulge themselves and
not give a damn about anyone else.  I don't want to do that.  My father
cared about people a whole lot.  I think he would have done something
like that if he'd had the chance and hadn't I gotten martied.  He must
have been a nice man, Peter said quietly, as he watched her face grow
soft thinking about him.  He was.  There was a lump in her throat as
she spoke.  I loved him a lot my life was very different after he died.
 I Why?  His voice was gentle in the night, there was so much about her
he already loved, but it scared him, too, sometimes, I just as it did
Paxton.  My Mom and I are well, pretty diflerent.  . She didn't want to
say more, not yet, and there was no point.  And it sounded too awful to
say she had always thought her mother didn't love her.  Is that what
the Peace Corps is all about?  To get away from her?  No.  Paxton
smiled.  But Berkeley was.  She was very honest with him, they both
were.  They were just that kind of peoI'm glad, he said to her, as his
lips brushed hers and they I lay close to each other on the floor,
propped up on their elbows.  So am I, she whispered back, and then he
took her in his arms and they lay there and kissed for a long time,
until sudI denly Gabby opened the bedroom door and looked down at I
them with considerable interest.  You guys going to bed separately or
together tonight, or are you just gonna lie here and neck?  It's all
the same to me, I just wonder if I should wait up for Pax, or go to
sleep now.  Peter groaned and Paxton laughed as she rolled away from
him, her hair tangled, her cheeks pink from their kissing.  Has anyone
told you lately what a rude pain in the ass you are, Gabrielle?  He
knew how desperately she hated the name and he loved to use it to annoy
her.  Christ, it's just my luck to fall for my sister's roommate.  He
stood up then, and held out a hand to Paxton.  I guess you'd better get
some sleep, babe.  If the mouthpiece here will let you.  I don't know
how you stand I t I just fall asleep when I'm tired.  I And she
probably keeps talking.  All three of them laughed because it was true
and he kissed Paxton goodnight and left.  And when he was gone, Gabby
pressed her.  Is it serious, Pax?  Don't be silly.  We've only known
each other for six weeks, and we've got our whole lives ahead of us.
He's got three years of law school, I've got four years of
undergraduate work to do.  What could be serious?  But in her heart,
she knew it was, and didn't want to admit it yet to herself or Gabby.
You don't know my brother.  I've never seen him look like this.  He
really cares about you.  I think he's in love with you.  I 1 And then
with an earnest, investigative stare, Has he told you he loves you?
For heaven's sake - of course not.  - - But he didn't I have to.
Paxton knew it.

Gabby was right.  And Paxton had I never felt like this either.  It was
just rotten luck that it had happened so fast, and so early.

For the moment, finding the man of her dreams was the last thing Paxton
wanted.  Shit.  Isn't this just my luck, Gabby complained as they got
into bed.  I want to find a husband and you don't, and what I 1
happens, you've got Peter drooling over you and looking like he wants
to get engaged, and who have I got?  No one.  Some jerk with frizzy
hair to his waist who wants to go to Tibet with me next summer as long
as I'll pay for his airfare.  Some people have all the luck.  I Karma.
Paxton grinned as she lay in the dark, listening to Gabby.  Who's he?
Isn't he that guy at the free-speech table on Bancroft?  No, it's that
thing Dawn is always talking about.  Karma.  Fate.  Kismet.  They must
be sleeping pills.  Christ, did you hear her getting sick yesterday?  I
think she's dying.  Maybe she's pregnant, Paxton whispered hesitantly.
When does she have time to get pregnant?  She's always sleeping.  And
with that, they both laughed and turned over and went to sleep.  For
once, Gabby had nothing left to say and she had to go to her
contemporary music class in the morning.  And she had a lot to do after
that.  It was the day before Halloween, and she wanted to work on her
costume.

She was going to be a gold lame pumpkin.  It was also the day the
VietCong attacked the Bien Hoa airbase, fifteen miles north of Saigon,
the first major U.S. military installation to be hit.  Five American
men were killed, and seventy-six were wounded.  And Johnson did not
order an attack in retaliation.  He was trying to sit tight, especially
before the election four days later.  Goldwater was promising to bomb
the hell out of everyone, and end our involvement in VietNam by
crippling the north, and Johnson was promising not to get us in any
deeper, which was what everyone wanted to hear.

And Johnson won by a landslide on November third.  The threat of
Goldwater involving the country further in VietNam had been answered.
And the following week, Peter asked Paxton what she was doing for
Thanksgiving.  Nothing much.  It's too far to go home just for a few
days.  Too far and too expensive, although Thanksgiving without
Queenie's turkey wouldn't be Thanksgiving.  Paxton was trying not to
think of it, and she was planning to spend the day study ing for a
physics test, and having a turkey sandwich at the cafeteria if she even
remembered.  I was wondering if you'd like to come home with us.  I
mentioned it to my mother last week, and she'd love it if you used the
guest room.  It might even give you a rest from listening to I Gabby
talk to you all night.  I might miss it, Paxton said shyly.  Are you
sure it wouldn't be an imposition?

Not at all.  That's what Tharksgiving's all about.  People overeating
together and watching football.  In fact, Dad and I are going to the
game on Saturday and I'd love it if you came.  And I thought maybe we
could drive over to Stinson Beach on Friday.  I'd like that.  She
smiled- Gabby had said something vague I about it a few days before,
but then she had forgotten to pursue the subject further.

But Paxton couldn't think of anything she'd like better than spending
Thanksgiving with them.  She hadn't met their parents yet, but
suspected from everything she'd I heard that she would like them.  And
going there was a little I frightening, too, it would bring her that
much closer to Peter.  But there seemed to be no way to avoid it.  Most
of the time they went out with friends, and she had only been out with
him alone a few times, but even in a crowd of people, their attraction
to each other was sO strong that it was impossible to fight it.  He
told Gabby that afternoon, and she exploded into their living room
while Paxton was studying and surprised her.  I hear you're coming home
with us for Thanksgiving, Pax, I that's terrific!  She smiled warmly.
She had talked to her mother only that afternoon, and Mariorie Wilson
wanted to know more about her roommate and if she was a serious
interest with Peter.

She had found it strange that he, and not Gabby, I had called to ask if
Paxton could come home with them.  You're going to love my Mom.  I'm
sure I will.  She already did from all of Gabby's stories.

The two were amazingly close, and it was obvious from everything Gabby
said that she was crazy about her mother.  It sounded as if Martorie
Wilson was involved in causes and auxiliaries and bridge clubs, like
her own mother, but unlike Beatrice Andrews, she seemed genuinely to
love her children.  Paxton wasn't sure what their father did, but she
assumed somehow that he was in business.  Peter picked them up late
Wednesday afternoon, and as usual Gabby had too many bags, and Paxton
only had one small one.  She was wearing a serious navy blue dress and
her gray winter coat, and the only pair of dressy heels she'd brought,
a pair of simple black ones.  She looked very pretty and neat, and she
had pulled her hair back in a ponytail and tied it with a navy satin
ribbon, and she was wearing her grandmother's tiny Victorian pearl
earrings.  You look like Alice in Wonderland, Peter said with a smile
as she got into his battered Ford.  He had been talking about buying
one of the new Mustangs, but said he didn't have enough money saved up
from the summer.  His father had offered him a trip or a car as a
graduation gift, and he had opted for two months in Europe in Scotland,
England, and France, and he had no regrets about it as he drove around
in the same wreck he'd had all through college.  Should I have worn
something dressier?  Paxton asked Gabby nervously.  She had a black
velvet dress she could have worn, but she was saving it for
Thanksgiving rather than their arrival.  You're fine.  Don't listen to
him.  Gabby was wearing a red velvet miniskirt and a black sweater,
high-heeled red shoes, and her red hair sprang out from her head like
Shirley Temple's.  My mother will be wearing a plain black dress and
pearls, and my father will be wearing plaid pants and a velvet jacket.
Their uniforms.  Paxton laughed nervously and hoped she wouldn't
embarrass them, especially Peter.  Suddenly it all mattered so I much
to her, and that frightened her too.  She had never been brought home
by anyone, as a potentially serious girlfriend, and she had the sinking
feeling that that was what Peter was doing.  They came across the Bay
Bridge at full speed, and drove west on Broadway past Carol Doda's
place and all the topless bars, and as soon as they went through the
Broadway Tunnel and crossed Van Ness, they began to pass the stately
homes on Broadway.

Paxton was impressed, and suddenly even more nervous.  And then they
were there.  Peter brought the car to a screeching halt, Gabby hopped
out, and rang the bell, and a moment later, they were standing in the
enormous front hall of a very large brick house with Peter's parents,
dressed exactly as Gabby had said, making her feel welcome.  Their
mother was a small woman with fading red hair, combed into a sleek bun,
and bright green eyes not unlike Paxton's, and his father was long and
lanky like his son, with once blond hair now turned snow I white, and
an air of aristocratic good humor.  His wife was warm, and when she
hugged Paxton, she seemed to mean it.  She had Gabby show her to her
room, and a few moments I later they were all downstairs, in a handsome
wood-paneled I library filled with old leather-bound books, overstuffed
antique furniture, an Oriental rug, and a fire blazing.  It was the
kind of room one read about in books, and Paxton had had no idea that I
they were so wealthy.  And suddenly she felt uncomfortable about her
dress again, but no one seemed to care what anyone else was wearing.
Whereas her own mother would have made comments about Gabby's
miniskirt, Manorie Wilson seemed to I find it amusing, and they were
talking animatedly about the party she'd gone to the previous weekend,
and the boy she'd met whom she considered a serious hopeful, her
favorite term for the kind of boy she'd like to marry.  And across the
room, Paxton heard Peter ask his father how things were at the paper.
Interesting, since this recent business in VietNam The at- tack at Bien
Hoa may change things a little bit now, whether Johnson wants it that
way or not.  We can't sit on our hands over there forever.  Peter
didn't say much, as he knew his father had been a staunch supporter of
Goldwater, although it was a point of view he had chosen not to discuss
with Peter.  I don't think even being there is the answer.  We should
get the hell out before we get in over our heads, like the French did,
Peter said somberly to his father.  We're smarter than they are, son.
His father smiled.  And we can't let the Communists take over the
world, can we?  It was an endless conversation they'd had for years,
and their views were always different.  Peter didn't think the U.S.
forces belonged there, but like most people of his generation, his
father did, and thought they could kick ass quick, teach them a lesson,
maybe even do some good, and get out without getting too badly hurt.
But the big question always was, how much was too badly?  They wandered
over to talk to the women then, and Paxton was amused to see how much
Peter looked like his father.  He had the same fire, the same zest for
life, the same lively blue eyes that she loved in Peter, the same warm
manner.  They were all warm and lively people, and she found herself
totally at ease with them over dinner, more so than she had ever been
with her own family in Savannah.  She also discovered that they talked
about the morning paper constantly, and halfway through dinner, she
realized that Peter's father worked there, and then, as they talked
about what Peter was going to do the following summer, she found out
something more, and for a moment the realization stunned her.  Peter
was talking about working for corresponding papers somewhere in the
country, and as she listened, Paxton understood it all, even why
Peter's father had had to keep his support of Goldwater quiet at the
office.  Because the Morning Sun had officially come out in favor of
Johnson, and the paper had always been staunchly Democratic.  But its
owner was not.  And its owner was Peter and Gabby's father.  In fact,
the Wilson family had owned the Morning Sun for over one hundred years
and as it all came clear to her, Paxton started to laugh, as Peter
looked at her in confusion.  He had just said that he wasn't sure he
wanted to work for a newspaper the following summer at all, but he was
thinking of volunteering for a law project in Mississippi or working
for Dr. Martin Luther King, especially since he had won the Nobel
peace prize in October.

And she was laughing.  What's so funny about that?  He looked
surprised, she usually took things like that fairly seriously, and he
knew she shared his views about most things, especially that one.
Nothing, I'm sorry.  I just figured something out that neither I of you
bothered to tell me.  I thought you just talked about the Morning Sun
all the time because your father works there.  I never figured out
until just now that you that - .  She looked mildly embarrassed and
Peter grinned as his father laughed.  Don't feel bad, Paxton.  When he
was a little boy, he used to tell his friends I sold newspapers on
Mission Street, at least his humility doesn't go quite that far
anymore, or maybe it does.  Is that what he told you?  No.  She shook
her head as she laughed, and Gabby I grinned.

She had never said anything to Paxton either.  They I had never liked
bragging to friends, and Paxton could see why.  I Although they lived
beautifully, they weren't showy people.  It was the kind of old money,
and discretion, that would have really impressed her mother.  Actually
neither of them ever said anything.  I never gave it a thought.  I
didn't think it was important, Peter explained quietly, knowing that
she liked him for himself and not what his father I owned- And Paxton
was quick to reassure him.  It isn't.  But it's interesting.  At least
you can talk about I something intelligent at home.  All we ever talk
about is who's I I getting married, who bought a new house, and which
of my brother's patients is dying.  Is your father a doctor too?
Mariorie Wilson asked with a warm smile.  No, Paxton said quietly,
feeling sad somewhere deep inside, she wished she still had a father,
like Gabby and Peter.  My father was an attorney.  He died seven years
ago, when his plane crashed.  I'm sorry, Gabby's mother said softly.
Me too.  It was so different being with them, it was all so normal and
so happy.  They played dominoes that night, and teased and laughed.
Peter talked to his father in front of the fire for a long time, and
then he included Paxton.  They talked about VietNam again, and Diem,
and Johnson's position with the Russians since the recent coup d'etat
had stripped Khrushchev of power in September.  And Paxton found
herself full of admiration for Edward Wilson.  He was intelligent and
reasonable and he had great foresight, which she respected, even though
their opinions on VietNam diflered.  They talked about the realities of
integration in the South, and Martin Luther King, and even the recent
developments and student unrest at Berkeley.

The Free Speech Movement had gotten out of hand in the past few days,
and the Board of Regents were taking a tough position, refusing to
negotiate with the students, which Peter's father agreed with, and
Paxton said she did too, although it was not a popular view on campus.
It turned out that President Kerr was a friend of his, and they had had
a long conversation only that morning.  He's not going to play ball
with those kids.  There's too much at stake.  If he gives in, they'll
lose all control at the campus.  Peter strongly disagreed with him, and
they talked about it for a long time, but Paxton found all of their
discussions exhilarating and refreshing.  It was exciting being with
people who talked about intelligent things, and were aware of what was
happening in the world.  In Savannah, she felt so cut I off from the
real world sometimes, so bogged down by the South, and their desperate
fight to hang on to the past and a way of life that had to go by the
wayside.  And Paxton said as much to Ed Wilson.  You have a wonderful
paper down there, though.  W. S. Morris and I are old friends.  ' I m
hoping to work for him, or for the paper anyway, next summer.  I'm a
journalism major, or I will be next year.  Peter smiled proudly at her,
and reached out and took her hand, which did not escape his father.  Ed
Wilson didn't say anything to him, but he did to Maryorie that night,
when they were undressing in their bedroom.  I think your son is
seriously smitten, my love.  He looked tenderly at his wife.  She loved
her children so much, he wondered if it would be hard for her when they
finally fell in love and got married and had lives of their own, apart
from their parents.  Something tells me he's really in love with that
girl.  I think so too, she said pensively as she sat at her dressing
table and brushed the once red hair.  But you know something, I like
her.  She's quiet at first, but there's a lot to her.  She really cares
about him, and she's decent and straightforward and very honest.  And
much too young to get married, her husband added.  At eighteen, it
would be crazy to even consider marriage.  I don't think she is
considering it.  Something tells me that there's a lot she wants to do
with her life.  I think she's even more levelheaded than Peter.  I hope
so.  He sighed.  And then as he bent and kissed his wife's neck with a
tender smile, I'm not ready for grandchildren yet.  Neither am I. She
laughed.  But in that case, talk to Gabby.  I Oh, no, don't tell me,
not another true love this week.  Do I need to worry, or will it be
over by next Tuesday?  Long before that.  Thank God no one's taken that
child seriously yet.

She's going to kill me.  Is she?  He returned to Mariorie's side in the
pajamas he had made twice a year in London and took the hairbrush from
her hand and put it on her dressing table.  I love you, do you know
that?  She nodded, and without a word, put her arms around him and
kissed him.  And then, quietly, she turned off the lights and went to
bed, and he lay there with his arms around her.

They were happy people with a life that meant a lot to them, and a
family they had always cherished.  And it showed the next day, as they
sat down together for Thanksgiving.  Paxton wore her black velvet
dress, and Gabby wore a white Chanel suit her mother had bought her the
year before in Paris.  It made her look very grown up suddenly and it
reminded Paxton of when Jackie Kennedy was setting the fashions.  And
as Ed Wilson said grace, he looked serious and distinguished.  And
Paxton caught a glimpse of a private smile that had more than a little
spice to it, between him and Gabby's mother.

They had an enormous meal that left them all stupefied with
satisfaction, and even Paxton had to admit that it almost rivaled
Queenie's.  She told them about their Thanksgiving meals, and spoke
with obvious love for the woman who had raised her.  And in the
afternoon, friends came by, and Paxton was impressed to realize that
one of them was the governor of California.  They were all talking
about the demonstration that was taking place at Berkeley that
afternoon, led by Mario Savio and the other members of the Free Speech
Movement.  Apparently Joan Baez was singing there, and a thousand
students had staged a sit-in, protesting the university's positions
against free speech, no longer wanting them or the other causes to use
university property to raise money or pass out leaflets for their I
causes.  The university said that traffic was being blocked and
leaflets were littering the campus.

Finally the university had compromised, saying they could use the same
space they had previously used, but they could not advocate action.  To
Paxton, I it all seemed like a tempest in a teacup, but tempers had
flared, 1 liberties had been questioned, and the time was right for a
contest of wills and a major explosion.  And by that night, almost I
eight hundred students had been arrested.  And Paxton found it
fascinating to be in the Wilson home, where everyone was so aware of
what was going on in the world, and in close touch with people of
action and power.  They all watched the continuing demonstrations on
the news the next day, and as a result, she and Peter never went to
Stinson.  On Saturday, she went to the football game with Peter and his
father, while Gabby went shopping with her mother.  Paxton had called
her own mother on Thanksgiving Day, and spoke to her and George, and
Queenie.  They seemed to be alright and she had assured them that she
was having a good Thanksgiving, although only Queenie seemed worried
about it.

And she had whispered into the phone that she hadn't made her best
mince pie that year, since Paxton wasn't there to enjoy it.  Paxton had
a good time at the game, and by the end of the weekend, she felt close
to all of them.  She felt like a member of the family, as she said
good-bye to them, and thanked them for a wonderful Thanksgiving.  It
had been the best one she'd had in years, the best one since her father
died, and her eyes shone happily as she thanked Peter and Gabby on the
way back to Berkeley.  There was still evidence of unrest when they got
back to school.  There were riot police everywhere, in case further
demonstrations broke out, and Paxton was shocked to learn that night
that Yvonne and Deke had been part of the demonstration and had been
arrested.  They had already been released by then, I but Yvonne had
terrible bruises on her arms, inflicted by the riot squad when they
dragged her to the paddy wagon.  It was pretty grim, she admitted with
a somber look.  And where were you all weekend?  she asked Paxton and
Gabby accusingly as Peter brought their bags up from the car.  In San
Francisco, Gabby answered snappily, not inclined to say more.  She had
no intention of feeling guilty for not getting arrested.  You don't
have to go to jail to prove you give a damn, Yvonne.  It's not going to
prove shit if I get bruises on my arms, and to tell you the truth, I
don't give a damn where they hand out those goddamn leaflets.  It was
the first time she'd lit into Yvonne, but she was tired of her snide
remarks and her veiled accusations.  What do you give a damn about?
Yvonne shot back at her as Peter and Paxton listened.  Maybe the same
things you do.  I care about the blacks, I care about VietNam I care
about people getting a fair deal, and staying alive to enjoy it, but
I'm not going to have my ass dragged down the street and thrown into a
paddy wagon to prove it.  Then nobody's ever going to listen to you.
You can't sit around in your living room, filing your nails and
thinking someone will hear you, they won't.  Nobody heard in the South
till people started getting shot and killed and arrested.  So how come
you're here and not there?  Gabby shot back quickly at her.  Because
I'm sick of it.

Because I'm sick of the back of the bus, baby.  I've had it all my
life.  And I'm going to stay here until I can go back and kick ass at
the front of the bus where someone is going to pay attention.

Great.  But don't pick on me while you're here, because I'm just out
here minding my own business.  I'm moving next month anyway, Yvonne
blurted out, an noyed, not quite sure whether or not she had been
bested by I Gabby.  Maybe she should have been in the South.  Maybe she
I should have been in Birmingham, fighting Wallace's cronies and not
sitting in Berkeley.  But she had had it with all that, which was why
she'd been so glad to get the scholarship to Berkeley.  I You moving in
with Deke?  Gabby asked, only mildly curious.  She was tired of Yvonne
and the enormous chip on her shoulder.  It was so large, it obscured
her view most of the time, I but Paxton, knowing the South as she did,
wasn't sure she always blamed her.  But Yvonne was shaking her head in
answer to Gabby's question.  No I'm - .  She looked embarrassed
suddenly, as though she realized she'd gone too far, as though she knew
she'd taken her anger out on them and they didn't deserve it.  I'm not
moving in with Deke.  I'm moving off campus with friends.  Paxton knew
she would live, by choice, with people like herself who were still too
angry to enjoy the integration they had finally won and didn't yet know
what to do with.  That's cool, Paxxie said quietly.  I hope you'll be
happy there.  What about your room?  Gabby said matter-of-factly,
unmoved by Yvonne's announcement.  I figure you can find someone to
take my place.  And then, as she spoke, Dawn wandered into the room in
her nightgown.  I'm moving too, she said hesitantly, .  that is I mean
I'm leaving.  She looked apologetic, but pleased, as she smiled at all
of them.  I'm going home.  You're dropping out?  Gabby looked stunned,
she couldn't imagine why anyone would want to leave, she was having so
much fun there.  But admittedly, Dawn had done nothing but sleep in the
three months she'd been there.  ' I m getting married I think at
Christmas I'm . She blushed, and looked at them, her only friends in
Berkeley.

She had hardly been to a single class since she'd been there.  I'm
having a baby in April.  The three girls looked at her in amazement,
although Paxton realized afterward how stupid they all were.  She had
every I symptom in the books, but they'd only been kidding when they'd
said she might be pregnant.  Dave and I are going to Nepal as soon as
the baby's born, to see our guru.  That's great, Gabby said, still
looking amazed, and Peter turned away so the girls wouldn't see him
smile.  That's really great, Dawn.  And after the other two went back
to their rooms, Gabby turned to Paxton with an irritated look.  Shit,
now what are we going to do about their room?  If the university
assigns it, God knows who we'll get, and I don't know anyone who wants
to switch midyear, do you?

Why don't we trade?  Paxton said pensively.  I know two sets of girls
who have doubles and are dying for a quad.  We could give this to them,
and take one of their deuces.  Or you could just turn their room into a
closet.  Or move in with me, Peter said hopefully, looking at Paxton. 
They had been remarkably good that weekend at his parents.  Although he
had been tempted to come to her room and try to seduce her, he had
forced himself not to.  He knew how upset she would have been to do
something like that in his parents' home, and he also knew from Gabby
that Paxton was still a virgin.  He had been thinking about it for a
while, and wondering if she would be willing to go away with him
somewhere, but so far the right time hadn't come to ask her, and he was
willing to bide his time till she was ready.  Paxton was someone he
wanted with him forever.

Actually, you know, that's not such a bad idea, he said to both of them
before he left, maybe next year we could rent a place together, off
campus.  The idea appealed to all of them, but next year seemed like a
long way off, and Paxton wondered if he would still like her by then. 
A lot of things could change in a year.  It was amazing to think of
what already had.  In three months, she and Gabby had become good
friends, she I and Peter had fallen in love, they had lost two
roommates, and one of them was having a baby.  It was amazing to
contemplate when they went to sleep that night.  And the next weeks
seemed to fly by before they left for Christmas vacation.  After
Christmas, Peter was going skng with friends, and Gabby was going to
Puerto Vallarta, in Mexico, with her parents.

Peter had asked Paxton if she wanted to come skng with him, but she had
told him that it would be awkward leaving her family early to come back
to California, and he understood that.  He drove her to the airport on
the twenty-first instead and as they stood at the gate, making
comfortable chitchat about Christmas, he suddenly looked down at her
and her heart stopped when he spoke to her, suddenly looking almost as
grown up as his father.  This isn't going to work, you know.  It was
almost Christmas, and he was telling her the romance was over.  What I
1 I'm sorry ... She couldn't look up at him, it hurt too much, and she
resisted as she felt his finger under her chin, forcing her to look up
at him, her eyes blinded by the tears he had just caused her.  I You
don't know what I mean, Pax, do you?  His eyes were damp too, and she
shook her head miserably as she watched him.  I can't go on playing
like this, pretending we're just good friends and this is just a
freshman flirtation.  I'm in love with you, Pax.  I've never loved
anyone like I love you.  I want to marry you one day.  All you have to
do is say when.  Tomorrow, I next week, ten years.  You want to go to
the Peace Corps, to Africa, to the moon, that's fine.  I'll wait.  I
love you.

His voice I trembled, and his lips, too, and he pulled her into his
arms so hard, it took her breath away, and this time when she kissed
him, he had her whole heart.  She couldn't play with him anymore
either.  She knew just how much she loved him.  Peter, what are we
going to do?  She was smiling through her tears this time, and he was
too.  Just holding her, feeling her, kissing her, he knew she loved
him.  I have three and a half more years of school.

I have to finish, she added.  So we'll wait.  No big deal.  Maybe we'll
get engaged sometime.  All I want to know is if you love me.

His eyes bore into hers and she nodded seriously.  I love you I love
you so much.  - .  she whispered, and this time he took her in his arms
and kissed her more I hate not to be with you on Christmas, he
whispered into I her hair, do you want me to fly down to Savannah after
Christmas?  She did, but she didn't dare.  If her mother knew that at
eighteen she was serious about someone, particularly a boy from
California, she'd be frantic.  No, it's too soon.  They won't
understand.  Then come back soon.  They were calling her plane for the
last time and everyone had already boarded.  I've got to go.

I'll call you from home.  home where was home now?  I love you.  But
what if he forgot her over the holidays?  What if he found someone
else?  If he met someone when he was skng?  All her thoughts Il were on
her face as she pulled away from him and he laughed at her.  Stop that,
you dummy.  I love you.  And you d better remember that.  One day, your
name is going to be Paxton Wilson.  He gave her a last quick kiss, and
she ran to catch her plane, waving to him, and calling over her
shoulder that she loved him.  was strange arriving in Savannah that
night.  It was cold and dark, and very late.  The plane had been
delayed on the way and with the time difference, it was almost midnight
when she got home, and everyone was sleeping.

Her brother had come to pick her up, but her mother had gone to bed
with a bad head cold.  Only Queenie was sitting up waiting for her,
with hot chocolate and Paxton's favorite oatmeal cookies fresh from the
oven.  The two embraced without a word, and just holding her old
friend, Paxton wanted to share her happiness with her.  She had thought
of Peter constantly on the plane, and now she could hardly wait to tell
her.  But George seemed not to want to go.  He seemed to feel dutybound
to wait until she finished her hot chocolate.  He told her the news of
people around town, and told her that her mother had been given an
award by the Daughters of the Civil War, and Paxton tried to sound
excited for her.  But all she could do was look at Queenie and smile,
telling her with her eyes how much she loved her.  And at last, she
went upstairs to bed, and George went home, and she lay in bed thinking
of Peter, and trying to feel at home there.  But nothing felt the same,
nothing felt inviting and warm, and all she could do as she lay there
was think of Peter and California.  It took her hours to fall asleep,
and when she did at last, she felt lonely without listening to Gabby. 
And in the morning, things were worse.  She felt like a stranger when
she had breakfast with her mother.  She congratulated her mother on her
award, and after a cool nod of thanks, her mother fell into an awkward
silence.  They seemed to have I nothing to say at all, and Paxton kept
struggling to find things to tell her about her classes.  She never
asked about Paxton's roommates at all, and there was no way in the
world she would have mentioned Peter to her.  She did mention that
George had a new friend, and told her that she would meet her that
night at dinner, although George himself had said absolutely nothing I
about her when he picked Paxton up at the airport.  And Paxton was
reminded again how different her own family was from the I Wilsons. 
And she couldn't help wondering how different they might have been if
her father were still alive, to warm their hearts and make them all a
little more human.  It was late afternoon before she managed to find
Queenie alone in the comfortable kitchen, and she told her all about
Gabby and Peter and the Wilsons.  You ain't done nothin' you'll be
sorry for, have you, girl?  I she asked her sternly, and Paxton shook
her head, but the thought had crossed her mind, and now that they had
admitted how serious they both were, it was reasonable to believe that,
sooner or later, something serious could happen.  But she answered
Queenie truthfully, and knew that there were some I thoughts you didn't
share, even with Queenie.  No, Queenie, I haven't.  But he's wonderful.
 You'd love I him.  She told her all about him again, and the old woman
watched her with a tender heart, her eyes alight as she talked about
the boy she'd fallen in love with in California.

You like it there?  Are ya happy?  I really am.  It's wonderful.  It's
so exciting.  She told her about the classes she was taking, the people
she had met, the I', places she had seen, and Queenie could see it all
from her descriptions.  And then, in a conspiratorial whisper, she
asked her about George's new girlfriend.  You'll see.

The old woman laughed.  I think this one may be for real though.  But
somehow, Paxton sensed that Queenie didn't like her.  What makes you
think so?  Paxton looked intrigued, but Queenie only laughed, and two
hours later, Paxton could see for I herself why Queenie didn't think
much of her.  George's new friend, Allison, looked like their mother's
double.  She wore her hair the same way, had the same cool airs, the
same prim, southern-lady manners, only she was much, much more re- 1
strained.  And everything about her was so taut, she seemed in I danger
of breaking.  But George looked totally at ease with her.  He was used
to that kind of woman, although in his youth, even I George had liked
them a little looser.  Paxton watched her all 1 that evening, her mouth
so prim and tight, she could barely speak, and yet she didn't seem shy
about expressing her opinions.

And finally after dinner, Paxton exploded into the kitchen, I and when
they were alone, she let her hair down with Queenie.  My God, she's so
rigid and so opinionated, how on earth does he stand her?

But she was exactly what he wanted.  In his view, she was the perfect
southern woman.  He had been well trained I by their mother.

What does Mama think of her?  She was I curious about that, but Queenie
only shrugged.  I don't know.  She don't tell me nothing.  It must be
like looking in the mirror, or maybe she doesn't see it.

The rest of the evening was incredibly boring for her, as was the rest
of the trip.  They went to church on Christmas Eve and again on
Christmas morning.  She saw a few of her friends and was shocked to
discover that two of her friends who had chosen not to go to college
that year were getting married, and another I one who'd gotten married
after graduation in June was already pregnant.  Here she felt years too
young even to consider responsibilities like that, and they were
already fully embarked on adult lives with husbands and children.  It
made her think of Peter again, everything did now, and he called her
every few days, but most of the time she answered the phone herself so
no one was aware of how often he called her.  Her mother only mentioned
him once, and said she thought it odd that a boy I from California
would call Paxton all the way to Savannah and she hoi'didn'im thin 1e
Anvthin2 unpleasant being an involvement with a boy who wasn't from
Savannah, Georgia.

Paxton went to the employment oflIce of the newspaper while I she was
there, and despite mister Wilson's offer to smooth the way for her, she
didn't take advantage of it, and managed to get hired for a summer job
while she was on vacation from Berkeley from June to August.  She was
looking forward to it, but now anything that would take her away from
Peter depressed her.  I And that bothered her too.  She didn't want to
be totally dependent on him, and there was still so much she wanted to
do with her life, to fulfill the promises she'd made herself.  But he
had promised he would wait, and she knew he would.  He had repeated
that promise again and again when he had called her in Savannah over
Christmas.  She had agreed to fly home the day before New Year's Eve,
and her mother seemed to be so involved with George and Allison and her
own friends that Paxton didn't think she'd really mind it.  She even
admitted to them that she wanted to spend New Year's Eve with her
friends at school, and although her mother said she thought that unkind
of her, she actually seemed to accept it.  George took her to the
airport again, after Paxton spent a quiet morning in the kitchen with
Queenie.  She had developed her annual chest cold by then, and Paxton
had made her promise she would go to the doctor.  Paxton's mother had
gone to the hairdresser before she left, and had said good-bye to her
earlier that morning.  And as Paxton prepared to say good-bye to
George, she told him to give her best to Allison, and he almost
flinched at the familiarity with which she said it.  You two are
serious, aren't you?  she couldn't resist asking him in the intimacy of
the moment.  Intimacy was a word which her brother hated.  I have no
idea what that means, he said with a tone of icy annoyance, and she
couldn't help laughing softly.  He had just turned thirty-three, and if
he hadn't figured it out by then, he was in serious trouble.

It's most unladylike, Paxton, for you to ask that.  The thought came
into her head of how comfortable Peter and Gabby were and it made her
sad to realize how difierent her own life was, and how stiff and
stilted her relationship with her only brother.  I think she really
likes you, George.  And I think Mother likes her.  It was all she cpuld
say that was true.  She didn't want to lie and say she liked her.  I'm
sure she does, he said miserably, wishing his sister hadn't asked the
question.  Take care of yourself.  She leaned forward and kissed him on
the cheek, and without another word, took her bag from his hand and
walked toward the plane with a last friendly wave in his direction. 
Peter had done a lot for her.  She couldn't bring herself to play their
game anymore, the game of frozen feelings, and constant restraint, and
endless silent dinners.  And as George watched her go, he thought
unhappily of what was happening to his sister in California.  When
Paxton got off the plane in San Francisco this time, Peter was waiting
for her, and her feet barely touched the ground once he saw her.  He
swept her off her feet and into his arms, pressed his lips onto hers,
and held her tight as they laughed and kissed, and passersby siniled as
they watched them.  It was nice to see young people in love like that,
it warmed the heart, and reminded people of what they had once felt
like.  Oh, God, I missed you, he said fervently as he finally set her
down and they walked slowly toward the baggage claim arm in arm.  I
didn't think I could stand it another minute.

Neither could I. She beamed.  How was Savannah?  Awful!  She told him
again all about Allison, and George, and her summer job, and everything
Queenie had said about them, and with regret, she mentioned how
withdrawn and distant her mother had been.  I think she still feels
betrayed because I went to Berkeley.  That, and I guess she's always
been like that but I see it more now, because now I've seen something
so difierent.  Like the Wilsons.  It doesn't matter, babe.  You have me
now.  It was a brave thing to say and it touched her heart.  But still,
a tiny part of her was still afraid to rely on him completely.  What if
he changed his mind, or went away, or fell in love with someone else I
she had learned a long time since that it was very dangerous to love
someone completely.

She had learned that lesson a long time before with the man she'd loved
so deeply, the man who'd I been everything to her, and then it R'as all
over in a single I moment, when his plane crashed.  What are we doing
tonight?  she asked happily as they walked to the garage for his
jalopy.  She didn't really care what they did, just so she could be
with him.  She had never been as happy in her life.

Maybe her friends in Savannah were right, the ones who were married and
having babies.  She had told him about them, too, and about how strange
it made her feel, but he understood that she wasn't ready for that yet.
 He seemed to understand everything, and she had never loved him more
as they sat in his old car and kissed until neither of them could think
straight.  What are we doing tonight?  .  He tried to make himself 3.1
think, as she laughed.  I was going to drive you back to Tahoe tonight,
so we could spend the weekend there.  But there's a storm and they've
closed Donner Pass.  We're going to have to wait till tomorrow morning
and see if they'll open the pass then.  I Do you want to go to dinner
and a movie?  Sure.  He drove her into town, and she wasn't sure if she
was going to spend the night at her dorm at UC, or in the guest room at
the Wilsons'.  His parents and Gabby were still away, I and all the
help was off, but he insisted that there was no reason why she couldn't
stay there.

Do you think we'll behave?  she asked him honestly while she tried to
make up her mind about it.  Do you want me to behave?  he asked her,
holding her gently.  I'm not sure what I want anymore, Peter I keep
thinking we have to wait for that too and then I look at my friends,
and think I'm stupid.  Don't look at them, he said gently.

Look at me, look at I you.  I'll do whatever you want, Paxxie.  She
smiled gratefully at him.  I'll sleep in the guest room.  I She didn't
want to sleep alone in a lonely dorm.  In fact she wanted to curl up in
bed with him.  She wanted much more than that, but she still believed
she shouldn't do it.  She was almost nineteen, and he was turning
twenty-three.  They were old enough to get married, to have kids, to do
a million things, and yet they weren't supposed to make love yet
because they weren't married.  When they got to the Wilsons' house, he
carried her suitcase upstairs for her, and then went back downstairs to
look for the paper to pick out a movie, and she felt wonderfully at
home just being there, in the grandeur of the place that had been built
by Ed Wilson's father.  And she laughed as she sat down and 1 looked
around the pretty guest room.

The fabric was a pretty pink flowered chintz, the carpet a pale, sunny
yellow, and the bathroom was all pink and white marble.  It was every
girl's dream, and so was Peter.  How about Goldfinger the new James
Bond movie?  he suggested when he came back upstairs with two beers and
a bag of potato chips he held out to her.  Did you eat on the plane? 
He suddenly realized she might be really hungry.  I ate twice.  She
smiled.  I can't eat a thing.  She had kicked off her shoes and changed
into her jeans.  She felt as though she'd come home again, just being
there with him, as he sat down on the bed and curled up close to her. 
You can't begin to imagine how I missed you.  I missed you too, she
said softly as she put her arms around him and they kissed, and slowly
they rolled back onto the bed and they lay there for a long time,
kissing and holding each other and touching and stroking.  They were
quiet and at peace in the cozy room, and after a little while, he
stopped, and seemed to look around them.  I never realized how much I
love this room.  Or maybe it just seems like its yours now.  He smiled,
kissed her again, and held her closer, drinking in the subtle scent of
her perfume.  She wore I Femme, and he loved it.  The word itself made
him think of her.  I Woman.  Maybe we should get up.  He looked at her
hestantly, wondering if they should, because he was beginning to feel
as if he didn't want to.  Yeah, she said quietly.  I guess we should. 
They got up.  She put on a warm sweater and her shoes, and they went
out to the movies.  They went to the Hippo for a hamburger afterward,
and they were home long before midnight.  He kissed her goodnight in
the hall outside her room, and then went upstairs to his own room.  As
always, they had talked about a thousand things they cared about that
night, their families, their friends, their views, and now their
future.  And she was already in her nightgown, and still thinking of
him, as she I 3 I' I' heard a soft knock on the door a few minutes
after he had left her.  Yes?  She knew who it had to be, because they
were the only ones there.  Its me, he said with a grin as he poked his
head inside the door.  That's good news.  She laughed.  I figured if it
wasn't, it had to be a burglar.  I miss you, he said, looking like a
little kid, and as he opened the door, she saw that he was wearing red
flannel pajaI mas, and he laughed as he saw her looking at them.  It
took me ten minutes to find these or I'd have been here sooner.  They
both laughed, and she felt young and happy and in love as she walked
slowly toward him.  I miss you too, she said softly, and without a
word, he switched off the light, and they stood in the moonlight
streaming in the windows.  I don't know what to do, Pax - I don't want
to do anything that'll hurt you now or later I love you so much but
it's - - it's hard to keep my distance.  I don't think I want you to. 
They sat down on the bed, just to talk, and then they were kissing
again, and lying on the bed, and she was in his arms, and he gently
pulled off her nightgown.  I just want to look at you.  He said it so
softly, so gently, and his whole body ached as he looked at the sheer
beauty of her in the moonlight.  She was long and lean and beautiful
and perfectly carved, like a beautiful pink marble statue.  Oh, God I I
love you And she loved him, too, and without hesitating, she unbuttoned
his pajamas, and they lay there for a long time, holding each other
close, and not daring to do more, yet wanting so much more than that,
wanting everything they each had to give, forever.

He stroked her long silky hair, and ran his hands gently over her
breasts and down her thighs, and then back up again, I barely daring tO
come closer to what he wanted.  But it was Paxton who decided it for
him.  She couldn't bear it any longer.  I She wanted him too much, and
she gently peeled away the bottom of his pajamas, revealing his
urgency, his fervent desire for her, which he could no longer control
as he held her.  I Paxxie .  he whispered hoarsely, are you sure?  But
she only nodded with a smile and then kissed him, as he gently rolled
her over on her back, and pushed her legs apart with his own and sought
what she had saved for him until that moment.  He was infinitely gentle
with her and there was almost no pain, there was only passion and
desire and youth, and the gifts of love they had to give each other. 
They lay in each other's arms all that night, making love again and
again, and in the I morning, when he awoke, she lay there beside him,
her hair I fanned out across his arm, her face like a child's,
sleeping, as with one hand she held his, and he felt a tear sting his
eye as he I watched her.  She was what he had dreamed of all his life,
what I he had wanted, what he'd hoped to find one day, and only she I
knew now how much he loved her.  1 I Fhe rest of the school year seemed
to fly by, with only a few very important events to mark it.  Over
Christmas, VietCong terrorists had bombed the Brinks Hotel in Saigon
where the American officers were housed.  It was Christmas Eve, and
officers had come from all over Saigon to share a celebration that
ended in shock and grief.  Two were killed, and fifty-eight wounded. 
And once again, Lyndon Johnson refused to retaliate by bombing. 
Another attack ensued.  And finally, on February seventh, the President
ordered the first major bombing raids I against the North.  And two and
a half weeks later, Operation Rolling Thunder began, the first
sustained bombing of VietNam.  And two weeks after that, the first
ground combat troops arrived.  On March eighth, the Marines landed in
Da Nang, after years of futile advisers.  Two weeks after that, the
American embassy in Saigon was attacked, and the American public began
to understand that we I' had a serious problem in VietNam At the same
time, in the States, the National Guard was I obliged to protect the
Selma-Montgomery Freedom March, and I the University of Michigan staged
the first antiwar teach-in.

But the teach-in didn't stop the war, and the bombing didn't stop the
VietCong.  Supplies were still reaching the South by the elusive Ho Chi
Minh Trail.  And there were more antiwar protests on Armed Forces Day
in May.  And Peter and Paxton participated in the one at UC Berkeley. 
It was almost the end of the school year for them.  And Paxton was
getting nervous about leaving him to go back to Savannah.  The thought
of not being with him every day seemed almost frightening to her now. 
She couldn't imagine a day without him.  He had volunteered for the law
project he'd talked about.  And he was planning on spending most of the
summer in Mississippi.  But he had promised to come and see her
whenever he could.  And she was going to be working in Savannah, on the
paper.  Gabby was to go to Europe with her parents again, and she had
pooh-poohed the idea of getting a job when her father suggested it to
her.  She had promised to get one the following year but she wanted to
play just this last time, on the Riviera with friends, and in Paris
with her mother.  Ed Wilson had scolded his wife for indulging her, but
like Gabby, she felt that one more year' wouldn't hurt her.  All three
of them left Berkeley on the first of June.  Peter and Paxton spent a
quiet weekend at a cabin he rented at Lake Tahoe, and they lay in bed
together for the last time before they separated for the summer.

I'm going to go crazy without you, he whispered as he I nuzzled the
long golden hair.  Its going to be so lonely in Mississippi.  I
Savannah's gonna be worse, she said glumly, but they forI got
everything as they fell into each other's arms again, and it was a
long, happy weekend.  His parents suspected that something had happened
between them, and so did Gabby, but neither Peter nor Paxton admitted
anything.  They were together all the time, and their grades were
excellent, so no one could I complain.  And Peter, Paxton, and Gabby
had already agreed to look for a house together for the fall so the
threesome could live I off campus.  Paxton knew that the secret of
their affair would be obvious to her then, but by then they'd be
willing to tell her.  It would be worth it, in order to enjoy the
luxury of living together off campus.  Gabby left San Francisco first
with Mariorie.  They were flying to London to visit friends, and stay
at Claridge's, before moving on to Paris.

And then Paxton left, waving sorrowfully I to Peter at the airport.

And he left the same afternoon, in time to reach Jackson, Mississippi,
for a voting protest that wound almost a thousand people in jail. 
Peter was among them, and he was quickly bailed out, and felt as though
he had been appropri- I ately christened.

Paxton's introduction to her job was a subtler one, and she was
bitterly disappointed to discover that she had been assigned to the
editor who covered social news, and she was left to coordinate reports
of who was entertaining whom, wearing what, and what the Junior League
and the Daughters of the Civil War were doing.  It was a job her mother
finally understood, and actually had a certain respect for, and at the
same time it left Paxton feeling utterly useless.  She would sit at the
newspaper I and watch the teletypes in despair, reporting sit-ins in
Alabama, and the doubling of our ground troops in VietNam raising the
total to a mere hundred and eighty-one thousand men, numbers that were
staggering.  And Johnson doubled the draft that I summer.  Paxton knew
that some of the boys over there were boys she had gone to school with,
and in two cases, their younger brothers.  One had already been killed,
and she couldn't I bear to hear it.  And suddenly it terrified her. 
What if, in some insane way, they managed to get Peter?  She called him
almost every day and he called her as often, and in late July, he
managed to come up from Mississippi for the weekend.  He had planned to
come up earlier than that, but he had been in jail twice, and the job
he had was far more demanding than he had expected.  But Paxton had
never looked happier than when she took a cab and picked him up at the
airport.  He swung her into his arms, and he looked handsome and tan,
his hair the same golden color as her own as he kissed her.  Boy, is it
good to see you!  He grinned.  I'm so tired of bailing people out of
jail, I can hardly see straight.  Not nearly as tired as I am of garden
parties and afternoon concerts!

Christ, I thought I was going to be doing something meaningful, and
I've done nothing but write about my mother's friends all summer.

He grinned at her and kissed her again, wishing they could go to bed
somewhere on the way in from the airport.  How is your mother, by the
way?  Same as ever.  She can hardly wait to meet you.  Oh-oh.

That sounds dangerous.  He kissed her again.  He couldn't stop kissing
her.  It had been almost two months since he'd seen her.  But she was
just as hungry for him.  She had rented him a room in a nice quiet
hotel just outside town, where she wasn't likely to run into her
mother's friends, and she told him that as they drove into Savannah. 
May I make a suggestion?  He grinned and leaned over to kiss her in his
rented car.  Anything you like.  She was beaming.  How about checking
out the hotel on the way home?  He grinned mischievously and she
laughed.  That sounds like an excellent idea.

She was all his.  She had taken two days off from the paper, in spite
of a very social wedding they had thought she should cover.

They arrived at the little hotel shortly after that, and Peter I looked
extremely serious and responsible in his suit and tie as he signed the
register mister and missis Wilson, and carried the single bag to a
clean, simple room that became their honeymoon suite I for the next
several hours.  It was almost nightfall when he looked at his watch and
she I gasped.  Good Lord, my mother's expecting you for cocktails.  I
I'm not sure I can still stand up, let alone drink, he teased, and
pulled her back into bed with him again, but only for a minute.  And
then they showered together, and dressed.  For a brief moment, it was
almost like being married- Does she know we're sharing a house together
this year?  He didn't want to put his foot in it and it was a good
thing he asked, because Paxton shrieked at the very suggestion.  Are
you crazy?  She thinks it's me and Gabby and another girl, and even at
that, she's not crazy about the idea.  But she I had finally relented. 
Great.  I gather this means I can never touch the phone.  He looked
amused, and he didn't mind.  All he wanted was to live with Paxton,
even if it meant putting up with his sister.  His I mother had told him
on the phone, when she called him in I I' Jackson, that Gabby had
chased every man over thirty on the Riviera.  I think she's getting
desperate, he said to Paxton on the drive back into town.  She's silly,
she's too young to get I married.  Paxton smiled at the words, and he
leaned over and kissed her.  That's different.  She's a baby, you're
not.  But I think you're too young too.  For about three more years. 
And then - - watch out!  They both laughed.  She knew how reasonable he
had been, and she never felt pressured by him.  He wanted her to do
what she needed to, like this summer, working in Savannah, but she had
to admit, she had been miserable without him.  George and her mother
were waiting for them when they drove in, and her mother looked frankly
disapproving at Paxton.  I thought you'd be home hours ago.  Allison
was there, and her mother thought Paxton should have changed for their
guest, but Paxxie ignored her.  I was showing Peter the sights.  Peter,
she said formally, my mother, Beatrice Andrews, my brother, George, and
his 'friend,' Allison Lee.  Her mother never failed to tell anyone that
Allison was related to the great Confederate general.  And Paxton had
waited all summer for George to get engaged to her, but for some reason
he hadn't.  At thirty-three, he didn't want to rush into anything. 
Anything.  Although, at thirty-one, Allison seemed to be getting
decidedly nervous.  This is Peter Wilson, she explained to all of them
as though they'd never heard of him before.  His sister, Gabby, is my
roommate.  Everyone murmured polite how-do-you-do's, shook hands, and
George offered Peter a drink, and Peter asked for a gin and tonic.  It
was deadly hot and the fan overhead did little to cool the room,
although everyone pretended not to notice.

Queenie had made her best hors d'oeuvres, and Allison passed them
looking demure and as prissy as ever.  Paxton had decided long since
that she couldn't stand her.  But Peter was congenial with everyone,
and her mother was painfully polite, while George looked frankly bored,
and Allison appeared not even to know someone was in the room with I
them.  She almost never spoke to Paxton, and had said to George several
times that she just didn't understand her.  And secretly, she thought
Paxton rude and far too headstrong.  Al lison kept talking to George
that night about the new curtains she had just ordered for her bedroom.
 Peter tried to explain what he was doing in Mississippi, but no one
seemed to care, I and her mother kept pointedly changing the subject. 
It took him a while to realize that it was because she disapproved of
what he was doing there, and she was trying to keep him from
embarrassing himself, and when the message finally got across, it
shocked him.  They were even worse than Paxton had said.  They were
distant and cold, and living in the Dark Ages.  He switched to
discussing his parents' trip to Europe then, which seemed a safer
subject.  Paxton's mother seemed imI pressed to hear that they were in
the south of France, and she'3

' asked him as genteelly as she could what his father did, and Peter
was surprised Paxton hadn't told her.  He uh works for a newspaper in
San FrancIsco.  . It seemed indiscreet somehow to say he owned it.  I
How nice, Beatrice Andrews said with a look of obvious disapproval. 
And you're going to be a lawyer?  He nodded, speechless at the iciness
of her tone.  She was everything Paxton had said and more or less, as
it were.  She was glacial.  Paxton's father was an attorney.  Her
brother-her eyes indicated the deadly Georgis a doctor.  Now that was
obviously a profession that measured up in her eyes.  That's wonderful,
Peter said, feeling wooden and wondering how long he could go on
talking to them, and how Paxton could stand them on a daily basis.  No
wonder she was so unhappy when she came home.  She was so unlike them. 
And Allison, what do you do?  I why uh .  She was so startled to be
asked, she had no idea what to say.  She had been waiting around to
find a husband for thirteen years, ever since she got out of high I
school.  Why I I'm very fond of my garden.  And she does marvelous work
for us at the Junior League, don't you, dear, missis Andrews said
encouragingly.

And then to Peter, Her great-great uncle was General Lee.  The General
Lee.  I'm sure you know who he is.  Yes indeed.  Peter felt as though
he was going to run from the room screaming, and it was the longest
dinner of his life, I with endless silences, and awkward snatches of
conversation, I and only an occasional wink or nudge from Queenie, or
look from Paxton, to cheer him.  It seemed aeons before they went back
to his hotel, and he pulled off his tie, and collapsed on the bed with
a groan that didn't begin to express what he had felt about the
evening, and then he sat up and looked at Paxton.  I..  They had
pretended they were going out for a little dancing.  My God, baby, how
do you stand them?  They are the most difficult, uptight people I've
ever met.  I know I shouldn't say this about your family, but I thought
I'd never get through that dinner.  She grinned from ear to ear.  I
know.  Aren't they awful?  I never know what to say to them.  I always
feel like a stranger.  You are.  You don't even look related to them. 
Your brother is the most boring man I've ever met, his girlfriend is
the most prissy, uptight, dumb pain in the ass, and your mother my God,
she's like an iceberg.  I Paxton grinned happily, loving him more than
ever.

She felt avenged suddenly, and as though she had more in the world I
than just Queenie.  That's my Mommy.  Peter still couldn't believe
there were people like that in the I, world.  They were totally
different from his own family, and totally different from Paxxie.

I wish I'd met your father.  So do I. He would have loved you.  I'm
sure I would have loved him too.  But from everything you've said about
him, Paxton, I just can't imagine him with I your mother.  I I don't
think he was very happy with her.  I was only eleven when he died, so
the subtleties of their relationship kind of I escaped me.

Maybe that's just as well.  Thank God you went to Berkeley.  He
couldn't begin to imagine what would have happened I to her if she had
stayed in Savannah with them.  It would have I destroyed her, or her
spirit eventually.  He had had three gin I and tonics just to get
through dinner, and they probably thought he was an alcoholic.

Paxton stayed with him as long as she could, and then he drove her home
in the rented car, and watched as she went into the house.  And much to
her surprise, her mother was waiting I up for her, which was something
she never did, and wasn't I necessarily a good omen.

What exactly does that boy mean to you?  she asked Paxton only seconds
after she came through the door.  He's my friend.  I like him.  You're
in love with him.  Her mother hurled the words at her like cannonballs,
and as though she expected Paxton to fall down and beg for mercy. 
Maybe.  She didn't want to lie to her, but she didn't want to stir
anything up either.  Her mother was sitting on the couch in her
dressing gown, and there was a small glass of sherry beside her.  I
like his family.  His sister is my friend, and his parents have been
very nice to me.  Why?  It was a ridiculous question and Paxton
couldn't I begin to find an answer.  What do you mean, 'why'?  Because
they like me.  Maybe because they think you're a step up in the world
for their son.  Have you ever thought of that?  Paxton almost laughed
at the suggestion, but she didn't want to be rude to her mother.  I
don't think that's very likely.  Why not?  Mother .  Paxton wasn't
quite sure what to say to her, but the truth seemed the only solution. 
They own the second biggest paper in San Francisco.  The Morning Sun. 
They don't I need me for anything.  They just like me.  They sound
common, her mother said harshly, but in her opinion, all westerners
were, including, and perhaps especially, Peter Wilson.  Westerners were
even worse than Yankees.  They're not common.  Paxton felt suddenly
hurt by her mother's lack of warmth for the boy she loved.  It was so
unlike the warmth she had encountered from the Wilsons.  They're nice
people, Mother.  Really.  I don't want you to go back to Berkeley.  The
words shot from her mouth like flares, and Paxton sat down heavily in a
chair, wishing they didn't have to go through this.  I like it there. 
It's a wonderful school.  I'm doing well.  Mother, I'm not going to
stay here.  You will if I tell you to.  You're nineteen years old, and
don't let that little trust your father left you go to your head.  At
your age, you are not independent.  I I'm sorry you feel that way. 
Paxton fought to stay calm, and she was far beyond her years in her
wisdom.  But I'm not going to stay in Savannah.  I May I ask why? 
Because I'm not happy here.  I want broader horizons.

And when I finish school, I want to go abroad somewhere for a while. 
Even Peter understood that.  I You're sleeping with him, aren't you? 
It was a low blow, and one she hadn't expected.  I Of course not.  I
Yes, you are.  It's written all over you, like a cheap whore.  I' You
went to California and turned into a slut.  Even your brother and
Allison saw the difference.  It was an ugly thing to I say and their
consensus hurt her.  I'm sorry to hear that.  Paxton stood up,
determined not to hear more of the same.  I'm going to bed now, Mother.
 I want you to think about what I said.  About being a whore?  Paxton
said coldly, but her mother seemed unafiected.  About staying here.  I
want you to think twice before you go back to California.  I don't
think I'll have to, Paxton said sadly, and walked up the stairs to her
bedroom.  She met Peter at the hotel the next day, and she said very
little about what had happened.  But he knew.  He could see it in her
face.  She said something, didn't she?

Was she upset?  Upset?  Paxton laughed, for the first time sounding
bitter.  I No, my mother never gets 'upset."  Disappointed.  She wants
me I to transfer back to a school here.  Peter looked horrified as he '
listened, but Paxton quickly kissed him tO reassure him.  She I says
I'm turning into a slut out in California, even my brother and Allison
can see it.  And it's very distressing to them.  The bastards did they
.  He was spluttering he I was so angry, and she silenced him with a
kiss again, too wise for her years, too saddened by what had happened. 
It doesn't matter.  I'll be back in Berkeley in four weeks.  And I
don't know if I'll ever come back here.  I'm not sure I can.  It
depresses me too much.  They always want to hurt me.  Can she cut you
off?  Peter asked worriedly, although he would have been more than
happy to remedy the situation at a moment's notice, but Paxton shook
her head.  She still looked sad, but she also looked older and more
independent.  No, she can't.

My father left me just enough money to go to school and support myself
while I do.  And after that, I have to work anyway, so it doesn't
really make any difference.  She'd probably support me if I wanted to
come home and spend the rest of my life at the Junior League, but I
don't, so it's no loss.  It really doesn't make any difference.  I just
can't come back here.  Not to live anyway.  She looked certain.  What
about Queenie?  He knew how much she meant to Paxton.  I'll come back
to see her.  I'd have to.  Paxton smiled, but her life was in
California with him now.  More important, her life was her own, and she
knew it.  And so did her mother, which was what scared her.  She had
very little power now over Paxton.  He left the next day, and Paxton
hated to see him go.  And he hated to leave her among people who didn't
love her.  He promised to call her at least every day, more often if he
could, and wasn't in jail, he laughed, as he left her at the airport. 
He kissed her long and hard and reminded her to think about how much he
loved her, and not to let her family upset her.  But they did anyway. 
Her mother was hostile to her after I Peter left, and her brother told
her several times, whenever he I had the chance, that she owed it to
their mother not to go back to California.  I owe it to myself to make
something of myself, George, she told him bluntly, no longer afraid of
him, or impressed by I him, despite the fact that he was so much older.
 He seemed pathetic now, a small-town doctor who was still tied to his
mother's apron strings and was afraid to have a relationship I with
anyone of any substance.  She was sure that her relation- I ship with
Peter was more whole and more mature than his was.  You can make
something of yourself here, George insisted to her one night before she
left, when their mother was at her bridge club.

Bullshit, she exploded.  Look at you.  Look at the people we know.

Look at Allison look at the girls I went to school with.  Watch your
mouth, Paxton!  He was outraged at the slurs on all of them, but so was
she.  She had taken too much for too long and she'd had it.

You've filled your head with a lot of wild I ideas and ugly words,
Paxton, and they don't suit you.  Neither does this.  This isn't me.

It never was.  And it wasn't Daddy either.  He probably just put up
with it because he was a nice man and he thought he had to.  I You
don't know anything about him.  You were a child when he died.  I know
he was a good man with a big heart and I loved You don't know what he
did to Mama.  He said it as though he were hiding something terrible
from her, and she found that hard to believe about her father.  What
could he possibly have done to her?  She couldn't I imagine anything,
but George couldn't resist hurting her further.

It was his final revenge for her independence, the independence he had
never had and never would because he was too much like their mother and
not enough like their father, unlike Paxton.  There was a woman with
him when he crashed.  There was?  Paxton looked startled at first and
then, slowly, thoughtful.  It explained a lot of things.  Her mother's
attitude.  But it was also easy to understand why he had wanted another
woman.  She wasn't really surprised.  And in a funny way, she was glad.
 If he had found someone to love and who had loved him, he deserved it.
 He didn't deserve to die for it.

But that wasn't what had killed him.  Chance had killed him.  Bad luck.
 His name on a slate, written by a hand in Heaven.  I'm not really
surprised, she said quietly, and he looked disappointed.

Mama was always so cold to him.  He probably needed more than she had
to give him.  What would you know about that at your age?  I know what
it's been like being her daughter, she said openly, and he looked
shocked.  And your sister.  We're very different.  We certainly are, he
said with angry pride.  We certainly are.  And you'd better think twice
about what you're making of yourself in California.  Out there with all
those drugs and hippies and demonstrations, all those fools wearing
their bedsheets and putting flowers in their hair, and demonstrating
for the blacks when they've never even seen one.  Maybe they know more
than you do, George.  Maybe they care more.  And maybe that's
something.  You're a fool.  No.  She shook her head as she looked at
him.  No.  But I would have been if I'd stayed here.  Good-bye, George.
 She held out a hand to him, but he didn't take it.  He just looked at
her and a few minutes later, he left the house, and she didn't see him
again before she left Savannah.  Her good-byes with Queenie were more
painful this time, because she had already decided she wouldn't be back
for Christmas that year, although she hadn't said it to Queenie.  But
Queenie sensed that she wouldn't be back for a long time, and she held
her close and looked into her eyes sadly.  I love you, girl.  Take care
of yourself.  You too.  And go to the doctor when you get that cough. 
But she seemed older and slower now, even without it.  I love Paxton
whispered, and kissed the warm black cheeks and I then she left her. 
Her mother didn't take her to the airport this time, nor did I
George.

Her mother said good-bye to her in the front hall, and let her know by
her tone that her going back to California was a I major
disappointment, not because she'd be missed but because she had failed
somehow, as a human being, and a Georgian, and as her mother's
daughter, and George's sister- It was all more I than a little
exhausting.  You're wasting your time out there.  I'm sorry you feel
that way, Mama.  I'm trying my best not They said you did a nice job on
the paper.  It was the only compliment she could ever remember her
mother giving her.  I You could have ajob working for the society
editor one day, if you worked hard.  Paxton didn't tell her she'd
rather die than spend the rest of her life chronicling her friends'
weddings.  That's nice.  Take care, she said softly, sorry to leave
them, yet relieved, sorry most of all for what they had never been to
each other.  Watch out for that boy.  He's no good.

Peter?  It was an odd thing to say about him.  He was so I warm and so
good and so decent that her mother's words shocked her.  What did her
mother know that she didn't?  It's written all over him.  If you let
him, he'll use you and throw you away.  That's what they all do.

It was a statement about herself more than Paxton, and Paxton was sorry
for her.  I It must have been a great blow to her to discover that her
husband had been in the plane with another woman.  And he had never
regained consciousness again to explain it.  George hadn't said who she
was, or if she had survived the accident, but maybe it didn't matter. 
And Paxton didn't want to know any more than he had told her.  I'll
call when I know my number.  They still had to find a house or an
apartment to rent in Berkeley.  Her mother nodded and watched her go. 
She never reached out to her, or even tried to kiss her.  And all the
way to the airport in the cab, all Paxton could think about was going
back to Berkeley, and Peter.  And once she was on the plane on her way
back to him, she never had another thought about Savannah.  By sheer
luck, it only took them two weeks to find a house, on Piedmont, and it
was perfect.  There were two bedrooms and a huge living room, a big
sunny kitchen, and a lovely garden.

And it came as no shock to Gabby finally to discover that she was not
going to be sharing the bedroom with Paxton, but sleeping alone, while
Paxton and Peter shared the larger of the two bedrooms.  She herself
had lost her virginity to a handsome young Frenchman on the Kiviera
that year, and she now considered herself a woman of the world, and it
excited her no end to discover that her brother and her best friend had
been having an affair for months and she didn't know it.  But Peter was
less amused by her attitude about their affair, and he assured her that
if she told anyone, compromised Paxxie in any way, or let their parents
know that she wasn't sharing the room with her and he was, she would
bitterly regret it.  But the arrangement worked beautifully.  The
Wilsons came over to visit them, and the girls cooked dinner for them. 
And the threesome got along to perfection.  The two lovebirds got along
perfectly, and Paxton and Gabby were as close as ever.

The only difficulty was that Gabby seemed to have a new man in her life
every week, and it was difficult for Peter to restrain himself and
consider himself merely her roommate, and not her older brother.  But
Paxton reminded him constantly that he couldn't take advantage of the
situation.  But it was a constant strain on him to keep his mouth shut.
 The other strain on him was the amount of work he had to do to keep
his grades up during his second year of law school.  There was a
staggering amount of work, and Paxton had taken on a heavy workload,
too, so they seemed to spend most of their time studying or in the
library, or in bed, and very little out playing.  Paxton was doing a
little volunteer work in her spare time, and writing an occasional
piece for the university paper as well, and she got a real thrill out
of it whenever she saw her byline.  It was an idyllic life for them,
and they had never been happier.  They were deeply involved with school
most of the time.

And in mid-October, Peter burned his draft card with Paxton's full
approval.  At the same time in VietNam B-52 bombers were being called
in to support the ground troops, and the air cavalry became a major
factor in fighting the VietCong, bringing choppers right into the
jungle in the heat of the battle.  The war had begun to escalate to
unknown heights and it frightened Paxton thinking of what was going on
there.  But when they talked to Peter's father about it, he insisted
that what was needed was more bombs, more men, and a tougher stance
against the North.  And all Paxton and Peter wanted was to see the
United States get out completely.  But it was impossible to convince
his father of the wisdom of their position.  She spent Thanksgiving
with his family again that year, and this time she felt like a member
of the family, and she was totally at ease with the Wilsons.  It was
hard to believe that she and Peter had been involved for only a year. 
It seemed as though they had lived together forever.  His parents
suspected that was what was happening, tO, but they stayed out of it,
although more than once Mariorie asked Fd if he didn't think she should
say something to them.  Why?  They're responsible kids.  Do you think
you'll change anything by talking to them?  Maybe they should get
engaged if that's what they're doing.  What difference does that make? 
If they want to get married, they will.  And if they don't, they won't.
 They're too young to get married anyway.  Peter will be twenty-four
next month.  And she isn't even twenty.  Just wait.  They know what
they're doing, believe me.  Paxton spent Christmas with them, too, and
by then she was horrified to read in the Morning Sun that the number of
troops in VietNam had escalated to two hundred thousand.  But that's
insane!  she said to Peter, over breakfast.  I know.  He looked
unhappily at her, praying he wouldn't llunk out of law school.  It was
getting so damn tough that sometimes it scared him.  And the prospect
of getting drafted scared him more.  It was terrifying.  Why don't
people see what's happening over there?  Boys are dying every day.  Not
just Vietnamese, our boys too.  And they're sending eighteen-year-olds
over to fight them.  I'm too old for this war, he groaned as he poured
himself another cup of coffee.  If they ever call you up, I just want
you to know now, I'll either shoot you in the ass myself, or lend you
my black lace underwear and buy you a ticket to Toronto.  I might take
you up on that.  The underwear anyway.  As long as you're still in
them.  That can be arranged.  She kissed him over their morning coffee,
and Gabby groaned as she wandered into the kitchen in her nightgown. 
Are you two at it again?  You make me sick.  But in truth, she loved
them both.  She just wanted to find someone for herself now.  But after
Christmas, when they all went skiing together, it finally happened. 
Gabby was roaring down the slopes one day and collided with a man who
flew into the air, and then came crashing down on her, and they lay in
a breathless heap for a moment, untangling their limbs and their skis,
trying to make sure that nothing was missing, damaged, or broken.  That
was one hell of a spill, are you alright?  he asked with considerable
concern, standing up to his full height and offering a hand to pull her
up, and she looked up at him with amazement.  His name was Matthew
Stanton and he had movie-star good looks and was wearing a one-piece
black ski suit.  He had dark hair and blue eyes and a well-trimmed
beard, and he looked intrigued with her as she dusted herself off and
apologized for not looking where she was going.  He skid back to the
lodge with her, invited her to lunch and dinner every night after that.
 Peter and Paxton scarcely saw her again except to wave from the lift,
or as she ran in to change and go out with Matthew.  He was thirty-two
years old, in advertising, and seemed thoroughly amused by Gabby's
constant antics.  So much so that he seemed to appear constantly at the
house in Berkeley when they went back, and whenever he did, Gabby
seemed not to reappear until the following morning.  Do you think he's
serious?  Paxton asked Peter finally when they were studying for finals
a month after Christmas.  Who knows with those two.  I don't see how he
can put up with her.  But whenever Paxton saw Matt with her, she
thought they seemed very happy.  He had admitted to Gabby that he was
divorced, but had no kids, and he seemed to be spending a lot of money
on Gabby.  There were flowers from him constantly, and books of poetry,
and bracelets, and things he knew she'd like, trinkets and dolls and
silly things that pleased her.  He seemed to be imaginative and fun and
playful.  And too old to get sent to VietNam , Paxton added to her list
of virtues.  These days that's a real bonus.  That's disgusting, Peter
said.  But it wasn't.  Young men were being sent there every day to die
for their country.  And on January eleventh, student demonstrators had
been reclassified I-A, which had caused a real outrage in California. 
And three weeks later, Johnson resumed the bombing of North VietNam
after a Christmas halt.  It had lasted exactly thirty-eight days, and
now it was all starting again.  And all Paxton could think about at
times was the war, and the danger of its finally reaching out to
Peter.

Paxton had spoken to her family over the Christmas holiday several
times, and her mother was hinting broadly that George might have a
surprise for her in the spring, which hardly seemed a surprise anymore.
 If he finally got engaged at thirtyfour, it was becoming a lot more
surprising than if he wasn't.  And Queenie was sick again, and she
hadn't sounded well on the phone.  Paxton was worried about her, but
she didn't get a chance to call again for a long time, and when she
did, her old friend insisted that she was much better.  You're not
lying to me, are you?  Would I lie to my baby girl?  Yes, she would,
they both knew, but Paxton didn't say that.

In March 1966, government troops took Da Nang over from the Communists
again, and Peter and Paxton took part in three days of antiwar protest.
 Paxton had lined up her summer job by then.

Peter's father had offered her a wonderful job as a cub reporter at the
paper.  She had hesitated at first, not wanting to take advantage of
her relationship with Peter.  But it was too good to resist, and
Peter's father promised that she wouldn't cover a single garden party
or fashion show during the entire summer.  And all she had to do now
was tell her mother she wasn't spending the summer in Savannah.  She
went home over the Easter holiday to explain it to them, and George
finally got engaged, and they were planning to get married sometime
that summer.  But Allison didn't ask Paxton to be one of her
bridesmaids, which made it easier to explain that she would just be
coming for the wedding and then flying back to San Francisco.  She told
them she had taken a job on a paper there, and her mother, remembering
what Paxton had said about his family, immediately blamed Peter for the
defection.  That has nothing to do with it.  They offered me a terrific
job on an important paper.  That's too good an offer to turn down for a
job on the paper here.  Just where are your loyalties?  her mother
accused.

Here or there?  That's not the point.  My real loyalties should be to
myself and my future.  That's all you think of, her mother said through
clenched teeth, and Paxton tried to turn the conversation back to
George and Allison and their upcoming wedding.  The wedding reception
was going to be at the Oglethorpe Club, and they said they were only
having about a hundred friends.  She was so old by then that to Paxton
it almost seemed ridiculous to have a thirtytwo-year-old bride at the
center of an enormous wedding.

Paxton had a chance to visit a few of her old friends, and was amazed
to find that even more had gotten married, still more engaged, and some
of the early married ones were having second babies.  It made her feel
ancient, even though she had just turned twenty.  Do you think he'll
marry you?  Queenie asked her about Peter late one night, and Paxton
smiled and shrugged.  They didn't really talk about marriage anymore. 
It was not in their immediate plans, but Paxton knew that eventually
they probably would, if he didn't mind the wait, while she got all her
independent wanderings out of her system.  But she was terribly used to
him now.  She loved living with him, and she could no longer even begin
to imagine a life without him.  It was a good visit for her, and the
only thing that worried her was how tired Queenie looked when she left,
and despite her enormous size, she somehow managed to look frail and
Paxton urged her brother to keep an eye on her.  No one knew exactly
how old she was, but it was clear that she was no longer young, and not
as strong as she once had been.  There was still a strain between her
mother and herself when Paxton left, but she tried not to think about
it, and she promised to come home again that summer, for the wedding. 
And when she got back to Berkeley, Peter was waiting for her.  He had
been impatient for her to come home this time.  In many ways, their
relationship was just like being married.  And when Gabby came home the
next day, from a trip to Hawaii with Matt, she had stars in her eyes,
and a look that Paxton knew she had seen somewhere before, but she
couldn't remember where, and it was late May before she remembered. 
Suddenly, Gabby was constantly in bed and asleep all the time.  She
never seemed to go anywhere, except out with Matt at night, but she
always had that sleepy look, and a look in her eyes that Paxton
recognized almost instantly once it clicked, and she confronted Gabby
one day when they were alone in the house, and there was no one else
there to hear them.  She had just gotten up at two o'clock, and Paxton
had just come back from one of her classes.  And all she could think of
was Dawn.  The girl from Des Moines who had slept through the first
three months of school.  And then gone home at Christmas, to have her
baby.  You're pregnant, aren't you?  She decided not to beat around the
bush, and Gabby wheeled where she stood, with a look of amazement. 
That's ridiculous.  Who would you say a thing like that?  For a moment,
she looked frightened.  Because you are.  Aren't you?  I'm no, I'm not
that's a stupid thing to say married sometime that summer.  But Allison
didn't ask Paxton to be one of her bridesmaids, which made it easier to
explain that she would just be coming for the wedding and then flying
back to San Francisco.  She told them she had taken a job on a paper
there, and her mother, remembering what Paxton had said about his
family, immediately blamed Peter for the defection.

That has nothing to do with it.  They offered me a terrific job on an
important paper.  That's too good an offer to turn down for a job on
the paper here.  Just where are your loyalties?  her mother accused. 
Here or there?  That's not the point.  My real loyalties should be to
myself and my future.  That's all you think of, her mother said through
clenched teeth, and Paxton tried to turn the conversation back to
George and Allison and their upcoming wedding.

The wedding reception was going to be at the Oglethorpe Club, and they
said they were only having about a hundred friends.  She was so old by
then that to Paxton it almost seemed ridiculous to have a
thirtytwo-year-old bride at the center of an enormous wedding.

Paxton had a chance to visit a few of her old friends, and was amazed
to find that even more had gotten married, still more engaged, and some
of the early married ones were having second babies.  It made her feel
ancient, even though she had just turned twenty.  Do you think he'll
marry you?  Queenie asked her about Peter late one night, and Paxton
smiled and shrugged.  They didn't really talk about marriage anymore. 
It was not in their immediate plans, but Paxton knew that eventually
they probably would, if he didn't mind the wait, while she got all her
independent wanderings out of her system.  But she was terribly used to
him now.  She loved living with him, and she could no longer even begin
to imagine a life without him.  It was a good visit for her, and the
only thing that worried her was how tired Queenie looked when she left,
and despite her enormous size, she somehow managed to look frail and
Paxton urged her brother to keep an eye on her.  No one knew exactly
how old she was, but it was clear that she was no longer young, and not
as strong as she once had been.  There was still a strain between her
mother and herself when Paxton left, but she tried not to think about
it, and she promised to come home again that summer, for the wedding. 
And when she got back to Berkeley, Peter was waiting for her.  He had
been impatient for her to come home this time.  In many ways, their
relationship was just like being married.  And when Gabby came home the
next day, from a trip to Hawaii with Matt, she had stars in her eyes,
and a look that Paxton knew she had seen somewhere before, but she
couldn't remember where, and it was late May before she remembered. 
Suddenly, Gabby was constantly in bed and asleep all the time.  She
never seemed to go anywhere, except out with Matt at night, but she
always had that sleepy look, and a look in her eyes that Paxton
recognized almost instantly once it clicked, and she confronted Gabby
one day when they were alone in the house, and there was no one else
there to hear them.  She had just gotten up at two o'clock, and Paxton
had just come back from one of her classes.  And all she could think of
was Dawn.  The girl from Des Moines who had slept through the first
three months of school.  And then gone home at Christmas, to have her
baby.  You're pregnant, aren't you?  She decided not to beat around the
bush, and Gabby wheeled where she stood, with a look of amazement. 
That's ridiculous.  Who would you say a thing like that?  For a moment,
she looked frightened.  Because you are.  Aren't you?  I'm no, I'm not
that's a stupid thing to say I'm .I But she couldn't go on with the
lie.  She sank into a kitchen chair, put her face in her hands, and
started to cry as Paxton watched her.  And then Paxton sat down next to
her and put an arm around her shoulders.  What are you going to do? 
she said gently.  I don't know ... I kept thinking I was late, but ...
I just don't know what to do now.  Have you told Matt?

The redhead shook her head.  How pregnant are you?  I don't know.

Maybe about six weeks.  I started to ask around about abortions last
week, but everyone has horror stories about Mexico or East Oakland.

I don't want to do something like that.  What if I die?  You could go
to Tokyo, or London.  Yeah, and say what to my parents?  I'm going on a
business trip?  A research project for my art class?  Shit, Paxxie,
what am I going to do?  What do you want to do?  Do you want the baby? 
I don't know.  And she honestly didn't.  She had thought about it
constantly and she couldn't make her mind up about any of it, she was
so confused.  It was a relief to be talking about it to Paxton.  What
about Matt?  Do you want him?  I think so.  He's so good to me.  And so
sweet.  I think I love him.  It wasn't good enough.  At least not to
Paxton.  But Gabby's standards weren't as high as hers were.  You have
to be sure, especially if you're going to have a baby.  How can I be? 
How do you ever know?  You've been going out with Peter for almost two
years, are you that sure about him?  Yes, Paxton said honestly.  I'm
not as sure about myself.  I'm not quite sure I'm grown up yet.  But I
do know that I love him.  Then you're lucky.  But you're different than
I am.  And she had only been going out with Matthew Stanton since
Christmas.  And sometimes Paxton thought he was so smooth, and so
calculating and so perfectly orchestrated, that it was hard to tell who
he really was beneath the veneer.  It was easy to see why Gabby wasn't
sure.  And Paxton also suspected that it meant a lot to him that he was
going out with Gabby Wilson.  He knew exactly who her father was, and
even indirectly, he seemed to enjoy the connection.  What are you going
to do?  Paxton asked her again.  You'd better decide soon, or you won't
have a choice.  But it was true.  After three months, she couldn't even
consider an abortion.  Oh, God, Paxxie, don't say that.  Why don't you
tell him?  What if he walks out on me?  Then at least you'll know what
kind of guy he is, won't you?  And maybe you'll have your answer.  And
if he doesn't?  Then you have to think about that too.  But Gabby,
think about what you want.  A baby is forever.  She had too many
friends who, at twenty and twenty-one, were regretting the children
they had and the marriages they had either rushed or been forced into. 
They were still talking about it that afternoon when Peter walked in
and both of them fell suddenly silent.  Christ, what's with you two? 
Did I say something I shouldn't have?  No.  Don't be so paranoid. 
Paxton kissed him hungrily.  How did your exams go?  He had almost
finished his second year, and they both knew that this one was the
hardest.  I think I flunked everything.  I should be on a plane to
VietNam by tomorrow morning.  Don't joke about stuff like that.  Paxton
looked upset as she poured him a cup of coffee.  Don't be so sensitive,
he said as he put the cup down and 1 kissed her again, and then watched
his sister leave the kitchen.  She looked as though she had been
crying.

What's with her?  he asked in a whisper.  She break up with that guy?

Peter never seemed to remember his name, which wasn't a good sign.

He's too old for her anyway.  And he's too interested in my father.

Paxton thought so, too, but under the circumstances, she had no
intention of admitting it to Peter.  I think it's just a little spat. 
I'm sure it's nothing, she said noncommittally, and Peter knew
instantly that she was lying, but he didn't press her.  She obviously
knew more than that, but she wasn't telling.  When Matthew showed up
that evening to pick Gabby up, she was wearing a bright orange
minidress, and huge cube-shaped plastic earrings.  But she looked
surprisingly somber, considering the outfit.  And she looked closer to
hysterical when she came back less than an hour later.

And this time, she looked straight at Paxxie, as though her brother
didn't even exist.  He says he has to think about it.  How do you like
that?  She burst into tears and then ran into her room and slammed the
door as Peter stared at her in confusion And then suddenly it clicked,
and he looked at Paxton.  Shit.  She's not, is she?  Tell me she's not
... please ... or I'm going to kill her.  And then I'm going to kill
him.  His whole jaw was taut, but Paxton quickly grabbed his arm and
almost shook him.  You're not going to do anything.  You're going to
let them work it out.  Oh, Paxxie .

There were tears in his eyes as he sat staring at her in disbelief.

How could she?  The guy is a jerk, can't she see that?  Maybe he isn't.
 Maybe he's okay.  Maybe he'll come through for her.  She certainly
hoped so.  If not, Gabby was in big trouble.  I think she should get an
abortion.  She is pregnant, isn't she?  He was right, of course, and
she nodded.  How could she let that happen?  It was an accident.  Those
kind of accidents don't happen.  They don't happen to you.  Doesn't she
take the pill?  Paxton shook her head sadly.

Christ.  What are my parents going to say?  Nobody's going to say
anything.  Let her work it out first.  She doesn't even know what she
wants yet.  She was so fucking desperate to get married, and now look
at her, she gets knocked up by a ski bum.  Paxton laughed at him.  Stop
it.  He is not a ski bum.  She met him on a ski slope, and for all we
know he's the perfect husband for her.  And just as she said it, the
doorbell rang, and it was Matthew, looking somber and drawn, and asking
if he could see Gabby.  She's in her room, Paxxie said quietly, and
then glanced at Peter, praying he wouldn't strangle the baby's father. 
Why don't we go out for a pizza or something.  Because I'm not hungry,
Peter snarled, glaring at him, and then let Paxton force him out of the
house, as he argued with her once they were outside.  Why can't I talk
to him?  Because he doesn't want to talk to you.  He wants to talk to
Gabby.  Leave them alone, for heaven's sake.  Why?  Look what happened
when they were alone before.  Well, it can't happen again.  So mind
your own business.  She's my sister.  I think he has priority now. 
Besides, I'm hungry.  Don't tell me you're pregnant, too, or I'll throw
up.

Is that what you'd do?  She looked at him with interest as they stopped
at his car, and he looked suddenly serious as he watched her.  No, that
isn't what I'd do, just for the record.  If that ever happens to us,
Pax, I don't want you to do anything stupid.  Hell, we're practically
married now.  We'd just make it legal, and I'd keep the baby for you
while you go to the Peace Corps.  You almost make it sound tempting. 
He was teasing her a little, but he wanted her to know that he'd marry
her in a minute.  He walked around the car to her, and put his arms
around her.  I love you, babe a lot.

One day I'd love you to have my baby.  So would I, she whispered into
his neck, but she couldn't imagine it yet.  And she couldn't imagine
Gabby with a baby either.  Gabby and Matt were sitting on the front
steps when they got back, and she wasn't crying, which Paxton thought
was a good sign.  And he stood up nervously and looked at Peter.  I'd
like to talk to you, he said, looking him straight in the eye.  What
about?  Peter had no intention of making it easy for him, but Gabby was
too nervous to listen.  She jumped up and looked at her older brother. 
We're getting married.  She glanced at him and then at Paxton, and then
she started to cry, as Paxton put her arms around her, and gave her a
hug and told her she was happy for her.  Have you spoken to Mom and Dad
yet?  Peter asked cautiously, knowing full well that they hadn't.  Matt
is going to have lunch with Dad tomorrow.  Peter looked at both of
them, and it was obvious that he was still upset.  Is he going to tell
him you're knocked up?  No, Gabby said, with a trembling lip, are you? 
I don't know yet, Peter answered, but suddenly Matthew stepped in, and
put an arm around Gabby's shoulders.  That's enough.  There's no reason
to tell anyone.  He looked at his future brother-in-law.  That's
between the four of us.  There's no reason to upset your parents, or
Gabby.  This has been traumatic for everyone.  It kind of knocked me
off my feet, I too, when Gabby told me.  But we might as well make the
best of it.  I love her, she loves me, and we're going to have a
wonderful baby.  He pulled her close to him again, and kissed the top
of her head as she fought back tears and looked up at him with
gratitude.  He could have told her to go to hell but he hadn't.  But
Peter also knew that there were a lot of benefits to being married to
Gabby Wilson.  He had a lot less to lose than she did.  Peter looked
hard at his sister then.  Are you sure that's what you want to do?  She
nodded, looking at him.  Yes, it is.  I just didn't know what to do at
first.  She glanced nervously at Paxton.  It was a big step to take. 
From college co-ed, she was suddenly leaping into being wife and
mother.  What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?  That we want to get
married soon like in a few weeks, or a month maybe.

You don't think they'll know?  Mom will be real disappointed if you
don't want a big wedding.  I'll just tell her Matthew feels strongly
about it because he's divorced.  She shrugged.  And then the baby will
be two months premature.  Lots of babies are.  She smiled happily up at
Matt, as Paxton watched them.  It was amazing, in the space of a few
hours, her friend's whole life had changed and suddenly she seemed to
belong not to them, but to Matthew.  She went home with him that night
and when Paxton saw her again a few days later, she seemed to have
changed completely.  He had bought her a ring, and all she could talk
about was getting married.  She had finally gotten what she wanted out
of school.  A husband.  But Paxton still wasn't sure that Matt Stanton
was the perfect answer.  Ed Wilson felt the same way, too, but all his
entreaties to them to wait held absolutely no sway, and finally he gave
up.  She was so headstrong, he knew she'd run off to Mexico and marry
him if she had to.  Their wedding day was set for June, and they had
insisted they wanted only a few friends, and a luncheon at the house. 
And just as Peter had predicted, Mariorie Wilson was bitterly
disappointed.  And on their wedding day, on the fourth of June, Paxton
stood beside her and cried, because she knew Gabby was doing something
that she really wasn't sure of.  And in January, they were going to
have a baby.  Ed Wilson suspected it, too, and even Mariorie wasn't
fooled.  But they all went along with it for Gabby's sake, and prayed
that Matt would turn out to be a decent husband.

Peter and Paxton drove back to the house in Berkeley afterward.

They had to move out in another week, and they still had some packing
to do.  They were giving the house up and moving to a smaller place,
and there was no longer any pretense about being roommates.  Only
Paxton's mother didn't know for sure, and there was no reason to tell
her.  She was far enough away to believe the charade they had lived for
the past year.  But with Gabby gone, things were going to be a little
different.  Well, Paxton said seriously, as she took off her hat when
they got to the house and looked at the sea of boxes all around them. 
Gabby and Matt were already on their honeymoon.  They had flown to New
York that afternoon, and after two days there, at the Pierre, they were
flying on to Europe.  What do you think?  Do you think he'll do?  I
don't know, Pax.  No one knew.  They could only pray, for her sake.

Hes nice to her at least.  He'd better be, Peter growled, and she
leaned over and kissed him.  What are we going to do with all this
stuff?  I don't know.  Give it away?  Most of it was books, and a lot
of it was Paxton's.  I'm never going to have time to pack all of this
before I go to Savannah.  Don't worry about it.  I'll do it for you. 
You're a saint.  She smiled.  She was leaving the following week for
her brother's wedding in Savannah.  They had decided to get married in
June too.  And she felt as though she was on a merry-go-round, packing,
moving, unpacking, and flying to Savannah for the wedding.  And when
Paxton arrived, Queenie didn't look well to her again this time, but
her mother seemed a little more relaxed than usual.  She seemed to get
along very well with Allison, which took some of the heat off Paxton. 
Two days later, after the wedding, Paxton came back to San Francisco to
start her job on the paper.  Peter had taken ajob for the summer in a
law Iirm in Berkeley.  It was almost like being married now that they'd
moved.

They had their own place, a cute little house with a big living room, a
kitchen, a dining room, a garden, and a big bedroom upstairs, with a
little den where Peter kept all his lawbooks.  She cooked for him at
night when she got home from work, or sometimes he met her in the city
and they went out for dinner.  And she was crazy about her job at the
paper.  They gave her interesting stories to do, and sometimes she just
stood there and read the Teletypes, feeling as though she had a finger
on the pulse of the world.  And she'd never been happier.  And neither
had Gabby.  She showed by September when Peter and Paxton went back to
school, and she was thrilled about taking the year off.  And Paxton
suspected she'd never go back.  Her parents knew about the baby now,
and Matt was being good to her, so everyone was very happy.  It was
hard to imagine where the time went that year.  It was her third year
at Berkeley.  Paxton went home to Savannah for Christmas this time, and
Queenie was clearly ill.  She looked pale, if that was possible, and
she coughed all the time, but even though her daughters thought she
should retire now, she still insisted on working, especially while
Paxxie was home, which really scared Paxton.  But George insisted there
was nothing he could do for her, when Paxton pressed him.  He wasn't
terribly interested anyway.  All he could think of was Allison.  She
was expecting their first baby the following summer, in August.  And
Gabby's baby came three weeks after Paxton got home at Christmastime, a
little girl with bright red hair like her mother's.  And as Paxton
stood in the hospital, looking at her, it was hard to believe that
Gabby was a mother.  But Matt was thrilled, and the Wilsons were too. 
And Paxxie felt an odd empty space in her heart as she drove home to
Berkeley with Peter.  You okay?  He had noticed it, and she hadn't said
much on the ride home, but she looked at him when he asked, and smiled
strangely.  Yeah.

It's funny to see her with a baby, isn't it?  We've been together for
such a long time, more than two years, and we know each other so well. 
And they've only known each other for a year, and there they are,
happily married, with a baby.  It seems kind of weird, doesn't it? 
Yeah, I guess it does.  And then he grinned.  But it could be arranged,
if that's what you want.  It isn't.  Not now anyway.  She smiled almost
sadly, because in some ways she did.  She wanted everything, and she
was tired of school.  She missed the job that she'd had at the paper
that summer.  And now it was back to exams, and papers, and quizzes,
and blue books.  There were four hundred thousand American boys in
VietNam by then and nothing made sense anymore.  It was easier if you
didn't care.  But she did.  She cared too much, and in five more
months, Peter would be out of law school.  She was still sad when she
went to bed that night, and realized when Peter held her that she was
jealous of Gabby's baby.

What are you thinking about?  Peter asked her in the dark, with his
arms around her.  How dumb I am.  She grinned and he laughed.  There's
a cheerful thought.  I get ahead of myself sometimes.  Are you thinking
about the baby again?  The baby was cute, but what had struck her was
how happy they were, and how complete, and yet she couldn't see herself
having babies for years, but a part of her knew she would love that. 
Look, if you want to, we can get married when I graduate in June.  I'll
have a job by then baby, I'd love it.

He was beaming in the dark, and from a draft standpoint too, it would
be safer.  I just don't think we should.  Look at Gabby, she'll never
go back to school.  I want to finish what I started.  What about the
Peace Corps?  She grinned.  I think maybe I could sacrifice that.  I'm
not so sure I'd be so great with all those cockroaches and leeches.  Is
it a date then?  He was smiling too.  June sixty-eight, when you
graduate?  It was only seventeen months away, and it actually sounded
pretty good to Paxton.  What do you say, babe?  I say yes and I love
you I love you too.  He beamed.  Does this mean we're engaged?  It
sounds like it, doesn't it?  She almost giggled.  Can I buy you a ring?
 Maybe we should wait.  That seemed like such a big step, and it meant
she had to tell her mother and listen to her rant and rave that she
wasn't marrying someone from Savannah.  Why don't we wait till
Christmas?  Then it won't be such a long time till the wedding.  I'll
start saving, he said, and snuggled close to her, as they fell asleep
in the cozy little house in Berkeley.  Peter graduated from law school
in June 1967, and his parents gave an enormous lunch for him, at the
Bohemian Club in San Francisco.  It was a serious affair attended by
every important person in town, including Peter's new boss at a very
impressive law firm.  The Wilsons introduced Paxton to everyone as
their future daughter-in-law, and she didn't seem to mind it.  And Matt
and Gabby were there.  She looked beautiful and slim, and she talked
constantly about the baby.  I'm ready for another one, she confided to
Paxton when they went to the ladies' room.  And Paxton noticed that she
had never looked prettier or better.  What about school?  I don't want
to go back anyway.  I'm not like you.  You want to be a journalist, you
want a career, you want to prove something.  Hell, Pax, I just want to
be married and have babies.  Paxton smiled ruefully at her.  You sound
like my mother's dream.  At least Allison will keep the heat off me. 
She's having her baby in August.  I guess I'll have to fly back there
then to see it.  Although she was planning to work for the Morning Sun
again over the summer.  And she only had one more year of school, and
then they were going to give her a permanent job as a reporter.  So
when's the next one due?

Paxton teased.  They had named the baby Mariorie Gabrielle, and called
her Mariie.  A boy this time, I assume.  That's what Matt wants.  Gabby
beamed.  She was twentyone years old, married, and a mother.  And
Paxton had lived with Peter for three years, and he was an attorney,
and all she was was a student.  She wanted to get on with it now.  To
finish school, get a real job, and get married.  In that order.  Is he
good to you?  Paxton asked, but she knew she didn't Yes, he is, Gabby
said quietly, with a serious look at her old friend and roommate and
future sister.  I was lucky.  He could have turned out to be a real
shit, but he didn't.  And he's terrific with the baby.  I'm glad,
Paxton said honestly as they left the ladies' room Iinally and wandered
back to their table.  What were you two doing in there?  I was looking
everywhere for you, Peter complained when he finally found her.  I
wanted to introduce you to my boss's wife.  She's English and I think
you'd like her.  But they couldn't find her again, and it was a long,
happy day and they were both exhausted when they finally went home to
the little house in Berkeley.  They had decided to continue to rent it
for another year, so it would be easier for Paxton during her last year
at UC Berkeley.  And when she graduated, and she went to work for the
paper, and they were married then they would move into the city.  It
was a wonderful day.  She smiled at him.  I'm so proud of you you did
it!  He looked pleased, too, and his parents had been so proud.  They
were happy with both their children, and they loved Paxton, too, and
she really loved them.  They chatted about his graduation day all that
evening.  The rest of the summer sped past them.  He was busy at his
job, and Paxton was busy night and day at the paper.

And then she flew home just before she went back to school, to see her
mother and George's new baby.  He had had a little boy, and he was so
pleased with himself he could hardly stand it.  They had called the
baby James Carlton Andrews, and he was cute and Allison was fine.  And
even her mother had unbent a little.  Only Queenie seemed to have aged
a dozen years, and suddenly seemed barely able to move with crippling
arthritis.  Why don't you do something for her?  Paxton accused, and
George brushed her off.  He had other things to do than worry about his
mother's ancient servant.  She won't go to anyone else, George.  She
trusts you.  There's nothing I can do.  She's old, Pax.  Hell, she must
be close to eighty.  So what?

She could live to be a hundred if someone took care of her properly. 
But although he didn't say it, he didn't think so.  She had been
failing for the past couple of years, and whether or not Paxton wanted
to admit it, she wasn't going to live forever.  But Paxton reminded him
again before she left, and she spent most of her last afternoon with
Queenie.  You finally gonna marry him?  she asked grumpily when Paxton
mentioned Peter.  We've been talking about next June, when I graduate,
or maybe sometime next summer.

She really wanted to start working first.  She still had strong
feelings about remaining independent.  What you waitin' for, girl?

Gray hair or a full moon?  You been lovin' him for three years now.

I know.  But I want to finish what I'm doing.  You can be married and
go to school too.  You smart enough to do both.  So what's the problem?
 I'm silly, I guess.  I keep thinking I have to do one thing and then
the other.  Don't wait too long.  She looked pointedly at the girl
she'd raised, and thought to herself that Paxton was prettier than
ever.  She looked older and more mature, and her features seemed more
sharply etched, her body slightly fuller in the right places.  What do
you mean?  Paxton looked suddenly worried.

Maybe he'll find someone else who don't wanna wait, or maybe some girl
chase him and catch him ... or I dunno ... life is funny sometimes,
sometimes it makes you sorry when you wait for somethin' too long, like
you shouldda done it while you could, but you cain't no more baby, I
think you should get married.  But Paxton thought maybe the old woman
just wanted to see her married while she was still well enough to enjoy
it.  And she knew Peter would wait.  He wasn't the type to go running
off with someone else.  She was sure of that.  And they had waited this
long.  They could wait one more year until next summer.  And on the day
Paxton flew home to him, President Thieu was elected in South VietNam
And by a month later, thirteen thousand Americans had died in VietNam
and seven hundred and fifty-six were missing.  And Gabby told her she
was pregnant again then.  The baby was due the following June.  It
seemed a long time away to Paxton, almost as long as their wedding. 
Her fourth year at UC seemed almost anticlimactic to her.  Paxton felt
as though the days were flying by, and she and Peter kept talking about
their plans after graduation.  They all spent Christmas together at the
Wilsons that year, and after Christmas, as they had before, Peter and
Paxton went up to Squaw Valley to go skiing.  They had a terrific time,
and laughed about how Gabby had met Matthew there two years before and
how so much had happened to them in the three and a half years they'd
been together.  It didn't seem long to wait anymore.  June and Paxton's
graduation seemed just around the corner.  And then she was going to
decide about a serious job, and get married by the end of the summer. 
It was less than a year now.

But when they came home, there was a letter waiting for him in the
mailbox from his draft board.  They had called him.  Paxton could
almost feel her heart stop as she read the letter.  Christ, what'll we
do?  Paxton asked with a look of terror.  We pray, he said, and later
that evening he called his father.  His father admitted that he had no
pull as far as the draft board was concerned, but he asked him
point-blank if Paxton was willing to get married.  I'm sure she would,
he said quietly, and she guessed instantly what his father had asked
him, but we really want to wait till next summer.

He knew how important it was to Paxton to wait and do things in the
proper order.  I don't think you should wait.  If that'll get you out
of this, do it.  And they all knew it might, but nothing was certain
anymore.  It was up to the individual draft board whether or not they'd
accept marriage as a deferral.  And lately, eleventh-hour marriages
weren't being respected for deferrals.  It was probably too late.  And
Peter really didn't want to push Paxton to get married before
graduation.  We'll see, Dad.  Maybe they'll change their minds when I
go to the physical.  I'll be twenty-six in six weeks.  It's hardly
worth it.  They want the young ones.  But when he hung up, there were
tears in Paxton's eyes.  She was terrified that they'd take him.  Don't
be silly, babe.  He pulled her close to him.

I'm too old.  They're not going to take me.  And if they do?  They
won't.  et married.  It was what she wanted now, but he really didn't
think it would help now.  That's not the way to do it.  We haven't
waited three and a half years in order to rush out in a panic and have
a shotgun wedding.  Why not?  Peter, I don't want to wait.  She
suddenly remembered Queenie's words ... sometimes life makes you sorry
when you wait too long.  I want to get married.  Stop panicking.  He
tried to sound calm.  It was the first time he had ever seen her so
frightened.  I'll talk to my boss tomorrow.  But he shared Peter's
view.  They weren't going to draft someone a month from the cut-off
age, it just didn't make sense.  And if they wanted to, he could
probably stall them.  It was only six weeks, after all.

But when he went to the Oakland Induction Center for the physical, they
took him.  It was done.  He was in.  And neither of them could believe
it.  Paxton felt like the world had come to an end.  She wanted to hide
him but he wouldn't hide.  He didn't believe in the war.  He had even
burned his draft card, she reminded him.  But he was a responsible
adult now, he said, the son of the publisher of the Morning Sun.  And
he had to go now, or at least that was how he saw it, even if he didn't
like it.  And if he got married now, it was too late.  He was in, and
there was no discussion.  It was like a bad dream.  And in VietNam two
words that gave Paxton nightmares now, twenty thousand Communist troops
moved south for surprise attacks during the Tet, Chinese New Year
celebrations.  And on January twenty-third, the North Koreans had
seized the USS Pueblo.

It was the same day Peter had to report to Fort Ord for basic training.
 Paxton wasn't going to see him again for six weeks, and after that,
God only knew where they would ship him.  The only thing that
encouraged him was that as an attorney, they would probably give him a
desk job somewhere, and at least he would never see combat.  But even
though he reassured Paxton and his parents, he was still scared.  This
wasn't what he had planned to do with his life seven months after he
finished law school.  Peter, please ... let's go to Canada ... I'll do
anything, she begged him before he left, but he didn't want to hear it.
 Don't be ridiculous.  I want you to finish school.  He knew how much
it meant to her, and how well she was doing there, and he didn't want
to run away now.  He might as well face it and make the best of it.  It
would certainly put a crimp in his career plans but two years wasn't
the end of the world, he told himself.  He could have trained as an
officer but that would have extended his time.  He preferred to do two
years as a grunt and come home quicker.  There was nothing he could do
to stop it now.  But Paxton begged him not to go right up until he
left.  She even drove him to Fort Ord and cried copiously when she left
him.  I'Il see you in a few weeks, sweetheart.  Now stop it.  And he
had insisted that she go back to San Francisco and stay with his
parents.  But after a few days she went back to the house in Berkeley. 
She had been so happy with him there that she wanted to be in the house
they'd shared.  And she waited every night for him to call her.  When
he finally could, she felt as though she had died, waiting to hear from
him.  It had been six weeks since she heard his voice, and she hadn't
studied anything.  She couldn't think of anything but Peter.  But as
soon as he called, he told her he was coming home that weekend.  He
was, but not with great news.

He was coming home to tell them that he was leaving for Saigon five
days later.  Peter's last days in town were an agony for everyone, and
most especially Paxton.  They all wanted to be with him, to talk to
him, to let him know how much they loved him.  His father even tried to
pull some strings, to no avail.  His only friend on the local draft
board said he couldn't help him.  Everyone was in the same situation
these days, there were too many families desperate to save their sons,
but there was nothing anyone could do.  He had to go if he'd been
called, and all he had to do after that was stay alive once he got
there.  He had been assigned to VietNam for a standard tour of thirteen
months.  Three hundred and ninety-five days, he had told Paxxie.  And
after that he'd be assigned somewhere in the States and it would be all
over.  It meant a slight delay in their plans, but nothing more than
that, he claimed.  Although they both knew different.  It meant that
for the next thirteen months they would both be holding their breath
and praying, that nothing would happen to him, that he would stay
alive, that he would make it home again.  And more than anything Paxton
felt guilty now for not having married Peter sooner.  Let's go to
Canada, she whispered to him late one night, as they lay in the guest
bed at his parents'.  The Wilsons wanted him to stay at home for his
last few days, and they had invited Paxton to join them.  They still
expected them to sleep separately, but Peter crept silently into her
room at night, and back to his own in the early hours of the morning. 
They couldn't sleep anyway.  Paxton was too upset, and he was tense. 
He was so busy reassuring everyone, and at night he had his own fears
to contend with.  He had lost weight at Fort Ord in the past two
months, and muscled up, but now his eyes had a look of pain that tore
at Paxton's heart.  His were eyes that said, I don't want to do this,
but he felt he had to.  We can't go to Canada, Pax, he said calmly, and
lit one cigarette from another.  He had hardly ever smoked before, but
in boot camp, it had become a constant habit.  What the hell would I do
there?  You're a lawyer now.  You could take their bar, and start there
instead of here.  And break my father's heart.  Pax, I'd never be able
to come back here.  Bullshit.

One day they're going to let everyone come home again.  There are too
many of them there, they're going to have to.  And if they don't?  Then
I can't come home again.  Baby, it just isn't worth it.

And if he didn't come home at all?  Was that worth it?  Disbelief
struck her again.  This couldn't be happening to them.  He was
twenty-six now, an attorney, engaged, and they were sending him to
VietNam It was a nightmare.  Peter, please .  In the dark she reached
out to him.  And he held her as she cried, and he cried too, but he
wouldn't agree to what she wanted.  He wouldn't run away.  He had never
wanted to go, didn't believe in the war.  It had been years since he'd
burned his draft card.  But still, he knew he had to go, and when it
came right down to it, he was willing to serve his country.  In boot
camp, they had gotten them all fired up about Nam, and how much he was
going to hate Charlie.  They told them horror stories of children
carrying machine guns there, and VC hiding in the brush, and booby
traps, and tunnels filled with VietCong waiting to kill him.  But there
were other things they didn't say, the heartbreak, the agony, the grief
of losing a friend, the horror of stepping on a mine, or killing a
woman with a baby because you were so scared you couldn't think
straight.  Still, he felt he was prepared, and over and over again he
reassured Paxton in his last few days that he was going to be careful
and not do anything crazy.  You swear?  She extracted another promise
from him before he went back to his room, and he kissed her.  I swear,
and then with a slow smile, I swear I'll come back to you ... in one
piece ... and ready to get married and have fourteen babies.  You'd
better be ready for that, Pax.  I'll be an old man by then.  But then
she'd be more than ready and she'd have gotten all her independence out
of her system.  We could get married before that, you know.  She was
willing to marry him right then, and he knew that.  But he didn't want
to get married this way, in a frantic rush, hysterical, afraid.  And he
didn't want to take the risk of making her a widow.

He was willing to wait, and he knew she'd wait for him.  He wasn't
afraid of that, and after all their years together they both felt
married.  I love you .  she whispered again, and he kissed her and went
back to his own room as the sun came up.  It was the last of March
1968, and he was leaving for VietNam the next day.  And he had a lot to
do today.  It was Sunday.  Gabby and Matt and the baby came for lunch
that day.  Mariie was fifteen months old and she had just learned to
walk and she was into everything.  And Gabby was seven months pregnant.
 Peter spent a long time talking to her, and after lunch they went for
a walk in the garden.  They both looked as though they had been crying
when they came back.  But everyone cried that day.  Even Peter's
father.  And that night after Gabby and Matt went home, they all sat
and listened to Lyndon Johnson.  He promised to reduce the bombing
again, and promised peace.  And then he stunned everyone by announcing
that he wouldn't run for reelection.

At least it was something to talk about.  Something other than the fact
that Peter was leaving in the morning.  That night he came to Paxton's
room before his parents even went to bed.  He didn't want to wait a
moment longer, and he lay all night and held her in his arms as they
both cried.  He didn't want to die, didn't want to kill anyone, and
didn't want to leave the girl he loved, and yet there was no question
in his mind that he had to.  Paxton still blamed herself for not
marrying him long before and yet it had seemed so sensible to wait
until she finished college.  But what was sensible now?  What made
sense?  A war half a world away, in a place that no one really cared if
we won or lost, a war we couldn't win and never would, in a country
where we couldn't defend ourselves because we were too afraid of
retaliation?  Nothing made sense to them, or anyone.  And none of it
made sense to Paxton.  They stood at the window and watched the sun
come up, and then went back to bed and made love for the last time, and
when Peter finally left her room, as he wafled back to his own, he ran
into his father.  Morning, Dad.

He smiled sadly at him, and tears filled Ed Wilson's eyes as he nodded.
 He had held him when he was a baby and now he was a man, and he was
desperately afraid he might lose him.  They all had breakfast together
that day.  They were all perfectly dressed, wide-awake, their faces
looked alert and serious, and they ate in total silence.  It was Peter
who finally spoke first, as he slowly pushed his chair back from the
table.  Well, you guys, I probably won't have a breakfast like that for
a long time.  Certainly not served by a maid in uniform, in a formal
dining room, on Limoges, with silver service, and Porthault napkins.
Nor with people he loved and who loved him, in clean clothes, and in a
room where no one could hurt him.  I'm going to miss you.  The honesty
of his words broke the dam, and they all began to cry, Peter, his
parents, and Paxton, each promising the other to be brave, that he'd be
home soon, and telling him how much they were going to miss him.  And
Paxton realized more than anyone how lucky they were that they were
able to say what they felt to him.  Had her brother gone, no one would
have been able to say anything about how afraid they were, how sad, or
how much they loved him.  And half an hour later, the foursome set out
for Travis Air Force Base in Fairfield, with Peter in a brandnew
uniform and carrying an enormous duffel.  He had been told to report
there by noon, and he didn't know exactly what time he'd board the
plane, but once he left them, it didn't really matter.  It was a warm
sunny day, and mister Wilson's driver said not a word as he drove them
there, but when they arrived, he got out and shook Peter's hand with
admiration.  Good luck, son.  Give 'em hell.  He had fought in World
War II and to him the idea of war still had some meaning.  When he had
gone, he had known who the enemy was, who the good guys were, and why
he was fighting.  Peter was less sure of it as he nodded.  Thanks, Tom.
 Take care.  He repeated the same words to everyone, and for a long
moment he held his mother.  Take care, Mom ... I love you.  . She
wanted to sink to her knees and wail at the thought of seeing her son
sent off to war, but she bravely nodded, kissed him again through her
tears, and squeezed Ed's hand until he thought his fingers would break,
while Peter said good-bye to Paxton.  I love you too .  he whispered,
unable to speak by then.  Take care.  . And then, he turned away from
them, and disappeared into the cavernous building.  They could go no
farther with him, and Ed Wilson thought it was just as well.  It was
already painful enough saying good-bye to him here, and he thought it
might be too much for Marjorie to watch the plane take off, carrying
her baby into danger.  He helped them all back into the limousine, the
two women crying with their arms around each other.  I should have
married him.  . Paxton sobbed openly, and Marjorie only shook her head
in fear and grief.  You couldn't know what would happen.  No one could.
 No one knew anything about the war he was going to, and the price he
might pay to be there.  My God, I hope he's careful, his mother said
softly as they crossed the Bay Bridge back to San Francisco.  Paxton
had lunch with them, but they were all too spent to say very much, and
that afternoon, she packed her things and went back to the house in
Berkeley.  She had an exam that afternoon, in her last eco course, but
she had already decided not to take it.  She couldn't remember anything
anyway, except where Peter was and where he was going.  All they knew
was that he was flying to Hawaii, and then Guam, and then on to Saigon,
and if he could he'd call her.  But where he was going after Saigon
wasn't clear yet.  And Paxton hoped nowhere.  With any luck at all,
they'd put him at a desk and leave him there, she had urged him again
and again to trade on the fact that he was a lawyer.  But he hadn't
been assigned to the legal corps.  If he had been, he would have been
kept stateside.  They didn't need lawyers in VietNam They needed grunts
to fight their war and look for mines, and hunt Charlie down in his
caves and tunnels.  Peter's parents had urged her to call, and to come
to dinner, or stay with them, anytime she wanted.  But all she did that
first day was lie on the bed they had shared and smell his after-shave
on the clothes he had left in their closet.

He hadn't had time to pack up anything, even though they were giving up
the house in July, and Paxton hadn't wanted him to.  She wanted to be
there with his things, and with him.  This way she didn't feel as
though she'd lost him.  Gabby called her that afternoon.  And they both
cried.  She said it even made her depressed about the baby.  I just
want him to come home, she wailed.  They had always been so close,
especially in the last few years during the time he'd spent with
Paxton.  So do I, Paxton said mournfully, looking around the silent
kitchen.  Do you know what day this is?

Gabby asked typically, but Paxton didn't know or care, although she
knew she'd never forget it.  It's April Fools'.  Paxton almost smiled.
Does this mean they send him back tonight and say they're sorry?  They
should... the assholes .  But then Paxton could hear Marjie crying in
the background and Gabby had to go, after promising to call her later.
Instead, Peter called when he stopped in Guam.  It was midnight, but
Paxton wasn't sleeping.  She was lying in bed, thinking of him, and it
was like a gift hearing his voice over the crackling line.  He only had
a few minutes between flights, but he just wanted to tell her he loved
her.  I love you too take care I love you!  And then he was gone, and
she lay in bed again, awake until the morning.  That day, she skipped
classes again.  She just needed time, and she had two papers to turn
in, but lately, ever since he'd been at Fort Ord, she couldn't face it.
 The strain was too much for her, and her midterm grades had shown it.
From an A she had slipped to an Incomplete in almost every subject.
But later she went to the library to pick up some books they had been
holding for her since early March.  She figured she had nothing else to
do now, and she was beginning to feel vaguely panicked about her
papers.  The next morning, Peter's mother called.  She knew Paxton
wouldn't have heard anything from him yet.  She already knew about the
call from Guam, from Gabby.  But she just wanted to see if Paxton was
alright.  And she was, except that she had that odd feeling again, the
same feeling she'd had when her father died, and John Kennedy was shot,
the sensation that she was moving underwater.  Everything seemed to be
in slow motion, and the voices she heard seemed to come from a great
distance.  It was almost as though she didn't care, as though nothing
that happened mattered anymore.  She just wanted to hibernate somewhere
until Peter came back, whenever that was.  Although he had promised to
meet her in Hawaii for R and R, or wherever they'd let him go, he
actually wasn't sure how far he could go, or when he could leave, but
one thing was sure, as soon as he could go anywhere, he was going to
meet Paxton.  Take care of yourself, his mother said, and Paxton
promised her, just as Peter had.  And after she hung up, for a moment,
Paxton thought about calling Queenie in Savannah.  But she didn't want
to upset her.  Paxton turned on the news the next night, knowing that
by now, Peter was in Saigon.  And suddenly it all mattered to her,
every report, every word, every image sharply etched, fearing that any
one of those soldiers could be Peter.  But it wasn't the news from
VietNam that jolted her that night, it was what came after that.  It
was a re-hash of a story that had run for most of the day, but having
stayed home all day again, Paxton hadn't heard it.  They were talking
about Dr. King, and then showing confused images on a screen of people
running a hotel ... someone shouting ... and then the words registered.
 Martin Luther King, Jr.

had been killed in Memphis.  Killed.  Dead.  Shot.  She stared at the
television, unable to believe it.  The world had gone mad.  Peter was
in VietNam and Martin Luther King had been killed ... shot ...

someone had wanted him dead, and everything he stood for.  And in the
house in Berkeley, she sank slowly into a chair, and stared at the TV,
listening to what they said.  But nothing made any sense anymore.  And
that night, when the riots began, she heard them.  They started in
cities everywhere, they were an anguished cry of a generation that had
tried to live on past the murder of Kennedy five years before.  They
had passed the torch from hand to hand, and now their hearts and hands
were too tired to carry it any further.

Paxton sat in the darkened living room, crying for him, and this time
when the telephone rang, she didn't answer it.  Because she knew it
couldn't be Peter.  It would only be friends, wanting to grieve with
her, to ask her if she knew, to share their disbelief with her, and she
didn't want to hear it.  She didn't want to talk to anyone.  She didn't
want to be part of a world that killed people like him.  It made her
sick to think of it, and as she watched the news again that night, she
found herself crying for his children.

Why?  She asked the silence in the house.  Why?  .  She shook her head
again, and dried her tears, unable to understand it.  And on Friday
morning, the next day, she awoke feeling the terrible weight of
depression.  Everything seemed to be going wrong, starting with Peter
leaving for Saigon on Monday.  It was a depressing weekend, and
although she sat in the house day after day, she couldn't seem to
study.  She had a terrible nightmare on Sunday night, about birds
swooping down on her and trying to attack her face, and she awoke with
relief to the sound of the telephone on Monday morning.  It was a sound
she didn't recognize at first, as she held the phone to her ear, and
then she realized that no one was there, and it was not the telephone,
but the doorbell.  She couldn't imagine who it would be, and she
quickly put Peter's robe over her nightgown, and went to peek out one
of the kitchen windows.  But she couldn't quite see who was there, and
finally she went to the front door, barefoot and still looking sleepy,
and her eyes opened wide when she saw that it was Peter's father.  Hi
.I this is a surprise ... how are you?  She kissed his cheek and as she
did, she saw the dampness in his eyes, and took a quick step back with
a look of terror, as though if she didn't stand too close to him,
whatever had brought him here wouldn't touch her.  Is something wrong? 
She stood there, looking young and beautiful, and very, very
frightened, and he could only look at her and shake his head as he
fought back tears.  But he had wanted to come here to tell her himself.
 He knew that that was what Peter would have wanted.  They called us
last night.  . Marjorie was still in bed, sedated by their doctor, when
he left the house to see Paxton.  Paxxie there's no easy way to say
this.  He took a long stride closer to her, to where she had fled, and
pulled her close to him, and held her, and for the briefest instant,
she wanted to pretend to herself that it was not him, but Peter.  He
died in Da Nang He said the words so softly, she almost didn't hear
them.  They sent him up north as soon as he arrived, and he was out on
a patrol at night.  As green as he was, they made him a point man.  She
didn't know what that was and she didn't care.  She wanted to put her
hands over her ears so she didn't have to hear it.  He was the one out
ahead .  Ed Wilson began to cry.  . He didn't take a hill or get shot
or level a village ... he didn't even step on a mine ... he was killed
by what they call 'friendly fire,' one of our own boys panicked and
thought they heard a VC in the brush, and they shot Peter instead.  It
was a mistake, they explained a mistake, Pax .  He couldn't stop
crying, even though he had come here to help her.  .

But he's dead our little boy is dead his body will be home on Friday. 
As he said the words he felt a great rock pull through his chest, and
she felt as though she were going to die in his arms.

But she wanted to hit him first.  She wanted to force him to un-say it.
 She began to flail at his chest, her hands and hair flying wildly
around her.  No!  no!  It didn't happen like that!  It didn't!

It's not!  I don't want to hear it!  Neither did I but you have a right
to know.  . He looked at her miserably, the man who had believed in
bombing the hell out of VietNam had lost his son to it.  He died for
nothing.  And all he could remember now was how he bad looked as a
little boy, not how he had looked as a man when he left only a week
before, on April Fools' Day.  He had lived one week in VietNam less
than that, because he had only gotten there on Wednesday their time,
and he had died on Sunday.  Five days.  Five days it had taken for him
to be killed.  For nothing.  Killed by friendly fire.  How friendly was
that if it had killed the man she loved, the man who'd been his baby? 
The service will be a week from today ... but Mariorie thought you
might like to come home with me I I think it might be good for her.  .
Without saying a word, Paxton nodded.  She wanted to be with them, too,
they were the only family she had right now, and she wanted to be close
to them.  Maybe if she stayed with them, he'd come back and tell them
the call from Nam had been a joke, the guy had only been shooting
blanks, and he was fine, and still planning to meet her in Hawaii.
Paxton walked into the bedroom they'd shared, feeling numb and strange,
and she put her jeans on and slipped her feet into loafers.  She put
one of Peter's sweaters on, and it still smelled like him, and she
threw everything she could think of into a bag, and walked out to the
car with mister Wilson.  He reminded her to lock the house, and carried
the bag for her, and she sat in the car, alone with him, feeling
wooden.  It's my fault, isn't it?  she asked as they drove across the
bridge, staring straight ahead, at the city still shrouded in fog.

The city looked sad today and she was glad.  Too many people had died
recently.  Dr. King, Peter ... it seemed as though everyone was dying.
 Don't say a thing like that, Paxton.  It's no one's fault, except the
boy who pulled the trigger.  It was an accident.  The hand of fate. 
You have to know that.  If I'd married him, he'd have had his
deferment.  Maybe not.  Maybe something else would have come up.

He could have gone to Canada, run away, done a lot of things.  I think
basically he felt he had to go because they called him.  I could have
forced him to go to Toronto, too, but I didn't.  I could blame myself
too.  We can't if we do that, it'll drive us crazy.  She looked
straight at him as he drove, wanting to know the truth from him.  Do
you hate me because I didn't marry him?  I don't hate anyone.  His eyes
filled with tears again, and he patted her hand and looked away.  I
just wish he were still with us.  She nodded, unable to say more, and
grateful for the absolution.  And she sat very still and straight,
wishing the tears would come to wash away her pain, but after the
initial anger, all she felt now were hatred and resentment.  When they
arrived at the house on Broadway, Gabby was there, and Marjorie had
just gotten up, still looking very groggy.  But they were both crying,
and little Marjie was staggering around aimlessly, eating cookies. 
mister Wilson said he had some things to arrange, and he went into the
library, and he left Paxton with the other women.  And it was here that
she was able to vent her grief, with them, the other women who had
loved him.  They cried for what he had been to them, what he had said
and meant and done, and they seemed to spend the whole day telling
stories about Peter, as a child, as a man, as a son, as a brother, as a
lover.  Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they cried, and sometimes
they just sat in silence, thinking.  It was hard to believe he was no
longer alive somewhere, that he wasn't going to call and tell them he
was fine, and he was really sorry for the scare, but when the official
telegram came twelve hours after the call, it only reconfirmed it.

And they all started to cry again.  And that night when Gabby and the
baby went home with Matt, Paxton went to the guest room feeling
absolutely exhausted.  She spent the rest of the week with them,
helping missis Wilson to sort through some things, and letting her talk
when she needed to, and it gave her someone to talk to too.

She thought of calling home more than once, but the truth was, she
didn't want to.  She didn't even want to tell Queenie.  Telling them
would make it real, and she didn't want it to be real yet, or ever.

But it was much too much so, when the Presidio called them on Saturday
morning, and informed them that they could pick up his remains.  mister
Wilson came into the library with a somber look, and an hour later,
Paxton and the Wilsons went to the Survivors' Assistance Office, and
stood there with two other sets of parents.

The two other families were black, and their sons had both been
eighteen years old and cousins.  Their grief was just as strong, their
hearts ached just as much, and the boys they had loved were gone
forever.  Peter was in a simple pine coffin draped with the flag, and
mister Wilson had arranged for a hearse from Halsted's to join them. 
It was already waiting there when they arrived, and the Wilsons were
ushered into a small room alone with Paxton.  And there it was the
proof the boy he had been and no longer was ... in the coffin.  In
spite of herself, Paxton began to sob, and missis Wilson sank quietly
to her knees beside it, as her husband stood beside her, trying to
support her.  Take it easy, babe .  Paxxie could hear Peter say to her.
 It's okay baby, I love you.  . The memories were so clear, the voice
still so strong, it was impossible that he was gone.  Impossible, and
unbearable.  But he was gone.  Forever.  They stayed that way for a
long time, and finally Peter's father helped his wife to her feet, and
taking Paxton's arm, they walked slowly back into the April sunshine. 
Life seemed to have less meaning now.  It seemed to matter less what
one did, where one went, what one wore, who one saw, what one said. 
Without him, nothing mattered.  They drove slowly back to the house,
and the hearse took Peter to Halsted's, and that night when his body
had been moved to another coffin, in a quiet room, Paxton went to see
him.  She couldn't believe it was really him in the mahogany box, but
she didn't want to look to see, just to prove it.  Instead, she knelt
there beside it, and touched the wood, and the brass handles, with the
tips of her fingers.  Hi ."; .  she whispered alone in the room, ...
it's me I know .  she could almost hear him say, the voice so familiar,
the eyes so blue, the hair so like her own the lips the same ones that
had kissed her only a week before.  That same face was in the box, that
boy was the one she loved, and always would, and yet now they wanted
her to believe that he had left her.

You okay?  her heart told her he was asking, and she could only shake
her head as her eyes filled with tears again.  She wasn't okay, and she
never would be.  Just as she hadn't been when her father died.  How
could you be okay again when you lost someone you loved that much? 
What did you believe in after that, except loss and pain and sorrow.  A
part of you felt vulnerable for the rest of your life, and in a secret
part of you, you always knew that at every moment.  She knelt there for
a long time, feeling him close to her, and wanting to feel at peace,
but she couldn't.  All she felt was pain and loss, and anger at the boy
who had accidentally pulled the trigger.  Even the terminology was
wrong.  Friendly fire, as though that made it all right, because he had
been killed by an American and not the North Vietnamese Army.  What
difference did it make, if he was dead now?  139 The service on Monday
was heart-wrenching and brief.  The news of Peter's death had appeared
on the front page of the Sun, and several other papers.  And everyone
he had ever gone to school with came, along with teachers and friends
and relatives and colleagues.  And the Wilsons introduced Paxton to
everyone.  In the end, it was almost as if she and Peter had been
married.  And she envied Gabby now.  If she had had Peter's baby, she
would always have had a part of him with her.

She was twenty-two by then ... twenty-two, having loved Peter since she
was eighteen, and lived with him for three years.  And she knew that
who and what he was, was lodged in her heart forever.  She stayed with
the Wilsons for another day, and then, feeling strange, she went back
to Berkeley.  She had fallen so far behind that it seemed almost
pointless to go back there, but she knew she had to.

It no longer seemed possible that she would graduate in June, but she
didn't really care.  And in May, she had just gotten an extension to
complete all her classes over the summer, when her brother called her. 
She hadn't heard his voice in so long that at first she didn't realize
who he was, but the accent gave him away quickly.  Hi, and then sudden
realization.  Is something wrong?  It was the only thing she could
think of now.  Ever since Peter had died the month before, she seemed
to expect nothing but bad news, and it was almost a relief when no one
called her.  No I .  He didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't know
what to say either.  They had never been close and he knew this wasn't
going to be easy for her.

Mama thought I should call.  Is she sick?  Or was it Allison, or the
baby?  Paxton couldn't figure it out as she waited.  No, she's fine, he
drawled on, and then, there was no way out.  He had to say it.

Paxton ... it's Queenie.  Her heart stopped at the words, and she
wanted, ever so gently, to set the phone down before he could tell her.
 Instead, she said not a word, and clutched the phone as she waited. 
She died in her sleep last night, Pax.  She had no pain.  Her heart
just gave out that's all Mother just thought you should know and she
asked me to call you.  She could have called and extended her
condolences herself, but she didn't.  I yes I .  She couldn't form the
words.  She felt as though the last person who had loved her had
disappeared, and there was no one left now.  Thank you, George.  Her
voice was an anguished croak, and he felt sorry for her.  Do you know
when the service is?  One of her daughters picked her up today, and I
think she said the service is tomorrow.  Mother said she'd send flowers
from all of us, but I don't think you should go, if that's what you're
thinking.  The funeral would be in the black district, and most people
wouldn't have understood the love the two had shared.  And there was no
doubt that she would have been the only white person at the service. 
Yeah, I guess so.  She sounded vague.  Thanks for calling.  Paxton hung
up then, and wandered around the house, and that afternoon she drove
into the city.  She went out to the beach, and walked along the waves,
and she thought of them, the people she had loved so much and who were
gone ... Queenie and Peter ... and eleven years ago now, her father. 
It was as though she had friends waiting out there for her somewhere,
people she loved and whom she knew really loved her.  But it seemed
cruel to her that she had to live alone now.  She had to go on, with no
one there, no one she cared about, and she couldn't imagine caring
about anyone again.  A few boys had asked her out since Peter's death,
but she was horrified.  She couldn't imagine going out with anyone. 
Even Gabby had tried to fix her up with a friend of Matt's, but Paxton
told her bluntly that she had no interest.  She stopped at the Wilsons
that afternoon on the way home, but they were out, and she found
herself wondering how they could go on living without him, knowing that
he was dead and gone, that he had died for nothing, and in a sense had
been murdered.  It was a tough one to swallow, and there were times
when Paxton wanted to die too, she just wanted to go to sleep and never
wake up, so she wouldn't have to be without him.  They called her the
next day, when they heard she'd come by, and she noticed that his
mother sounded a lot better.  She was excited about the baby now.  And
she talked about Peter, but she didn't sound as unable to control her
emotions.  Paxton's own mother also called her that afternoon, to say
she was sorry about Queenie and wanting to know the details about
graduation.  It was only a month away, and she and Allison and George
were planning to come to San Francisco.  Paxton had been meaning to
call them for weeks, but she hadn't.  There's been a change in plans,
she announced, and her mother sounded startled.

What's that?  I won't be graduating until September.  I won't be
graduating with my class.  I'm just going to finish my work, and
they're going to mail me the diploma.  And then I'm just going to spend
the rest of my life trying to figure out why Peter and I didn't get
married.  Its no big deal, Mom.  I'm sorry you're going to miss the
graduation.  But she didn't really care.  She didn't care about
anything anymore.  Absolutely nothing mattered.  Is that how they do it
out there?  They just mail you the diploma?  How disappointing.  Not
really.  It's all right.  Paxton's voice was almost completely
toneless.  Why aren't you graduating in June?

There was a tone of faint accusation.  Oh ... I've had a lot on my mind
this spring.  And I've been pretty busy.  Doing what?  She knew better
than to continue to ask if she was still going out with Peter.  It just
set them at each other's throats.  And she had even suspected for the
past year that they might even be living together.  As long as she
didn't try nonsense like that in Savannah.

What she did in California was up to her.  She was over twenty-one, and
Beatrice Andrews was smart enough to know she couldn't stop her.  Going
to too many parties?  She was just making idle chitchat.

Not really.  Well, if you're not graduating in June, when are you
coming back to Savannah?  She sighed.  I don't know I don't know
anything.  And she had to fight back tears as she said it, but Beatrice
Andrews didn't hear it.  If I have to go to school, I can't start work
until September.  She had been planning to work for the Morning Sun. 
But she had also been planning to get married sometime that year and
now that wasn't going to happen either.  Nothing was.

Nothing was ever going to happen to her again.  And in the midst of it
all, Savannah seemed totally unimportant.  I don't know when I'll come
home, Mama.  Well, try and come home for a few days this summer. 
Little James Carl is so cute you won't believe it.  It seemed odd to
hear her getting excited about her grandson, but Paxton was pleased for
her.  Even that didn't matter to her anymore.

The hope of any semblance of a relationship between them was long since
over.  Ill see how school goes.  But she was only pacifying her.  She
had no real desire to go there.  She was just planning to finish
school, go to work, and maybe, if she had no choice, she would go to
Savannah for Christmas.  But most of the time, she didn't think of
them.  All she thought of was Peter, as she tried to finish her
courses.  There were dozens of papers she had left undone, tests she
had to retake.  As she looked back over her work for the past four or
five months, it was miraculous that they were willing to let her
graduate at all, but when the dean had called her in and wanted to know
why her grades had slipped, she had told him about Peter dying in Da
Nang, and as far as they were concerned that explained it.  She was
almost beginning to get a grip on it in June, when she was coming home
from the library late one night, and heard a piercing scream.  She
looked around her, and a few people nearby were running.  She couldn't
begin to imagine what had happened.  An accident?  A demonstration? 
Other people had heard it too, and people began asking each other what
had happened.  And it was like 1963 again, people were crying and
running, clutching radios and hurrying inside to watch television, and
Paxton could feel a chill run down her spine as she watched them.  She
didn't know what or who, but it was obvious that something terrible had
happened.  What is it?  she asked someone standing next to her as they
crowded around a girl with a radio, sitting on the steps and crying. 
RFK he's been shot in L.A. Kennedy?  Someone nodded.  Another Kennedy. 
Another death.  His brother and then Martin Luther King and VietNam ...
and Queenie ... and Peter ... and now this ... it was too much, too
often, too long and too much to hurt for.  They had all cared so much,
about so many things, and now all the people they had cared about were
dying.  It was a hard way to grow up, to grow old, to give up hope, to
become a grown-up.  And who cared anyway?  Who wanted what they had to
give?  What was it that was so sacred that it killed everyone who
cared.  The torch had finally come to burn everyone's fingers.  Is he? 
Shhh!  The radio was turned up louder and the announcer's voice cracked
as he said, Robert Kennedy is dead.  He had been shot as he gave his
victory speech after the primary in California.  He had won, and lost,
and died, all in one moment.  And so had his children and his wife, and
the people who loved him.  Paxton listened and turned away, and she
walked home, leaving her books on the steps of the library.  It didn't
matter.  She didn't want them.  She sat in her kitchen that night,
alone, thinking, looking out the window, and knowing there was nothing
left for her here, nothing she wanted to do or learn, or take with her.
 She had learned all she wanted to, and the lessons had come dear.  And
all she felt now was sadness.  Not grief, not pain, not despair, just
sadness.  Robert Kennedy was gone, and too many others had gone with
him.  At that precise moment twenty-two thousand nine hundred and
fifty-one men had died in VietNam That night Paxton packed a few of her
things, and she arranged the rest of her and Peter's things, neatly in
the closet.  In the morning, she drove into town and went to see Ed
Wilson at the paper.  He looked at her as she came in, and saw the toll
it had all taken on her.  Everyone at the paper was going crazy over
Kennedy's assassination.  Another Kennedy.  Another brother.  Another
victim.

But Paxton seemed oddly aloof from it, strangely cool, and sadly older.
 She was a beautiful girl, but she had aged.  The years were in her
eyes, in the way she moved, in the things she didn't say but felt.  She
had lost too much, and believed too strongly.  She had believed in
good, and happiness, and trust.  And they had all been lies.  The happy
ending doesn't always come.  And Camelot does not go on forever.  For
anyone.  You grow old, you die, or sometimes you die young.  Too many
had in her short lifetime, and Ed Wilson, with his wealth of years, and
his own sorrow over his son, felt sorry for her.  What can I do for
you, Paxton?  He looked serious, but he smiled at her as he leaned over
and kissed her.  You're getting too thin.  You need to come in and have
dinner with us more often.  I left Peter's things at the house just
now, in Berkeley.  The way she said it seemed strange to him, and he
looked at her oddly.  Are you going somewhere?  He frowned as he
watched, there was something so sad in her eyes, he wondered if anyone
would ever touch it.  That depends on you, she said calmly.  I've
decided to leave school.  I thought you got an extension to graduate in
September.  She had told him that when she'd gotten it and he was
relieved for her.  He knew how important finishing school was to her,
so her announcement that morning surprised him.  What's this all about,
Paxton?  He almost sounded like a father, and she smiled.  In the past
four years, he had been more than a father to her, and she wondered if
he would give her what she wanted now.  But if he didn't, she knew
someone else would.  I want ajob.  You have a job here anytime.  You
know that.  But doesn't it make more sense to stay at Berkeley this
summer and get your degree?  What's the hurry?  I'm not going to finish
school.  She knew that morning when she left, she would never go back
there.  She had taken the only things of Peter's that she wanted. 
Three poetry books he had given her, the watch he had worn since he was
a boy that the Wilsons had given her and she wore now, and his dog
tags.  I want to work for you, mister Wilson.  Here?

Something in her eyes told him that there was more to it than she was
saying.  And he was right.  She shook her head quietly when he asked
her.  No, not here.  Not yet anyway.  I want to go to Saigon.

She said it quietly and calmly, but his eyes widened as he watched her.
 She wanted to go for all the wrong reasons.  To find Peter.  To die. 
To avenge him perhaps.  Or maybe just because she had lost faith in her
own country.  He knew only too well that this second Kennedy's death,
so soon after Martin Luther King's, was going to shake the nation's
youth to their core, and it was obvious that it had already shaken
Paxton.  She had a broken look in her eyes, and she was sitting ramrod
straight in his office, a girl who had given everything up, or lost it
all, or maybe both.  But whatever she wanted to do in Saigon, for
whatever reason, he was not going to help her.  That's out of the
question.  Why?  Her eyes shot bullets into his, and he could see that
however wrong she may have been, she meant it.  Because that's a place
for seasoned correspondents.

For God's sake, Paxton, that's a war zone.  You know better than anyone
what can happen there.  And even if we never send you to the hot spots,
you can get blown up sitting in a bar, or from 'friendly fire,' just
like Peter.  The mere mention of him hurt them both, but he knew he had
to say it, for her own sake.  And nothing she could say to him would
change his mind, or so he thought, but she was bitterly persistent. 
There are people going there to fight and be killed who are four years
younger than I am.  Is that what you want?

Tears filled his eyes as he asked her.  To die in the same place he
did?  Is that your gift to him?  Is that all you can do with your life,
Paxton?  I know how you feel, you and your whole generation think this
country is going to hell in a handbasket and right now I'm not sure I
disagree with you.  But going to Saigon on a suicide mission is not the
answer.  I want to tell people here the truth, whatever that truth is. 
I want to see it for myself.  I want to know what's going on, without
having it fed to me on the evening news.

I'm sick and tired of sitting in a library for the rest of my life,
nice and safe, reading about other people dying.  So you want to die,
is that it?  He was trying to force it out of her, but if that was the
truth, she wouldn't admit it.  No, I want the truth.  Don't you?  Don't
you want to know why he really died?  What's really going on over
there?  I want to see us get the hell out of VietNam and I want to know
why we haven't gotten out yet.  And if I go down there, I'm not a tired
old correspondent with jaded political views and an ax to grind and an
ass to protect, and no, I don't want to die, but if I do, so what,
maybe if I die, it'll be for a good cause, the cause of truth, maybe
then it might even be worth it.

Paxton .  He shook his head from behind his desk.  It'll never be worth
it.  Nothing was worth Peter dying for.  And it won't be worth your
dying for that misery over there either.  I was wrong.  You are right. 
And so was Peter.  We don't belong there.  I don't think we can win. 
I'd like to see us get out too.  And I never thought I'd hear myself
say that.  I met with the new Secretary of Defense in Washington last
week, Clark Clifford, and he's convinced me.  If you want a story, go
talk to him.  Sure, I'll give you a job.  Go anywhere you want in this
country and get a story.  Be a roving reporter, a troubleshooter, be
anything you want, but I'm not sending you to VietNam If anything
happened to you there, I couldn't live with myself.  We owe it to
Peter's memory to take good care of you, and you owe him that too.  He
looked sternly at Paxton, but it didn't convince her.  I owe him more
than that.  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the man who had almost
been her father-in-law but now never would be.  And so do you.  She
stood up with a determined look.  mister Wilson, I'm not going to sit
here like a coward, waiting for other people to find the answers.  I'm
going, whether you send me or not.  If I have to, I'll go on my own,
and sell my stories from there.  Maybe someone will want them.  He
stood up and faced her across his desk, as he reached out and touched
her arm.  Paxton, don't I have to.  He stood there for a long time,
looking at her, knowing she had changed since just being the girl who
was going to marry his son.  She had grown up, the hard way, with
heartbreak and grief and bitter disappointment.  Can't I reason with
you?  Can't you wait?  Think about it for six months.

Maybe we'll even be out of there by then.  He sounded hopeful.  We
won't be.  They're lying to us.  That's what I want to see for myself
now.  Paxton, all you've done is work for the paper here in the summer,
you have no idea what it's like being a correspondent in a place like
that.  It takes years to prepare for an assignment of that kind.  She
smiled sadly as she listened.  Funny, they don't take years to prepare
the grunts, do they.  They just ship them over to die, ready or not. 
I'm ready, mister Wilson, I know I am.  And a part of him knew that she
had the right attitude.  She was sad, she was tough, she was smart, and
she cared ... because of Peter.  The old newspaperman in him was
convinced, but the father of his son felt he had to do everything to
stop her.  Will you send me?  She looked him straight in the eye, and
he felt like crying again.  He wanted to do anything but send her, but
he knew that she meant business.  And if he didn't send her, someone
else would, someone who would send her right into the combat zones and
maybe get her killed.  Maybe if he hired her, he could protect her. 
I'Il agree if you swear to me you'll do just what we ask for, and
follow orders to the letter.  Her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July,
and for the first time in months she looked happy.  Did you hear me? 
He spoke to her like a wayward child who was being allowed to go to the
county fair, but only under certain conditions.  No garden parties and
no fashion shows, right?  They both laughed.  They were not likely to
be the daily fare in Saigon.  You're really serious about this, Pax?

You're sure I can't dissuade you?  He sat down heavily in his desk
chair again, with a defeated look as she shook her head.  And she
beamed.  She had won.  All the night before she had known what she had
to do, and for the first time in a long time, if she wasn't happy, at
least she felt peaceful.  I know I'll do a good job for you.  I swear. 
She sounded enthusiastic and excited and alive again.

In a way he was relieved for her, but he was also frightened.  He would
have preferred it if she had looked like that because of a boy she had
met at the library.  Even at Berkeley, that would have been safer.  I'm
not worried about your doing a good job.  I'm worried about your ass,
he confessed bluntly.  You'd better take care of it, or I'll come over
and kick it myself, and I mean it.

And then he groaned and ran a hand through his white hair that was so
much like Peter's.  They had the same hairline, the same look, the same
eyes, but Paxton tried not to see it.  Marjorie is going to kill me for
this.  And Gabby oh, my God I almost forgot.  He looked horrified as he
looked at Paxton.  She had the baby last night ...

a little boy.  They're calling him Peter.  It wasn't surprising.

Nothing was anymore, and Paxxie was happy for her.  A life for a life. 
As Robert Kennedy left the world, at the hands of a madman, Gabby's
little boy entered it, with a life full of hope before him, and Peter
looked on, wishing them well, and lending him his name, because it was
no longer needed.  The spirits came and went, changing places, changing
hands, some dreams ending as others began.  It was strange to think of.
 I'm happy for them.  Is she okay?

She's fine.  She called us right after he was born, naturally, and
according to Matt, it was very easy.  I'm sure they'd love to see you. 
Paxton nodded, but it would be odd seeing the little boy who bore
Peter's name.  Paxton knew there would be no babies for her now, and no
man.  She wanted nothing except to go to VietNam and find the truth
about the war.  It was odd how her life had changed.

All the dreams she had once had were gone.  Harvard, and then Berkeley,
and Peter now all she wanted was to see what was really happening and
tell people in the States, so they would know why their husbands and
sons were dying in VietNam How soon do I go?

Paxton wanted to pin him down and he knew it.  He glanced at his
calendar, made some notes, and then he looked up at her.  These things
take a little time.  I have to talk to our bureau chief there, and see
what we need I'm not going to wait six months.  I know you're not, he
said quietly.  I was thinking about a week, maybe two, three at most. 
You'll need that long to get organized, be briefed, have the shots
you'll need.  Let's say two weeks.  Does that sound reasonable to you? 
She nodded, amazed she had won.  She smiled slowly at him.  She'd done
it.  Very reasonable.  I thought I'd go home for a few days, to say
good-bye to my mother.  Do that.  I'll call you there and tell you when
we need you back here.  You can start the shots there.  I know you'll
need quite a few.  Your brother can take care of it for you, if he's
willing.  He wondered if her family would try and stop her too, but he
knew her well enough to know that now that she'd decided, nothing would
stop her.  She was a strong girl with a good heart, and he knew better
than anyone that part of it was broken.  He stood up again then and
walked around the desk to her.  It's been a hard year for all of us,
Pax.

I just hope you're not making a terrible mistake.  He held her close to
him and kissed the top of her head.  We don't want to lose you too. 
You won't, she whispered as she clung to him.  And oddly, she felt, as
she stood there, that she'd be alright, because she had Peter's
blessing.  Paxton arrived in Savannah on a Friday afternoon, two days
after Robert Kennedy had been shot, in time to watch the train cross
the country on TV on Saturday, bringing his body home, as people waved
from every town, crying for another hope lost, another heartbreak.  And
this time, no one met Paxton at the She had called her mother to say
she was flying in, but her mother had to go to a tea being given by her
bridge club.  And Paxton didn't mind, it gave her a chance to go home
alone, and sit in the kitchen and think of Queenie.  Her mother had
hired a new girl after she died, and she was black, too, but she was
younger and she only worked days, and she was out buying groceries when
Paxton arrived, which was a relief in a way.  It gave her a chance to
be alone in Queenie's kitchen.  It was odd being there without her, and
Paxton felt a terrible ache, remembering her last words the last time
she'd been home ... sometimes if you wait, life don't give you a chance
to do what you want.  She'd been right.  But Queenie knew that by now. 
Because if there was a Heaven, surely she was with Peter.

The slam of a door broke into Paxton's thoughts and she heard rapid
footsteps in the front hall.  It was the new girl, and she almost
screamed when she saw Paxxie.  I'm sorry.  I'm Paxton Andrews.

I just got home from California.  I didn't mean to scare you.  The girl
looked wild-eyed for a moment and then relaxed.  She was about Paxton's
own age, and she had a sweet face, but she was short and heavyset and
not very pretty.  You go to school in California?

That's right.  You jus' graduate?  She said it carefully, like it was
something very important.  But Paxton shook her head in answer.  No, I
didn't.  She didn't tell her that she'd come home to say good-bye to
her family before she went to VietNam She had to tell her mother first.
 She just chatted amiably, and helped the girl carry the groceries into
the kitchen.  And her mother came home half an hour later.  She looked
older to Paxton somehow, and she wasn't sure why.  She looked well, and
her hair was freshly done, but her face looked tired and a little more
lined than it had the last time Paxton saw her.  But she said she was
feeling well, and told Paxton she looked thin, and then asked Emmalee
to bring them tea and cinnamon toast in the front parlor.  And after
the first sip, Beatrice Andrews looked at her pointedly and asked her
why she'd come home.  She was no fool, and she had sensed that there
was a reason for the trip, other than just a friendly visit.  She knew
that Paxton didn't like to come home, and if she didn't have to, she
wouldn't.  Are you getting married?  she asked, with an odd look.

It was a look of disappointment because she knew who the boy would have
to be and he wasn't from the South, and there was also some excitement
because her only daughter was about to be a bride, but Paxton only
shook her head, sorry to disappoint her.  No, I'm not.

I'm afraid that's not in the picture.  She sounded calm as she said it,
and her mother looked at her strangely, sensing more, but Paxton didn't
want to say it.  Have you stopped seeing that boy?

Peter had always been that boy to her, and the words made Paxton smile
now.  He had been gone for two months, and the first shock of grief was
slowly fading.  All that was left was the dull ache of disbelief and
the quiet sorrow that she felt as though it would go on forever.  But
she could function with it, and no one knew how much it hurt, except
maybe the Wilsons, and the others who had suffered losses like it.  But
now that she was going to VietNam for some odd reason, even though the
pain was still there, she felt better.  I ... uh .  She groped for the
words.  a little hard to explain.  It's not important.  It's not
important, Mom, he's just dead, that's all.  But she couldn't imagine
her mother sharing her pain, which was why she had never told her. 
Telling her would just have been too painful.  Is something wrong? 
Beatrice Andrews would not let it lie, and her searching glance was
making Paxton squirm, much to her own chagrin.  There was no way to
avoid her.  What happened?  He uh .  She could hear the ticking of the
grandfather clock in the corner of the room, and she concentrated her
gaze on the curtains so she didn't have to see her mother's face when
she told her.  He ... went to VietNam ... and he was killed in Da Nang
in April.  There was an endless silence, and Paxton cursed herself as
her eyes filled with tears, and then suddenly, next to her, she felt
her mother move.  She turned in surprise, and she saw the woman who had
been a stranger to her all her life, sitting next to her and crying. 
I'm so sorry I know how you must feel how terrible .

She put her arms around Paxton, and all of a sudden, Paxton found
herself sobbing, with her arms around her mother, she was crying for
Peter again, and for the Kennedys and Queenie and Martin Luther King
... and even her Daddy why had they all died?  Why were they gone?  Who
had he flown his plane into the storm?  And why hadn't she married
Peter when she could have?  She tried to tell her mother what she felt,
but all the words came out in a jumble, and her mother rocked her
gently back and forth, as she never had before, and Paxton was oddly
reminded of Queenie.  Why didn't you tell me?

They were words of gentle reproach, but the look in her eyes told
Paxton that she cared more than she had ever suspected.  I don't know. 
Maybe telling you would have made it more real.  I guess I just
couldn't.  How terrible for his family.  His sister Gabby just had a
baby two days ago, and she named him Peter.  But that made Paxton cry
all over again, because now she would never have his babies.  They sat
like that for hours, crying and drinking tea, and crying all over
again.  She seemed to be crying for everyone and for everything, and
making up for a lifetime.  And finally, she put her arms around her
mother and thanked her.  It was the first time they had ever really
made contact.  I know how you feel, her mother said, much to Paxton's
amazement.  I remember how I felt when your father died I was confused
for a long time ... and angry and sad.  It'll take you a long time,
Paxton.  It may even hurt forever.  Not every day, every minute, but
when you think of him, there will always be a sad place in your heart
for what happened.  She patted her daughter's hand then.  One day there
will be someone else, you'll have a husband and children, but you'll
still remember him, and you'll always love him.  Paxton didn't tell her
that she couldn't imagine another man in her life, or children who were
not his, but she knew that her mother was right that she would always
love him.

And then her mother asked her the question Paxton wished could have
come later.  Will you be coming home now in September, dear?

There's not much point now to your staying in California.  They had won
after all.  She was coming home.  Her love affair with that boy was
over.  But Paxton slowly shook her head, and waited, searching for the
right words to tell her.  Suddenly, she didn't want to hurt her.  Her
mother had Iinall given her something she'd needed for a long time, and
she wanted to thank her, not give her grief.  But there was no choice
now.  I left school yesterday.  and the house where I was so happy with
Peter.  I left everything ... because Robert Kennedy was killed and I
can't stand the insanity of this country a moment longer.  So she was
going to a place that was even more rnsane, but at least there, the
insanity was out in the open.

You left school for good?  Her mother looked shocked, because she knew
that giving up was so much unlIke Paxton.  I just couldn't do it
anymore.  I could stay for the next ten years and I can't write another
paper, take another test.  It doesn't make sense to me anymore.  I
can't even remember why I wanted to do it in the first place.  But this
is your last term.  She looked confused, and she suddenly wondered if
Paxton had gone a little crazy.  You could graduate in the fall if you
llnish now.  Paxton, you don't want to waste everything you've done. 
You're only inches from the finish.

Paxton nodded miserably.  It was true.  Her mother was right.  But she
just couldn't do it.  I know.  But ever since Peter went away, I
haven't been able to think straight.  Ever since he left for basic
training in January, I haven't been able to do a single paper.

That's understandable, of course.  Maybe you could finish here.  And
get a job on the paper.  You know how badly they want you.  She was
trying to offer encouragement, and Paxton felt sorry for her.  She had
no idea what was coming.  Mama .  She reached out and touched her hand,
still grateful for her solace over Peter.  I took a job yesterday. 
Paxton spoke very softly.  Beatrice Andrews's face fell.

In San Francisco?  There was a long pause, as Paxton thought about how
to phrase it.  With the Morning Sun But not in San Francisco.

Where then?  She couldn't begin to imagine.  I'm going to be a
correspondent in Saigon.  There was an endless silence in the room, and
then suddenly her mother dropped her face into her hands and began to
sob, and this time it was Paxton who held her.  And then she turned to
look at the child she barely knew, as though she were the total
stranger she always had been.  How can you do such a thing?  Are you
trying to get killed?  To commit suicide?  I felt that way after your
father died too, she said, blowing her nose daintily in a lace hankie,
but I had you and George to think about.  And your future.  I know
things look bleak to you now, but they won't in a while, Paxton, you
have to be patient.  I know, Mama ... I know how it looks.  But it's
something I have to do now.  I can't just sit here, or there, and wait
for life to take its course.  I want to be in VietNam I want to
understand what happened.  I want to stop it from happening.  I want to
help stop it sooner.  I want to make people care.  Every night, we sit
around watching people get killed while we eat our dinner, and no one
cares, no one even flinches.

Even if what I do takes ten minutes off the war, then maybe that's
enough.  Maybe in those ten minutes five people would have been killed
maybe something I can do will save them.  And if you're killed, Paxton,
instead?  What if it's you and not someone else?

Have you thought of that?  and what it will do to me?  You're a woman. 
Good God, you don't have to go to war.  You're still crazy after that
boy died.  You have to stay home and heal your wounds.

Stay here, don't go back.  She was begging her, and it was breaking
Paxton's heart, but she knew she had to go.  It was her fate now.  I
have to go, Mama.  But I promise you, I'll be careful.  I'm not looking
to get killed.  She knew that Ed Wilson had thought the same thing,
which made her wonder.  And there were times when she was tempted to
join Peter, times when she drove across the bridge, and thought of
stopping the car and jumping.  But she hadn't.  And now she knew that
there was something she had to do that was a lot more important than
escaping.  Please don't go Paxton, I beg you Mama, don't.  And for the
second time in what seemed like a lifetime, the two women embraced. 
The ice had been broken, the bond had been formed, but it was too late
for Paxton to turn back.  She had come home to say good-bye, and by the
next day, her mother knew it.  They spent the next two weeks talking
quietly, about her father, and how her mother felt when he died, and
finally she even talked about the other woman.  She had been a woman he
worked with, and Beatrice had known about the affair.  She had known
how lonely he was, but she just couldn't give him what he wanted.  And
she even admitted she'd been relieved when someone else could.  It only
hurt when he died, and everyone found out that there had been another
woman in his life.  It seemed an odd way to think of things to Paxton,
but even now, with their newfound exchange, she recognized that she and
her mother were very different.  The one so cool, so distant, so aloof,
so afraid of letting go, of being out of control, of too much feeling,
the other so warm, so open, so passionate, so deeply involved and
committed, even in her grief after Peter's death.  And in so many ways,
Paxton was so much like her father.  Her brother George tried to talk
her out of going to VietNam too, but like his mother, within days he
realized that there was no point, Paxton was determined.  He
administered her shots, and in the end, when Ed Wilson called and told
her to come back to be briefed, George and Allison and her mother took
her to the airport, and this time even Paxton cried when she left them.
 She felt as though she were leaving home for good.  Even if she came
back, it would never be the same, and she knew it.  She had left as a
child, and she would return different, battle-scarred, wiser, or
perhaps more bitter.

But she would never be a child again.  The child that been Paxton
Andrews was gone, with the others.  The good-byes in San Francisco were
no easier than the ones in Savannah.  In fact, despite her mother's
reaching out to her over Peter's death, the good-byes said in San
Francisco were much harder.  Gabby cried nonstop, and Peter's mother
was still heartbroken that her husband had agreed to the job in Saigon.
 And she told him point-blank that he was as crazy as Paxxie.  And the
night she left, they all took her to the airport.

She had been given a seat on a military transport out of Travis Air
Force Base, and she had her vaccination certificates, and her passport,
and her visas, and her papers from the Morning Sun, and all her
instructions about who she was to report to and where, and where she
was to stay.  They had booked her into the Hotel Caravelle on the Tu
Do, and the Sun had even given her a Vietnamese phrase book.  But this
was still the hard part.  Saying good-bye to them was awful.  Being at
Travis reminded them all of when they had said good-bye to Peter.  And
even Peter's father cried when he held Paxton in his arms, and kissed
her firmly on the cheek and reminded her for the ten thousandth time to
be careful.  And for God's sake, if you get there and change your mind,
don't be a fool, you turn right around and come home.  I think you're
making one hell of a mistake going over there, don't be too proud to
admit it and come back quickly.  I won't, she promised him with tears
in her own eyes, I love you.  She had learned to say it all while she
could.  You never knew what was going to happen.  You all take care. 
She kissed them all again, as her flight was being called.  I've got to
go.

Promise you'll write.  Take care of yourself, Marjorie exhorted her,
trying not to think of her son.  Be careful what you eat!  They all
laughed, and Gabby and Paxton embraced.  It had all started with them. 
The two girls who loved each other like sisters, and had for four years
now.  I love you, you crazy girl.  Be careful, Paxxie, please if
anything happens to you, I'll die.  . Paxton only shook her head, and
ruffled the bright red curly hair.  Just don't get knocked up again
before I come home.  The baby was only three weeks old and Gabby
laughed through her tears.  Take care of yourself, Pax.  We're going to
iniss you.  Matthew hugged her gently, and then she stood back and
looked at all of them.  I'll be home in time to trim the tree.  That
was the deal she had made with Ed Wilson.  Six months in Saigon.  And
home by Christmas.  They all waved as she slung a large tote bag over
her shoulder and picked up her one small suitcase.  She was wearing
stout boots that looked like combat boots, and jeans and a T-shirt, and
she had a new NIkon slung over her shoulder.  She turned at the gate
and gave a last wave, trying hard to fight back tears as she thought of
Peter, and then she turned and ran toward the plane, and as she ran up
the steps to the C-l4l, she collided with what looked like someone's
kid brother.  He had wheatcolored hair lIke her own, and a round baby
face and he looked about fifteen as he ran up the steps behind her,
carrying his duffel.  And then she knew what he was.  Just another
green kid, going to fight the war in VietNam and as she took her seat
on the plane, he hurried to the back to join a hundred others like him
...

eighteen nineteen ... twenty ... she felt like an old lady next to them
and as they took off, and headed across the Pacific, she looked down
and prayed that the boys flying to Saigon with her would still be alive
by Christmas.  They had given her six months.

Six months to find herself, to see the war, to come to terms with what
had happened in Da Nang, and to see it all for herself six months to
tear her heart out and give it to them, to atone for her sins, and tell
the world what was really happening over there.  Six months in Nam.
Maybe she was crazy, she knew, but she felt she owed it to Peter.  And
as she closed her eyes, and laid her head back against the seat, the
lights of California dwindled swiftly behind them.  June 1968-April
Paxton was wide-awake from Travis Air Force Base to Hawaii, even though
when they arrived it was almost midnight for her, and she was still
awake most of the way to Guam, and found herself talking to some of the
men, as they all took turns waiting for the bathrooms.  Most of the
boys looked like the one she'd collided with boarding the plane.  They
looked barely eighteen years old, and they were young and scared, and
when they relaxed a little, they were full of mischief.  Several of
them asked her for dates, some showed her photographs of girlfriends
and mothers and wives, and for the most part they were the rawest of
new recruits.  The epitome of the word they were about to hear thrown
at them night and day once they arrived: Greenseeds.  A few of the
older ones traveling with them had been to Nam before, and through
their own choice, they were returning for another tour of duty.  These
were the ones Paxton was interested in, and two of them shared the
whiskey in their flasks with her as they passed the night on their way
to Guam, roughly halfway by then between San Francisco and Saigon.  She
wanted to know what it was like over there, why they wanted to go back,
why they hated it or loved it, the essence of it and what it meant to
them, but as she listened to them, she wasn't sure she understood them.
 They talked about what a bitch of a place it was, about what bastards
the VC were, about how Charlie had killed their friends, and in the
same breath they spoke of the country's beauty, the mountains, the
streams, the green of the hills, the stink, the smells, the perfume,
the women, the whores, the friends they loved, the buddies they'd lost,
the danger.  It was hard to make head or tail of it unless you'd been
there.  And they seemed to have an odd respect for the enemy and their
fierce loyalty to their cause, how hard they fought, how tireless they
were, how they never gave up until they died.  It was an odd kind of
respect for their opponents.  They talked about Charlie a lot, and
about what jerks their COs were, how they never knew what in hell was
going on.  And more importantly, how there was no way America could win
the war in VietNam Then why are you gomg back?  she asked quietly, and
both men looked at each other and then away.  And she waited for what
seemed lIke a long, long time.  And when they answered her, she almost
understood it.  It doesn't feel right being stateside anymore, one
explained.  No one gives a damn.

All the kids hate you for being there, and you feel like a traitor when
you come home.  But back in Nam, your buddies are dying in the dirt,
stepping on mines .  The man talking to her gritted his teeth as he
spoke and was totally unaware of it.  I watched my best friend's face
get blown away my other two best friends are MA I can't I can't go home
and sit on my ass over there ... I gotta be back here helping them, at
least till someone gets smart and gets us the hell out of here.  Yeah. 
The other man nodded, knowing full well what he meant.  There's no room
for us back there.  We're the shitheads now.  Not Charlie.  Not the
President.  Us, we're the bad guys us, the guys who're getting killed
for them.  The truth is, lady, no one gives a damn.  We got our asses
stuck over there, and the guys in charge won't let us really do some
real damage to them, because they're afraid the Russkies or the
Chinks'll get pissed off.  So they let us get our balls shot off in
VietNam You wanna know why I came back?  I came back to help my buddies
out, until we can all go home together.  He had no wife, no kids, and
all he cared about were his friends in the army.  But they were
intrigued by her too.  And eventually, they turned the questions on
her.  What about you?  What are you doing over here?  I came to see
what was really going on.  Why?  What difference does it make to you? 
She thought about it for a long time, and she wasn't planning to tell
everyone, but it was late, and she knew she'd never see these boys
again.  She reached into her shirt, much to their surprise, and pulled
out Peter's dog tags, which she brought with her.  She pulled them out
and extended them toward them, and both men nodded, they knew what it
meant.  He died in Da Nang.  I just want to see what's going on.

They nodded again.  It's a crazy place.  And then the older of the two
men smiled.  How old are you?  She hesitated and then smiled at him. 
Twenty-two.  Why?  I'm two years older than you, and this is my third
tour, and lady, I seen stuff over there that I wouldn't want no little
sister of mine looking at.  You sure you know what you're doing going
to Saigon?  It's a bokoo long way from home.  I figured that.  In fact,
she was counting on it, but she still couldn't imagine it.  And
eventually, she said good night to them, went back to her seat, and
fell asleep the rest of the way to Guam.  They landed in Guam at what
was nine a.m. for them, two a.m. local time, of the next day.  They
stayed for an hour, to refuel and then flew on to Saigon.  They were
scheduled to arrive at five a.m. local time.  And it was odd, as they
flew on, she kept thinking that Peter had come this way only a little
more than two months before.

They flew into Tan Son Nhut Airport on the main military base, on
schedule, shortly after five a.m., and Paxton was disappointed she
couldn't see the countryside.  Everyone talked about VietNam being so
green.  Instead all she could see were fireworks as she came down, and
wondered what they meant.  But the soldier sitting next to her laughed
at her when she asked if it was a national holiday.

Yeah, you could call it that, I guess.  They call this a war.  That's
artillery those are tracer bullets going off oh I'd say somewhere in
the vicinity of Bien Hoa.  Lady, you're gonna love it here.  We got
fireworks anytime when our birds drop their eggs on Victor Charlie. 
His attitude annoyed her, he was faintly condescending and somewhat
amused by her.  And it was embarrassing to realize that she had made a
blunder.  She carried her own bags when she got off, and the boys who
had talked to her seemed to have forgotten her by then.  They had their
own troubles now.  And they were all loaded into trucks almost as soon
as they arrived at the airport.  There was no one at the airport for
her, and as she picked up her bags and went to look for a cab, she felt
very brave.  She spoke not a word of Vietnamese, and suddenly she felt
as though she didn't have a friend in the world.  A string of battered
cars were outside the terminal, and there were U.S. soldiers
everywhere.  This was the main military base for Saigon, and for a last
few moments, she felt safe there.  Hey, Doughnut Dollie, welcome to
Saigon!  a voice called out to her, and she turned to see who they
meant, and was annoyed to discover that the black man with the accent
from the Deep South meant her.  Thanks a lot!  she called back, letting
him hear her Savannah drawl.  "Louisiana?  he called back, and this
time she laughed.  Georgia!  Shee-it!  He smiled, and hurried on.  It
was still before dawn, but there seemed to be plenty of people awake
and busy.  And she signaled to one of the drivers of a waiting cab.  It
was a blue-and-yellow Renault, and the driver wore sandals and shorts,
and he had a flat narrow face and shaggy black hair.  You Wac?  he
asked, speaking too loud.  The noises seemed remarkable here.  Even at
this time of the morning, in the distance she could hear loud voices
and horns.  And there was a pungent smell in the air, a kind of perfume
made of flowers, spices, and oil.  She could smell the jet fuel
everywhere, and as she looked around her, there seemed to be a haze of
smoke just above them.  No, not Wac, she explained, wondering why he
cared.  Wave?  No.  She wanted to put her bags in the car.  She had
been traveling for more than twenty hours.

You take me to Caravelle Hotel, please.  You prostitute?  he asked,
finally impressed, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry or just
admit it to him.  No, she said firmly, as she put her bags in his car. 
Journalist.  She already knew from a phrase book she'd brought that she
was a bao chlin Vietnamese, a correspondent.  But she didn't yet dare
to try the unfamiliar language.  He shook his head.  He refused to
understand, as he slipped behind the wheel and turned to look at her,
wondering what she was really.  You military?

Shit.  It was obvious she was never going to get to Saigon.

Newspaper, she tried again.  And this time the light dawned.  Oh.

Very good!  He was almost shouting at her, and as they left the base,
he kept his hand continually on the horn.  The noise was almost
deafening, but all around them, despite the hour, there seemed to be a
cacophony of horns.  You buy drugs from me?  he asked chattily as they
headed toward Saigon.  It was all so simple here.

You prostitute?  You buy drugs from me?  It must have been overwhelming
for the young boys she'd seen who'd never left home before.  No drugs. 
Hotel Caravelle.  She repeated again just to be sure he understood.  On
Tu Do.  It was supposedly the main drag, or so the man in charge of
foreign correspondents at the Sun had said.

And Ed Wilson had insisted that they book her there because it was one
of the best in town, and the cleanest.  The CBS office was there, and
he thought she might be safer there than at some of the other hotels in
Saigon.  Cigarette?  he offered as she prayed he wouldn't offer her
anything else on the four-mile ride to town.

Ruby Queen, he identified VietNam's favorite smoke.  No, thank you, I
don't smoke, she explained as several motor scooters and an ancient
Citroen seemed to sideswipe them all at once.  He responded by putting
both hands on the horn, as did everyone else.  And as she sat back
against the seat she tried to take a deep breath again, but the
continuing smell of fumes almost choked her.  But as she watched their
route into Saigon, she saw the buildings around them become more
beautiful, and there was a look of Paris as they came closer to the
center of Saigon.  There seemed to be foot traffic everywhere despite
the early hour, and the curfew, but people were scurrying along.  There
were some on bicycles, people in pedicabs, and everywhere the sounds of
voices and horns all around her.  Some of the buildings were colored in
washed pastels, others were in solemn stone.  And as they reached
Saigon, he drove her past the Presidential Palace and the Basilica of
Our Lady of Peace, and then onto Nguyen Hue Boulevard, bordered by
lovely trees, until they passed City Hall.  And then they went past the
Salem Building on the square, and she suddenly recognized the famous
Marines Statue.  And as soon as she saw it, Paxton had a better idea of
where she was.

She knew that there on the square, in the Eden Building, she would find
the Associated Press and the NBC offices.  And a few minutes later, she
identified the Continental Palace, as they turned onto the Tu Do and
she knew from the man at the Sun that there was an interesting bar
there called the Terrasse, and the Time magazine office.  And as they
drove past the National Assembly building, the driver slowed and turned
to her with a half-toothless smile.  It was impossible to determine how
old he was.  He could have been anywhere between twenty-five and sixty.
 You wanna see Pink Nightclub in Hotel Catinat tonight?  I pick you up
for dinner.  No, thank you.  She tried to take a firm tone with him. 
Caravelle Hotel.  Now, please.

Tonight I must work for my newspaper.  She tried to sound firm and
uninviting.  Not prostitute?  he continued to ask hopefully, as she
prayed he would take her to her hotel and never come back to find her. 
And then suddenly, they were there, at the Caravelle, and all she
wanted was to get out and run away from him, check in, and go to bed. 
She was exhausted but exhilarated just being there.  He told her how
much she owed and she knew that he was cheating her, but this time she
was too tired to care.  She walked into the lobby of the Caravelle,
carrying her own bags, and it was slowly coming to life as a few young
Vietnamese girls began to clean the lobby.  It was still early morning,
but soon the sun would be up and the hotel would be busy.  The lobby
would be full of high-ranking uniforms, visitors from abroad, mostly
from Europe, and the pretty Vietnamese girls who came to meet them. 
Andrews, she gave her name to the pretty female desk clerk in a white
ao dai, the traditional Vietnamese costume of trousers and a
slim-fitting long tunic.  Most were white, but some were prints or
brightly colored.  Andrew?  She looked blankly at Paxton for a moment. 
Paxton Andrews.  From the Morning Sun in San Francisco.  Paxton was too
tired to be either patient or charining.  All she wanted was a shower
and her bed.  Even at that hour of the morning, the air was stlfling. 
She hadn't been prepared for the suffocating heat, and the celling fans
seemed to do nothing, as the girl checked the register and shook her
head at Paxton.  mister Andrews not here yet.  You his wife?  His lady?
 Shit, she muttered to herself.  No, she explained.  I am Paxton
Andrews.

She noticed two young Vietnamese boys listening to her, smiling, as two
men met in the lobby.  One had come from the plane.  The other from the
street outside.  They were off to an early start and both men gave
Paxton a careful look of intense appraisal.  One was rugged and
dark-haired and somewhere in his middle thirties, the other one was
considerably older with a lined face that looked worried.  She noticed
them but she wasn't interested in talking to them or knowing who they
were.  All she wanted was her room, and shower, and her bed, for the
moment.  And meanwhile, the girl at the desk still appeared not to
understand her.  I am Paxton Andrews.  You mister Andrews?  The girl
giggled, and even Paxton had to laugh.  In the two hours she'd been in
VietNam she'd been called a man, a Doughnut Dollie, and a prostitute. 
It was certainly an interesting beginnmg.

Yes, she explained again.  I am Paxton Andrews.  Do you have my room?

The girl finally nodded agreement, and as the two men watched, while
trying to appear not to, the girl at the desk signaled for a boy who
couldn't have been more than eight years old, and handed him a key to a
room on the third floor, well below the well-known bar in the
penthouse.  Paxton followed him up the stairs, and he struggled with
her single bag while she managed her tote bag, and when they reached
her room, she gave him twenty-five piasters, and he grinned and bowed
and ran away downstairs.  He was a cute child, and it was hard to
believe these were the children she'd been warned against.  She'd been
told that the children in VietNam were either thieves or beggars or VC,
or all three.  But this one looked innocent as he ran back to the
lobby.  And she walked into her room in time to see a horde of
cockroaches dash across the cant.  She let out a small scream, and then
forced herself to walk into the room, kill those she could, and look
into the bathroom.  It was clean, and done in old white tile, and still
seemed reminiscent of the French influence in the city.  Nothing had
changed much since they'd left it.  Certainly not the heat, the war, or
the roaches.  The only things that had changed were the battered,
trembling air conditioners in constant use m all the rooms now.  It was
a touch of home she was grateful for.  Her clothes stuck to her skin
from her journey from the airport to the hotel in the torrid, humid
heat that had left her looking and feeling like a dishrag.  She washed
her face, and ran the tub, and it was eight in the morning local time
when she got to bed, and when she opened the windows she could still
smell the gas fumes below them and hear the noises as Saigon sprang to
life below her.  The smell of fuel seemed to be pervasive everywhere in
the city.  And as she lay there, she wondered what it had been like for
Peter when he'd arrived, but he probably hadn't seen much.  He had been
one of the boys loaded on trucks and whisked off into the night to
places lIke Long BiN, or Nha Trang, Pleiku, Da Nang, Vinh Long, Chu
Lai, the places she had come to see, and now could only dream of.  She
closed her eyes but slept fitfully, there was too much on her mind, too
much to think about, and see, and discover.  And as the sun settled
high in the sky over Saigon, she stirred and opened her eyes and
stretched.  And she smiled as she looked up, there was a bird sitting
on her windowsill, chirping loudly.  Welcome to VietNam She rolled over
slowly and as she said the words, she heard a sound, and sensed a
presence in the room, and sat bolt upright, covering herself with the
sheet as a tall, good-looking blond man walked into her bedroom.  He
was wearing fatigues, but he wore no name, and his fatigues did not say
U.S. Army.  What are you doing here?  She wanted to scream, but she
wasn't sure if she should or not, as she backed out of the bed, still
carrying the sheet around her.  You left your key in the door last
night.  I wouldn't do that here if I were you.  He was looking at how
beautiful she was, but nothing on his face showed that he had noticed. 
He had been told by one of the bellboys that there was a new arrival in
that room, a very pretty girl, the boy had said.

And Nigel had tipped him twenty piasters.  He had also heard about her
from his two colleagues who had seen her early that morning in the
lobby.  And now he reached across the bed and handed her the key with a
solemn expression.  I was just going to leave it on the nightstand
beside you.  She noticed that he had an accent, and for a moment she
wasn't sure if he was British or Australian.  I uh.  .

She was blushing furiously, wondering if he could see through the sheet
as she stood there.  I ... thank you He smiled, mildly amused at her
distress.  No problem.  I'm Nigel Aucliffe, by the way.  United Press. 
From Australia.  A twinkle in his eye told her that he was something
less than innocent or wholesome.  Paxton Andrews, from the Morning Sun,
in San Francisco.  But she didn't attempt to shake his hand, for fear
of losing the sheet she was holding.  I'm sure I'll be seeing more of
you.  His double entendre made her even more uncomfortable and with a
brief bow, he left the room as swiftly as he had entered it, and she
sat down on the bed, still wrapped in the sheet, with her heart
pounding after the encounter.  rn was dehrntely not go'mgto an ore nary
experience.  And how could she be so stupid as to leave her key in the
door in a war zone?  Christ, she muttered to herself, talk about
stupid.  She locked the door from the inside this time, and looked out
the window, down the Tu Do, and if you squinted, you could almost tell
yourself you were in Paris.  She had to report to the AP office that
afternoon at two o'clock in the Eden Building in the square, and she
bathed and dressed in a light cotton pale blue dress that seemed more
appropriate than blue jeans in the weather.  And she hurried downstairs
to the main restaurant for lunch.  There were quite a few people dining
there when she arrived, most of them men, several in fatigues or
comparable outflts, others in lightweight shirts, and two Vietnamese
women in lovely white ao dais, the traditional white dresses worn over
balloon trousers that seemed so airy and yet molded their figures so
gracefully.  For the moment, Paxton seemed to be the only Western woman
in the room, and in the far comer she saw Nigel Aucliffe laughing about
something with a stranger and the two men she'd seen early that
morning, and she wondered if they weren't laughing about her.  She felt
extremely green and new to it all, as she ordered consomme and an
omelet.  The touch of France was still visible here in the decor, the
food, and the menu.  And as she finished her omelet and sipped a cup of
coflee, while making a few notes to herself, Nigel Aucliffe and his
group stopped at her table.  Good morning, again.  Kis eyes teased
openly now and seemed to evaluate her all over again and the other men
watched her, intrigued by the suggestive greeting.  He had already told
them about her, and had told them she was so green she looked like
leaves in spring, and was obviously somebody's very headstrong
daughter.  He figured it wouldn't take long for VietNam to teach her
some lessons, and the thought of it definitely amused him.

Having brunch, I see.  His eyes seemed to caress her, and his attitude
annoyed her.  Good morning, she said coolly.  He had somehow managed to
make it sound like he'd spent the night with her, and the chill in her
tone suggested that he was quite mistaken.  Her eyes took in the other
three, and as he didn't introduce them, she held out a hand and
introduced herself.  The younger darkhaired man she'd seen when she
arrived was Ralph Johnson from New York, AP; the older man was Tom
Hardgood from The Washington Post; and the third man was Jean-Pierre
Biarnet from Le Figaro in Paris.  They had been out covering an
important press meeting since seven a.m., and had treated themselves to
a long, lazy lunch.  And Nigel and Jean-Pierre had been talking about
knocking off for the rest of the day, when Nigel saw her, and told them
what a pleasing sight she had been, wrapped in her bedsheet when he
woke her.  All three men looked intrigued by her, and most of them were
almost old enough to be her father, a thought they would have denied
had someone said it.  She stood up, ready to leave, and she looked
young and lovely and statuesque beside them, and for a moment all four
men could barely resist hungry longings.  There was an odd silence as
she looked at them, well aware of their observation of her novice
status.  What are you doing over here?  Johnson asked her bluntly.  He
was curious about her and what she was doing in Saigon, as were the
others, but they were too proud and supercilious to ask Same as anyone
else, I guess.  Looking for a story.  Covering the war.  I'm here for
six months to write for the Morning Sun, in San Francisco.

Johnson looked stunned.  It was a good paper.  And he'd known another
correspondent they'd sent for a while the year before.  It surprised
him that they'd send this green girl, but I maybe there was another
reason.  Have you ever done anything lIke this before?  She shook her
head honestly, and for an instant, beneath the bravado, she looked
scared, and she was.  She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. 
She had been told to report to the AP office for now, and do whatever
assignments they gave her.  And Ed Wilson had specifically and
personally instructed them not to let her go anywhere alone, and to
keep her well out of combat.  How old are you?  Johnson asked bluntly
again, and for a moment she considered lying, but then decided not to. 
Twenty-two.  I just finished Berkeley.  She didn't tell him she'd
dropped out, as she signed the check and they all walked slowly into
the lobby together.  And then he smiled at her.

I graduated from there sixteen years ago.  Johnson looked at her with
amusement.  And I was about as green as you are when I started.

I almost shit.  I was 4-F, and The New York Times sent me to Korea.

But I learned some stuff I would never have learned sitting on my ass
in New York, I can tell you that.  And he surprised everyone by holding
a hand out and shaking hers.  Good luck, kid.  What did you say your
name was?  Paxton Andrews.  They shook hands with her all around then,
and the group broke up.  Nigel and Jean-Pierre had decided not to quit
for the afternoon after all, and instead were going to Xuan Loc to
cover some maneuvers.  And Ed Hardgood was going to MacVee headquarters
at Tan Son Nhut, where Paxton had arrived the night before, for a
private interview with General Abrams.  Are you going to the AP office?
 Johnson asked Paxton almost as an afterthought, as she walked out to
the street and nodded.  I Il show you where it is, he said, smiling at
her again, and the others left, promising to see him that night, as
Paxton strode along beside him.  The AP office was in the building
she'd seen on the way in the night before, the Eden Building on the
square across from the statue of the marine that seemed to be a
reference point to everyone in Saigon.  And the AP office was in the
corner of the building.  She had her orders waiting there.  She was to
orient herself to Saigon and be at the U.S. Information Service
auditorium at five o'clock, for what Ralph Johnson informed her were
called the Five O'Clock Follies.  I see they're either giving you a
slow start, or putting you on Pablum.  My first day in Seoul, they
booted me right out to the front lines and I almost got shot.  It was
one way to be introduced to the war.  This ought to be a little
nicer.

But she felt somehow put down, and she wondered what he meant by
putting her on Pablum.  What are the Five O'Clock Follies?  A lot of
propaganda.  They tell us everything they want us to hear, to tell us
how great the war is going.  We lose a hill, we really didn't.  A bunch
of guys got killed, the enemy lost more; Charlie captured some of our
equipment, all of it was obsolete anyway so who cares.

Body counts that make things sound a little better than they are, the
usual shit they want you to feed the folks back home to convince them
we're winning.  And are we?  she asked bluntly.  What do you think?  he
asked coldly.  His eyes told their own tale.  That's why I'm here.  I
want to know the truth.  The truth?  He looked at her cynically.  The
truth is, it's hopeless.  It was what she'd suspected all along, what
Peter had thought all along.  Before the place had killed him.  When do
you think they're going to admit that and get our boys home?  she asked
with innocent fervor in her eyes, and he shook his head with a look of
exasperation.  That, my friend, is the million-dollar question.  We
have half a million guys here now, a thing called a DMZ, which means
don't step on Uncle Ho's toes, and a bunch of kids getting shipped out
of here in body bags by the thousand.  As he said the words, he saw her
flinch and it annoyed him.  If you're shy about that, you'd better get
over it quick, or go home.  This isn't a place for the fainthearted. 
He wondered if they knew what they were doing telling her to orient
herself to Saigon.  Maybe she was just someone's kid playing tourist. 
But something about her told him that there might be more to her than
that.  He wasn't sure yet.  I've got a meeting with some guys.  He
looked at her then, a question in his eyes.  You interested in seeing
some of the real Nam, or are you just here to play for a while and tell
the folks back home you saw it?  The question was an honest one and she
appreciated at least the chance to prove herself as she looked him in
the eye and let him know she meant business.

I want to see the real thing.  He nodded.  He had somehow suspected
that, despite the good looks and blond hair, she didn't look like a
Doughnut Dollie.  I'm taking a crew up to a firebase near Nha Trang
tomorrow.  You want to come?  His eyes were hard, but he was giving her
a chance.  He'd been young once, too, and they'd gone to the same
school, and for some unknown reason, he thought she deserved it.  I'd
love it.  And then, meaning it, Thank you.  You got boots?  More or
less.  She'd bought the toughest ones she could find from Eddie
Bauer's.  I mean real ones.  You gotta have steel shafts in the soles
in case you step on a bamboo spike.  She looked blank, but he knew his
stuff He'd been in Saigon since '65.  What size shoe do you wear? 
Seven.  She was in awe of him.  If she made anything of herself at all
here, she thought it might be thanks to him, and she was truly
grateful.  Ill get you a pair.  Thank you.  And as soon as she said the
words, he'd vanished He had an appointment with the assistant chief of
the bureau, who was frowning as Ralph walked in.

What happened to you?  You look happy this afternoon, Ralph teased him.
 You would too.  I've had ten telexes from San Francisco this week
about some Greenseed who must be someone's nephew.  They don't want him
up north.  They don't want him out of Saigon.  They don't want him to
get hurt.  They don't want him anywhere, except high tea at the fucking
palace.  I've got enough headaches in my life without visiting firemen,
bored movie stars, and other people's fucking nephews.  Relax.  Maybe
he won't even show up.  Half these kids talk their socks off about
coming here, but they never have the balls to get here.  We have a new
Doughnut Dollie in our midst, by the way.

Great.  Just what we need.  Try and keep your pants on, Ralph.  I need
you alive for another month, if you can swing it.  The two men
exchanged a smile.  They had been friends for years, and had a strong
respect for each other.  Who's the girl?  I forget.  West Coast.  She
went to my alma mater.  She looks smart, but scared, and green.  I
oflered to take her to Nha Trang tomorrow.  Who does she work for?  I
forget that too.  She's okay.  And if she isn't, she'll be scared
shitless and on the next flight home by tomorrow.  Just watch your ass.
 It's hot up there right now.  But I want you to take a look at this
for me.  It was a borrowed document someone had given him, indicating
enormous troop requests for fresh battalions.

Christ, aren't they ever going to get smart and start sending the boys
home?  Ralph Johnson looked dismayed when he read it.  It makes you
wonder, doesn't it?  It makes me weep.  They went over some other
things.  A report of increased action in the A Shau Valley, and some
crazy reports about Agent Orange.  They talked about the trip to Nha
Trang the next day, and by then the new girl was all but forgotten. 
Ralph Johnson stopped for tea in the suburb of Gia Dinh that day, on
some personal business.  And by five o'clock he was back in town,
picked up his messages at the office, and was only ten minutes late at
the Information Service to hear the news delivered at the Five O'Clock
Follies.  It was the usual reports that day.  Who had been killed
where, fantastic body counts from the VietCong, statistics no one
believed and hadn't for a long time, and an enemy document everyone had
a chance to examine.  Tom Hardgood was also there, and Jean-Pierre, but
Nigel wasn't.  And Jean-Pierre waved when he saw Paxton.  After it was
all over, he went over to her, and thought she looked hot and tired and
still a little stunned by her arrival.  He explained that Nigel had
gone on to Xuan Loc, but he had decided to stay in Saigon.  Well,
mademoiselle.  He smiled.  How do you like it?  She smiled tiredly at
him.  She had spent the last two hours exploring the city.  It had been
excruciatingly hot all afternoon, and she was overwhelmed by the sights
and smells, the endless noises, the sound of planes, the smell of fuel,
and the smoke that burned her eyes in the Chinese quarter.  She had
gotten lost several times, had rented two pedicabs, been picked up by
at least a dozen GIs, and she couldn't make head or tail of her '
Vietnamese phrase book.  I m not sure, 'she said honestly, with a tired
smile, wondering what purpose these five o'clock briefing sessions
served.  They seemed so perfectly orchestrated and so artificial.  But
if you wanted to, you could sit here and report on the war based on
what they told you.

But she knew that was not what she had come for.  These things are
ridiculous, I can assure you.  He was still wearing his fatigues and he
looked hot and sweaty.  He was a photographer, and he'd been out since
four o'clock that morning, and after his lunch with the others, he'd
covered a tremendous story.  A group of children had been killed by a
terrorist bomb, and the photographs he had taken had been awful.  He
tried to explain it to her, and his voice was almost a monotone as he
told her.  He couldn't allow himself to feel anything anymore.  It was
all too painful.  I got a perfect shot.  Of two dead little girls
holding hands, he said in a perfectly even tone.  My paper will be very
happy.  There was something ghastly about being here, and they all knew
it.  It ate at you, and destroyed something within.  And yet, they also
knew they had to be there, for whatever reasons.  Why did you come
here?  she asked quietly, sobered by what he'd said, yet intrigued by
all of them, as the others started to drift away from them.  Because I
wanted to know what had changed.  I wanted to know why the Americans
thought they could win, and ii they could, after we didn't.  And can
they?

She seemed to be asking everyone, but she wanted to know what people
thought, people who knew, the people who'd really seen it.

No.  It's impossible, he said, looking very French, and I think they
know it now, but they don't know what to tell your people.  They're
afraid to admit disgrace, to say they can't win, and must come home
now.  It's not American ;,it's not proud or brave it took us a long
time too, he said by way of explanation.  And she agreed with him.

The Americans were staying in VietNam in order not to lose face, but
they already had.  And they were losing boys daily, in the meantime. 
To the VietCong, to booby traps, to mines, to snipers, to friendly
fire, like Peter.  And it was odd, now that she was here, she had been
less obsessed with him.  She had hardly 182

thought of him all day, she was so busy trying to figure it all out,
see everything, and discover Saigon.  It was a relief in a way.

Maybe now that she was here, the pain would dim.  Maybe she could put
him to rest one day.  Maybe she had been right to come here.  And as
she thought of it, she saw Jean-Pierre watching her, and he smiled, not
understanding what she was thinking.  This is a serious place.  You
were very brave to come here.  Who did you do it?  Its a long story,
she explained vaguely, looking around.  By then, Ralph had left, and
Tom Hardgood, and Jean-Pierre asked if she'd like to have a drink at
the Terrasse of the Continental Palace Hotel.  It's an amazing place. 
True Saigon.  You really have to see it.  Thank you, she said shyly,
touched by all of them.  Although she knew Nigel regarded her with a
certain condescension, at least Ralph seemed willing to give her both a
chance and a helping hand, and Jean-Pierre seemed pretty friendly.  She
noticed that he wore a wedding band, but his invitation seemed more
platonic than sexual, and she was right.  When they got to the
Terrasse, he told her all about his wife, a successful model in Paris. 
I met her when I was doing fashion photography ten years ago, then I
got fascinated by this, photojournalism.  She thinks I'm crazy.  She
meets me in Hong Kong once a month, and it keeps me sane.  I don't
think I could stay here without that.  How long are you planning to
stay here for?  he asked, with casual interest.  Six months, she said
bravely, sounding very young, and he smiled.  You have a boyfriend
here?  In the army?

She shook her head, but some women did.  He knew a lot of civilian
nurses who had come over because their boyfriends had been sent to
Saigon.  But sooner or later they all regretted it.  The place broke
your heart, the boyfriends were wounded or killed, or shipped back to
the States and the girls stayed and tore their hearts out caring for
maimed children.  Some felt they couldn't leave, some did, but no one
was ever the same.  Once you've been here, he said knowingly, you won't
forget it.  She nodded, willing to take the chance, as she looked
around her in amazement.  They had sat down at a table on the terrace
of the Continental Palace Hotel, and there were limbless beggars
everywhere, crawling like insects between the tables.  At first she
didn't understand what was happening, she thought they were looking for
something, and then suddenly one of them was looking up at her, half
his face blown away, one eye gone, and both arms, and he looked up at
her and moaned as she almost fainted.

Jean-Pierre brushed him away and Paxton looked mortified, as shoeshine
boys, and prostitutes and vendors of drugs and assorted wares accosted
them, and everywhere the smell of flowers and fuel, the voices, the
horns, the shouts, the cars, the bicycles, the people.  It was like a
circus.  I'm sorry, she apologized for her weakness when confronted by
the faceless beggar.  You're going to have to get used to that. 
There's a lot of it here.  In Saigon, some of the time you can pretend
nothing is happening, and then one day a bomb goes off, a bar blows up,
one of your friends is hurt, or you see children bleeding in the
street, crying for their mother, lying in front of you, dead from a VC
bomb.  You can't always hide from it.  And in the North, it's worse. 
Much worse.  There you really see the war.  He looked at her carefully
over their drinks, curious about her, she was just young enough to be
his daughter.  Are you sure you want to be here?  Yes, she said
quietly, sure of herself now that she was here, even if she still
wanted to cry when she saw the beggars and the limbless children.  But
she had only been there for a few hours.  Fourteen exactly.  Why?  he
asked pointedly.  She decided to be honest with him, as she had been
with the boy on the plane.  Someone I loved died here.  I wanted to see
it.  I wanted to understand why he died.  To come here and speak the
truth about the war through my paper.  He smiled sadly at her.  You are
very young and idealistic.  No one will care, and when you cry in the
darkness, no one will hear you.  You want to send a message from here
... but to whom?  For your friend it is too late.  And for the others? 
Some will come here, if they have to, some will live, some will die.

Nothing you can do will change that.  He made it all sound so hopeless,
but Paxton didn't believe him.  Then why are you here, Jean-Pierre? 
She looked directly into his eyes and he wondered if she would sleep
with him.  He knew Nigel wanted her.  Ralph had France and her boy ...
and of course he had his wife in Paris.  But she was a long way from
there, and this girl was so fresh, so pure, so full of her ideals, so
clean and yet at the same time so strong, so sure.  He smiled to
himself then and Paxton asked why and he laughed as he answered.  I
think you remind me of Joan of Arc, I think you call her.  We call her
Jeanne d'Arc, she believed in all the same things you do.  The truth,
the power of the sword in the name of God, and freedom.  That sounds
pretty reasonable.  Paxton smiled.  But you didn't answer my question. 
She was a journalist, after all, and she was smelling the place out,
and the people in it.  About why I am here?  I don't know.  He shrugged
his shoulders, looking, and sounding, very Gallic.  I wanted to see it,
so I came for Le Figaro.  And then I stayed, because it intrigues me. 
I wanted to 'see it through' and I like it here.  It is a sinful place,
he said, smiling at her, if you want it to be.  I like my friends.  And
perhaps .  He shrugged.  Perhaps like all men, I like the danger.

Paxton, don't let men lie to you.  We all love to play with guns, to
pretend we have an enemy, to take a hill away from a friend, or a
house, or a mountain or a country.  We love it it makes sense to us
until it kills us.  There was truth to what he said, and instinctively
she knew it.  Is it worth dying for?  I don't know.  He shrugged,
smiling sadly at her.  Ask the men who died what will they tell you?  I
think they'd say it wasn't worth it, she said philosophically, but he
disagreed.  That's because you are a woman.

Maybe it was worth it to them.  He loved the argument, the exchange,
the philosophy, and she liked him.  But to a woman it is never worth
it.  The men who die are their sons, their lovers, their husbands.

A woman can only lose in war, never gain, and for her it holds no
excitement.  The faces of the women I photograph are all filled with
pain, as they hold their dead babies, dead men, dead children.  They do
not care if they die themselves.  I think they are much braver than
men.  But they cannot bear losing their loved ones His voice grew
gentle then.  And you?  The man you lost?  Was he a lover or a friend? 
He was curious about her.  Both, she said, feeling calmer than she had
in a long time.  We were going to be married.  We had been together for
for four years ... and I should have married him.

She looked away, still guilty over it.  I should have ... but I didn't.
 Her voice was very soft at the end and he touched her hand.

If you didn't, it is because you were not meant to.  My first wife died
in an accident.  In a plane I was supposed to be on with her.

I missed the plane.  She went anyway.  She was killed in Spain.  And I
felt guilty forever.  She wanted children, I never did, and afterwards
I thought if I'd let her have a baby, then I'd still have a part of
her.  But you know, he shrugged, it just wasn't meant to be that way. 
Do you have children now?  Paxton asked softly.  He shook his head with
a smile.  We've only been married for two years, and my wife is
twenty-eight.  She wants to finish her career as a model before we have
any babies.  And if something happened, Paxton asked herself, would
they regret it?  Was Gabby right with her simple, married life, and her
pretty babies?  Was she crazy to be here?  Was Jean-Pierre right, that
her marriage to Peter just wasn't meant to be, or would she feel guilty
forever?  How old are you, Paxton?  he asked, increasingly attracted to
her with each sip of Pernod.  Eventually he switched to Scotch, and
eventually Paxton switched to water.  Twenty-two, she answered him, and
he smiled.  I am exactly twice your age.  But he didn't seem to mind
it.  I think I can say with absolute certainty that you are the
youngest journalist here, in Saigon.  And surely, he toasted her, the
most beautiful.  You haven't seen me in the morning, she said by way of
conversation, and a voice behind her took her by surprise.  No, but I
have.  She wheeled around in her chair, and it was Nigel.  I'd say you
look very nice in the morning.  Why, is this a serious question?

Not exactly.  Paxton smiled, relieved that he had joined them.

Jean-Pierre had had a little too much to drink by then, and she had a
feeling he was going to start getting amorous with the next Scotch. 
Nigel's arrival made it all a great deal simpler.  I thought you went
to Xuan Loc.  She smiled at him.  I decided to go tomorrow.

In truth, he had come across an appealing whore, and delayed the trip
till the morning.  Have you two eaten yet?  I hope not, I'm starved,
and I don't want to eat alone.  No, we haven't eaten, Jean-Pierre
volunteered, but it was nine o'clock, and Paxton was still feeling
jet-lagged.  Where do you want to eat?  I don't know.

What about something quick somewhere, and then going to the Pink
Nightclub to go dancing?  Nigel had his eye on Paxton, too, and the
whore had only offered him temporary comfort.  But Paxton was looking
at her watch.  She had to get up at four o'clock the next morning.  I
don't think I should.  I'm going to have to take a raincheck.  Ralph
Johnson is picking me up at five tomorrow morning.

What's he up to?  Nigel looked annoyed, and Jean-Pierre was rapidly
getting too drunk to really care.  And he only had another week before
he met his wife in Hong Kong.  And there was still lots of time to
seduce Paxton.  We're going to Nha Trang with a film crew, Paxton
explained.  It's hot up there, Nigel said with a frown, and then
remembered how green she was, and I don't just mean the weather.  Lots
of Victor Charlie around.  Watch your pretty little ass.  Because if I
know Johnson, he won't watch it for you.  He gets the story if it kills
him.  He's been wounded twice, and I think he's out here for a
Pulitzer, although he won't admit it.  Paxton smiled at the obvious
rivalry between them.  I'll be careful.  Coming back tomorrow night? 
Nigel looked intrigued by her, and she was a damn pretty girl.  But she
had no interest in him, or any of them.

That wasn't why she'd come to Saigon.  She had come to learn what she
could and write good stories for her paper.  But there were plenty of
men here if that was what she wanted.  I don't know when we're coming
back, she answered Nigel's question.  Ralph didn't say.

Wouldn't he have said something if we weren't coming back?  Nigel
laughed.  Not necessarily.  They all stood up, and the flurry of
movement drew the beggars toward them.  Nigel and Jean-Pierre waved
them all away, and one child really tore at Paxton's heart, a little
girl with no legs being pulled along on a cart by her slightly older
brother.  Paxton looked away, unable to stand it any longer.  You
couldn't change things for them, couldn't make the war go away,
couldn't bring their limbs back.  You should do a story on the Quakers,
Jean-Pierre suggested when they left.  The American Friends Service
Committee has a fabulous center.  They fit all these kids with
prosthetics.  I got some fantastic photographs there.  It's really
incredible what they've been doing.  I'Il check it out.

Thanks.  She smiled at them both, thanked him for the drink, and they
dropped her off at the hotel before going on to another bar to drink
longer and harder.  They had decided to skip dinner for a while and go
on drinking, since she wouldn't join them.  And when she got back to
the hotel, she saw several nicely dressed couples going upstairs to the
penthouse restaurant for dinner.  But she was too tired to even think
of food.  She walked into her room, lay on the bed, and fell asleep as
soon as she set the alarm, and before she even took her clothes off. 
And it seemed only moments later when she heard the alarm go off It was
a strange buzzing sound, and she was dreaming that there were insects
coming after her, and then bees, and she was trying to escape by
pedicab and the driver didn't understand where she was going.  And the
droning noise went on, and then finally she opened an eye and looked
around the hotel room.  It was still dark, and she took a shower and
washed her hair and climbed into the jumpsuit she had brought for
occasions like this one.  It was a dark khaki green, and she put on the
boots she had, in case Ralph hadn't had the time to get her the ones he
had promised.  She was downstairs at exactly five a.m. and the lobby
was deserted, but the streets were already coming to life, with vendors
and bicycles and cars, and people hurrying home or to work or to
somewhere, and she could see the women in their pointed non la hats and
graceful ao dais.  She walked outside and smelled the air, and you
could still smell the pungent aroma of fruit and flowers, and still the
smell of fuel and the cloud of smoke that always seemed to hang over
the city, and then just behind her she heard steps, and turned and saw
Ralph coming up the steps of the hotel in fatigues and a bush hat and
combat boots exactly like the ones he carried, and he had a heavy vest
on, and he was carrying another one, and when she joined him, he handed
it and the promised boots to her.  You got the boots!  Thank you.  She
was amazed.  No problem.

And they weren't.  He had bought them on the black market where you
could buy absolutely anything stolen from the PX, from tampons to
nylons to army issue.  I brought you the flak jacket too.  It's not a
bad idea, if you can stand to wear it.  And he had a spare helmet he
gave her, too, and with that, he lifted her into the truck they were
taking all the way up Highway One to where they were going.

They had an army driver with them, and Ralph had a crew of four, two
cameramen, a sound man, and an assistant.  He introduced her to
everyone, and they all looked like GIs.  Everyone had on fatigues and
camouflage and boots and helmets, and the sound man laughed nervously
as he looked around, and the assistant unscrewed a huge thermos of
steaming coffee.  Shit, if the VC grab us on the way, they're going to
think they caught themselves a truck full of regular army.  He looked
at Paxton, who was similarly outfitted.  Got any high heels in your
purse?  I'm too tall.  I never wear them.  I meant for me.  Everyone
laughed, and they watched the sun come up as they headed out of Saigon.
 It was a beautiful summer morning.  It was late June, and suddenly
Paxton realized why people talked about the beauty of the country.  As
they left the city, everything was lush and green, and there was a
delicacy and simplicity to everything that reminded her of antique
silkscreens.  And then here and there, you'd see craters, from bombs,
or children standing by the roadside on crutches.  The group fell
silent as they drove, and Paxton was awestruck by the beauty of it, the
red earth and the rich green.  She just kept watching as they drove
north, and finally Ralph Johnson leaned back over his seat to offer her
some doughnuts.  Pretty, isn't it?  I'm finally beginning to understand
what I've heard.  Saigon is very diflerent.  It had been pretty once,
when the French were there, but it was dirty and loud and corrupt, and
full of prostitutes and urchins.  This had a natural beauty which
Paxton had never seen before and touched her deeply.  And yet even
here, the country was battle-scarred, even far, far out in the country.
 I was over here when they burned Ben Suc a year and a half ago that
was a beautiful place.  It was a crime to burn it down.  Why did they
do it?  To flush out the VietCong, cut off their food supply, their
hiding places.  Most of the time, they can't tell the good guys from
the bad guys.  So they burned it all down, and turned the whole thing
into a parking lot.  They claim they relocated everyone, but you can't
replace something like that.  It was lovely and old, and they moved
everyone into Quonset huts.  It was how he had met France, but he
didn't say anything about that.  He didn't know Paxton that well yet. 
How'd it go yesterday?  he asked.  Okay.

I kind of poked around Saigon, and kept getting lost.  She smiled.

And then she decided to let her hair down.  The Five O'Clock Follies
sure are bullshit, aren't they?  What's that all about?  I think they
call it PR.  Another word for it is propaganda, for our side.

What's the point?  She looked annoyed.  She had come here for the
truth, not to be lied to.  As they talked, she took her helmet off and
tied her ponytail in a bun.  It was just too hot even to have hair, let
alone have it hang down her back from under her helmet.

But Ralph only laughed.  It gives us something to write about when we
run dry, which doesn't happen too often.  And then he smiled.  My
buddies at the AP office were going crazy yesterday, apparently some
guy's nephew was due here and everyone has been instructed to keep him
out of trouble.  What's he doing here?  Paxton looked amused too.  I
don't know.  Visiting, I guess.  Mustn't be too smart.  VietNam is a
good place to stay out of.  She looked him in the eye with a steady
glance as the others chatted over their doughnuts.  Does that mean you
think I'm dumb too?  Maybe.  He was honest with her.  He always would
be.  But I think maybe you're different.  I'll tell you what I think
when we're through today, but I think you're one of those crazy peopIe
who have to be journalists no matter what, who have to have the truth
if it kills them.  Thank you was all she said, and she put her helmet
back on her head and finished her coffee.  They stopped briefly in Ham
Tan, and then they pressed on to Phan Rang and Cam Ranh, and then they
could hear gunfire in the distance.  It was like the roll of thunder
coming down from the mountains.  The driver of the truck was in
constant contact by radio with his base at Nha Trang, and he warned
them before they got there, that they would be moving inland.  They
were going to a firebase that was under heavy attack, and they would be
coming in from the rear.  They thought they'd be pretty safe because
the firebase was well protected and well armed, but they'd been under
heavy fire all week, and this was exactly the story that Ralph wanted. 
It had taken him all week to get permission to be there.

Their RTO's been telling me things are pretty hot there, the driver
explained, and by now Paxton knew that hot always meant VC and never
weather.  The weather itself was unspeakable, and she wondered at times
how she would breathe when they got there.  As they approached the
base, they were told to get down low in their seats, keep their flak
jackets on, and wear their helmets.  It was seven a.m., and they were
stopped two miles before they got to the remote artillery base where
they were going.  I've got journalists here, the driver explained when
he was stopped by heavily armed rear sentries.  They were carrying
standard M-l6's, which Paxton already knew from Ralph were inferior to
the Soviet AK-47's carried by the VietCong, because our weapons jammed
and theirs didn't.  The sentries looked inside, and Paxton recognized
an M-60 machine gun and the sound of a l50mm howitzer in the distance. 
She had tried to read up on everything, but it was different seeing it
all now in action, and it was more than a little scary.  She could feel
her heart beating, especially when they looked at her, and continued to
question the driver.  What about the Delta Delta?  The driver smiled.

Same thing.  She's a journalist too.  Right?  He turned and smiled
openly at Paxton.  Yes, sir.  I'm with the Morning Sun in San
Francisco.  She fumbled for her papers, and they waved them on without
any further questions while the driver and Ralph exchanged a smile, and
she wondered what had just passed between them.  What was that all
about?  The Delta Delta stuff I mean.  You're going to hear a lot of it
while you're here.  Ralph grinned.  They call you that at first too? 
she asked innocently, and he laughed out loud at that one.  Not likely,
sweetheart.  I'd better tell you what it means.  Delta Delta are the
radio call signs for D-D.  Doughnut Dollie.  Everyone in the truck
laughed and Paxton wanted to stamp her boots.  Shit!  I came all the
way out here, and I didn't do it to pass out goddamn doughnuts!  You
tell 'em, lady!  The driver cheered and even Paxton laughed.  It was
infuriating to be treated like some beauty queen who had come over to
see if anyone would whistle.

Delta Delta, my ass!  Everyone knew Doughnut Dollies were nice women
who did a lot for morale, but it was still no compliment to Paxton.

You'll get used to it, Ralph laughed, and she threatened to hit him. 
But a few minutes later they were told to get down as artillery fire
began to whiz over their heads.  They all climbed gingerly out of the
truck when told, and the cameramen and the sound man began assembling
their equipment.  Ralph was telling them what he wanted from them, and
after conferring with some of the troops, the driver was explaining to
Ralph which entries into the camp were safest.  But from the sound of
it, none of it was perfectly clear, and a young black private who came
running down to them told them what they already knew, that they were
hot hot hot, and as he said it, he stared longingly at Paxton.  Hey,
there, where you come from?  he whispered as they got down low near the
truck, and Ralph confirmed to her that what she heard were howitzers in
the distance.  The South Vietnamese Army, the ARVN, were supporting the
American troop movements.  But the Americans liked to rely on their
own.  In their opinion, their own guys were always better, and they
were fighting the NVA, the regular North Vietnamese Army, unlike the
VietCong, who were really just farmers although brave ones.  I'm from
Savannah, she said, trying to appear calm as she talked to the young
black guy.  Yeah?  Me too.  He gave her an address that didn't mean
much, and she smiled, suddenly thinking of Queenie.  How long have you
been here?  she asked with interest.  In Nam?  He grinned.  Hell, baby,
I'm two weeks short.  I'm starin' my DEROS right in the eye.  If I can
just keep my ass out of trouble for the next two weeks, I'm takin' that
freedom bird home to Georgia.

His DEROS was his date eligible for return from overseas.  And two
weeks short meant that he had been there for 380 days, 375 days longer
than Peter had lived when he got there.  What's yo' name?  She was
beautiful, and all he wanted to do was talk to her and touch her.  He
had a girlfriend at home, but that didn't stop him from wanting to talk
to Paxton.  Paxton.  Yeah?  He looked amused, and Ralph glanced at them
over his shoulder.  Keep down, he told her Iirmly.  They were all taken
into the flrebase after that, and it was an incredible view into a
picturesque-looking little valley, all green and very beautiful and
smoking with the constant exchange of flre.  There were planes flying
low overhead, and other planes were dropping bombs in the distance. 
The men called them birds dropping eggs.  The commander of the firebase
came to meet Ralph and his crew, and Ralph was careful to introduce him
to Paxton.  San Francisco, eh?  he asked, chewing on a cigar.  Great
town.  My wife and I love it.  Everyone loved someplace.  San
Francisco, Savannah, North, South, New Jersey, it didn't matter where
you were from.  You were alive and you were new, and they were so
desperate to go home and just stay alive, just touching someone from
anywhere meant everything to them.  We've had a lot of heat around
here, he explained.  The VA are determined to get through, and we're
just not going to let them.  We held this area pretty solidly last
year, and then we lost it.  And now that we have it back, we're not
letting it go again.  But Paxton couldn't help wondering how many men
it had cost them.  Taking a hill, a valley, a village, it all meant
such loss of life.  So many boys dead, and so many wounded.  He
explained again that they were doing pretty well.  They had lost only
five boys so far, and had a few dozen wounded.  Was that okay, then,
she asked herself, only five boys was fine but which five?  How did one
choose?  How did God?  And why had he chosen Peter?  Would you like to
come up a little closer?  We're taking a lot of shells, just stay in
the areas my boys tell you.  Ralph was pleased.  He wanted a better
view for the camera of the forward movements.  And they stayed there
all afternoon only falling back finally at three in order to eat some C
rations before they went back to the heat of the action.  And so far,
no one had been hurt.  It had been a pretty tame day all in all.  They
were just holding their position relentlessly, and now and then they
claimed that they could see Charlie.  But the truth was, you couldn't. 
You couldn't see anything, except smoke and gunfire, and the bushes. 
Well, kid, how's it feel?  You're in it now.  Ralph sat next to her for
a few minutes to smoke a cigarette and finish a cup of coffee.  How did
it feel when the Times sent you to Korea?  It scared the shit out of
me, he said with a grin.  That's about right.  She smiled nervously at
him.  Her stomach had been in a knot since early that morning.  Did you
eat?  She shook her head.

You should.  It'll help.  You've gotta keep eating and sleeping no
matter what they're doing out there, or you may get careless and do
something stupid.  Keep your judgment sharp.  That's the best piece of
combat advice I can give you.  She was grateful for him.  He was a nice
guy, and a terrific reporter.  She could see why the others were
jealous of him.  He was good, very good, and constantly on the alert
for anything that might happen.  Thanks for the boots, she said to him,
and he patted her on the shoulder.  Keep your helmet on and your head
down, and you'll be fine.  And with that he was off again, climbing
rapidly through some trees behind some soldiers, while she wondered if
she admired him or thought he was crazy.  And just as she thought that,
there was a huge explosion.  The cameramen ran down to where he'd been,
and the sound man right behind them, and without thinking of anything
but him, she found herself running too, and when she got there, there
were men lying all over the place and he was holding one of them, with
the boy's chest hanging wide open.  We need medics here, he said
calnily but lirmly, and someone ran to get one, and suddenly there was
a radio operator in their midst calling for a Dustoff.  I've got six
men down, he said into the phone, and as he said it Paxton felt one of
them touch her.  His arm was blown off, and there was blood everywhere,
and he had the face of a child as he looked up at her, and all he said
was I'm thirsty.  She had a canteen at her side, but she wasn't sure if
she should give him anything.  What if he wasn't supposed to drink?

If giving him something would kill him ... Two medics arrived and a
priest in a helmet who was attached to the unit and they started going
around to the boys who'd been wounded.  But the boy in Ralph's arms had
already died, and he was helping them with another.  I'm thirsty.  No
one had come to her boy yet, and he looked at her with anguish.  What's
your name?  Paxxie.  She stroked his face and laid his head down gently
in her lap as blood poured all over her legs and she tried to pretend
she didn't feel it.  My name's Paxxie, she said softly, stroking his
hair back gently from his face, and fighting back an urge to bend down
and kiss his cheeks like a baby, as she cried for him.  She tried to
smile through her tears but he didn't see it.  What's your name?  she
asked, to keep him talking.

Joe.  He was sounding vague from the loss of blood and shock, and he
started to close his eyes as she held him.  Come on, Joe, wake up you
can't go to sleep now that's right ... open your eyes.  She smiled at
him, and all around them everything was frantic.  They were trying to
carry the wounded boys into a clearing.  The priest was helping them,
and Ralph and the cameraman, too, and one of the medics was pounding on
someone's chest, and in a minute she could hear the helicopter whirring
overhead but they were shooting at it from the brush and it had to move
away again as the medic who'd been pounding the boy's chest shouted,
Shit!  He had lost him.  Where are you from, Joe?  Miami.  It was only
a whisper.  Miami.  That's great.  There were tears in her eyes and a
lump in her throat and she felt sick and her legs were soaked with his
blood as she held him, and the radio operator sitting right next to her
in the grass was telling the helicopter to take off again.  It was just
too hot there.  The hell I will .  the voice came back to them.  How
many you got down there?  The voice was steady and strong and he wasn't
going anywhere without their wounded.  I've still got four who need you
pretty bad.  And just as he said it, there was another huge explosion. 
Shit!  someone said, and the medics were off again, and someone came
back to talk to the radio operator and give him a report on the
wounded.  Make that nine.  I've got five more for you, Niner Zulu.  Can
you get me another bird down here quick?  We've got some guys who
aren't gonna wait too long.  And as she listened, Paxton closed her
eyes, and knew that the boy on her lap was one of them.  She tried to
catch the operator's eye, but he was too involved on the phone, and
Ralph was long gone with his cameramen somewhere else.  You okay?  a
passing voice asked, and she heard herself respond, much to her
amazement.  We're fine.  Right, Joe?

Right .  He was drifting off to sleep, and she touched his cheek to
wake him, trying not to look at the arm that wasn't there and the
bloody stump that was bleeding onto the ground beside her.  She thought
of trying to fashion a tourniquet, but she was afraid of making things
worse, and a moment later a medic was with him.

You're doing fine, son, just fine.  And then he smiled up at Paxton.

You're doing okay too.  And then she realized, the man reassuring her
was the boy from Savannah, and she felt as though they were old friends
now.  This is Joe.  She kept her voice light but glanced worriedly at
the arm as the helicopter hovered, and she could still hear the pilot's
voice on the radio near her.  This is Niner Zulu.

We're going in.  But we're coming in quick.  We're not coming down.

Just toss 'em in as fast as you can and we'll make a quick exit.

Shit, she heard someone say.  It was the word of the afternoon, but it
seemed appropriate so far, from what she'd seen around her.  How the
fuck does he think we're going to 'toss 'em in'?  the RTO asked anyone
who would listen.  Don't worry about it, one of the men said unhappily.
 If he waits much longer, we won't have to.  Of the second five, two
had already died.  They only had seven wounded left to transport, and
four had died in all.  It had been a stinking day, after a good
beginning.  But the chopper came down and hovered long enough for the
medics and the troops to put four men on board, and then a second
helicopter came for the others.  They were Huey medevacs and they
looked beautiful to Paxton as they came in.  She watched as two of the
men loaded Joe, and she found herself praying out loud that he would
make it.  And as she turned around, she suddenly saw two of the others
on the ground, their eyes open and unseeing, and the ARVN boys beside
them.  And she stumbled away, and was sick in the bushes: Ralph found
her there a little while later, looking ravaged and pale, with her
fatigues covered with blood, and even her hair smeared with blood where
she had touched it.  Don't feel bad, kid.  I got sick every day for six
months when I was in Korea.  He sighed and sat down for a minute beside
her.  Things had calmed down a little bit, but the touch of death was
everywhere, but at least the shelling didn't seem as intense now.  He
was thinking of going back to Saigon that night, instead of staying. 
We got a lot of good stuff today, he said, and Paxton looked at him
with horror.  Is that what you call this, 'good stuff'?  She was
suddenly reminded of Jean-Pierre, and his perfect shot of the dead
little girls holding hands.  It broke your heart to see it.  Ralph said
with open irritation, I didn't start this war.  I came to cover it. 
And maybe if I make people sick enough, they'll make it stop.

But if you came to cover cocktail parties at the officers' club, you're
in the wrong pew, because this war isn't pretty.  And if what you want
is laughs, maybe you should wait till Bob Hope turns up for Christmas. 
Oh, go fuck yourself.  She was angry and tired and depressed and sick
from what she had seen.  I'm here for the same reason you are.  Are
you?  Good.  Because this war needs more people like you and me. 
People who are willing to tell the truth about what they see, and maybe
even die for it.  People who aren't afraid of the truth.  Is that why
you're here?  She glared at him.  He was pressing her, but he liked the
way she responded.  She was tough and strong and she cared, and had
guts.  There were a lot of things he liked about her.  She was number
one, as the men called the things they approved of.  Yeah.  That's why
I'm here.  She glared at him.  I'm here to tell the truth about this
fucking ugly war.  Just like you, mister.  Is that the only reason?  he
asked pointedly, as they both calmed down a little bit, and she decided
to tell him what she'd told Jean-Pierre about Peter.  My fiance died
here almost two months ago.  He thought about it for a long time and
then he looked at her and said something that shocked her.  Forget him.
 How can you say a thing like that?  She was horrified, and hurt on
behalf of Peter.

Because whatever the reason is that brought you here, you have to
forget it now, if you're going to do a decent job here.  He's gone.

You can't help him.  But you can help other people like him, you can
help a whole country by reporting honestly and objectively.  If all you
want to do is avenge him, or chase after his memory, you won't do
anyone any good, not him, not yourself, not the people you've come to
write for.  He was right, and she knew it, but it still hurt to hear
it.  In one day, he expected her to grow up and give up the memory of
the boy she'd loved all through college.  But he was right.  As a
writer, she had to tell the world what she saw, not tell them the story
of Peter.  It was a terrible thing he'd said to her, but they both knew
there was a lot of truth to it.  They moved on to Hai Ninh that
afternoon, halfway back to Saigon, and they came across some fighting
there, and some developments that interested Palph.  And by the time
they were ready to go, the commanding officer there told them it was
too dangerous to go back that night.  They would have to wait until
morning.  They slept in trenches with the men, and Paxton lay there,
looking up at the stars and thinking of Peter.  Had it been like this
here for him?

Had he been scared?  Did be think it was beautiful?  Had he thought of
her?  And in the end, did it even matter?  Maybe Iaalh was right.

Maybe none of it mattered, except the truth, and the people who knew
it.  You okay?  He moved closer to her and offered her a cigarette, but
she declined.  She was so tired, and sick from what they'd seen, that
she hadn't even eaten dinner.  And the C rations they'd been given
weren't too tempting.  The rice and pho, a white noodle soup, the VH
ate looked a lot better.  I'm fine.  You don't look it.  She smiled. 
You don't look so great either.  But she had to admit he looked better
than she did.  I'm sorry if I was hard on you today.  But this is a
tough place.  And you can't comproinise your ideals, or ever forget why
you came here.  Ace it gets personal, it's all over.  And even if your
trip started out that way, it's not too late to change your sights and
keep a nice clean, objective goal in mind.  Just remember who you're
writing for, and what you want to say to them.  It'll keep you human. 
But you can't make this a personal vendetta.  Some of the grunts do
that, their buddies die, and they go half crazy, they run out into the
bushes to go after Victor Charlie, and they live about fourteen seconds
until they step on arnine and it blows their heads off, and they go to
the big PXin the sky, as they put it.  Whatever you do here, you can't
ever stop thinking.  The guys who survive here don't forget that for a
minute.  It was good advice, and she knew it.  I keep thinking about
that boy today ... Joe ... from Miami I don't even know his last name I
keep wondering if he's still alive.  He probably is, Ralph reassured
her.  He was lucky.  In Nha Trang, we were right near the 254th MDHA
unit.  They probably had him on an operating table in fifteen minutes
after he got picked up.  You probably made all the difference.  He
patted her arm, and tried to reassure her even if it wasn't true.  It
didn't matter.  She had done her best, and maybe the kid had lived
because of her.  There were so many of them, and he had seen so many
die and get wounded.  You got jaded after a while, and tired and
bitter.  All those kids being turned into raw beef.  It made you sick. 
It made you wonder why a girl like her wanted to be there.  They all
had to be a little crazy.  And if they weren't when they started, they
were when they left.  He smiled at her then.  You know, I can never get
your name straight.  I know the last name is Andrews.  But the first
name is something like Pattie, or Patton, isn't it?  Paxton.  She
grinned.  Just make sure you don't call me Delta Delta.  I might have
to if I can't remember Paxton.

And then he thought about it for a while, and suddenly he started to
laugh as they lay there in the trench side by side and she found
herself staring at him in irritation.  What is it?  My name?  No, I
like your name but I just had the funniest goddamn thought.  You're
from the Morning Sun in San Francisco, right?  She nodded.  Do you have
an uncle there?  Not really.  She blushed, but he couldn't see it.  A
mentor, I guess you'd call it.  My almost father-in-law is ...

pretty high up on the paper.  She didn't want to tell him he owned it. 
And the bureau chief here said he was getting frantic telexes from all
the powers that be at the Sun that someone's nephew was coming over
here for them, and whatever the hell he did, he was to keep him out of
trouble, and away from combat.  He looked her in the eye with a grin. 
Miss Paxton, I think that means you, and no one figured out you were a
girl.  Shit ... and what do I do?  I take you to the two hottest spots
we've got in one day.  He started to laugh and so did Paxxie.  I'm glad
no one figured out who I was.  So am I.

He smiled at her as they lay there, listening to the sound of an
occasional sNper.  I don't know how you write.  But you're a good
sport, and you've got guts.  The rest ought to come pretty easy.

Thank you.  She smiled at him.  Anytime.  You can come out on missions
with me anytime you want.  Providing you don't tell your uncle.  She
smiled again, and as she lay there, drifting off to sleep eventually,
she thought of Fd Wilson.  She'd orly been in VietNam for two days, and
it felt as though she hadn't seen him in years him, or Gabby, or San
Francisco or Peter.  Ralph and Paxton drove back to Saigon the next day
with their crew, and they were all quiet on the drive back.  It was
impossible to see death and pain and the loss of men and not feel it. 
It gets to you, doesn't it?

Ralph sat quietly, sitting next to her.  He had let the sound man sit
in the front with their driver.  Yeah.  She nodded.  She was still
thinking about the boy from Miami.  What would his life be like with
one arm?  Or worse, what if he hadn't lived through it?  And what were
they fighting for over there?  No one seemed sure anymore.  It all
seemed crazy.  You're going to get an education here, Palh said.

Most of the people who stay for a while are never the same again.

Why?  She was still looking for the answers.  I don't know ... they see
too much ... they care too much while they're here ... they get bitter
and angry and disillusioned.  They go back to the States and people
hate them, and treat them like murderers.  No one understands.  Back in
the States, people are listening to the radio, and hanging out in bars
and buying cars and chasing women.  They don't give a shit what's
happening here.  They never did.  And they don't want to hear it. 
VietNam Where's that?  Who cares?  It's just a bunch of gooks fighting
with each other fighting with each other, and killing us.  But everyone
forgets that.  These boys over here are getting their asses shot off
for nothing.  Do you really believe that?  It hurt her hearing it,
especially when she thought of Peter.  It was easier to believe that he
was a hero for dying here.  But the truth was that, even to her, he
wasn't.  I do.  And the sad thing is, so does everyone else.  Nobody
really cares what's happening here.  I don't think they even understand
it.  I'm not sure I do.  We're trying to save the South from the North,
like we did in Korea.  But this isn't the same thing.  The people in
the South are fighting us too.  You can't even tell who's VC and who
isn't.  Shit, most of the time I think they all are.  Christ, look at
the kids.

Most of them would blow your face off with a grenade just as soon as
look at you.  And knowing that makes people crazy.  Nobody knows who to
believe anymore, who to respect, who they're fighting.  Half the grunts
over here have more respect for Charlie than they do for their own C0s,
the VC fight harder than anyone.  And the ARVN, the southern army, is a
joke.  See what I mean?  It's all crazy.  And if you stay long enough,
you get crazy too.  Keep that in mind when you start to think about
staying.  The day you stop wanting to catch the next plane home about
ten times a day, that's the beginning of big trouble.  He was teasing
her a little bit, but he was sharing some important truths, too, and
she knew it.  There was something strangely seductive about VietNam
something that made you want to stay, something about the air and the
smells and the sounds and the people, the odd contrast of Saigon and
the incredible beauty of the countryside, the innocence of the faces,
and the agonies of the people.  You wanted to believe that they were
pure, that it was all hurting them and you could help them.  But that
was the question now.  Could we help them and save ourselves?  Or was
it all hopeless?

As they drove into Saigon at noon, Paxton had none of the answers.

Ralph dropped her off at the hotel, and went on to the AP office in the
Eden Building.  And as she walked across the lobby, she couldn't
believe how filthy she was.  Her fatigues were still covered with dried
blood, and dirt and sweat, and she looked awful.  She ran into Nigel on
the way, and he looked at her with a raised eyebrow.  My, my, you look
like you've had a busy day, or did you cut yourself shaving?  His
glibness irritated her, and she snapped at him as she pulled off her
helmet.  We were in Nha Trang.  And there were a lot of wounded.  They
seemed a lot to her, and she felt tears sting her eyes as she said it. 
Should I be surprised?  I believe that's why we're all here.  He was a
supercilious jackass, and his whole attitude annoyed her.  What are you
doing for dinner tonight?  I don't know.  I want to turn in my story. 
Because of her arrangement with the Sun, she had no real deadlines, she
was just going to send material in when she had it.  But she wanted to
get something off to them soon, to show them that she had come here to
work, and she was serious about what she was doing.  Maybe we'll catch
you later.  Did Ralph go home or to the office?  I'm pretty sure he
went to the office, she said, sounding exhausted.  You'd better get
some sleep.

You look knackered.  I am see you later.  . And she had every intention
of writing about what she'd seen, but as soon as she had a bath at her
hotel, and lay down 'just for a minute, she fell asleep and when she
woke up, it was dark and she was starving.  She went downstairs to the
dining room, and didn't see anyone she knew.

And when she tried to eat, she found she couldn't.  Even the pineapple
froth she had developed a taste for when she first arrived tasted
awful.  All she could think of was what she'd seen at Nha Trang.  And
alter a cup of bouillon, and some chao torn, little skewers of shrimp
paste, she went back upstairs and sat down to write her story.  She
wrote until two a.m., and she cried when she tried to describe the boy
from Miami, and the kid from Savannah.

She realized that she didn't even know his name.  But even that didn't
matter.  And when she was finished, she sat back in her seat, feeling
drained, but relieved.  Writing about them was almost like a catharsis.
 She tried to describe the beauty of VietNam the contrast of what she'd
seen, even in so little time, the horror of those maimed, the
sleaziness of the hookers, the noises in the streets, and the
incredible beauty driving north, the brilliant green, the rich red
earth, and yet the whole country silently ravaged and bleeding, and our
boys bleeding with it.  Bleeding for it.  It was a powerful piece and
she was pleased, and she wondered what they would think of it in San
Francisco.  She went to bed at three a.m., and she was at the AP office
the next day at nine o'clock, where she ran into Ralph, looking fresh
and businesslike in a clean white shirt and khakis.  What are you up
to, Delta Delta?

She smiled in spite of herself and he looked happy to see her.

Never mind that.  I want to send off my story.  Nha Trang?  he asked,
and she nodded.  I inquired, by the way.  All the boys they picked up
the other day made it, except one-her heart skipped a beat-the one who
didn't was a black kid from Mississippi.  So your boy must be doing Me.
 I thought that might make you happy.  She smiled in open relief and
his eyes were gentle as he watched her.  She was a good kid.  She
really was number one, top stuff.  She had a lot to learn, but she was
smart, and he liked her.  It doesn't always work out that way.  Maybe
you brought him luck.  He'll be going home now.  That was one way to do
it, with one arm.  But on the other hand, he wasn't going home in a
body bag either.  No big PX in the sky for him.  What are you doing
today?  Ralph asked.  Looking for trouble, she quipped, and he laughed.
 Watch out.  In this town, you'll find it.  So I've noticed.  If
nothing else, there was always Nigel Aucliffe, or the slightly married
Jean-Pierre, who was meeting his wife in Hong Kong that weekend.  Time
magazine is giving a party in their offices tonight, at the Continental
Palace.  Want to go?  Sure.

She wasn't sure if it was a date or just a friendly invitation, but she
didn't care.  She wasn't looking for romance, and every contact she
made would be helpful.  I'll meet you there.  He glanced at his watch,
and it was obvious he was in a hurry.  Six o'clock?  Fine.  She spent
the rest of the afternoon walking around Saigon again.  And as she did,
she was deeply affected by the children.  They were so vuinerable and
so young, and they looked so battered.  And yet, if you sat at the
cafes', they tried to sell you everything from heroin to cigarettes to
stolen soft drinks.  She knew she would write a story about them later.
 It was a strange world, a long way from the world she knew.  But as
she looked around her, she was glad that she had come here.  She went
back to her hotel at five o'clock, and changed into a flowered print
silk dress, and a new pair of sandals, and then she walked down the Tu
Do to the Continental Palace.  It was easy to believe that this had
been a lovely city once, when it was French.  It still was lovely, in
many ways, but just beneath the surface, one sensed a constant tension.
 Even sitting in the cafes, people were constantly aware that the enemy
was everywhere, and a bomb could be hurled into their midst at any
moment.  When she got to the hotel, she walked past the action at the
terrace bar, and as usual, she caught a glimpse of Nigel.  He was
entertaining two army nurses, one of them was sitting on his lap, and
the other one was running her fingers through his hair and laughing. 
Paxton didn't say anything and went quietly upstairs to the Time Inc. 
office.  There was a nice crowd there, and Ralph was already waiting,
engaged in animated conversation with the bureau chief, about the
upcoming Democratic Convention in Chicago.  There had been riots
everywhere that year, ever since the murder of Martin Luther Kmg, and
the more recent killing of Robert Kennedy.

And Ralph was making dire predictions.  I think it's going to be a mess
in Chicago.  And as he said it, he noticed Paxton.  He greeted her with
a warm smile, introduced her to everyone, and eventually guided her
around the room with a practiced hand, while treating her like his
little sister.  She was very touched, and she told him so over a glass
of Scotch after she had met everyone he thought was important.  I
really mean it, Ralph.  If it weren't for you, I'd still be sitting in
my hotel room.  Maybe you'd be better off.  He took a long swig of
bourbon.  I felt pretty guilty yesterday when we got back.  Maybe Nha
Trang was a little heavy for a first taste of what's going on here.  I
don't think so, she said quietly, looking into his eyes, that's what
I'm here for.  And then he grinned.  I was right, by the way.  I did a
little careful 'investigating' yesterday, when we got back.  You're the
one everyone is supposed to be watching out for and taking to parties
at the embassy and the Golden Ghetto.  It was once a fancy apartment
building on Gia Long Street.  I hope no one figures that out.  She
grinned.  They won't.  He smiled in answer.  No one has time to
baby-sit here.  Speaking of which, he looked at her cautiously, are you
interested in another mission?  I'm going to Cu Chi, to do a story on
the tunnels.  I thought you might like it.  I'd love it.  Five o'clock
again?  He laughed.  She looked so serious and so anxious.  I'll pick
you up at eight.  That should be plenty of time.  And wear your combat
gear again.  Paxton raised an eyebrow.  No tea parties at the officers'
club?  My friends in San Francisco will be very disappointed.  He
winked at her.  Don't worry about it, Delta Delta, just send them some
doughnuts.  She pretended to swing at him, and he ducked and left a few
minutes later.  She talked to a number of other reporters after that,
and eventually she went back downstairs and avoided Nigel on the
terrace.  He was extremely drunk by then, and was looking very amorous
with one of the nurses.  Paxton went back quietly to her hotel, had
dinner in her room, and was asleep by ten o'clock.  She was waiting for
Ralph Johhson in the lobby at eight o'clock sharp the next morning.  He
had a different crew with him this time, a single photographer, and a
different driver.  And they had an army-issue jeep, and a young marine
as their driver.  He was a big friendly kid, with a redheaded crew cut
and blue eyes, and a tattoo of a cowboy on his chest and he said he was
from Montana.

And Paxton tried not to smile when he said his name was Cowboy.  He was
nineteen years old and he'd been in Nam since the previous Christmas. 
He had six more months till he went home, but he said he was pretty
happy there.  He was temporarily assigned to the Information Agency,
and he'd been driving reporters and visiting dignitaries all over the
countryside.  And as long as we don't hit no mines, or get shot at by
no gooks, I like it fine.  He grinned at them, and Paxton decided he
was a lucky kid.  He could have been up north being shot at with the
others.  The drive to Cu Chi took forty-five minutes, and they spent
most of it talking about horses and riding, and growing up, and
eventually Ralph and Paxton started to talk about the story they
wanted.  The photographer they had with them was French.  His name was
Yves and he was a friend of Jean-Pierre.  He kept to himself mostly,
and spoke fairly limited Enghsh, which made him seem shy, but he really
wasn't.  Ralph had worked with him before, and liked him very much, and
he was pleased to have him along for the day's mission.  He was good
and quiet and meticulous about his work, not unlike Paxton.  Cu Chi
Base is an interesting place, Ralph explained to Paxxie on the way. 
It's the headquarters of the 25th 'Tropic Lightning' Infantry Division
from Hawaii.  They built the base more than two years ago, over the
tunnels the VC had built there, and they figured they had them all
sealed up.  But they were wrong.  The VC seem to keep right on
operating right under their feet and they've had nothing but headaches
with Cu Chi since they got there.  It's a huge base, and it's right
across the Saigon River from the Iron Triangle, where we've had some of
the worst fighting all along.  What are we doing there today?  She was
grateful for every bit of information.  They've uncovered a whole new
network of tunnels out there.  I thought it might make a good story. 
The guys who deal with that shit are called tunnel rats, and they're an
amazing group.  Tough as nails, with nerves of steel.  You couldn't get
me into one of those tunnels for anything in this world.  The VCs have
a whole subterranean world down there.  They tried to clear most of it
out when they cleared the Iron Triangle last year.  But that still
didn't do it.  They even found a whole hospital complex down there last
year in Than Dien Forest, just north of the Iron Triangle.  The VC are
amazing little people.  There was a lot more to what the GIs referred
to as the gooks and diN than met the eye, and Ralph knew it.  They were
a sharp, wily, hardy, incredibly courageous people who would fight to
the death against the ARVN, the army of the South, and the Americans
who helped them.  Do you think I could go down into the tunnels? 
Paxton asked with fascination, and Ralph shook his head with a look of
horror.  Don't do anything like that, Pax.  It's too dangerous and it
makes me claustrophobic thinking about it.  He almost shuddered but she
disagreed.  I think it would be fascinating.  I think you're crazy. 
They rode the rest of the way in silence.  She was impressed by how big
Cu Chi Base was when they got there, and how well organized.  It was a
lot different than their trip to the firebase near Nha Trang two days
before, until they were directed to a region well behind the base,
still overgrown with vegetation.  The heat seemed to rise from the
brush, and there were troops everywhere, with bulldozers cutting down
trees and bush- Put your fiak jacket back on, Ralph instructed her
absentmindedly while saying something to Yves, and waving to someone in
the distance.  Why?  The heat was stifling, and no one else had one on.
 Most of the men were working bare-chested with just their fatigue
pants and combat boots.  A number of them had even taken off their
helmets.  No one else is wearing them.  Do what I tell you to do, he
snapped, they should be wearing them too.  Cu Chi is famous for
snipers.  She made a face and put the heavy vest back on, and then
started to take off her helmet, but another glance from him stopped
her.  Like the troops, she had started carrying her suntan lotion and
bug repellent in her helmet strap5

And most of them carried their cigarettes there too, playing cards, and
whatever other odds and ends they needed.  She noticed that everyone
kept their M-l6's nearby, and most of the men kept their standard issue
45's tucked into their belts or in holsters.  She had been warned when
she arrived, not to carry arms, but in the past few days she had
learned that many people did carry guns.  You could buy almost anything
on the black market.  But she had no desire whatsoever to have one. 
And as Paxton rearranged her gear, a tall thin man walked up to them. 
He was the man Ralph had been waving to.  He had sandy hair and light
eyes, and an easygoing smile, but the tension in his eyes, and a
constant wary air belied his casual manner.  Hello, Quinn.  Looks like
you're keeping your boys busy.

Captain William Quinn, of the 25th Infantry shook hands with Ralph and
Yves, and extended a friendly hand to Paxton.  Nice to have you all
here.  And then he turned back to Ralph.  We found a beauty here this
week, after I saw you.  Christ, this mother must go clear back to
Kansas.  He looked apologetically at Paxton, and as he gestured toward
an area they had cleared, she noticed his wedding band.  He was a
good-looking man.  He was thirty-two, had gone to West Point, and was
career army.  He looked at Paxton then, with a shy smile.  Do you work
for the Associated Press too?  His eyes seemed to look deep into hers
and for a moment she forgot what he had asked her.  He was a very
handsome man, and there was an aura of quiet power about him, an air of
total control, and yet there was something more too, something faintly
wild and maybe even a little crazy.  I no, I'm from the Morning Sun in
San Francisco.  Nice town.  I was based in the Presidio for a while
before I came here.  And that was where he had left his wife, but he
didn't say that.  She's my new protegee, Ralph explained with a smile. 
Kind of reminds me of myself when I went to Korea.  Although I think I
was a lot less ballsy than she is, he said by way of a compliment, and
she thanked him.  Anytime, Delta Delta, he teased as they followed
Captain Quinn to the clearing.  There were tools and equipment and men
everywhere, and if you looked down at the ground, here and there you
saw small holes, which barely looked big enough for a child to enter. 
Christ, is that it?  Ralph looked amazed as he got down on the ground
and peeked into one.  Normally they were totally hidden and you could
see no entrance at all, but Quinn and his men had uncovered all the
openings they could find, so now you could see the tunnels more
clearly.  And you could even see the bamboo tubes they used for
breathing when they were down there.  I assume they widen after a
while.  But Bill Quinn shook his head.  Not always.  They're amazing
little folks He said it almost with respect and humor.  It took us six
days to blast the little buggers out of here.  They're a tenacious lot.
 Yeah.  Ralph nodded.  They always have been.  Bill Quinn showed them
around, and Paxton asked if she could go in a few feet just to see what
she could.  Most of the Americans were even too big to fit, with their
large bodies and broad shoulders.  But she was lithe and supple and she
wanted to see what was underground.  She borrowed Yves' camera and a
light and followed one of the small, wiry tunnel rats, one of Quinn's
men, and after a few minutes she was breathless.  She was pale and
covered with dirt when she emerged, gasping a little, and more than a
little frightened.

There was still a smell of death down there, and the man who had gone
with her explained that they hadn't pulled them all out yet.

It was a horrifying thought to think of the dead VC decaying somewhere
down there.  But everything around them was like that.  Nha Trang had
been just as frightening in its own way, more so with the open firing
and the desperately wounded.  This was subtler and more ominous, even
though the lieutenant assured them that all the tunnels were clear now,
and the only VC down there were dead ones.

Do you use dogs?  she asked, still impressed by the experience, and he
was impressed with her.  She was the first American woman who had been
willing to go down there.  Even Yves, Ralph's photographer, had been
less than enthusiastic.  But she was young and smart and interested,
and that made a difference.  And she was also very pretty, the captain
had noted, when she freed her cascade of blond hair from her helmet. 
Very pretty.  And he felt as though he'd been at Cu Chi forever.  We do
use dogs, he explained.  But we lose so damn many of them, we try not
to.  We'd rather use men, they can fire into the tunnels, the dogs
can't.  At least our guys have a chance.  But admittedly, not a great
one.  It was a frightening thought, and she felt a chill run up her
spine as they moved on, and came to another opening, this one
surrounded by bamboo air tubes.  This was a good one here, Quinn went
on.  There were seven men and a woman.  We figure they've been here all
year, maybe longer.  Right under their noses.  They came out at night,
he explained, and did whatever damage they could at the base, sabotage,
plastic bombs, hand grenades, sniping.  We've had a I hell of a
problem.  It was quite an understatement, and for the first time,
Paxton started to make notes, as a sergeant approached Quinn and told
him there was a report of a sniper up ahead.  He glanced at Paxton, and
at Quinn again.  Do you want them to go back to the base?  He seemed
irritated to have the press there at all, and the glance he shot at
them was neither warm nor friendly.  But Bill Quinn seemed unconcerned.
 He checked his watch, and said something to the RTO, to find out if he
had radio contact with the boys who were searching the brush areas they
hadn't cleared yet.  No, they're fine here, Bill Quinn told the
sergeant, and then went on talking to the RTQ before he explained to
Ralph that there was one sniper, possibly two, and they had reason to
believe there might be another tunnel up ahead.  You might even get a
chance to see how we clear them, he said easily, with a smile at
Paxton.  She didn't know it yet, but he was famous in VietNam He and
his men bad found and cleared more tunnels than anyone in the history
of the war, and several times, he had gone down himself, been wounded
four times, decorated twice, and all his men adored him.  You have to
be a little crazy to be a tunnel rat, he always said, and it was
something he looked for in his men.  Something terribly brave and wild,
and yet controlled enough to do what they were told.  They had to be
willing to die in a space barely big enough to move in.  And it was
Paxton's willingness to go down for a look that had intrigued him.  But
his sergeant was much less intrigued with her.

He was clearly annoyed when they got the confirmation of the second
sniper.  Shall I take them back now, sir?  I don't think so, Sergeant,
Quinn said firmly.  I don't think they came all the way out here for
lunch.  I think this is what they came for.  Like Cowboy, their driver,
he was from the Northwest, and he had an easygoing, seemingly
slow-moving style, but his men knew he could change to the speed of a
rattlesnake about to strike in a single instant.  Would you like
something to drink?  he asked as he turned to Paxton.  She was dying of
thirst, and grateful for the icy Coke that niiraculously materialized
from an ice chest.  He found some for Ralph and Yves, too, and a little
while later they removed to a tent in a small clearing, which he called
his office.  He answered all their questions for them, and stayed in
contact with his RTO, and after two more calls, he frowned and said he
thought he'd better get back outside.  He didn't like the sound of the
reports about the snipers.  He looked serious when they moved forward
again, and this time he told Paxton and Ralph to fall back.  Yves was
crouching low in the brush and taking pictures with a long lens of
something that had struck his interest.  And then, barely more than an
instant after they'd moved forward again, there was sudden movement in
the brush, and an explosion of artillery fire just ahead, as everyone
dove to the ground, including Paxton.  Bill Quinn crept ahead, and the
boy on the radio was frantically trying to make contact with someone. 
Come in, Lone Ranger, this is Tonto ...

Lone Ranger, do you hear me?  What you got there?  The voice that came
back was staccato.  And the RTQ reported in rapid order to the
sergeant.  They had two snipers, and six VC, who had appeared seemingly
from nowhere.  Quinn was right.  They had another tunnel.

Ralph looked at her as they crouched close to the ground, and she was
suddenly grateful that she had kept on her fiak jacket and her helmet. 
We picked a nice day to come here, Ralph said ruefully.  At least it's
not dull.  She smiled, trying not to appear frightened.

You've been here too long, he said above the noise.  You're becoming a
hardened case.  And as he said it, the sergeant reappeared at their
side, with an irritated look at Paxton.  The captain wants you to fall
back, please, he said, sounding like an elevator operator in a
department store, and his manner instantly annoyed both Ralph and
Paxton.  Any reason why members of the press are being excluded?

Ralph asked brusquely, checking around for Yves, who was still taking
pictures with his long lens and seemed satisfied with what he was
getting.  Yeah, I'd say there's a good reason, mister, the young
sergeant snapped.  You've got a woman with you, and we'd prefer it if
neither of you got shot, if you don't have any objection.  His accent
was pure New York, and so were his manners.

Sound reasonable to you?  No, as a matter of fact.  Ralph looked him
straight in the eye as Paxton watched.  I don't think sex has anything
to do with press.  If she's willing to take her chances, buddy, let
her.  He wasn't being unkind, he was treating her with respect, and
Paxton liked it.  He figured that if she was in VietNam , she was there
to do a job, and she was.  And she was grateful to him.  And you're
willing to take the responsibility if she gets killed?  the sergeant
from New York almost snarled.  The name tag on his fatigues said
Campobello.  No, I'm not, Ralph said fairly.  She took that
responsibility herself when she took this job, just like I did just
like you did, Sergeant.  Be my guest.  He turned around and crawled
through the brush, and a moment later, she followed Ralph a little
closer to the action.  They had moved ahead now, and the radio operator
had called in a couple of choppers to take a closer look, and now the
VC were firing at the chopper.  Lone Ranger . He was calling him again.
 What you got?  There was a yell of pleasure at the other end.  Hello
there, Tonto, I got two Indians down, and one wounded ... very nice
thank you for the assistance, and keep those cards and letters coming. 
And then suddenly a more ferocious sound.  The M-60 machine gun had
exploded into action ...

two hand grenades and then suddenly before she knew it, somebody had
grabbed her.  A powerful arm had come up and around her shoulders, and
she was being dragged backward by a force so strong, she didn't know
what had hit her.  And as she hit the ground, she felt the shudder of
what seemed like an enormous explosion.  The VC were throwing hand
grenades now, too, and one had just missed her.

The radio operator had deserted his post, and Ralph dove into the bush
almost into the arms of the sergeant.  But she would have been hit, if
Bill Quinn hadn't grabbed her and run like hell, risking his life with
hers.  And as she lay facedown in the dirt, with his long limbs
sprawled across hers, it took a moment to realize what had happened. 
Did I hurt you?  He looked concerned as she shook her head, and moved
around a little stiffiy, but he told her to keep her head down, even
though the ground troops had advanced on the VietCong and the sounds of
gunfire were a little farther in the distance.  No, I'm fine.  But he
had knocked the wind out of her, and he dusted her face off, and then
he smiled.  You look like a kid who just took a fall in the dirt.  I
feel like a kid whose life has just been saved.  She looked at him
seriously.  Thank you.  He seemed urimpressed and unruflled, but it was
what he was famous for, and why people liked him.  He would have done
anything for his men, at any cost to himself, and he never asked anyone
to do anything he wouldn't do himself.  Which was why he was so deeply
loved and trusted.  I guess Tony's right I should have waited a few
days before I had you all come out here.  I didn't realize Ralph would
bring a friend.  He looked at her apologetically and then helped her up
slowly.  I'm glad we came.  The tunnels are amazing.  He smiled in
answer, impressed by her pluck, and pleased by her fascination with the
tunnels.  It was a job he had come to love, as long as he had to be
there.  There was a real challenge to it, some mystery, a lot of
danger, and you had to think the way they did to catch them.  I like
what I do.  He smiled quietly and she found herself anxious to write a
story about him, but she was afraid to ask.  This was Ralph's turf, not
hers, and she didn't want to annoy Quinn, or step on anyone's toes by
being pushy.  The sergeant had already made it clear enough that they
were all intruders.  And now that things had gotten more complicated,
she didn't want to annoy him.  You'll have to come back again, after we
clear this one.  You wouldn't believe what you find down there.  She
still remembered the stench of the tunnel she'd barely entered.  I
mean, weapons.  Most of the weapons the VC use are stolen or captured
from the GIs, he explained, artillery, Soviet goods, Chinese tools,
medical supplies, textbooks ... it really teaches you something.  He
seemed to regard tunnel warfare as the ultimate challenge.  But she was
almost more interested in him than in what he was doing.  What kind of
man pursued an entire subterranean world, looking for an enemy no one
else could find, but everyone knew was there?  What kind of man could
win a war like that, or was willing to die trying?  How long are you in
VietNam for?  he asked quietly as they went to look for Ralph and Yves.
 The action had moved far ahead now, and the sergeant was keeping close
tabs on things, along with the choppers.

A few weeks?  Six months.  She smiled.  She already felt as though
she'd been there for that long, and it had been less than a week since
her arrival.  You're pretty young to come this far, to cover a war like
this one.  She was a brave girl and he liked that.  The truth was, he
liked everything about her.  Her looks, her balls, her guts, the way
she'd gone unhesitatingly into the tunnel.  He'd never met another
woman like her.  Are you sorry you've come yet?  No.  She looked him in
the eye.  I'm glad.  Glad and sad and scared, and sometimes happy.  She
knew she was in the right place at the right time, and that was at
least something.  He'd been about to tell her how much he admired her
when suddenly Sergeant Canipobello reappeared and told him he was
needed.  Both snipers had been wounded and caught, two of the others
were dead, and four had fled, presumably back into their tunnel.  But
if the snipers talked, they might get the exact location of the tunnel.
 I'd better get back to work, he said with a quiet smile.  I'll see you
before you leave.

And then he was gone with Sergeant Campobello, and she went to find
Ralph and Yves.  She was covered with dirt, and almost looked like one
of the men now.  You had a close call.  Ralph looked at her
disapprovingly.  You damn well better pay attention or you're going to
get your brains blown out.  He hadn't liked her going down into the
tunnel either.  Pay attention, Delta Delta.  These people aren't
shooting blanks out there.  ' I m being perfectly careful, she snapped
at him.  They threw a fucking hand grenade my way.  They almost got the
radio operator too.  What do you expect me to do, wait in the parking
lot while you get the stories?  she blazed at him, and suddenly he
laughed.  She was just like he had been at her age, anxious to get out
there and stick her neck out, and get the biggest and the best and the
most dangerous story.  Okay, kiddo, go for it.  But don't come crying
to me if you get wounded.  I won't, she grumbled as she dusted herself
off again and he continued to laugh at her.  You look like shit, you
know that?  And with that, she started to laugh too.  It had been an
interesting day, and she liked Bill Quinn, maybe even a little more
than she should have.  He came back after a while, when they were ready
to leave, and thanked them for coming to Cu Chi, and he offered Paxton
a tour of the base next time.  In the meantime, he had to leave them
pretty quickly.  They were busy interrogating the prisoners.  See you
in Saigon, Ralph.

Maybe we can have dinner next week.  Ralph nodded, and Quinn waved to
them as they drove off.  They didn't see the sergeant again, which was
probably just as well, Paxton decided.  He obviously hated them, and
had no desire to cooperate with the press.  Not that it mattered. 
They'd done a good day's work, and both she and Ralph had gotten good
stories.  Yves said he'd gotten some good shots too.

He'd gotten a great one when they shot one of the snipers.  It was sick
what constituted greatness here.  Two dead men and a wounded girl made
a great story here, a great shot, maybe even an award for brilliant
journalism.  It was strange how you won the prize for watching people
die here.  But as they drove toward Saigon, all she could think of was
Bill Quinn and his body covering hers as the grenade went off, the
sheer power of him as he protected her, and the look in his eyes when
she rolled over.  She felt guilty thinking about it.  He was a married
man, and Peter bad only been dead for a little over two months, and yet
there was something, a raw energy about the man that was undeniable, an
electric current that drew her to him and that she found irresistibly
exciting.  For the next week, Paxton stayed close to Saigon.  She wrote
the story of the incident at Cu Chi, and a separate story just
describing the tunnels.  The paper was running her articles under the
caption Message from Nam, by Paxton Andrews.  And so far they had
printed them all, and the Sun was syndicating them, which meant they
might even turn up in Savannah, which she knew might impress her mother
and brother.  But it was Pd Wilson who called her himself and praised
her for her insights and her obvious courage.  You didn't go down in
one of those tunnels yourself, did you, Pax?  She smiled as she
listened to him.  And tears came to her eyes.  He was so far away now. 
I'm fine was all she said in answer to his questions.  She asked him to
let her mother know that she was alright too.  She hadn't had time to
write to her yet and she knew she should have.

She sent her love to Gabby and Matt and missis Wilson, and after she
spoke to him, she felt homesick for a day.  But she got busy writing
another story.  She rented a car and drove herself to Bien Hoa, and she
felt incredibly brave and independent.  At twenty-two she was halfway
around the world, discovering things she had never even dreamt of.  She
was also fascinated with the black market, so one after- noon she went
to Tan Son Nhut Base, where she'd arrived, to talk to some people there
about the mass theft from the PX, of items that filtered directly into
the black market, including uniforms and weapons.  And as she walked
slowly across Tan Son Nhut Base at sunset, she found herself watching a
tall man in combat uniform far ahead.  He had a rolling gait and a
stride that seemed somehow familiar.  But the sun was in her eyes, and
she couldn't see who he was.  She knew so few people in Saigon anyway,
that she couldn't imagine it was anyone she really knew.  And a minute
later, he stopped and turned around to talk to someone.  And as he did,
he glanced at her, and then he walked slowly toward her.

It was Captain William Quinn, from Cu Chi, and he looked incredibly
handsome as he approached her, and in spite of herself, she could feel
her heart pounding.  Hi there, he said, looking down at her as though
he'd been waiting for her there.  He had a slow smile that said he was
seldom in a hurry.  He always seemed to be relaxed and at ease, and yet
from somewhere deep inside him you could sense an almost electrical
tension.  What brings you here?  And then he grinned.  You look a hell
of a lot cleaner than the last time I saw you.  She'd had dirt all over
her face after she dived into the ground, covered by him, to avoid the
hand grenade.  And now she was wearing a white linen dress and flowers
in her hair, and bright red sandals.  Thank you.  I'm doing a story on
the thefts at the PX, of items that mysteriously reappear in the black
market.  Oh, that.  He looked intrigued.  If you can solve that one,
you get the Congressional Medal of Honor.  But I think a lot of people
here have a pretty big investment in seeing that you don't.  You're
talking some mighty big money.  So I gather.  Are you down from Cu Chi
for a while?  He shrugged nonchalantly.  Just a quick meeting with the
general.  I was going to drive back tonight.  He paused and she didn't
know why, but she held her breath, waiting for him.  She didn't want to
care, but she did.  She was so drawn to him, she could hardly make
sense in his presence.  He made her feel ternbl young, and in other
circumstances than these, she would have felt almost silly.  I know
it's short notice, he said quietly, but is there any chance you'd want
to grab a bite to eat before I drive back?  I'm in no particular hurry.
 He looked deep into her eyes and the sheer power of him almost made
her tremble.  He was an odd combination of strength and gentleness that
was difficult not to find appealing.  Her heart skipped a beat.  I'd
love that.  He seemed pleased and then thought about it for a moment. 
How foolish would it seem to you if we went to the officers' club here
on the base for a hamburger and a miIkshake?  I've had a hankering for
one all week, he confessed, looking like a kid, and she laughed.  He
walked her across the base as they chatted easily about Saigon, and the
hotel where she stayed, and where she'd gone to school.  He had played
football at West Point, he explained, which was easy to believe after
the save he'd made the other day, rescuing her from the hand grenade. 
And when they walked into the club, the Beatles were on the jukebox,
and lots of people were dancing.  There was an easy, down-home Amencan
feeling in the air, and for the second time since she'd arrived, she
felt suddenly homesick.  The first time was when she talked to Peter's
father in San Francisco.  They ordered hamburgers and fries, and she
had a Coke, and he had a beer, and they watched the people dancing and
listening to the music.  The Beatles were followed by (I Can't Get No)
Satisfaction, everyone's favorite, and Proud Mary, which Paxton had
liked when she was at Berkeley.  So when did you graduate?  he asked
comfortably as they listened to the music and chatted.  He seemed
somehow younger here, as though the pressure was off him and he could
relax, and she no longer sensed his underlying tension.  And she
laughed at his question.  I didn't.  She grinned sheepishly.  I
should've graduated in June, but I dropped out.  That's perfect, he
smiled, perfectly in tune with your whole generation.  He was teasing
her and he didn't seem to care, and it no longer seemed so dramatic as
they sat there.  Whether she had her degree or not was of absolutely no
importance.  Things kind of piled up on me last spring, and I got I
don't know disillusioned.  And now?  He looked her straight in the eye.
 He didn't really care what she'd done in school.  He was interested in
her as a grown-up.  This was a grown-up world filled with real life and
urgency, and people who died suddenly, whether or not they had gone to
college.  It no longer seems very important.

VietNam does that to you, he said cryptically, sipping at his beer, and
Paxton tried not to focus on how handsome he was.  After all, he was
married.  The things you used to care about don't matter much anymore,
the house, the car, all the little bullshit stuff that used to seem so
important.  And the things you took for granted matter a lot ... it's
the people you care about here ... that you stay alive for.  His eyes
never left her.  Home seems a long way away sometimes, and yet
supposedly, that's what we all fight for.  And is home what you're
fighting for?  she asked softly.  I'm not sure anymore.  I'm not sure
what the hell we're fighting for here, if you want to know the truth. 
This is my fourth tour here, and I swear I don't know why I do it. 
We're supposed to be winning the hearts and minds of the people, but
that's crap, Paxton.  We're not winning shit.  All they can see is that
we're killing their people and destroying their country.  And they're
right, we are.  So why do you stay?  she asked sadly.  She kept wanting
to know why people volunteered to be there.  No one really knew why
they were there, except the boys who'd been drafted.  The others didn't
seem to know, and if they had known once, they had long since
forgotten.  I stay because they're killing American boys over here. 
And if I stay, maybe I can protect them.  Maybe I've been doing what I
do long enough to know how to do it just a little better.  Or maybe
not, he said with a sigh, finishing his beer, maybe it doesn't make a
fucking bit of difference.  It was a disheartening thought, but
something everyone had said at one point or another.  Everyone felt, at
some time, that what they were doing was futile.  You're a brave girl,
he said then, remembering her willingness to go down into the tunnel. 
No one else who's visited the base has ever done that, no woman anyway.
 And most of the men are scared to death, too, but they won't admit it.
 His eyes shone bright with admiration.  Thank you.  Maybe I'm just
stupid.  Maybe we all are, he said gently.  He had lost two more men
the day after she left, including the young radiotelephone operator
whose call name was Tonto.  But he didn't tell her that.  This wasn't
the time or the place for that, and it didn't really matter.  They
walked out into the warm night air afterward and strolled for a little
while.  At least on the base, they were relatively safe.  Except, even
there, from time to time, there were bombs or snipers.  I'd like to
show you some of this country sometime.  It's a beautiful place, even
now.  There were times when he really loved it.  Id like that.  I went
to Bien Hoa last week.  I want to see more, but I'm not quite sure
where to go yet.  I could show you, he said softly, and then he turned
to her.

I'm not quite sure what to do about you, he said with a look of
confusion.  I ... I've never met anyone quite like you.  She was
flattered and she was drawn to him and she didn't know what to say
either.  What about your wife?  She decided to be open with him, and
she wanted him to be honest with her, and he looked as though he would
be.  We've been married for ten years, since I graduated from the
Point.  We have three kids.  Three girls, funnily enough.  He smiled. 
Somehow I always thought I'd have sons.  And she's fed up to the gills
with the army.  She was an army brat, too, just like I was, and I
thought she knew what she was getting into, but she didn't.  Or maybe
she did, and she just didn't figure she'd get so tired of it.  She
wants me to come home now, and I'm just not ready.

Do you love her?  Paxton looked him squarely in the eye, she wanted to
know what this man was about, and he wanted to tell her.  I did.

I don't know anymore.  I meet her in Tokyo a couple of times a year, or
Hong Kong, and we fight about the future.  She wants me to get a job,
and I'm not sure I could anymore.  I'm thirty-two, and what the hell do
you sell?  The fact that you've been crawling around in VC tunnels for
four years?  The fact that you haven't stepped on a land mine?  That
you take pretty good care of your men?  What would that make me?  A
good director at a Boy Scout camp?  I don't know.  I was trained for
this.  I guess that's it, he said sadly, I'm a trained killer.  How
many men have you saved since you've been here?  Paxton asked quietly. 
Isn't that really what you do best?  Saving your men from being killed
by the others?  Maybe.  She was very perceptive, and he liked that.  He
liked how smart she was, and how honest, and how gutsy, and how pretty.
 She was everything Debbie wasn't.  His wife complained all the time,
and whined, about the kids, and the house where they lived, and her
parents, and his, and VietNam and their pay, and the PX, until he just
couldn't stand it.  He wanted something more than that.  But he didn't
know what yet.  Or he hadn't.  Until the week before, when he'd seen
Paxton.  I want you to know something.  He wanted to be straight with
her.  I've gone out with a couple of other women before.  Nothing
important.  A couple of nurses a Wac in Long Binh a girl in San
Francisco once, but it was always on the up-andup.  They knew I was
married and it was just a quick, straight thing.  But I don't even know
if you like me but this is different I've never met a woman like you. 
. And he wanted her to know that.  She smiled in the light where they
stood, and without thinking, she reached up and touched his cheek. 
Thank you.

And the gesture brought tears to his eyes.  No one had touched him like
that in so long that he had forgotten what it felt like.  I think I'm
in love with you.  Is it possible for a grown man to fall in love with
a girl in a place like this and have anything good come of it?  He
didn't see how, and yet there was an intensity to their situation here,
a sense that Ille was only for the moment.  I don't know.  She looked
sad for a moment, thinking of Peter.  And this was so different.  This
was only for now, with no promise of anything more, no tomorrow, and
very probably no future.  I never thought I'd leave my wile, he said
honestly, as they walked along, and I'm not sure I would.  We've been
married for a long time and I love my children.  How often do you see
them?  Paxton asked.  Not very often.  She brought them to Honolulu
last time, but it was tough.

We're practically strangers now.  This thing over here has been hard on
them, and on her, I guess.  At least I'm not in a hell ofa lot
ofdanger.  That's not what it looked like the other day.  He shrugged
it off.  To him, it was nothing.  You know what I mean.  Hell, the fly
boys go up and they get shot down by Charlie and the next thing you
know they're POWs.  I'm pretty much behind the lines most of the time. 
Except that they both knew there were no clearly defined lines here. 
She turned to him then, there was something she had to say to him.  I
don't want anything.  You don't have to make me any promises, say
anything.  I don't expect you to tell me you'll get a divorce so I'll
go out with you.  We don't even know each other yet.

Why don't we just see what happens.  Do you mean that?  No promises?

No deals?  No 'I'll love you till the day I die?"  he said, as he
gently put an arm around her shoulders.  But she stopped walking then
and looked up at him.  Just don't die.  That's all I ask of you.

Is that a deal?  She looked earnestly up at him with his great height
and broad shoulders.  I promise.  Good.  Then that's settled.

And they walked on, and they talked and laughed, and passed other
couples doing the same thing, and she wondered if he was concerned if
other people saw him, but he didn't seem to be, and after a while he
stopped and laughed as he looked at her.  Where the hell are we going? 
We've walked halfway to the DMZ tonight.  I swear we've walked this
base from one end to the other.  She laughed too.

She was just enjoying being with him and it all seemed a little crazy. 
I guess I should go back to my hotel.  I'Il follow you back, he said
regretfully, he hated to leave her.  Where are you staying?

The Caravelle.  How about a drink at the penthouse?  They both felt as
though they had something to celebrate, but she wasn't sure what yet. 
She smiled, she liked the idea, and wondered if they'd run into any of
the other journalists there, but she didn't really care.  She had no
secrets.  He followed her back in her rented car, an ancient Renault
that barely made it, and he parked outside the hotel and followed her
inside, and put an arm around her as they went up to the penthouse.  It
had been an amazing evening for both of them, and Paxton felt as though
she had come a long way in a short time.  And it was more than just
from San Francisco to Saigon.

She felt as though she had been hurled from another life to this one,
and she was not quite sure what she felt yet.  She knew she was drawn
to Bill Quinn, and she couldn't have torn herself away now, there was
an urgency to what she felt, and yet there was fear, too, and from a
strange distant place in her heart, there was also sadness.  There were
other people in their lives, he had his wife, and she was still
struggling with the memory of Peter.  And yet, they were here now, and
suddenly she knew she needed him, just as he needed her, and maybe that
was more important.  Paxton?  He said her name carefully, because it
was new to him, and she turned toward him with a shy smile.  Yes?  You
were looking very serious there for a minute.  You okay?  She nodded. 
Yeah.  I was just thinking.  Don't.  He smiled, and then brushed the
top of her head with his lips as they reached the penthouse.  Tom
Hardgood was there, and Jean-Pierre fresh from Hong Kong, but he was
with a girl, and then in a corner, Paxton noticed Ralph sitting
quietly, deep in conversation with a beautiful Eurasian.  She was
startled to see him there.  She hadn't seen him all week, and she had
just left him a message at the AP office that morning.  Bill Quinn had
seen him too, and he guided Paxton over to him, and Ralph introduced
her to the lady.  France Tran Paxton Andrews.  She was incredibly
beautiful, and when she spoke, Paxton noticed that she had a French
accent.  She looked to be about Paxton's age, and she was wearing a
white ao dai, and seemed perfectly at ease at the penthouse.  Hi,
France, Bill said, how's An?  He's fine.  She smiled, glancing at Ralph
warmly.  He's a little monster.  He sure is, Ralph agreed.  He put a
frog in my boots last week.  Fortunately, I checked before I put them
on.  Ralph laughed, and Paxton was surprised to see a side of him that
she had never even suspected.  She wasn't quite sure whom they were
speaking of, but she assumed they were talking about a child, and this
woman's son obviously.  But suddenly she wondered if she and Ralph were
married.  They chatted a few minutes longer and then she and Bill sat
down, and she was trying not to look confused, but she leaned over and
asked him, Who is that?  France?

He was surprised she didn't know her.  She and Ralph seemed so close. 
She lives with Ralph.  She married a boy in the forty-fifth cav, and An
is their baby.  He seemed to hesitate, and Paxton stared at him,
wanting to know the rest of the story.  He was killed before the baby
was born.  Now he must be about two, something like that.

And she and Ralph have been together for about a year.  They live
together, I think, but he keeps it pretty quiet.  In Gia Dinh.  All she
knew was that it was a suburb of Saigon.  Are they married?  No.

Her mother was French and her father was Vietnamese, and I've only
talked to her a few times, but she seems to have some pretty strong
feelings about mixed marriage.  The army gave her a terrible time when
Haggerty died.  I'm not sure they've given her widow's benefits yet,
and they tried to accuse her of being a whore and An not being his
baby.  What about his family?  He never told them he'd married her, and
I think his family was pretty uptight.  From some hick town in Indiana.
 They won't acknowledge her or the baby.  Paxton looked horrified.  And
what about Ralph?  Won't he marry her and adopt the child?  Bill smiled
at her naivete.  She wanted everything all neatly tied up.  But things
didn't always work out here.  Maybe you should ask him.  She's
beautiful.  Paxton had been impressed by her obvious gentility and
education.  Yes, he acknowledged.  And smart.  But if he tries to take
her home, back home they'll call her a gook, just like they will the
whores who hang out at the Pink Nightclub.  Back home, no one knows the
difference.  All you have to do is look at her, Bill.  She sounded
exasperated, but she was naive, and he knew it.  That's all you have to
do, maybe, Pax.  Other people don't see it that way.  To them,
agookisagookisagookisadinkisa slanteye, is the same person who killed
their son or their fiance' or their brother.  It's not going to be easy
taking these girls home.  But she's different.  Paxton pleaded her
cause for no reason.  Not to them.  She wanted it not to be true, but
suspected it was, and it made her sad for this woman she barely knew. 
But she knew he was right.  Back in the States, the beautiful Eurasian
girl would be a gook just like the others.  They talked for a long time
that night, about the war at first, and then about other things, and he
never mentioned his wile again, or his children.  He had been in
VietNam for so long that he had begun to feel alienated from everyone. 
And he was fascinated to hear all that she had to tell him about
Berkeley.  He escorted her back to her room when they closed the bar,
and he left her at the door, without pressing further.  I should be
back in Saigon in a few days, he said quietly, I'll call you before I
come.  And then without another word, he bent and kissed her gently on
the lips, and then he was gone, and when he left, she wanted to beg him
to stay alive.  But she didn't even dare think now of the danger
lurking in the Cu Chi tunnels.  Bill Quinn came back to Saigon three
days after that, and he called Paxton before he came, and when he
arrived, he looked handsome and clean in a starched dress uniform, and
she was waiting for him in the lobby.  This was an official date, he
had said, and she smiled when she saw him walk into the lobby, looking
tall and young and very handsome.  Wow!  he said when he caught sight
of her.  She was wearing her hair down, and she was wearing a pink silk
dress she had brought from home.  It was very short and it showed off
her legs and she tried not to remember that Peter had always liked it. 
Bill had made reservations at a restaurant near the embassy, and she
felt very grown up as he ushered her in, and they showed them to a
corner table.  The room looked very French, and was romantically lit,
and there were fragrant bouquets of flowers on all the tables.

And here, finally, they escaped the smell of fuel.  And there were
Americans at almost every table around them.  She told him about
another mission she'd been on with Ralph, near Long Birh, and he
frowned while he listened to her.  It sounds dangerous.  He looked
frankly worried, and wondered if he should say something to Ralph now. 
So is being here.  Don't be silly, Bill.  I'm safer than you are in Cu
Chi.  Like hell you are, he said quietly, feeling strangely protective
of her, which even struck him as odd.  He never worried about what
Debbie did, back in the States.  But Debbie was in San Francisco, and
Paxton was ten years younger and running around Saigon, looking for
trouble.  Looking for VietCong in tunnels isn't exactly what I'd call
safe.  In fact, she had forced herself not to think about it all week. 
And when she'd gone to Long Binh with Ralph, he had given her a
somewhat stern lecture, about not fraternizing with the troops, which
at first had amused her.

But then she realized that he was serious, and she had turned to him in
amazement.  How can you say a thing like that?  She was referring to
France, and he knew it, but that didn't sway him.  Its different for
me, Pax.  I'm a man.  And Bill Quinn is married.  So what?  What
difference does it make?  His wife is halfway around the world and so
are we.  What if we're all dead next week?  What difference will it
make then?  In a matter of weeks, she had come to think like everyone
in Saigon.  And when he goes back to her?  Ralph had said quietly.  How
will you feel then?  You've had one heartbreak in your life, isn't that
enough?  I can't help that.  She had looked away from him.  She didn't
want tojustily her love life to Ralph Johnson.  He was her friend, but
he had no right to tell her who she could go out with and who she
couldn't.  It's not too late to stop it now.  But VietNam is a strange
place.  Things get serious very fast, or sometimes they don't get
serious at all when they should, because half the time we're all scared
shitless we're going to be dead by this afternoon, and the other half
of the time we've watched so many people die that we don't give a damn
about anyone or anything.  Don't get involved with a soldier here,
Paxton ... or even a correspondent.  You'll get hurt.  We're all a
little bit crazy.  He was trying to warn her and he meant it.  And what
am I for being here with you?  I'm a correspondent too, she defended
herself, and he smiled.  But she was still young, and untouched by the
horrors the rest of them took for granted.  You're still new, Pax.

It's not too late for you.  I'm telling you don't get mixed up with
Bill.  He's a great guy, and I like him.  But whatever happens, you'll
get hurt.  Why put yourself through that?  And France?  she said,
wanting to get back at him, but the look on his face told her that she
had touched a forbidden subject.  She has nothing to do with this, he'd
said, and he'd gone off in a helicopter, with a medevac team for the
next three hours.  And when he came back, neither of them brought up
the subject again, and she didn't mention it to Bill that night.  It
was too late for them anyway.  As they sat and talked, he held her
hand, and they talked about the kind of things people talk about when
all is new and love is dawning.  They had almost finished their
chocolate mousse for dessert, when a pretty Vietnamese girl in an ao
dai walked into the restaurant, and set down an armful of flowers. 
Paxton watched her thinking how pretty they were, and at the same
moment, Bill turned and saw her.  He watched her for a split second and
then saw her leave, and then without a moment's thought, he grabbed
Paxton, dragged her off her chair, and pulled her under the table.  He
pressed his body on top of hers, hard against the banquette, and at
that exact moment, there was a tremendous explosion.  All the windows
at the front of the restaurant blew out, and bodies seemed to be hurled
everywhere around them.  For a moment after that there was silence, and
then screams, and Paxton could see a wall of flame explode to their
right, as Bill grabbed her and pulled her along the floor to where they
could see light in the darkness.  He pulled her to safety in the street
as the sirens began, and everywhere around them people seemed to be
shouting.  There were still screams, and cries of pain, and he started
to leave her on the street and hurried back inside to help, but she was
right behind him.  Her arm was bleeding from where a piece of glass had
sliced through her dress, but other than that she was unhurt by the
explosion.  Her legs were scratched, her body bruised from the force of
it, but she went back inside and helped carry a woman out.  She was
screaming and she couldn't see.  Her face and arms were covered with
blood, and all Paxton could do was comfort her as they waited for the
ambulance to come.  And she saw Bill help another man carry two men
out, but both were dead.  And then finally, the police and the medics
took over.  It was an ugly sight and there was blood and broken glass
everywhere, and she was shaking violently as they walked back to his
car, and he stopped and pulled her into his arms.  They were both
covered with blood and she started to cry as he kissed her.  It was a
terrible way to fall in love, a terrible place to be, a terrible war
that had brought them together.  What are we doing here?  he asked, his
voice sounding shaken.  It was not so much because of what he'd seen,
but because if things had happened differently, she might have been
killed, and suddenly more than anything, he didn't want to lose her. 
Why aren't we someplace ordinary like New York or Maryland or Texas? 
Because, she smiled through her tears, if we were, you probably
wouldn't know I'm alive, and you'd be with your wife.  She laughed and
dried her eyes, trying to forget what they'd seen and just been
through.  Or something like that.  He smiled too.  You have a way with
words, Miss Paxton Andrews.  I speak the truth.  It's one of my biggest
failings.  And virtues.  I don't think I'd love you as much if you
didn't.  One thing this place does to you is makes you develop an
absolute hatred for bullshit.  That's what happens when I go back to
the States between tours, he explained as they got into his car.  I
can't listen to the lies anymore, the explanations, the things no one
believes and everyone says.  In some ways, it's easier being here, and
then he thought about what had just happened.  At least I used to think
so.  That happens a lot here, doesn't it?  she asked, meaning the
bombing, and he nodded.  And then she smiled sadly.  Why is it, every
time I'm with you, I come out looking like I've been dragged through a
trench somewhere.  Because you're crazy to be here.  He kissed her
then, hard, and in a way that told her he was glad they were both alive
and nothing had happened.  He took her back to her hotel then, and
without saying a word they went upstairs.  He had stopped at the bar
and picked up a bottle of Scotch, and when she unlocked her room he
laid it on the table, and then he turned to look at her, with sad eyes
that said he loved her.  Pax, do you want me to go?  He had made
arrangements to stay at the Rex, but he wanted to be here with her
while he could, but only if it was also what she wanted.  Ill go if you
want me to.  She shook her head and smiled and walked slowly toward
him.  She wasn't sure what to do.  Peter had been dead for four months,
and she had thought she would be bonded to him forever.  And yet
suddenly he seemed part of another lifetime, another world, a place she
would never be again, and Bill Quinn was all that mattered.  I don't
want you to go, she said softly.  He leaned down and took her in his
arms, and she reached out to him with the passion born of loss and fear
and sorrow, and he touched her with the strength of a man who puts his
life on the line every morinng.  They had almost died that night and
perhaps they would die the next day, but for now, for this single
moment in time, they were alive, and belonged only to each other.  He
lay down on the bed with her and gently stripped her clothes off.  The
dress had been reduced to shreds of silk by the explosion and there was
blood on his uniform, and all they wanted to do was shed the past, and
the pain, and the loneliness that had brought them together.  He felt
the satin of her skin as he lay with her, and he moaned softly.  Oh,
God, Pax, you're so beautiful .  He couldn't stop touching her and
holding her and kissing her, and then she reached up and brought him to
her, and as he entered her, there were tears in her eyes, not for the
past and what they'd lost, but for what they'd found together.  Paxton
managed another trip to Cu Chi with Ralph three weeks later.  By then
the Democratic Convention had exploded into an orgy of madness in
Chicago, and Harriman was still overseeing the VietNam peace talks in
Paris.

The irony of it all seemed like a bad joke to Paxton when she read it
on the teletype at the AP office when she went there to meet Ralph
before the continuing Five O'Clock Follies.  Nothing seemed to make
sense anymore, except what was happening right there, and the life she
now shared with Bill.  All that mattered was that he was safe, and
nothing happened to either of them.  It seemed a miracle each time he
came to her at the hotel, and spent the night, which he was able to do
fairly often.  Ralph refrained from making comments on it most of the
way to Cu Chi base, and then finally just before they arrived, he
turned toward her and asked a question.  It's serious with you two,
isn't it?  She nodded, not wanting to say too much in front of the
driver.  Ralph hadn't mentioned any names, but gossip circulated
quickly from Saigon to all the bases.  Who was sleeping with whom and
why always seemed to be a popular subject of conversation.  And there
was a lot of it going around, like VD and a host of tropical diseases. 
Yes, she said seriously, it might be.  It's kind of new, and we haven't
figured it all out yet.  There are some things that would have to be
worked out, if ... if .  If it lasted.  Ralph knew what she meant, and
he shook his head disapprovingly and looked out the window.

You're both fools.  But surely you know that.  Why?  She was still so
naive, so hopeful, as he turned back to look at her.  Because you'll
get hurt, Pax.  Everyone does here.  You have to.  I don't have to
spell it out to you.  You're a big girl.  You know what the options
are, and most of them aren't pretty.  He meant that either Bill would
go back to his wife when he got shipped home eventually, or he could
get killed.  He could survive of course, he could even leave Debbie. 
But Ralph didn't think it very likely.  You've been here too long. 
You're too cynical.  Maybe so, he said, lighting a cigarette.  The
worst of it was he had actually come to like Ruby Queens, the local
brand.  I've seen the movie.  Maybe you didn't watch the right ending. 
Maybe you didn't stay long enough.  You don't know everything.  Look,
he tried again, because he liked her, you're smart, smarter than most. 
You're doing a terrific job.  You write great stuff.  You could even
win a Pulitzer one day.  Yeah, sure.  She laughed, amused.  All right. 
So not a Pulitzer.  But you're good and you know it.  What do you need
this headache for?  You're only here for six months.  Save it till you
go home and meet Prince Charming behind a desk somewhere in some nice
safe city like Milwaukee.  She turned to him determinedly.  Look, I
can't help what happened.  It did.  It's there.  I can't pretend it
isn't.  And why should I?  This is where we are right now.  This is
real.  The rest is all bullshit.  What if the rest is real, and this is
bullshit?

Then I was wrong.  Haven't you ever been wrong, Ralph?  She didn't want
to mention France again, but he had gotten involved with her for the
same reasons.  Because they were there, and it was hard, and everyone
was scared, and all around them people were dying.  What better
antidote to all that than to fall in love with someone, whether one
meant to or not.  How could he of all people not understand that? 
Look.  She turned to him again as he stubbed out his cigarette.  Just
get off my back.  I know you mean well.  But you don't understand. 
Maybe not, he said sadly.  And when he saw them together later that
afternoon, he wondered if she was right and he was wrong.  There was
undeniably something very strong and tender and beautiful between them.
 They tried to keep it hidden from everyone, but it was difficult. 
Their feelings for each other were so strong, so physical in some ways,
and at the same time so honest, so pure, so built on mutual admiration
and tenderness and love that it was very difficult to hide them. 
Bill's sergeant, Tony Campobello, saw it too, and he was furious over
it, which even she had noticed.  He was barely civil to her, and when
she was around that afternoon, his tone to his superior officer was
icy.  And all Bill did was raise an eyebrow in amusement.  But when
they ran into him at Tan Son Nhut one afternoon, at the PX, Paxton
couldn't resist saying something to him, while Bill was paying.  I'm
sorry .

she started to say to Tony, but he cut her off.  For what?  The way you
feel, she said honestly, since he made it no secret.  The way I feel
has nothing to do with this, he said coldly.  Then what are you angry
about?  She looked him straight in the eye, which was easier than it
was with Bill because Tony was almost the same height she was.  Or is
it just that you don't like me?  I don't give a shit about you.  He was
out of line and he knew it, but he didn't care.

He hated her and he wanted her to know it.  It's him I care about.

He's saved my ass more times than you'll ever know.  He's saved more
men in this godforsaken country than you can count, and you're out
there risking his ass, and you don't even know it.  She was shocked at
what he said and she didn't understand.  How can you say that?

She had done nothing to risk his life, on the contrary, she wanted him
to stay alive, even if that meant he went home to Debbie.  But she
didn't want him to die.  This guy was crazy.  Lady, do you know what it
takes to stay alive here?  You gotta crawl on your belly every day, and
think of only one thing, yourself.  You think about the next guy too
much, you watch your buddy and not yourself, and you're a dead man.  In
one second, it's all over.  You know what he thinks about out there
now?  Not us, not himself, not what he's doing, not who's in the
tunnel, or is there a guy out there in the bushes just waiting for us
... he thinks about you, and he sits around smiling.  And you know what
that's going to do to him?  It's going to get his ass blown off by a
land mine, or his brains blown out by a sniper.  And do you know who's
fault it'll be, lady?  Yours.

You think about that next time he reaches out to touch you.  And as he
said that, Bill walked over to them with his purchases and he was
smiling.  Hi, Tony ... you know Paxton, don't you?  He did and he
didn't want to.  And something disturbed Bill about the way Paxton
looked as the sergeant said, Yeah, sure, saluted, and left them.

She didn't say a word to Bill about what he had just said to her, but
she was frightened all night as she lay beside Bill and thought of the
sergeant's warning.  Were they all right?  Was she wrong to love him? 
Would it destroy them both?  Was there no room for love here?  It
seemed hard to believe, and everyone had someone, even if it was only
for a moment.  And all the while Ralph was telling her that she had no
right to love Bill, he was living with the Eurasian girl in Gia Dinh
... he went home to her at night, didn't he?  But why was it that no
one wanted her to be with Bill?  Especially not the angry young
sergeant.  You were awfully quiet last night, Bill said the next day. 
He had three days off, and he had noticed it, but she still wouldn't
tell him what Tony had said.  She just told him she was worried about a
story.  They went to Vung Tau that weekend, for three days R and R, in
the lovely coastal town that was still a beautiful resort with
exquisite beaches.  Paxton thought she had never been happier in her
life.  They talked about the future sometimes, but as infrequently as
they could.  There was nothing to talk about now, except the time they
shared.  And when he went back to the States, he would have to decide
what he wanted to do about Debbie.  They were both due to go back at
almost the same time.  She had promised to go back by Christmas, and
his DEROS was a month later.  He was due back in San Francisco at the
end of January, and he and Paxton agreed, he had spent enough time in
VietNam Four tours were sufficient.  He was going home to figure out
the business of living.  Do you really think you could stand being an
army bride?  he asked her in bed one night in Vung Tau, and the scary
thing was that he meant it.  I think so.  She smiled.  I could write
for Stars and Stripes.  You're too good for them.  Even though they
were informative and everyone read them.  Baloney.  She rolled over in
bed and he kissed her.  They had a wonderful time in Vung Tau, and they
went back again in October.  And shortly after that, he went to Hong
Kong for a week's R and R with Debbie.  It was something he and Paxton
had talked about at length, and he was tempted to cancel.  But Paxton
thought he should go, even if it was hard on her.  She felt he owed
that to Debbie.  This was no time for a confrontation.  But when he
came back, he was in a bad mood for weeks.  Debbie had put a lot of
pressure on him about his attitudes, and the war.  She had recently
gotten involved in an antiwar group, and she told him he was a killer. 
She also told him she wanted a new car, and she was sick to death of
the army.  Nixon had been elected by then, and Paxton's news from home
was pretty good.  Her mother seemed fine, although anxious to see her
at Christmas.  And Gabby wrote and told her she was having another
baby.  Their lives seemed to go on, but Paxton could no longer imagine
what it would be like to be there with them.  After five months in
VietNam she felt as though she'd been living on another planet.  And
she said as much to Bill one night when they were out for dinner.  You
know, I feel guilty even saying it.  But I don't want to go home for
Christmas.  She wanted to stay in VietNam with him.  It meant more to
her than going home, and being with her family in Savannah.  She had
hated that for years, and now it would be worse.  She had grown up too
much this year.  And it was just too different.  Besides, Christmas at
home without Queenie would be truly awful.  And being in the States
would bring back a flood of painful memories of Peter.  And although
she thought less about it now, she felt that a part of her would always
love him.  Things were just different now, but even Bill understood
that.  Why don't you stay here for Christmas then?  He knew he should
have encouraged her to go home, but he was feeling selfish and he
didn't want to.  It would be their last peaceful time before he went
home himself the following month and tried to figure out what he was
going to do about Debbie.  Do you really mean it?  Paxton looked at him
mischievously.  Sure.  Then it's done.  She leaned over and kissed him
and they went back to the hotel and made love for the rest of the
evening.  And in the morning she sent a telex to the Sun.  Cannot be
home December as planned.

Big stories breaking here.  Home by January 15.  Please advise family
in Savannah.  Paxton Andrews.  She knew it would cause a little stir,
but she didn't really care.  She wanted to be with Bill, and maybe this
would be their first and last Christmas.  If he decided to end their
affair, at least they would have had this.  She was very philosophical
about it.  But one had to be in any case, when one lived with constant
danger.  They went to church together on Christmas Eve, and they woke
up in each other's arms the next morning.  He'd bought her a sweater at
the PX, and a beautiful gold bangle bracelet in Hong Kong, when he was
there with Debbie in October.  It had a single tiny diamond in it, and
he put it on her arm and kissed her.  She had bought him a handsome
watch at the PX, some books she knew he wanted that she'd ordered from
the States, and some funny underwear she'd found on the black market. 
It was all silly stuff, and the best they could do under the
circumstances.  But the bracelet he gave her was really special, and
inside, delicately engraved, were their initials, and Xmas '68.  The
first of many, he said cryptically as he kissed her.  They went to
Martha Raye's Christmas show that afternoon, and everyone enjoyed it. 
Bob Hope was in Da Nang that day, being applauded by ten thousand
servicemen and women.  AnnMargret was the hit of the show even though
Paxton felt that showcasing sex symbols only teased the men.  But they
loved it anyway.  And at the end of the show, General Abrams pinned the
Outstanding Civilian Service Medal to Hope's shirt and the audience
gave him a standing ovation.  Paxton and Bill ran into Tony Campobello
at Martha Raye's show and Ralph was covering it for the Associated
Press.  He had even brought France and her little boy, An, who was able
and looked just like her.  Bill and Paxton chatted with Ralph and
France for a little while, and then they moved on.  And they didn't see
them again after that.  The crowd was enormous.  And they didn't see
Tony or any of Bill's men after that either.  And he had been pointedly
cool when he ran into his captain with Paxton.  He still hadn't gotten
over his feelings about her, and he made no effort whatsoever to be
pleasant.  And it didn't really matter anymore.  She and Bill would be
going home in a month.  They talked frequently now about how strange it
would be to be in the same city and not be together.  It won't be for
long, he kept saying, but Paxton kept wondering what would happen when
he saw his children again, and was really home.  She had a strange
feeling that he wouldn't be quite so ready to leave them, no matter
what he said now in the heat of passion.  They spent a quiet New Year's
Eve at the officers' club and then finished it off with a drink at the
penthouse.  And then they made love in her room and saw the new year in
with tenderness and passion.  And they were still lying in each other's
arms and kissing and whispering the next morning.  They slept most of
the afternoon, and at nightfall he had to go back to Cu Chi to report
for duty.  He was due back in Saigon again in two days, and she had a
story to write for the Sun again.

Her column, Message from Nam, was doing extremely well and was bringing
in a lot of favorable letters, some of which they sent her in Saigon. 
She was giving people honest reporting of what was happening over
there.  And her honesty and integrity seemed to shine through her
writing.  Ed Wilson was especially pleased, and he now took full credit
for sending her to VietNam in the first place.  In an odd way, he felt
what she said had avenged his son, and Peter hadn't died for nothing. 
She had gone there to tell his story, and that of half a million boys
like him.  And she was touched by the letters she got in answer to her
column.  Sometimes she tried to answer them, but most of the time she
was just too busy.  The story she had to write the next day was about
street beggars in Saigon, and another piece she had done about Hue. 
And then there was the one about Martha Raye, and the Bob Hope show. 
She had a busy couple of days, and she was still at her typewriter at
eight o'clock the night Bill was due to amve.  He was late, but she
knew that sometimes it was hard to get away.  And if Tony Campobello
knew he was meeting her, he would often do everything he could to delay
him.  It was a game he liked to play, and Bill was patient about it,
but his constantly hostile attitude still irritated Paxton.  She
glanced at her watch again at ten o'clock, and she was mildly worried
about it, but she still knew that as the officer in charge, he often
couldn't totally plan his departures.  Especially lately.

There was so much to do before he left in three weeks, and he was
trying to break in a new CO fresh from the States, and Paxxie knew it
wasn't easy.  At eleven o'clock she looked at her watch again, and
began to pace the room.  And by midnight, she was seriously worried. 
She decided to go down to the lobby then, and she told the operator
where she would be in case Bill called her.  She thought maybe he'd
been waylaid by someone he knew on the way in, and she might find him
at the bar, which had happened once or twice.  But she didn't see
anyone she knew there tonight, not even Nigel.  And she knew Ralph had
gone away with France and An, to relatives of hers in Hau Bon over the
New Year weekend.  She wandered aimlessly around the lobby for a long
while, and he didn't show up.  And there was nothing more she could do.
 It was too late to try to call the unit.  She went back to her room,
and sat up most of the night, wondering if some problem had come up
that made it impossible for him to leave but it hardly seemed likely. 
She finally fell asleep at four o'clock, and she woke up again with the
dawn.  And there was still no sign of him.  She had somehow hoped he
might turn up during the night while she was asleep, and slide into bed
beside her, since he had the key and had done that more than once, when
he was able to get away unexpectedly and surprise her.  But there was
no surprise that night.  The other half of the bed was empty when she
awoke, and she went to the AP office at seven-thirty.  She checked the
Teletypes to see if anything had come up during the night, but other
than a plastique bomb in a bar, and a street fight in Cholon,
everything had been peaceful.  And she knew Ralph was due back late the
night before, so she called him at home, from the AP office, an hour
later.  I know this sounds crazy ' She felt foolish calling him but she
didn't know who else to call.  But Bill didn't show up last night.  I'm
sure nothing's wrong, but I just thought Oh, Christ, Pax, he said,
turning over in bed with a groan, and you want me to call them out
there?  Yeah.  Why don't you call them yourself?  Hell, you've got the
same credentials I do.  Bullshit.  Everyone knows I'm involved with
Bill.  In spite of the initial caution, it had become one of the
worst-kept secrets in Saigon.  So what?  So it looks like I'm playing
nosy girlfriend.  I just want to know he's okay, and then whenever he
shows up is fine.  It hadn't even dawned on her that he might be out
with someone else.  Their relationship was nothing like that, and they
were so much in love that the issue of anyone else had never arisen
between them.  Okay, okay, I'll call.

What do you want to know?  That Cu Chi Base is still standing, hasn't
been attacked during the night, and Bill's okay.  Listen, kid, he said,
sitting up in bed and smiling at France.  He was both nappy and worried
about her.  She had just told him the night before that she was
pregnant, and she wanted to have his baby.  If Cu Chi Base has been
blown away, we're all in deep shit.  That place is bigger than New
York, for chrissake.  Never mind the wiseass cracks, Johnson, just call
them.  Okay, okay, I'll call.  He hung up and leaned over to kiss
France, still lying beside him.  Is she all right?  France asked.  She
liked Paxton too.  And although she didn't know her well, she had
always felt a silent kinship with her.  She's fine.  She's just getting
short and she's getting nervous.  Everyone gets like that before they
go home.  They all drive me crazy.  And you?  she said, looking at him
almost sadly after her news of the night before, when will you go home,
my love?  Never.  Unless you come with me.  But she said she never
would.  And she meant it.  She was too proud to be treated like a whore
in the States.  She was going to stay in Saigon, and she would love him
forever.  He sat on the edge of the bed and called Cu Chi.  He had a
contact or two there, but the most important one was Bill, and he asked
directly for his unit.  He got a young guy he didn't know, who stalled
him when he asked for Bill, and then he went through the other names
and got nowhere.  And suddenly he wondered if Paxton's instincts were
right, and there was something wrong.  He had a thought then, and asked
for Sergeant Campobello.  There was a long pause, he was told to hold
on, and then he was left there, hanging.  And it was almost ten minutes
later when Tony came on the line.  And Ralph had been smart enough not
to hang up.  By then he was convinced that she was right and there was
a problem.  Tony?  Ralph said, as though they were old friends, but
they weren't.  Tony didn't like him because he'd introduced ton to
Bill, and Campobello was a guy who could hold a grudge forever.  Ralph
Johnson, AP in Saigon.  I know who you are, man.  The voice was coarse
and cold, and he wasn't interested in the call.  What do you want?  I
we unofficial1y, we were wondering if anything happened yesterday I
mean .  Shit, if it had been anyone else, be could have asked him
straight if Bill was okay.  But he didn't want Campobello to know he
was calling for Paxton.  And he felt like a kid now, playing games. 
Look, we just heard some rumors that you might have had some trouble
out there.  Everything A-okay?

There was an endless pause.  I guess you could call it that.  We only
had one casualty all weekend.  Just one.  Pretty good, huh?  But he
sounded brittle and bitter.  That's great.  Ralph wasn't quite sure
where to go from there, but Tony solved the problem for him.  Only
problem, of course, is that it was .  He almost snapped as he said the
words our commander.  Remember him?  Great big tall guy.  Real
nice-looking.  Bill Quinn.  Oh my God.  Ralph's blood ran cold.  What
the fuck was he going to tell her?  I oh my God ... how did that
happen?  Ralph's voice was faint at his end, and Tony sounded like he
was crying.  How did that happen?  Real simple.  He fell in love with
this fucking bitch a few months ago and stopped paying attention.  He
started to fall in love with the whole fucking world, and wanted to
play Prince Charming ... Sir Galahad ... you want to know how it
happened, mister?  Our guys were too fucking afraid to go down a hole
yesterday, and you know who went?  That's right, the captain.  He
thought he could outshoot the guy at the other end because he always
had before.  And you know what, mister?  After four tours, he was wrong
this time, he was too big for the hole, he was too slow, too old, his
head was too full of other shit because he was going home with her in a
few days to tell his wife to go fuck herself probably, and his kids,
and little old Charlie at the other end of the hole, he blew his head
off.  Ralph felt sick as he listened to him, sick from the anger and
the sorrow and the bitterness and the irony of what had happened.  He
had less than two weeks to go, and they'd killed him.  And it had
happened to thousands of others.  But not this one.  Bill Quinn was
such a nice guy.  And he was so much in love with Paxton.  Did you get
your story, mister Johnson?  Tony asked him bitterly, making no secret
now of the fact that he was crying.  Did you take notes, or would you
like to come out and view the body?  He won't be going home till
tomorrow afternoon.  And I guess now he won't be going home with his
girlfriend.  He wasn't the first man who had fallen in love while he
was there, nor the first man who had cheated on his wife, but somehow
all along the sergeant had been outraged.  And he had predicted this
all along.  Again and again, he had seen men get involved with the
women there and get so taken with them, they got careless.  He was
convinced that Bill had died because of that and nothing would ever
change his mind.  In his mind, Paxton Andrews had killed Bill Quinn,
and that was the end of the story.  This is going to kill her, Ralph
said more to himself than to Campobello.  And at his end, Tony wiped
his eyes with his sleeve.  Good.  I hope it does.

She deserves it.  You don't really believe that, do you?  Yes, I do, he
said frigidly.  She fucking killed my captain.  He was a grown man. 
Ralph felt honor bound to defend her to this man, and he was getting
angry.  She hadn't killed anyone.  If anything, she'd hurt herself. 
And she'd taken a chance on him.  And she'd lost.  Just as she had once
before.  But that was the way the war was.  If you gave a damn about
anyone there, a dog, a soldier, a child, you ran the risk of losing. 
He made his choices, Campobello, just like she did.

And he knew what he was doing.  If he bought it yesterday, the guy at
the other end must have been pretty goddamn slick.  I don't believe
Bill Quinn would ever get careless.  He was too fast, too sharp, and he
knew too much about what he was doing.  And there was a lot of truth to
that, but Tony Campobello didn't want to hear it.

Bullshit.  He should never have been down that hole.  Then why did he
go?  Ralph pressed him.  Maybe to prove something ... maybe because he
was thinking of her He wasn't that sloppy, or that dumb, or even that
brave.  Even though all the generals said, and Bill had even said
himself, that to be a tunnel rat you had to be a little bit crazy.  He
was crazy nuts in love with her.  Yes, he was, Ralph agreed in
deference to both of them, but that was his business, and I don't think
he'd let that interfere with anything.  I just don't believe that.  And
if you've got an attitude about it, Campobello, I suggest you bury it
right now.  If you cared about him at all, why don't you just shut up
your fucking opinions and keep them to yourself.  That girl is going to
be devastated over this and she doesn't need you mouthing off at her if
your paths should happen to cross sometime, which I sure as hell hope
they don't.  So do I. For his sake, do me a favor, if you do run across
her, be a gentleman, keep your mouth shut.  Go fuck yourself, mister,
Tony Campobello spat into the phone, tears welling up in his eyes
again.  That bitch killed my captain.  He was like a child standing
beside his dead mother, wanting to kill everyone who came near her. 
And when he slammed the phone down a few minutes later, Ralph sat for a
long moment, staring unhappily out the window.  What the hell was he
going to tell her?  France had been listening to him all the while, and
when he stood up to get dressed, she came and put a gentle hand on his
shoulder.  I'm sorry about your friend.  She had a wonderful French
accent, and a gentle touch, and a wise heart, and he turned around and
held her.  I'm sorry for both of them.  So am I. I tried to warn them a
long time ago.  Why?  she asked softly.  Because I thought they were
wrong.  The price is too high if you lose over here.  I tried to tell
them that.  But they didn't listen.  Perhaps they couldn't.  She was
wiser than he was in the end.  And she watched while he dressed.  And
an hour later he was at the Caravelle, knocking on the door of Paxton's
room with a grim look in his eyes.  But when she opened the door, she
was dressed in jeans, a shirt of Bill's, and her combat boots, and she
looked painfully pretty.  Did they tell you anything?  she asked
nervously, and stepped back so he could come in.  She had made the bed
herself and after not eating dinner the night before, she hadn't eaten
breakfast that morning.  Yeah, he said noncommittally as he stepped in
and looked around.  He wanted desperately to avoid this moment.

Well?  she asked, and he sat down heavily in a chair.  The same chair
Bill had so often sat in.  What the hell did they tell you?  What did
you say?  How did you tell her?  He had done this a thousand times
before, and suddenly he couldn't do it one more time, he just couldn't
do it anymore, or he thought it might kill him.  He was thirty-nine
years old and he had seen and heard and smelled and written about more
death than he ever wanted to see in a hundred lifetimes.  He dropped
his face into his hands and then looked at her.  There was nothing left
to do but tell her.  He was killed yesterday, Pax.  His voice was a
drumbeat in the room and for a minute she thought she was going to
faint.  And all she could see was Ed Wilson's face when he came to tell
her about Peter, and the sound of her heart crashing to the floor and
breaking.  She sank slowly onto the bed this time and stared at him,
refusing to believe it.  He wasn't.  He was.  Ralph nodded.  He went
down into one of the tunnels, and Charlie got him.  It was quick.  He
didn't suffer.  The rest doesn't make any difference.  And he didn't
know if it was true or not, but he felt he owed her that much.  He
reached out a hand to her from where he sat, but she just sat there
staring at him and didn't take it.  Can I see him?  He hesitated while
he thought about what Tony had said about Bill having his head blown
off by Charlie.  I don't think you should.  They're sending him home
tomorrow.  Two weeks early, she said, almost without thinkng.  She was
sitting there, staring into space, deathly pale, in his shirt, feeling
as though there was nothing left in the world for her.  She was nearly
twenty-three years old and she had lost the only two men she'd ever
loved to this miserable war, and now she felt as though her own life
was over.  I told you this could happen, Pax.  You knew it yourself. 
It's the chance we all take just being here.  It could be me this
afternoon, or you it was him.  It could have been anyone.

But it wasn't.  And then slowly, the tears began to run down her
cheeks, and Ralph moved over to the bed and sat next to her and held
her in his arms while she cried for what seemed like hours, grief that
rolled on relentlessly like thunder.  I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry .  But
she was beyond words, beyond thnlkng, beyond consolation.  She had
nothing left.  She had nothing.  She had lost him.  Gone.  Like a
memory.  And all she had left from him was the bracelet he'd given her
for Christmas.  She looked down at it emptily, and then suddenly she
realized that the army would send all his personal effects to Debbie in
San Francisco.  The books she'd given him, inscribed by her, the
trinkets, the photographs they'd taken of each other in Vung Tau, the
letters.  Oh my God they can't do that .  eph thought she was still
grieving for him, but then she explained what she was thinking.  We
have to stop them.

It's happened before, Pax, to other guys.  She'll just have to
understand that he was in a war zone.  He'd been here for a long time. 
People change.  But that's not fair.  Why should she have to live with
that now?  She thought of her mother, when her father had died with the
other woman.  And the kid$.  Can't we stop them?  I don't know.  He
thought about it for a while, and he admired her for thinking like
that, but he wasn't sure how to do it.  The army was pretty circumspect
about sending home a man's effects.  They sent home everything right
down to his underwear and his postcards, which proved she had good
reason to worry.  Who can we talk to?  They both thought of the same
man at once, and Ralph almost groaned at the thought of him, but Paxton
said his name first.  Campobello.

Jesus.  I'm not sure he'd do fuck all for me, Pax.  Then I'll call ...
no ... I'll go see him.  He must be pretty broken up too.  It was a
mild understatement, and Ralph didn't want to tell her now that the guy
hated her guts and held her responsible for Bill's death.

Look, why don't you let me take care of it?  She blew her nose and her
voice quavered again when she answered.  I owe it to Bill to do it
myself.  I'm going to drive out there.  Shit.  I'll come with you.

She had no idea what she was walking into, but all his efforts to
dissuade her were useless.  And the mission of saving Debbie from the
knowledge of their affair seemed to have given her new life and
slightly better con' trol over her grief, as he drove her to Cu Chi. 
But when they got there he hadn't been prepared for the shock of
running into Campobello almost as soon as they arrived and having him
almost attack Paxton physically, while Ralph finally grabbed him by the
shoulders and shook him.  For God's sake, man, stop Can't you see the
state she's already in!  She fucking well should be, he shouted, tears
streaming down his face, as she stood trembling near the car, trembling
uncontrollably at what he'd just told her.  It was more of what he'd
said to Ralph earlier on the phone, but delivered with even greater
venom.  Would you like to see the condition he's in?  Please .  She
sank to her knees as she sobbed and began to retch as Campobello grew
pale and watched her.  Please stop I loved him .  And then suddenly, in
the place where they stood, with recruits standing in the distance,
watching them, only guessing at what it was about, there was silence. 
Campobello stood trembling and pale in Ralph's hands, and Paxton stood
staring up at him with open hatred.  I loved him.  Don't you understand
that?  she said quietly, and now he was sobbing too.  So did I. I would
have died for him.  He saved my life in one of those fucking holes and
this time I couldn't help him.  No one could, man, Ralph said to him,
letting go of him then, no one can help anyone here.  It happens or it
doesn't.  Look at all the guys you know who're so fucking careful they
squeak, and they buy it the day before they go home, and the others
who're sloppy and drunk all the time and they don't get a scratch. 
It's destiny.  Fate.  God.  Call it whatever you want.  But hating
anyone over it isn't going to change it.

Campobello knew it too, but that was what was driving him crazy.  He
wanted someone to blame, someone to take it out on.  Too many of his
men had died, and now the captain he loved, the man who had saved his
life, been his friend, laughed with him, drark with him, been his pal,
was gone, and it had to be someone's fault.  And he wanted desperately
to blame Paxton.  Ralph explained to him quietly what they had come
there for, and Campobello looked startled.  Can you help us, man? 
She's right.  That stuff shouldn't go home to his wife.  The sergeant
looked at her angrily then, the venom coming back to him, but she was
back on her feet then, looking shaken but determined.  You afraid of
getting caught?  Is that it?  he asked her.

No.  She shook her head.  I'm afraid of hurting her, and their girls.

He loved her, too, and them.  There's no reason to hurt them.  We were
talking about getting married.  There's no reason now for anyone to
know that.  And then, although she didn't owe him anything, she told
him about her father.  He died with another woman in his plane, and my
mother has had to live with that for the rest of her life, and one day
my brother told me, and I always wondered why.  We all did.  In my
parents' case, I kind of knew, but it still wasn't right.  We didn't
need that.  Neither do they.  It's enough to deal with the fact that he
died I'd like my things back.  Like what?

He looked suspicious of her, and it was clear that he still wanted to
hate her.  Three books of poetry, that I wrote some things in, and a
bunch of photographs and letters.  The rest won't make any difference. 
She looked embarrassed then.  I bought him some funny underwear for
Christmas, and he had a lock of my hair somewhere.  I think those are
the only things that would matter.  Why are you really doing this?  he
asked her, walking closer to her now, unable to believe that she had no
ulterior motive.  I told you why.  What happened is painful enough for
all of us.  She doesn't need to know about us.  And for an instant,
just an instant, he believed she was a good person, and that hurt him
even more.  It hurt him even more to think that Bill Quinn had really
loved her, that maybe he had died for her, or if he hadn't, he might
have.  They were all tired and confused and overwrought, and they had
all been there too long, Quinn and Campobello, and Ralph, and even
Paxton.  Are you going home after this?  he asked her, almost
forgetting that Ralph was there, and tears filled her eyes again as she
answered.  I don't know.  She shrugged emptily.  I guess so.  He
nodded.  I'll go through his stuff.  Wait here.  He did, and was gone
for half an hour while she cried and Ralph smoked Ruby Queens, and
finally the sergeant came back with a small package.  I've got the
books and the photographs and letters and the underwear.  I couldn't
find the hair, but it's not there anyway, so it doesn't matter.  She
wondered if he'd been carrying it when he died, but she didn't say it
for fear of enraging Campobello further.  Thank you, she said softly,
trying to control herself, and taking the small package from him.

It looked so pathetic now.  There was so little left of the enormous
love she'd had for him.  So little left of their hopes and dreams.

Like the towns the army had to burn to smoke out the VC, they left
nothing behind them but rubble and ashes.  He stood watching her as
they walked back to Ralph's jeep, and then he turned and called out to
her.  Hey .  He didn't want to say her name and she stopped, looking at
him, the man who had hated her so much, who thought she had killed
Bill.  I'm sorry, he said, with his lips trembling.  She wasn't sure
ifhe was sorry he had been so hard on her, or sorry Bill was gone, but
either way, so was she.  Me too, she said as she got in the car, and he
was still watching them as they left the base and drove back to Saigon.
 1,Vou gotta go home, kid.  Ralph was standing in her room at the
Caravelle, and she was sitting on her bed again, with a belligerent
look on her face this time and her arms crossed.  Nixon had been sworn
in the week before, and Bill had been dead for a month, and she was a
month late going home now.

There's nothing left for you here.  Your six months are up.  Your paper
wants you home.  Bill's not coming back.  And the I Teletypes in my
office are gonna drive me fucking crazy.  They want you back, Pax. 
You've been here for seven months.  You've got to go now.  Why?

You've been here for years.  That's different.  I'm assigned here, and
I have no one to go home to.  No one who gives a damn.  My parents are
dead, I haven't seen my sister in ten years, and I live here with the
woman I love who's having my baby.  I have reasons to stay, you don't. 
And you're starting to go nuts here.  You're like those guys who've
been down in the tunnels too long.  Go home, get some air, get some R
and R and if you love it here so fucking much, let them send you back
or find someone else who will.  But if you don't get the hell out now,
you're going to do something stupid.

She had already gone on two missions with Nigel and Jean-Pierre, and
Ralph could tell from the stuff she was writing that she was too
overwrought to do herself or anyone else any good.  Get out, before I
call them to come and get you.  He also knew that she'd stopped
watching what she ate and she had dysentery so bad, she'd been running
a low-grade fever.  And she'd looked awful since Bill died.  She was
grieving, but she was trying not to let it show.  It was like being
dead on her feet and not willing to admit it.  Are you willing to make
sense?  Can I send you home?  Or do I have to call them to come and get
you?  They will, you know.  Your guy in San Francisco is getting pretty
freaky.  He wants us to call the ambassador and have you expelled if
you don't agree to get your ass home.  Okay, okay, I'll go home.  You
win.  Christ.  He heaved a sigh of relief.  He'd been desperately
worried about her.  And he had run into Campobello at the PX once, too,
and he didn't look so hot either.  It had taken a toll on all of them. 
Okay, when?  Tomorrow sound okay?  Why so soon?  She wanted more time. 
She didn't want to go.  Maybe because Bill had died there.  Staying in
Saigon was like staying with him, in the room they'd shared, near the
restaurants they'd gone to.  Why not?  Ralph answered her.  Ill get you
a ticket for tomorrow morning.  There's a Freedom Bird out of here
sometime before noon.  And I want you on it.  You just want to get rid
of me.

She smiled through her tears.  She hated to leave him, and the people
she'd met, and even the noise and the fumes and the craziness of
Saigon.  In an odd way, she'd come to love it.  I'm jealous of the shit
you write, he teased.  I'm never going to get my Pulitzer, if you stick
around here.  Will you come and see me in San Francisco?  she asked
sadly.  Is that where you're gonna be?  He'd relaxed now that she'd
agreed to leave the following morning.  I guess so.  I don't know.  I
will ifthey give me ajob on the paper.  He smiled admiringly at her. 
He had come to love her like a kid sister in the past seven months, and
he was going to miss her very badly.

They'd be stupid if they didn't give you a job.  Lady, you're one hell
of a good reporter.  From you, she said with awe and love in her voice,
that means a lot.  Christ, I'm going to miss you.  Do you want to have
dinner tonight?  Sure.  He came alone, he left France at home with An,
as he often did.  Most of the time he didn't like her hanging out with
the other reporters.  And tonight he just wanted to be with Paxton. 
You gonna be all right?  he asked her seriously after their second
Scotch.  I guess so, she said, looking into the glass as though it had
all the answers.  I don't know.  She looked up at him.  Is anyone ever
the same again when they leave here?  No, he said honestly, they
aren't.  Some of them just hide it better.  But maybe you haven't been
here that long, maybe it hasn't really changed you.  I think it has. 
He was afraid of that too.  For her sake.  Maybe you just think that
because of Bill, he said hopefully.

He'd seen people ruined by VietNam The drugs, the VD, the danger, the
disease, the wounds, and the strange things it did to one's spirit.  It
was so beautiful, and our being there was so wrong.  For most people,
it was desperately confusing.  But he hoped she hadn't been there long
enough to be poisoned by it, or to fall so in love with it that she
couldn't forget it.  It'll do you good to go home.

There is life after immersion foot.  He smiled, but she didn't.  It
would do everyone good to go home.  Maybe you too one day, she said
gently.  God, I'd love to see you there.  It's going to be so hard
going back.  How do you begin to tell people what you've seen here?

Does your family know about Bill?  She shook her head.  She hadn't told
anyone.  She'd been waiting to see what he decided to do about Debbie. 
And maybe he would never have left her after all.  That had always been
a possibility between them.  I don't think I'll tell them now.  There's
no point.  He nodded.  There was a lot one could never tell anyone
about Saigon.  They stayed up drinking until four o'clock in the
morning, and he came back later to take her to the airport.  She had
the same small tote bag she'd had when she arrived, the same small
valise, the same ache in her heart, except now it was considerably
bigger.  She had lost two men in VietNam And yet, in spite of
everything, she had come to love it.  Do yourself a favor, Pax, he said
with a sad smile as they said good-bye.  Forget this place as fast as
you can.  If you don't, it'll kill you.  Some part of her suspected he
was right, but another part of her told her not to let go of it. 
Because she didn't want to.

Take care of yourself, Ralph.  She hugged him tight.  You know, I
really love you.  And when he pulled away from her there were tears in
his eyes, and the last thing he said to her before she boarded the
plane was I love you too, Delta Delta.  She landed at Oakland Airport
after a seventeen-hour flight, on a plane that had been chartered by
World Airways.  She had talked to a few returning GIs on the flight,
but almost everyone was so exhausted and burned out and scared to be
going back that they didn't want to talk to anyone, not even a pretty
blonde like Paxxie.  They had all hoped and dreamed of this day for so
long that now it was terrifying to be going home.  And what were they
going to say?  How did you explain to someone what it felt like killing
a man?  How did you tell someone what it was like killing a man hand to
hand, runhing a bayonet through his guts, or shooting a sniper in the
face who turned out to be a woman.  How did you explain the
nine-year-old boy who had thrown a hand grenade and killed your friend,
and then you rushed into the bushes and dragged him out and killed him?
 How did you tell them what it was like?  Or about the sunsets on the
mountains, or the green of VietNam or the sounds and the smells, and
the people, the girl who couldn't even say your name, but you knew you
loved her.  There was nothing any of them could say.  So most of them
rode home in silence.  And when Paxton got off the plane in a skirt and
a blouse, her hair pulled back in a bun, wearing the red sandals that
were battered now, it was hard to believe that she was home.  This
didn't feel like home anymore.  Home was Saigon and a room at the
Caravelle.  Or was it here in the house she had once shared with Peter
in Berkeley?  Or the Wilsons' home?

Or her mother's house in Savannah?  It was only when she got off the
plane that she realized she didn't have a home anymore, and a young boy
standing next to her, looked at her, shook his head, and whispered,
Man, it feels weird to be home from Nam, and she knew what he meant,
because she had been there with him.  Ed Wilson had sent a limousine
for her, and she rode sedately in the back of it, on her way to the
paper.  But she wasn't prepared for the reception she got.  She felt
like a hero in a foreign land, when editors and people she had never
met shook her hand and told her what a terrific job she had done in
Saigon.  She was stunned, and she had no idea what they meant, and
there were tears rolling down her cheeks as she thanked them.  And then
finally, she was alone with Ed Wilson, and he looked long and hard at
her and he knew that it had taken a terrible toll on her.  She had
changed.  She had grown thin and gaunt, but more than that, there was
something in her eyes now that scared him.  Something sad and old and
wise.  She had seen men die.  She had been in battle.  You've had a
rough time, he said without asking her anything, and she tried to smile
as she nodded.

I'm glad I went.  And she really meant it.  Because of Bill, and Ralph,
and herself.  And because in an odd way, she'd felt she owed it to
Peter, and her country.  I'd like you to go home and rest for a while,
and then come back, Paxton, and write about anything you'd like to. 
You've done a beautiful job, and we'd like to keep you on, with your
own byline.  She was touched and pleased and she wanted to do that, but
there was still a little tug at her heart when she thought of the
column she'd written from Saigon.  And 'Message from Nam'?  Will
someone else be taking it on?  He shook his head and smiled at her,
knowing that all journalists were like that.  Their columns were their
babies.  Nixon is promising to de-esealate the war.  And for the time
being, I think we can get by getting our reports from Saigon from the
AP office there.  They've got some great people, Paxton said, thinking
of Ralph, but Ed Wilson was smiling proudly at her.  And you were one
of them.  Paxton, he said honestly, you surprised the hell out of me. 
I never knew you had it in you.  I thought you'd be back here in a
month, horrified at what you'd seen there.  I was pretty horrified at
first, but at least I felt I was doing something useful.  You certainly
were.  And for the last few weeks, I never thought we'd get you back to
San Francisco.

He frowned.  What was the delay anyway?  For a minute, she didn't know
what to tell him.  The man I fell in love with was killed ...

another one I you get pretty involved over there.  It's not easy to
just up and leave.  I guess it isn't.  Well, get a good rest now, and
come back here in a few weeks, whenever you feel ready.  She wondered
how soon that would be, and she looked at her watch, remembering that
she still had to get a hotel room.  But his office had already taken
care of that too.  We booked a suite for you at the Fairmont.  Mariorie
wanted you to stay at the house, but I thought you'd need the rest, and
by now you must be pretty independent.  And he'd also told Mariorie
that if she was carrying any diseases from VietNam they didn't want
that in their guest room.  They had also provided a car and driver for
her, and the Wilsons were expecting her for dinner.  But by dinnertime
it was fifteen hours later for her, and Paxton could hardly keep her
eyes open at the table.  It was an emotional meeting for all of them,
and she felt almost as though they all expected her to tell them why
Peter had died, and she had no new answers for them now, only more
questions.  Gabby chatted endlessly all through the meal about how cute
Mariie was, how active little Peter was, and how wonderful their new
house was.  They had Fortuny fabric on the walls, Brunschwig wallpaper
everywhere, and blue curtains in the bedroom, she explained, and twice
during dinner, Paxton was so exhausted and got so confused, she
accidentally called her Debbie.  It was as though she couldn't cope
with it all.  It was all too much, and their lives for the past seven
months had been just too different from hers.  And more than once she
had to fight back tears and the urge to tell them she just couldn't
stand it.  She missed the sounds, the smells, her room at the
Caravelle, Peter Bill she felt as though her head were spinning when
she left them.  And when she got back to the hotel, she lay there awake
for hours, feeling vulnerable and tired and shaken.  She finally fell
asleep as the sun came up, and two hours later the hotel operator woke
her up.  And she had to get up and shower and change to catch her plane
to Savannah.  And there things were even worse.  She had brought all
the wrong clothes.  She had nothing to say to anyone.  And she couldn't
deal with the Junior League, or her mother's bridge club, or the
luncheon given for her by the Daughters of the Civil War.  Everyone
said they wanted to know about VietNam but they didn't really.

They didn't want to know about the stench of death, or the boy from
Miami with his arm blown off, or the beggars with no limbs crawling
around the terrace of the Continental Palace Hotel at sunset.  They
didn't want to know about VD, or drugs, or boys dying at the hands of
the VC, or how old people and children were being shot.  They didn't
want to know how it broke your heart, and yet how you came to love it. 
And all she could say to anyone was how sorry she was that she was so
tired, so ill, so thin, so totally unable to tell them.  What they
wanted was a nice clean war movie, with popcorn, no bones, no blood, no
shrapnel, no flying flesh that spattered over you, no boys who were
lost, no country that was dying.  Paxton had never felt lonelier than
she did in Savannah.  And I she had never looked worse, and she had
never missed Queenie so much.  But she knew she couldn't have told
Queenie about it either.  She had come of age, and she was alone.  And
she was a stranger.  It was impossible to tell anyone, except someone
who'd been there.  She was out with some friends she was sorry I she'd
called when she ran into a boy in a bar one night.  They began to talk,
and finally there was someone she could relate to.  They talked about
Ben Suc and Cu Chi, and Nha Trang, Bien Hoa, Long Binh, Hue, and Vung
Tau where she and Bill had spent their first weekend.  It was like a
secret language among old friends and it was the only good evening she
had during her two weeks in Savannah.  They firmly shook hands, and she
went home that night feeling a little less lonely.  She had a hard time
talking to her mother too.  She thought Paxton was still grieving over
Peter.  But there was so much more than that.  If anything, she was
grieving for her lost youth, and a country she would never see again,
two men she had loved, and a part of herself they had taken with them. 
I And her brother put it down simply to exhaustion.  And finally, with
some new clothes that seemed more suitable than her combat boots, which
she took with her anyway, in midFebruary, Paxton flew back to San
Francisco.  And she began working at the Sun in earnest.  They put her
up at a hotel for several weeks until she found a small apartment.  And
every night she promised herself she would call 1 Gabby, and found she
couldn't.  She had nothing to say to her, didn't want to see her new
house or her new curtains, and somehow now Matt seemed so stuffy and so
stilted and they all seemed so artificial.  And so totally unimportant.
 The days when they'd all seemed so close were somehow over.  And the
people she had come to love since then were gone.

There was no one left.  And she even hated what she was writing for the
paper.  Because of what she'd seen in VietNam they had her covering
local political events, and she found it unbelievably boring.  And
mister Wilson urged her to go back at night, if possible, and get her
degree at Berkeley.  She couldn't imagine doing it, and it all seemed
so tiresome, and so incredibly pointless.  She was exhausted all the
time, and she hated to go home at night.  She was twenty-three years
old, and she felt as though her life were over, and the only people she
could talk to were the people who had been there.  Every now and then
she came across someone who had been to Nam, and suddenly they exploded
into each other's lives and talked for hours, and then they were gone
and everything was silence.  And all the while she knew that in VietNam
people were fighting and winning and losing and dying.  And she felt as
though she were missing everything because she wasn't there.  And until
it was over, she didn't want to be anywhere but Saigon.  She tried to
explain it to the editor one day, and he just smiled and told her what
a good job she was doing on her current assignments.

And Paxton kept reading the news of what was happening in VietNam and
wondering what Ralph and the others were doing.  Who were they still
there?  Who had she had to come home?  What had she done wrong to
deserve this?  And contrary to the promises she'd heard, along with the
American public, the attacks seemed to be stepping up, the casualties
getting even greater.  And by May, after four months at home, she
couldn't stand it.  Peter had been dead for more than a year by then,
and she had gone to the ceremony at his tombstone.

But the worst of all was that she felt as dead as he was.  At least he
and Bill had lived and died, and come and gone, but she was vegetating,
writing about things she couldn't care about, and feeling that her life
was wasted.  And finally, on the first of June, just before Nixon went
to Midway to meet Thieu, to agree to withdraw twenty-five thousand
troops from VietNam she made her decision.  She walked into Ed Wilson's
office feeling better than she had in months, and sure of herself at
last.  She asked him for her column back, and told him gently that if
they wouldn't send her to Saigon again, someone else would.  He was
horrified.  And for a moment he wondered if the time over there had
been too much for her, and she was secretly a little crazy.  'off For
heaven's sake, why would you want to go back again?  -1 My God, Paxton,
our boys would do anything to avoid it to- day.  It was a far cry from
his earlier position until it cost him his son.  Why would you want to
go there?  Because I need to be there, she tried desperately to
explain, because I'm useless here.  Because no one really understands
what's happening there except the people who know it.

And you understand tso much better?  He sounded skeptical as he
listened.  No, but I've seen it.  I know what it's all about.  No one
has to explain it to me.  And I can't sit here talking about people's I
cars and curtains and babies and barbecues while I know what's
happening over there.  mister Wilson, I have to be there.  It sounded
crazy to him, but she was old enough to make her own 'I decisions and
there was no doubt about it, her column had been good for the paper. 
They'd had a lot of complaints when it stopped, but none of their other
people had wanted to go to Saigon.  How does your family feel about
this?  I haven't said anything to them yet.

What if you're killed?  he asked her bluntly.  Then it was fate, she
said quietly, 'just like Peter.  He nodded.  He had come to terms with
that in the same way as she had, although he knew Mariorie still
hadn't.  She was still railing at the Fates over their injustice.  And
he knew it wasn't fair.  But it had happened How long do you want to
stay in Saigon this time, Paxton?  I don't know.  .

She gave it some thought as she sat there.  A year maybe.  Something
like that.  Actually, I'd rather leave it open-ended.  She smiled at
him, at ease for the first time in four months.  Ill let you know when
I can't stand it anymore.  Or when the war is over.  Paxton.  He looked
at her long and hard.  Are you sure you want to do this?  and as she
nodded, he decided he had to satisfy his own curiosity.  He couldn't
imagine her wanting to be in VietNam again.  Is there someone you're
involved with?  She knew what he meant, but she only shook her head. 
Just friends, some other lunatics like me, she said, thinking of Ralph,
and the others, who need to see it through till the bitter end, like I
do.  I hope it ends soon, he said sadly.

And then he named a salary which surprised her.  You can stay at the
same hotel, or a better one, if there is one.  Do anything you want
while you're there, Paxton.  You have carte blanche.  He stood up then
and kissed her and she thanked him, and when she left his office, she
was beaming.  Someone got a raise, one of the editors said as she
walked by them.  You bet.  She turned with a grin.  They gave me back
my column and I'm off to Saigon.  Shit, the girl said, shaking her
head.  For the others, it was impossible to understand.

And when she went back to her desk, Paxton composed a telegram to Ralph
Johnson at the AP bureau in the Eden Building, Saigon.  Coming home as
soon as I can get a flight.  Get ready.  Love, Delta Delta.

She sent the telegram and went home to pack, and call her mother and
Gabby.  Her mother was appalled, but secretly not surprised.  And Gabby
cried because her third baby was due any minute.  But Paxton had her
own life now.  And two days later she was on a plane to Saigon.  I II'
Paxton's arrival at Tan Son Nhut this time felt like a homecoming to
her, and she looked around the familiar base with more warmth than she
had felt when she went back to Savannah.  She felt immediately at home
here, and she knew she had done the right thing as a cab drove her down
the Tu Do, to the Caravelle, where she'd lived the year before.  It was
strange to think she'd been gone for five months, and now finally she
felt as though she were home again.  She'd been numb when she left, but
now she felt alive coming back here.  She dropped her bags at the
hotel, and directed the driver to take her to the Eden Building in the
square, and as they drove past the Marines Statue she smiled.  She
could hardly wait to see Ralph.  And when she walked in he was there,
looking harassed and complaining, just returned from covering a combat
mission.  He had his back to her and he was complaining about the
stinking driver they'd had, and she walked up behind him slowly and
tapped him on the shoulder.  And when he saw her, he broke into a broad
grin, and threw his arms around her.  Delta Delta ... I don't believe
it ... you crazy bitch!  What the hell are you doing here when you
could be sitting on your ass in San Francisco?  Oh, really, who said
so?  I've covered every stinking boring event they had, and if I ever
have to go to another political meeting, or sit-in, I'm going to puke. 
Welcome back, he said quietly, looking genuinely pleased to see her. 
Thank you.  Their eyes met and held.  They had been through some rough
times, and she owed him everything she knew about VietNam Too tired for
a drink?  When did you get in, by the way?  About two hours ago.  And
no, I'm not.  I don't know what the hell time it is for me, but I don't
give a damn.  She was ecstatic to see him.  The terrace at the
Continental Palace?  he asked, laughing.  He still remembered how
horrified she'd been by it when she first arrived and Jean-Pierre had
taken her there, and she asked Ralph about him as they drove toward the
Tu Do again.  How is he, by the way?  Drinking too much, as usual.  His
wife finally walked out on him.  She got sick and tired of waiting for
him to come home from the war.  But I think he kind of expected it.  He
glanced at her from time to time as they drove.  He was so happy to see
her.  She was almost like family to him now, and she felt the same way
about him.  How's France?  Fine.  He sounded strange for a moment.  The
baby's due in September.  She looked at him long and hard, wondering
how he felt about it now.  He'd been upset about it at first.  He
didn't think, given the uncertainties they lived with, that they should
have a baby out of wedlock.  I tried to talk her out of it, for the
baby's sake.  But she wants it desperately, so ... vla.  He shrugged
with a smile, in spite of himself.  I guess I'm going to be a father. 
He still hadn't married her, but he was thinking seriously about it
now, with the baby coming, and he was still trying to convince her to
get married.  How was it in the States?  He hadn't been back in so
long, it was beginning to seem like a foreign country.  Strange.  She
was honest with him.  It was really weird at first.  I hated it.  All
the people are so different now, or at least they seemed that way to
me.  They're all involved in themselves, and no one gives a damn about
all this.  It's like it doesn't exist, except to the people who've been
here.  They don't want it to exist, so it doesn't.  I wondered about
that.  They had arrived at the Continental Palace by then, and Paxton
realized she had forgotten the unbearable heat of Saigon.  It was a far
cry from chilly San Francisco.  But she didn't even mind that now.  She
was just glad to be here, with the endless noise and the familiar smell
of flowers and fruit and gas fumes.  They walked slowly up the stairs
and Paxton wondered if they'd run into Nigel.  She said as much to
Ralph, and for a moment he looked vague and then he looked at her
strangely.  He was killed at Bien Hoa two months ago.  Some stupidity. 
A car blew up ... it was a small bomb planted by the VC ... it was a
stupid thing, and it killed him.  A lot of them died for stupid things,
like Peter, and countless others.  And even the ones who died in
battle, that seemed stupid afterward I too ...

like Bill.  But she tried not to think about that now and just enjoy
being with Ralph.  That's too bad about Nigel.  She was sorry, although
she had never really liked him.  Are you working a lot?  Too much, he
smiled happily, but I love it.  It's going to be fun working together
again.  How soon do you want to start?  I've been saving a trip to Da
Nang until I could find someone to go with me.

I'd love it.  She had never been to Da Nang before, and she had always
hesitated because of Peter.  She was never sure how she'd feel being
where he'd been killed.  But this time, she was ready.

Good.  I'll set it up.  How about if I drag you along with me day after
tomorrow?  I'll be there.  She smiled at him, and then he looked at his
watch.  He had to get back to France, he didn't like to leave her alone
as much now.  She hadn't been feeling well lately, and An was a
handful.  Do you want me to take you back to the Caravelle?  he asked
as he stood up, but she smiled and shook her head.  If I can stay awake
long enough, I'll walk.  And if I'm lazy, I can always catch a pedicab.
 No problem.  He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek then.  Welcome
back.  I'm glad you made it.

So am I. She gave him a warm hug in return.  And give my love to
France.  I'll see you tomorrow at the Five O'Clock Follies.  Are they
still on?  She laughed at the thought of it, and all the familiar
correspondents she would see again.  This really was home now, but that
said something about her, too, something a little scary.  She was one
of them now, no longer a Greenseed.  She was one of the hard core, one
of the people who belonged here until the war was over.

She waved at Ralph as he left, and closed her eyes as she sipped her
drink on the terrace.  There was a Green Beret sitting with a
Vietnamese girl at the next table.  And he was wearing the elite
tiger-striped camouflage and red, white, and blue scarf they were all
so proud of.  Only the Green Berets wore the camouflage mixed with
brown, the Tiger Stripes.  Paxton was drinking a thom xay, the
pineapple froth she'd become addicted to before, because she knew if
she'd had anything alcoholic, she'd have dropped in her tracks, and as
she put the drink down and looked up, she had a start.  It was like a
dream.  She had come back, and suddenly all the same familiar faces
were there around her.  But this part of the dream wasn't quite as
easy.  She didn't know what to say at first, she wasn't going to say
anything, but he had stopped and he was staring at her and he looked
awkward and nervous.  It was Bill Quinn's first sergeant, Tony
Campobello.  I thought you left, he said strangely, as though he was
confused by the dream too.  I did, she said hesitantly, wondering if
he'd attack her again verbally, and this time Ralph wasn't there to
protect her.  I just got back.  Today, as a matter of fact.  Oh.  He
nodded.  How was it stateside?  He stood there, awkwardly, talking to
her, in his uniform, and she wasn't sure what to make of it, but seeing
him again reminded her of Bill, and it was painful for her, and for him
too.  Somehow the three of them were still linked together, even though
Bill had been gone for six months now.  It was strange going home, she
told him honestly.

No one really understands there.  That's what everyone says.  We leave
here as heroes and when you go home, they treat you like convicts. 
These are strange times, she said quietly, wondering if she should ask
him to sit down and join her.  He looked nervous and wiry.  He wasn't a
tall man, but he exuded strength and a quiet force that had always
impressed her.  And she knew Bill had liked and respected him, although
her relationship with him had certainly never been pleasant.  Are you
still at Cu Chi?  She didn't know what else to ask him.  I re-upped, he
said, looking half proud, half sheepish, as they all did, for my fourth
tour.  Bill always said you had to be crazy to be a tunnel rat, and I
guess he was right.  Or very brave, or both, she said softly, thinking
of Bill again, and as she did, her eyes met Tony's, and she didn't say
anything, but Tony knew what she was thinking.  He was something, he
said with admiration, and then, looking awkward again, I owe you an
apology.

No, you don't.  She didn't want to go back to that again.  It was such
a terrible time, she didn't want to think of it ... when Bill had died,
and Ralph had come to tell her she knew she could never go through that
again, and she looked up at Tony sadly.  I understand.  We were both
upset.  Yeah but you did something pretty special.  I thought about it
for a long time, and I always wanted to tell you what I thought.  It
made me realize why he must have loved you.  He did, you know.  She
smiled sadly at the memory, and wondered what had impressed him.  I
loved him too.  And I guess you did.

That's why we both went a little nuts when Yeah.  But when you came
back for the stuff you'd given him, so it didn't go back to his wife, I
was impressed by that.  Most women wouldn't have done that.

They would have figured to hell with it, or just let her find out, and
figure it didn't matter anymore anyway.  Lots of guys have other women
over here, but no woman I've ever known has ever come back to get the
evidence so his wife didn't have to get it.  He would have liked that. 
Those kids meant the world to him.  There were tears in his eyes, and
she had to fight back her own again.  And that thing you told me about
your father that day you didn't have to tell me that.  He took a step
closer to her as she set down her empty glass.

I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was.  I asked the AP guy about
you once, but he said you'd gone back to San Francisco.  He stuck his
hand out to her.  I'm surprised you'll even speak to me after the
things I said to you.  We were all under a lot of pressure.  But thank
you, Tony.  She shook his hand then, and it was cool and firm and
strong, just the way he looked, and his dark eyes bore into hers like
bullets.  Thank you.  She was beginning to understand why Bill liked
him.  He was straightforward and sincere, even if he did have one hell
of a temper.  Do you want to sit down?  She motioned to the chair Ralph
had vacated earlier, but Tony shook his head, he still felt ill at ease
with her.  No, I'm okay.  I have to meet someone in a few minutes.  His
eyes seemed to take her in and ask ten thousand questions.  What made
you come back to Saigon?  She smiled at him.  I re-upped.  Second tour.
 And he laughed.  You've got guts.  Most people can't wait to get the
hell out of here.  That's how I felt about San Francisco.  Is that
where you're from?  he asked with obvious curiosity.  Bill Quinn had
told him very little about her.  That's where the paper is that I work
for, and where I went to school for four years, in Berkeley.  But I'm
from Savannah before that.  Shit, he said, looking impressed.  I spent
a weekend there once years ago, after I did basic training in Georgia. 
Those people are about as straight as you get.  I thought they were
going to run my ass out of town for going dancing.  I'm from New York. 
Things are a little livelier up north.  She laughed at his description
of Savannah.  You hit the nail right on the head.  That's why I don't
live in Savannah more or less I have a hard time explaining it to my
mother.  She must really be thrilled you're in Saigon, he said, looking
wise for his years as she tried to figure out how old he was.  In point
of fact, Tony was thirty.  Not exactly, Paxton admitted, referring to
her mother, but she didn't have much choice.

I just couldn't take it anymore.  I had to get out of San Francisco,
and come back to VietNam Why?  In some ways, he couldn't understand it.
 She was a pretty girl, she was young, she obviously had a good job and
she was smart, she could have gone anywhere other than VietNam What the
hell was she here for?  I don't know yet, she answered him honestly.  I
haven't figured it out.

Unfinished business, I guess, I just knew I belonged here.  I couldn't
stand the trivia at home anymore.  The new cars, the old jobs, the new
curtains people talk about, while people are being killed by the VC, as
they both knew only too well.  I just couldn't stand it.  He touched
his forehead in what she thought was a salute.

Where I come from, they call itpazza.  Crazy.  Nuts.  He made a very
New York face and she laughed, and then she stood up.  She was getting
tired.  There was a nme-hour time difference for her and all of a
sudden she could hardly see straight.  You look bushed, he said as she
got up, almost weaving.  I am.  just got in.  He was watching her, as
though trying to decide something about her, and she was trying not to
let him make her nervous.  She kept thinking of when he'd been
screaming at her six months before, and how much he'd hated her then,
and all the time she went out with Bill, but that was all over now and
there was no point thinking about it anymore.

And he seemed to want to make some kind of truce with her.  There was
no point having a vendetta with anyone.  And she knew Bill would have
liked them to be friends, even if the sergeant was a little strange,
she was willing to overlook it.  Not.  strange so much as intense, and
occasionally very nervous.  But in Saigon, who wasn't?

Can I give you a lift to your hotel?  I have a stolen jeep outside.

I picked it up at the airport, he said coolly, and she laughed.

That's reassuring.  Actually, I was going to walk.  But thinking about
it now exhausted her.  Would you mind?  He shook his head.  I'm at the
Caravelle, just down the street.  That's a nice place, he said by way
of conversation.  I had dinner at the penthouse once.

The food is very fresh.  And he laughed when she looked at him
strangely after he made the comment.  I know.  That sounds ridiculous. 
My family are wholesale grocers.  All my life I've been hearing about
whether or not the vegetables are fresh, every place we eat.  I hated
hearing it as a kid, fuck the vegetables, I used to think.  Then I
discovered when I grew up, it's a family curse, it becomes an
obsession.  She was laughing with him, and she was so tired, she almost
wanted to be friends.  It was so strange to come back and run into him
again, and to be chatting with him after all his hostility and anger
the whole time she went out with Bill.

Maybe he'd just been jealous.  She'd been told that some noncoms got
strangely possessive about their captains.  I'll remember that, about
the vegetables, if I have dinner there again.  She smiled tiredly at
him.  You do that.  They had pulled up in front of the Caravelle by
then, and he helped her get out.  Christ, you're half asleep.  She
could hardly keep her eyes open.  You gonna be all right?  As long as I
make it to my bed, I'll be fine.  Thanks for the ride, Sergeant. 
Anytime, Miss Andrews.  He saluted her smartly, and she remembered
thinking that she was surprised he remembered her name after all this
time.  And then she picked her bags up at the desk, walked into her
room, and collapsed on the bed with her clothes on, and it was twenty
hours later when she woke up with the afternoon sun streaming in
through the windows.  And she could remember talking to the sergeant on
the terrace the night before.

And for a minute, as she lay there, she thought she must have been
dreaming.  Paxton stayed awake for two hours, unpacked her things,
bathed, went downstairs to eat, and then went back to bed and slept
until morning.  Ralph had left a note for her at the desk, telling her
he'd pick her up downstairs at seven the next morning.  And the next
day, at six, she smiled as she watched the sun come up.  It was
beautiful and hot as hell as she put on fatigues and a khaki undershirt
and laced up her boots.  They were the same ones Ralph had given her
when she first arrived in Saigon a year earlier.  She didn't feel
afraid to be here this time.  Somehow everything felt right now.  And
as she walked downstairs she looked totally at ease in her own skin,
and confident that she knew what she was doing.  As usual, Ralph was on
time, and he had Bertie, an old British photographer with him, a
terrific guy Paxton had worked with and liked.  He cracked bad jokes as
they drove out of town, and Paxton smiled as she looked at Ralph and
poured herself a cup of coffee from the thermos.  The sun was well up
by then, and the streets were almost steaming, and there was still the
same pervasive smell of fuel and flowers and fruit everywhere, the same
smoke that seemed to hang low over them, and the same green on the
hills as they left the city, the same red earth that made you want to
reach out and press it through your 284 MESSAGE FROM NAM fingers ...
the same beggars, the same orphans, the same wounded and maimed.  The
same country she had come to love so much, she could no longer leave
it.

Ralph had left a message at the hotel the night before that his
assignment to Da Nang had been changed, but he wanted to pick her up at
the same time the next morning to go to a different location.

Do you realize I don't even know where we're going today?  Paxton said.
 Talk about trusting.  So what are we doing?  she asked Ralph, as the
photographer chatted with their driver.  Ralph had wondered about the
wisdom of taking her, and he'd wanted to call it off late the night
before, but by then it had been too late to call her.

He'd meant to give her a choice before they left, but then in the
excitement of going out on a story with her, he'd forgotten to tell
her.  ' We re going to Cu Chi today.  He glanced at his watch,
nervously.  But listen it's no sweat, if you want we'll turn back.

You don't have to come on this one.  The stupid thing is, I haven't
even been here for six months.  And now suddenly yesterday, they came
up with a hot story.  The last time they had been there had been
anything but easy.  And if that lunatic was still around I feel bad
about this, Pax, he started to explain.  I should have just canceled
you out of it, when they switched me from Da Nang to Cu Chi.  No, you
shouldn't.  Maybe I need to face this.  Do you want to go back to town,
Pax?  he asked gently.  She shook her head silently and for a long time
she stared out the window.  Bill had been dead for six months, Peter
for fifteen.  That was just the way it was here.  You couldn't stay
away from the places where they'd gotten hurt or out of the places
they'd been.  There were too many painful memories.  Peter had been
killed in Da Nang, Bill at Cu Chi.  She couldn't hide from them
forever.  You just had to keep on going, go on living.  I'll be okay,
she said quietly.  She remembered all too clearly the last time they'd
been there, to pick up the letters she'd written him, the day before
they sent his body back to Debbie in San Francisco.  And that reminded
her of running into Tony Campobello on the terrace.  She took a deep
breath and another swig of the black coffee and looked at Ralph again. 
You'll never believe who I ran into yesterday, on the terrace of the
Continental Palace after you left.  Ho Chi Minh, he said easily.  He
was so damn happy that Paxton was back in Saigon and covering a story
with him.  As much as he had wanted her to leave Saigon for her own
sake, he was thrilled she'd chosen to return.  And he could see for
himself that the time in the States had done her good, and she was
ready to do her job again, the job they all loved so passionately and
couldn't leave till the war in VietNam was over.  I saw Tony
Campobello, she filled in for him.  You know, Bill's first sergeant. 
She was able to talk about Bill again.  For five months in the States
she hadn't talked about him to anyone, because no one knew him.  That
lunatic?

What did he do?  Throw his drink in your face?  He remembered all too
well their final meeting in Cu Chi, and it had been anything but
pleasant, as he shouted at her, and Paxton grieved for Bill, and
clutched the small bundle of letters.  Actually, you won't believe
this, she said with a look of disbelief herself, he was almost
pleasant.  Kind of uptight and nervous, but he .  She hesitated,
thinking back to the last time she'd seen him six months before.  .

he apologized for the last time we saw him.  Ralph looked at her long
and hard for a moment before he answered.  There's a change.  I thought
the son of a bitch was going to try to kill you.  I'd have kicked his
ass if he tried anything, but for a while there I thought the bastard
had slipped his moorings.  She stared out the window as she thought
about it.  I think we all did.  But there had been nothing crazy about
her.  She had just been heartbroken over losing Bill.  It was
Campobello who'd been out of order.  But they were all like that, the
tunnel rats, Ralph commented, they lived too much on edge, with too
goddamn much stress and too much danger.

And eventually, it happened to all of them.  They snapped.  And who
could blame them?  They arrived at the base, and came through the main
gate, and Ralph told them he wanted to see the new commander of the
25th, and Paxton followed him inside.  He was a pleasant man, and he
explained that they had recently uncovered an entire new network of
tunnels.  There had been an arsenal of bombs, living quarters, offices.
 They hadn't known it, but once again the men at Cu Chi had been living
over an entire subterranean village.  He showed them photographs and
diagrams, and then called on an aide to show them around, and he
invited them to come back and see him again if they had any further
questions.  And he looked appreciatively at Paxton when he said it.  He
didn't know who she was when they met, but he knew she was one hell of
a pretty girl in combat gear or not, and he thought Ralph was pretty
damn lucky.

They drove out to the back of the base after that, and Paxton felt her
heart ache as she looked around at the place where Bill had lived and
worked.  Coming here was turning out to be very painful.

And Ralph could see it on her face as they drove to the same place they
had gone with Bill, and Ralph was suddenly sorry he had brought her. 
I'm sorry, Pax.  I shouldn't have done this to you.  I just wasn't
thinking.  It's okay.  She patted his arm, and readjusted her backpack.
 She kept some notes in it, and a few things, like her canteen and a
first aid kit.  Like the troops, she still carried her suntan cream and
her insect repellent in her helmet.  I'm fine, she said, but she was
lying, as they got out of the jeep again.  She was sad, and she was
thinking of him as she suddenly collided with someone who almost
knocked her off her feet and then caught her before she fell.  Shit . 
the voice said as she stumbled in midair, and then he caught her.  And
as she turned, she saw that it was Tony Campobello.  Hi, she said
shyly, trying to regain her composure.

Ralph was already talking to someone else, and the photographer was II'
reloading his camera.  I didn't mean to knock you down just now...
sorry .  And then, with a slow smile that lit his dark eyes like
embers, I seem to be saying that to you a lot these days.  You get home
okay the other night?  You looked so tired, I thought you weren't going
to make it.  His New York accent was familiar to her now, and she could
almost see why Bill had liked him.  He was nervous and tense, but he
was also smart, and quick, and sharp, and he cared intensely about the
people around him, and everything that happened to them.  I slept for
about twenty hours after I left you, she explained.  I didn't even
bother to take my clothes off.  That's about how you looked.  He
smiled, watching the pain in her eyes.  It was rough for her coming
back here and he knew it.  It was hard for him too.  Everywhere he
went, he was reminded of the men he had loved and lost.  There were
ghosts everywhere for him, and for most of them if they stayed in Nam
for long enough.  There were good memories, too, but there were 50 many
sad ones.  How are the vegetables here today?  She smiled back at him,
lightening the moment.  A look had passed between them that said they
both missed Bill, and for a crazy instant she wanted to reach out and
touch him.  Pretty fresh, he laughed, and was surprised that she'd
remembered the details of their conversation, and then he sobered
again.  So are the snipers.  We've got to look out to the east.  We've
been getting some pretty lively action.  One of my boys got hit in the
arm a few hours ago.  Nothing much, fortunately, he was pretty lucky. 
We've been keeping down ever since then.  Keep well back when you go
out to look at the tunnels.  He had heard why they were there, and his
CO had told him to give them every cooperation.  I'll watch it, thanks.
 And with that, Ralph turned to her with a look of irritation.  The
heat was getting to him, and he wasn't pleased to hear that the VC were
so tight in that day.  He hadn't wanted to drag her out on a difficult
mission.  He had just wanted to start her off again with some new
information.  You with me, Delta Delta, or you gonna talk all day? 
Keep your shirt on, I'm coming.  Keep your ass down.  Charlie's out
there.  So I've been told.  She glanced at Tony, and then went off with
Ralph.  She was introduced to the lieutenant who had taken Bill's
place, and felt a tug at her heart again, but she tried to concentrate
on what they were doing.  Ralph explained about the shots he wanted the
photographer to get, and told Paxton the angle of his story, and all
around them there were men, and there was activity as people came and
went, and some of them went out into the brush to tangle with the VC
they knew were out there.  Christ, you'd think when they turned the
Iron Triangle into a parking lot just across the river that that would
have done it, Ralph muttered to one of the men, but the guy only
shrugged.  He already knew there was no way to stop them.  There's no
way you can get rid of these guys.  You can burn 'em, you can dig 'em
out, you can kill the little fuckers, but Charlie keeps on coming. 
They just got bokoo boys to send down here to see us.  Yeah.  Ralph
nodded, and Paxton crouched as she followed Bertie into some tall grass
beyond the clearing.  He wanted to get some shots of the exchange with
the sniper before he went back to look at the tunnel, and for some
reason, Paxton lowed him, sensing that she was hot on the tail of a
story.  Ralph was doing something else by then, and there were half a
dozen troops all around them, and a point man out front trying to see
what he could find.  And as Paxton knelt in the brush, a radio man came
up behind her.  Lady, you okay?  I'm fine.  You sure you're supposed to
be out here?  I didn't know they had special seats for the press.  But
as she said the words, a burst of fire whistled past her.  Without
saying another word, she and the radio operator dropped flat on the
ground, his arms covering hers, their helmets touching as they ate the
dust they lay in.  Come to think of it, she said softly as they waited,
maybe they should have special seats.  That was close.  It reminded her
of the time Bill had saved her from the grenade in almost the same
location.  But the bullets had been closer than they knew.  As they got
to their knees again, the RTO saw that Bertie had been shot clean
through the heart and was lying beside them.  Oh fuck .  He checked for
a pulse and there was none, as fresh fire erupted nearby, and a dozen
GIs ran past them waving their M-16's and opening fire at what they
thought were two more snipers.  Get your ass out of here, the RTO
shouted at Paxton, go back.  But as she moved, they opened fire on them
again from a different angle, and he lay on top of her as he
frantically called for help.  There were more than two snipers out
there.  Mother Goose ... Mother Goose this is Peter Pan come in we're
out in the clearing and they're taking pot shots at us, I've got one
visitor down, and a Delta Delta on my hands out here draw them off and
I'll bring her in.  We read you, Peter Pan this is Mother Goose.  It
was the operator at the base, and they would instruct some of the
troops to try to draw off the snipers, but it wasn't going to be easy. 
We've got two choices, the RTO explained as he almost smothered Paxton.
 We can run like hell, back the way we came, or we can go ahead into
the trees, which is shorter.  But it was also where the snipers were,
and a lot more dangerous for them, and he didn't know what the hell to
do with Paxton.  He was a boy about her own age, from Maine, and the
last thing he wanted was to get her killed and have to bear the blame
for making the wrong move in the heat of the moment.  I vote for the
trees, she said calmly as another round exploded near her knees.  In
facthe pulled away from him and rolled over think we ought to move
fast.  And as she said it, she lunged ahead, and he followed and as
they ran, the spot where they had been lying took a direct hit from a
grenade.  The VC were definitely not kidding.  She didn't even think as
she ran.  And as they approached the trees, she dove into them and lay
on the ground, panting, as the RTO slid in beside her, and at that
exact moment the M-60 opened fire, and beyond it there was a huge
explosion.  There goes the pig, the RTO explained, and then made
contact with the base again.  This is Mother Goose, the base answered. 
Peter Pan, where the hell is your Delta Delta?  I got her.

He smiled at Paxton, and she wanted to laugh.  It was crazy.  The VC
were trying to kill her, and her own people were still calling her a
Doughnut Dollie.  Any injuries?  The voice at the other end sounded
worried.  She looks fine.  As best he could, the RTO looked her over
and confirmed it.  Can you get us out of here?  Were trying.  There are
more of them than we thought.  There always were, and at Cu Chi they
always seemed to infiltrate in numbers.  They knew the old tunnel
system too well, and the recent discovery of the new network proved
that there were always more.  Somehow, no matter what you did, Charlie
was always one step ahead, and he always seemed to be win'I ning.  We
should have you out of there in a few minutes, Peter Pan.  Just sit
tight.  There was another round of fire, and Mother Goose announced
that one of the snipers was wounded and had been captured.  The RTO
told Paxton to stay where she was, he was going to go up front and see
if he could help them.  Ill be right back.

But as soon as he left she heard shots behind her, and she didn't know
which way to move.  There seemed to be no choice, except to follow the
RTO, and suddenly before she knew it she was in the midst of the fire
again, and there was a boy lying on the ground beside her.  His whole
back had been blown open and his head was thrown back, and as Paxton
looked, she saw that it was the boy from Maine, with his radio beside
him.  She was sure he was dead as she approached, but as she lay next
to him, she saw that he was still breathing.  He was unconscious, and
so were two boys next to him, and then the fighting moved away again. 
But she could hear the grenades and the M-16's, and the M-60.  And
without thinking she grabbed the radio from the boy's hands, and did
what she had seen him do before, to rouse the base.  Come in, Mother
Goose.  She spoke into the mike cautiously.  I hear you this is Mother
Goose who is this?  She hesitated for only the flicker of an eyelash. 
This is Delta Delta.  The RTO is badly wounded.  I've got two other
boys hurt here too.  Where are you?  Mother Goose sounded panicked. 
I'm not sure.  We're in the bushes, and the fighting's not too far from
us.

There must be more than just snipers out there.  Can you get us out?

Her voice sounded strong, but as she held the radio, she could feel her
hands shaking.  One of the boys had stirred and let out a moan, and she
kept telling herself silently not to panic.  We're trying to get you
out, Delta Delta have you got a flare?  She started to say no, and then
remembered that she had one in her backpack.  Yes.  I want to know
exactly where you are, Delta Delta.  Just wait a minute.  Don't do
anything till I tell you.  And when he stepped away from the phone, he
shouted across the room to anyone who could hear him.  Get me the
lieutenant, someone.  I've got a woman out there with three wounded
guys, and we don't know where the fuck they are, they're out there
somewhere in the bushes.  The lieutenant came running within seconds,
and a few minutes later someone got Ralph, and he came back to the base
and stood nervously listening to the radio with the others.  They were
still trying to draw the sniper fire off out in the brush, but someone
had seen more VC by then, and it had become obvious that they were
dealing with an NVA unit from somewhere up north.  Great, the
lieutenant groaned.  Just what I needed.  Regular army from Hanoi, and
a female journalist from San Francisco.  He closed his eyes for a
minute while he thought, and looked like he was praying.  Can you get
her out of there, Mack?

Ralph looked terrified.  For chrissake, Ralph, I'm trying.  I don't
know what the hell we've got up there, and I don't know how she
wandered into it.  But it's beginning to sound like the whole fucking
North Vietnamese Army.  On the edge of the base like that?

It seemed hard to believe, I' but nonetheless it had happened.  It
happened everywhere, they tiptoed right through your midst while you
were sleeping.  And they slit your throats, or stole your rifles, or
didn't.  But their presence was no secret today, and where Paxton was
lying, she could see the action.  They were tossing grenades at each
other now, and the M-60 machine gun was in full action.  This is Mother
Goose, the RTO at the base spoke into the phone.  Delta Delta, can you
still hear me?  I hear you fine, Mother Goose.  Could you send a cab
please?  Ralph shook his head, wishing he had never asked her to come
to Cu Chi with him on the story.

We'll have a cab out your way any minute.  And almost as he said the
words, the fighting seemed to move away from them, and deeper into the
brush and away from the base.  It was finally working.  How are your
wounded?  She had just checked everyone.  One of them was conscious
now, and the other two were still breathing.  We're okay, she said to
the base, but barely.  Can you make it quick?  Give us two more minutes
and we'll have a Dustoff out your way.  You got your flare?  I've got
it.  We'll tell you when, Delta Delta.  And in the next five minutes,
the fighting moved farther away, and almost at the same moment, she
heard the whirring of a chopper, and saw the Dustoff in the distance. 
Can you see the cab, Delta Delta?  The voice was calm, and she felt
tears sting her eyes when she saw him.

It had been quick, but it had been very, very scary.  And it reminded
her that she was back in VietNam This was not San Francisco or
Savannah.  People were dying here, and going home without legs or arms,
or blind, or deaf or without faces.  And for a minute there she had
thought they were going to get her.  But she didn't have time to think
about it now, all she could think about was getting the wounded boys
into the chopper.  I see the cab, Mother Goose, she confirmed.  Show us
your flare, Delta Delta.  There was sweat running down Ralph's face as
he listened from the control room.  Dear God, don't let those assholes
kill her.  And in between transmissions to her, the RTO at the base was
talking alternately to the guys in the brush, and the medevac unit.  We
see you, Delta Delta.  They're coming in to pick you up.  And after
that, the men in the control room stood and waited, while Paxton lay
where she was, as the helicopter came down, right where Bertie had been
killed.

She saw them put his body in the chopper and then two men with a
stretcher ran into the trees where she lay with the three men who'd
been wounded.  You okay?  They glanced at her as she nodded, and they
rapidly put the first man on the stretcher and then ran back for the
two others, and then beckoned to her.  Come on, quick .  She ran
through the enormous dust cloud they had caused, and the wind from
their chopper blades, and without saying a word, they dragged her into
the chopper and took off, and flew the short distance to the 159th MDHA
unit on the base where they had a helipad all set up, and a cluster of
nurses and corpsmen waiting.  This is Mother Goose come in Two One
Alpha Bravo, you got her?  We got her, the pilot said calmly.  She
looks okay.  How are they doing downstairs?  Fine so far.  You've got
all their wounded.  Over and out, Mother Goose.

We're coming in now.  Paxton was still clutching the radio to her as
they came down, and her whole body had started shaking.  The radio
still had the RTO's blood on it, but he was doing fine in the hands of
the medics.  Paxton let them unload the wounded first, and then she
thanked the pilot again, and climbed gingerly out of the chopper.  And
almost as soon as she did, she felt herself grabbed and swung around so
hard, her helmet fell off her head, as her golden hair spun around her.
 What the fuck were you doing out there?  She didn't even understand
who it was at first.  He was shaking her like a child, and for a minute
she thought he was going to hit her.  Don't you know you could have
been killed?  Why the fuck did you go out there?  The whole fucking
area is restricted!  I .  And then she saw him, his black eyes blazing
at her in fear.  It was Tony Campobello.  Don't you follow rules?  Or
do you think you're too important for that?  You could have gotten
yourself killed, and everyone with you!  But all of a sudden she
couldn't take any more, and she wasn't going to take it from him. 
She'd been through this before, and he wasn't going to make her feel
guilty again.  It hadn't been her fault this time, and maybe it wasn't
her fault when Bill died either.  Don't give me that shit!  she shouted
back at him, her green eyes blazing into his like M-l6 rifles.  I
didn't do anything!  And no one got hurt because of me!  You've got the
whole goddamn NVA out there, mister.  And if you guys aren't smart
enough to keep them out of your own goddamn base, don't yell at me! 
All I did was walk ten feet past where I was supposed to be, and I got
shot at!  What the fuck do you expect out here?  Ladies serving tea?

This is a goddamn war zone!  The two of them were standing there
screaming at each other, and the wounded were long gone, and the
chopper had taken off again, and they were still screaming, and the men
around them figured it was a personal gripe, so they didn't interfere. 
And it was.  It went back a long time, and now the air needed clearing.
 But as she shouted at him, her eyes filled with tears suddenly.  They
were tears of anger and frustration.  Don't shout at me she railed back
at him.  It wasn't my fault those boys got hurt!  No, but it could have
been!  he shouted back as Ralph and the lieutenant drove up in a jeep
and watched the two yelling and waving their fists, and Ralph groaned
in irritation.  Tony backed off when he saw his lieutenant arrive, and
Rlh glared at him in totally unconcealed fury.  You at it again?  he
asked with open anger.  But he wasn't afraid to tackle Ralph either. 
She could have gotten her ass blown off, he said to him by way of
explanation.

Thank God she didn't, the lieutenant said.  He was older than Bill, and
he looked shaken by the events of the morning.  Maybe I was a little
premature inviting the press in to look at that tunnel.

Their photographer was dead, Paxton could have been, and Ralph looked
gray as he contemplated what had had pened.  Rlh looked at her
pointedly as he spoke.  Maybe we need to be a little more careful. 
What in God's name made you walk out there?  I don't know.

Bertie said he wanted to get a few quick shots, and I wanted to see
what he was doing.  I guess I was just following him, and the next
thing I knew, someone opened fire on me.  If you hadn't taken the
radio, young lady, you'd still be in there, the lieutenant said with
respect.  You kept your head, and you probably saved those boys' lives.
 She glanced angrily at Tony, still fuming as he said it.  The sergeant
here thinks I tried to kill them.  The lieutenant smiled at what she
said.  Campobello was one of his best men, although a little
hot-blooded.  I' I didn't say that, he growled.  I said you almost got
yourself killed.  ... and he had accused her of killing Bill ... but
that was another time, another story.  That's closer to the truth,
Ralph said, and as Tony and Paxton got into the jeep with them, still
glaring at each other, Rlh talked to the lieutenant about getting
Bertie's body back to Saigon.  Everyone had loved working with him, and
it would be a real loss now that he was gone.  Another man gone. 
Another death.  It was hard to live with.

I'd like to thank your RTO at the base, Paxton said quietly before they
left.  And the lieutenant introduced her to him.  And there were
suddenly tears in her eyes when she met him.  I just wanted to thank
you ."  She didn't know what to say to him.  He had saved her life with
his transmissions and cool action.  Anytime, Delta Delta, he drawled. 
He was also from the South, but she didn't ask from where.

Sorry we got you into a hot spot.  You got me out of it.  That's more
important.  She knew by then that the other guys were okay.  Only their
friend Bertie wasn't.  And Ralph was very upset about it as they drove
back to Saigon.  They hadn't seen Tony again before they left, but
Ralph was still furious with him, and he vented some of his frustration
by shouting at Paxton.  It had been a tough day for all of them, an
ugly day in an ugly war, and they hadn't even gotten the story they
came for.  Rlh said he'd come back another day, but he had to get back
to Saigon and report back to the AP and make some arrangements.  What
is it with you?  Every time I see you two together, you're screaming at
each other like lunatics.  He was annoyed at her, or appeared to be. 
But in truth, he'd been scared to death, and now he was so relieved she
was all right that he was angry at her.  He accused me of trying to
kill those guys by being careless.  You were careless with yourself,
which is worse.  You're here to write about this war, not get killed to
prove a point.  And I don't know what his problem is, but I think he's
crazy.  He is.

She confirmed it with a venomous glance.  She was filthy dirty again,
and covered with the RTO's blood.  It reminded her of other missions
she'd been on, and why she had come back to Saigon.  It wasn't that she
loved it.  But she knew she had an obligation to be here.  But an
obligation to whom?  To herself?  To her country?  To the paper?  Or
Ralph?  Or Peter?  Or Bill?  It was an interesting question.

And as they drove back to Saigon, they didn't speak again.  It had been
a stinking day for both of them.  And even for Tony, who had gone for a
long walk, fuming to himse1f, and trying to figure out just exactly
what it was he Ielt for Paxton.  Ralph was still annoyed with her when
he saw her at the AP office the next day, but she took him to lunch,
and after a couple of drinks he relented.

You jerk, I thought you'd had it when you were lying out there in the
brush with those guys.  I figured they'd pick you off next.  I could
just see the story.  So could I, she admitted, drinking a cafe sub It
was strong coffee sweetened with condensed milk from cans, and a year
before, she'd thought they were disgusting.  Now she loved them.  Were
you scared?  he asked in an undertone, and she smiled.  Afterwards, I
was.  Right then, I'm not sure for a minute I started to panic,
wondering what would happen if they grabbed me and didn't kill me. 
That really scared me more.  It had already happened more than once,
journalists who were taken prisoner, but usually they were released. 
The North Vietnamese wanted to give them a little propaganda to write
about, but there was always the possibility that next time they
wouldn't be as friendly.  And the stories of torture and beatings at
the hands of the Vietnamese were legend.  Right then, all I could
really think of was getting those boys out before they died.  Ralph
nodded, thinking.  Poor Bertie.  Was he married?  Paxton didn't know
him that well, although she'd always liked him.  No.  He had a
girlfriend here.  A girl from Cholon, I think.  Other than that, I
don't think he had anyone.  No wlIe, no kids.  I called the embassy for
him.  They're sending him back to I-ondon tomorrow.  She nodded,
thinking of when Bill had been sent back to Debbie.  And then Ralph
looked at her, and for a moment he looked very tired.  Don't you get
sick of this?  The dying, I mean.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in a place where
people only die from things like cancer or falling otf ski lifts.

She smiled, knowing what he meant, although she'd been away from it for
a while.  But it was still hard.  It still hurt you.  And yet none of
them seemed to be able to leave it.  They couldn't go home and leave
unfinished business.  That was what had happened to her when she'd gone
back.  It all felt so wrong being home again, because in her heart, she
knew it wasn't over.  Yeah.  I get sick of it.  We all do.  It worries
me sometimes .  he said to her honestly.  His third drink had taken a
toll on him, which was rare.  She didn't see him drunk very often.  I
think about France having the baby here.  It's a hell of a world to
bring up a child in.  You could go home, with them, Paxton said softly,
but she wondered if he could.  Maybe he'd been there too long to feel
comfortable anywhere else again.  There were journalists like that, who
had lived in places like Turkey and Algeria and VietNam for so long
that they could never go back to New York and Chicago and London.  She
wondered sometimes if he was one of them, or if she was.  She doesn't
want to go home with me.

She wants to stay here.  She knows what it was like when she was
married to the GI who was An's father.  The army treated her like shit,
his family hated her.  She thinks that if she goes back to the States
with me, people will stone her in the street, and you know what, Pax? 
I'm not all that sure they wouldn't.  I'm not all that sure I have a
right to take her away from here.  And this is one hell of a sad place
to grow up in.  If we were in the States, there's so much I could do
for An.  But here, I'm just happy if I can keep him safe and decently
fed and out of trouble.  An was hardly more than a baby himself, but
Paxton knew there were fiveyearolds selling heroin on the street.  Even
though An was nothing like that.  France took beautiful care of him,
and kept him at home with her.  He went to a French Catholic nursery
school that had once been very exclusive, and his mother was every inch
a lady.

But they lived in a dying world, and into that world, they were going
to bring their baby.  How's she feeling, by the way?  Paxton asked. 
Fat, he laughed, she's cute.  And he was excited about the baby.  He'd
never had a child before, and he was going to be a father at
thirty-nine, and despite the cool indifference he tried to portray to
his friends, he was very excited.  He went back to the office after
that and Paxton went to the Hotel Catinat on the Nguyen Hue for a swim,
and then she went back to the Caravelle to write her story.  She still
hadn't composed her thoughts after what had happened at Cu Chi the day
before, and she was lost in thought as she walked across the hotel
lobby.  She jumped when someone touched her arm, and she looked up in
amazement to see Tony.  I .

She didn't know what to say to him, and she wondered if he was going to
start shouting at her again.  It seemed to be his favorite form of
conversation.  What brings you here?  He blushed crimson as he looked
at her this time.  It was easier dealing with her when she was wearing
an undershirt and combat boots and fatigues, and the remarkable golden
hair was hidden in her helmet.  But suddenly, here, she looked very
beautiful and very womanly, and he felt foolish as he looked at her,
and sorry he had come at all, but he'd felt he had to.  I owe you an
apology again.  The dark brown eyes looked into her green, and for a
moment he seemed almost boyish.  I shouldn't have shouted at you
yesterday.  I ... I was scared for you, and relieved that you were
okay, and it was hard seeing you there again.  It brought back
memories.  As he said it, his eyes were damp.  He still missed Bill
u1nn, more than he did a lot of men, but he was sure she did too.  And
he wasn't someone who could hide his feelings.  It must have been hard
for you too.  She nodded, touched by the honesty of what he said.  It
made it easier for her to talk to him.  I hadn't realized that was
where we were going.  I just went along for the ride, and the story,
and then suddenly there we were, and all I could think of was Tears
filled her eyes and she shook her head and looked away.  And then she
looked back at him.  Maybe you were right a long time ago.  Maybe when
your head is too full of someone, you get hurt, or other people do I
should never have said that to you.  That's not why he died, even if I
wanted to blame you.

I wanted to blame you because I was so sick and tired of blaming
Charlie.  Charlie has killed so many good men I knew.  And he did it
again.  It was Bill's fault too, he sighed.  He never should have gone
down into that tunnel, and he knew it.  But he was one of those people
who always takes responsibility.  It always had to be him, instead of
someone else, and all the other times, he was just lucky.  And
yesterday, you just walked into it.  We had a whole unit of VC just
sitting there in our backyard and you walked into it.

Someone would have no matter what, and we did pretty good, all things
considered.  But for a while there, I thought they were going to get
you, and thinking about it just made me crazy.  Thank you, she said
with a slow smile, looking at him, for caring.  It was easy not to care
anymore.  To see so much death that you no longer felt anything for
anyone.  Because if you did, it would kill you.  I was pretty scared,
too, when I thought about it on the way home.  When I was out there,
with those guys, I didn't have time to think about much before they
came and got us.  It was pretty close, he admitted to her.  He and the
lieutenant had talked about it afterward, and it could have turned into
a pretty ugly story.  It could have gone either way.  It made him sick
when he thought about it.  I was lucky.

I was just going upstairs to write about it, as a matter of fact.

Oh.  He looked disappointed.  I had to pick up some papers at MacVee,
and I thought maybe that is ... I didn't know ... you wouldn't want to
go somewhere for a cup of coffee?  She hesitated for a minute, not sure
what he wanted from her, but the story could wait, and they had both
been pretty shaken up by what had happened, maybe it wouldn't hurt
anything to go have a cup of cofiee and make peace with him.  Despite
the gruff exterior, she suspected he was harmless.  Sure.  I can write
the story later.  She followed him outside, and they walked a little
way to a sidewalk caIe' on the Tu Do.  They had a front-row seat to
watch all the chaos and the traffic and the street life, but they both
took it for granted.

Ralph says we shout at each other all the time, she said with a smile,
sipping her thom xay, and he laughed when she said it.  Yeah.

We do, don't we?  And then he looked sheepish.  I guess it's my fault. 
You could say that.  She laughed at him, and he relaxed.  I can't help
it.  I have a very Italian temper.  Oh, that's what it is.

She was still laughing.  Ralph says it's because we're both crazy.

That's possible too.  He grinned at her, and she noticed that he had a
great smile when he relaxed a little.  You get that way here.  Is that
a diagnosis, or a warning?  Maybe both.  Funnily enough, it was easy
being with him, in spite of all the anguish they'd been through, and
the pain that he had caused her.  Are you married?  she asked
conversationally.  He was certalnly old enough to be.  In the bright
sunlight, she guessed his age accurately.  He was exactly seven years
older than she was.  He was thirty.  No.  He shook his head.  I used to
be.  I got divorced before I came here.  In fact .  He sighed, and
decided to be honest with her.  She was that kind of a person.  That's
pretty much why I came.  My wife and I got married when we were
eighteen.  We were high school sweethearts.  We had a little girl
almost right away.  You know, like a year later, I mean.

We didn't get married because of that, he was careful to explain.

And she died of leukemia.  It almost killed us.  We just didn't
understand.  She was two years old, and how could she die?  How could
God do that to us?  You know, stuff like that.  He looked away, st
pained by the memory as Paxton watched him.  And then we had a little
boy.  His eyes beamed as he looked up at her.  He's a great kid.  Joey.
 Joe.  We named him after my father.  And the funny thing is, he looks
just like him.  He was a million miles away when he talked about his
son.  And Paxton was touched as she listened.  He's terrific.  Anyway,
his face clouded as he went on, when Joey was two, Barbara, that's my
wife, tells me she wants a divorce.  That's it.  After seven years of
marriage, five years before that, one kid dead, and little Joey two
years old now, it's over, she wants out.

I almost died.  He looked at Paxton honestly as he said it.  I didn't
know if I wanted to kill her or myself.  What happened?  Why?  Had she
just gotten bored?  No, he looked at her bitterly, or maybe the right
answer is yes, she was bored with me.  Whatever it was.  She had fallen
in love with my brother.  He's two years older than I am, and he was
always the star in the family.  Tommy the Wonderful.

Tommy the Fantastic.  Tommy who did so great at school.  Me, I worked
my ass off with my father, and saved his business.  Tommy became an
accountant and went to work in the city and then went to law school. 
Now he's a lawyer.  Anyway, she left me, and married him, and I decided
to hell with it.  Joey thought the world of him, and how do you explain
to a kid that your uncle is now your father and your mother is a rotten
cheat.  And my parents told me not to make a big stink because it would
destroy the family.  He made a helpless Italian gesture.  So I left and
came here.  And I haven't been home since.  And that's the story.  He
looked out at the traffic for a minute while she absorbed it.  And you
haven't seen Joey since?  She looked stunned by what he'd told her. 
Tony shook his head as he looked at her.  No.  What can I say to him? 
That I hate his mother?

Do you?  she asked him honestly.  I used to.  I don't know what I feel
anymore.  I used to lie in bed at night and get so pissed off I wanted
to kill her.  So instead I went out and killed Charlie.  But the truth
is I don't even know if I'm mad at her anymore.  Maybe she did the
right thing.  They've had three more kids, she's happy, Tommy loves
her, Joey looks good in his pictures and he's crazy about him.  So
who's to say they were wrong?  And you know, the truth is, sometimes I
can't even remember what she looks like.  It's a funny thing about
hate, Paxton said quietly, that's what happens.

You get so busy hating, sometimes you forget how it even started.

It had happened in VietNam and other places, other lives.  You're an
interesting woman, he said quietly.  That was what impressed me after
you left.  Barbara would never have done a thing like you did for Bill,
picking up your letters and stuff so his wife didn't get them.  She hit
me right in the face with the fact that she was sleeping with my
brother.  But you came back, you went all the way out there to get
those letters you'd written him, so she'd never know and you wouldn't
hurt her.  And you didn't even know her.  I did it for him.  But for
them too.  She had done it for the children.  You loved him a lot,
didn't you?  Tony had to ask her.  She nodded.  I did.  And then, she
had to ask him.  Why did you hate me so much, back then?  I mean, at
the beginning.  Tony took a deep breath and tried to explain it, to
himself as much as to her.  I don't know I think maybe I was afraid of
you.  That you would distract him and make him careless.  I meant that.
 I've seen that happen to other guys, and they get killed because
they're staring gooney-eyed into some broad's picture while they step
on a mine and get their heads blown off.  But to tell the truth, he
wasn't like that.  I don't know, maybe it just annoyed me ... who
knows?  He looked very Italian again.  Maybe I was jealous.  Life is a
lot simpler here sometnnes without women.  That was true.  It was
easier for women sometimes without men too.  But on the other hand,
sometimes it was better with them.  He thought a lot of you, she told
Tony, as a last gift to him from Bill.  And he loved you very much,
Tony told her quietly.  I could see it in his face whenever he talked
about you.

Do you think he would have left his wife in the end?  he couldn't help
asking her.  He had wondered about that afterward, and so had Paxton. 
Probably not, she said honestly, stirring her drink.  I don't think
he'd really have wanted to leave his kids.  It's easy to love someone
here, in the heat of the moment.  It's easier for all of us here.  You
don't know if you'll be alive next week.  You don't have to worry about
if the marriage will work, if you like his job, if he likes your folks,
where you want to live.  You just have to stay alive long enough to
spend a weekend in Vung Tau.  In some ways, it's very simple.  There
was a lot of truth to what she said, and he knew it.  How long are you
here for this time?  he asked, still curious about her.  But the more
he knew about her, the more he liked her, even though sometimes she
drove him into a frenzy.

She drove him nuts with her independence, her bravery, her refusal to
do what she was told, and yet at the same time she touched his heart
with her decency, her warmth, her honesty, her kindness.  I'm here for
as long as I can stand it, she smiled, and as long as they keep
printing my stuff.  I hear you're good.  I don't know.  She shrugged. 
I love writing.  He laughed.  I don't even like writing letters.  I
write to Joey when I can.  But it's hard.  It's been so long since I've
seen him.  Don't you think you should go back and see him one of these
days?  Maybe, he answered her.  But the truth was it scared him.  And
maybe I should leave him alone.  What do I have to give him now?  Tommy
is doing real good.  And since Joey has the same name, everyone thinks
he's Tommy's son anyway.  What does he need me for?  You're still his
real father.  What does he call you when he writes?  Tony's voice
choked up when he answered.  Dad.  And then, after a long pause, Maybe
after this tour, I'll go and see him.  She nodded approvingly.  And
what happened to the family business?  The vegetables.  She smiled and
he smiled in answer.  My father died last year, and my mother sold the
business.  She did okay.  And Tommy takes care of her too.  She split
the money between me and Tommy.  When I come out, I can do something
with it.  But I haven't figured that out yet.  I used to think I'd go
to California and buy afarm or maybe goto the Napa Valley and buy a
vineyard.

Something like that.  I want to do something with the earth the land .
His eyes lit up as he said it.  . that's the only thing I really like
about VietNam ... that rich red earth ... and that incredible lush
green.  He smiled at Paxton, feeling a little foolish.  I guess in my
heart, I'm still a farmer.  Maybe Joey would like to come out and visit
if I bought a place like that one day.  I'm sure he would.

And something about him told her he could do it.  He was a simple man
in his heart, with simple ideals, and decent straightforward values. 
But he was bright too.  He hadn't outsmarted the VC in the tunnels of
Cu Chi because he didn't have brains.  But she wondered what he was
going to do with his life when he went home to the States.  It was
obvious that, for him, it wasn't going to be easy.

And the story about Joey was very touching.  Have you ever been
married, Paxton?  He was curious about her too, and he had just told
her his entire life story.  No, I haven't.  How old are you?

Twenty-three.  I came here right after college.  Why?  She told him
about Peter then, and Gabby, and her mother and George.  And how
alienated she had felt from all of them when she went back alter Bill
died.  I don't know what I'd do in the States anymore.  And the only
thing I do know is that I can't go back yet.  Be careful, he warned her
as he sat back in his chair and inhaled the fumes of Saigon.  This
place is addictive.  Just like all the GIs you see, hooked on smack,
and smoking dope, and there were a lot of them these days, there are
people like us, hooked just as bad in our own way, and they can't detox
us.  She knew exactly what he meant, but so far she had no solution.  I
guess we just have to stay till we get it out of our system, she said,
thinking of Ralph too.  Yeah, Tony nodded, or it kills us.  There's
that too.  You came damn close yesterday.  And he didn't like that. 
And you haven't?  You must have come close a thousand times.  I'm
beginning to think the only thing that makes a difference is luck, and
they both knew that was true too.  How many guys bought it the day
before their DEROS, the day before they were due to go home?  A lot. 
It just happened.  Maybe I'm just lucky.  He shrugged.  So far anyway. 
I didn't used to think so before I got here.  He was referring to his
wife again, and then he pulled a snapshot out of his wallet and showed
a picture of Joey to Paxton.  He was six then, but he's seven now. 
Paxton smiled when she saw the picture.  He looks just like you.  Poor
kid.  Tony laughed.

There was a picture of Barbara in there, too, but he seldom took that
out now.  And there had been other women since then.  Nurses.

Wacs, a couple of times local girls near Cu Chi.  There had been a
beautiful girl when they cleared Ben Suc two years before.  But he
never gave a damn about any of them.  He had never had what she had had
with Bill or Peter.  Not since Barbara.  And he could hardly remember
how that felt anymore.  All he knew was what he saw in Bill Quinn's
eyes, a kind of light and peace there that for years now, to Tony, had
meant nothing.  They walked slowly back to her hotel on the Tu Do,
listening to the shouting, the bleating horns, the pedicabs race past,
the bicycles with their bells, the screaming and squawking and the
squealing that were Saigon, and when they reached the steps of the
Caravelle, he turned to look at her with serious eyes.  Thank you for
spending the afternoon with me today, Pax ton.  I'm surprised you did,
I've been such an asshole everytime I've seen you.  She laughed at his
honesty and shook her head.  Don't be silly.  He wanted to tell her how
beautiful she was in case he never saw her again, but he didn't.  There
was something else he wanted to say to her instead, and as he asked
her, he felt strangely nervous.  You wouldn't want to have dinner
sometime, would you?  She looked startled for a minute, and then
nodded.  She couldn't quite make head or tail of him, but maybe he just
needed a friend, and she was willing.  Sure ... I'd like that,.  I Il
call you sometime.  Thanks, Tony.  She shook his hand, and went back
upstairs, to write the story of what had happened the day before.

But after she wrote it, she sat staring into space for a long time,
thinking of the little boy whose father had left him five years before
to come to VietNam and she didn't know why, but without even knowing
him, her heart went out to Joey.  onnie called her the following week
when he came to Saigon again, and she was out on a story with Ralph and
some other men, but when she came back, she called him at the number
he'd left her.  He was staying with friends at Tan Son Nhut Base, and
he wondered if she wanted to go to dinner and maybe a movie on the base
afterward.  And she thought it sounded like fun.  It had been ages
since she'd seen a movie.  He picked her up at seven o'clock, and she'd
just had time to shower and wash her hair and change, when he knocked
on her door, and they went to Ramuntcho's on the ground floor of the
Eden Building for dinner.  It was a good French restaurant, frequented
by a lot of GIs, and no one paid any attention to them as they talked,
and laughed and joked, and now that they knew each other a little
better, the dinner was relaxed and easy.  He had a good sense of humor,
and much of the time his view of life in the army had her in hysterics.
 So why the hell do you keep reenlisting?  she asked.  I've got nothing
else to do.  I did two years of college at night.  I speak Spanish
fluently.  I used to change a diaper pretty good.  He had been
brilliant at caring for a dying child.  I supposedly have strong powers
of leadership, and I've been a tunnel rat for four and a half years. 
So what's that going to get me?  A job in the sewers of New York?  What
else can I do?  What about your farm, or the vineyard in the Napa
Valley?  There's plenty of time for that.  Besides, he corfessed, I
hate walking out on unfinished business.  Yet he had walked out on his
son.  But he had been twenty-five years old, and felt completely
helpless.  What about you?  he asked her.  What are you going to be
when you grow up?  Dorothy in The Wizard ofOz, she said without a
moment' hesitation.  I have a thing about red shoes.

Now I know why I like you.  He grinned.  You're crazy.  And then he got
serious again.  Do you want to keep working for a newspaper when you go
back?  I guess so.  I always wanted to be ajournalist, and actually, I
like it a lot.  You're lucky.  It's also a nice clean way to earn a
living.  And then suddeniy they both remembered what had almost
happened to her in Cu Chi, and they laughed.  No, I guess I take that
back.  What have you been up to this week, by the way?  And when she
told him, he was impressed by the stories she'd covered.

She wasn't afraid to get dirty, get shot at, or see the ugly side of
war, and although it frightened him for her, he also respected her for
it.  And in the end, they decided to skip the movie.  They went to the
bar at her hotel instead and talked for hours, about themselves,
VietNam Bill, Tony's family, hers, and even Queenie.

I feel as though I've known you all my life, he said adriiringly as he
left Paxton that night.  There was something so warm and giving about
her that it was easy to open up and get to know her.  So do I, she
confessed.  I don't usually do this, but it had done them both good. 
She had even told him about how awkward she had always felt with her
mother.  Oniy that one time, alter Peter had died, was there something
different between them.  Yet when she went back, after she'd been to
VietNam she couldn't seem to make contact with her again.  They were
just too different.  I haven't had a friend like you since I was a kid,
he laughed happily, you know, the kind of buddy you can say anything
to.  It had been like that with Barbara when they were kids.  But not
in a long, long time since then.  When are you coming back to Saigon? 
she asked as they 1 stood in the lobby, and it was after two o'clock,
and way after curfew.  I don't know yet.  I'll call you.  He seemed to
hesitate, and then reached out and touched her shoulder.  And the call
came two days later.  He had traded time off with someone else, and
made the offer of the movie again, and this time they almost made it as
far as Tan Son Nhut Base, but someone had blown a car up in the road,
and there was an enormous traffic jam, and finally they turned around
and went back to Saigon.  What do you want to do instead?

Radio City Music Hall?  A nice Broadway play?  A hamburger and shake at
Schrafft's?  Don't, she groaned.  You make me homesick.  Want to go
dancing at the Pink Nightclub?  Let's go back to your place and watch
TV and eat popcorn, she teased, and now he groaned.  Screw it.

Let's go back to your hotel and talk.  And they did it again, and this
time, when he left her in the lobby, he pulled her into a dark corner
and kissed her.  He ran his hands through her hair and touched the
satin of the creamy skin on her shoulders, and it almost made him moan,
it hurt so much just to think about her.  This is getting difficult, he
said in the voice of the Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz, readjusting
his trousers, and she had to laugh at him.  You're impossible, she
said, kissing him again.  I'm extremely possible, I promise you.  Want
to try me?  he whispered into her neck, and she chuckled.  You're not
supposed to make me laugh at a time like this, she whispered to him,
and he kissed her hard on the lips.  Excuse me .  And then out of
nowhere, .  let's go upstairs, Paxxie I'm scared .  she whispered back.
 Don't be.  But she was.

Everyone she had loved had died, and what if it happened to him now? 
She didn't want to do that to him, or herself, she just couldn't.  She
tried to explain it to him as they stood there, and he looked down at
her gently and pushed the silky blond hair gently back from her
shoulders.  We're not in control of anything, Pax.

It's all in the stars, in God's hands.  What happens happens ...

it's not your fault what happened to Bill ... or Peter ... no matter
what I said back then.  And what happens to me isn't up to you either. 
We just have to take what we can while we can get it.

And love each other and be there for each other, for as long as we can,
and if something happens, then we did the best we could.

Paxton, you can't hide for the rest of your life because you're afraid
of what will happen to someone.  But I feel as though I killed them,
she said sorrowfully with tears in her eyes, and he hated himself for
what he had said to her when he didn't really know her.  You didn't
kill anyone, and you know that you're just scared.  He put his arms
around her and held her tight.  But, baby, please don't be.  I've never
loved anyone like I love you don't run away from me please .  And then
he looked at her as he had never looked at any woman before and said
something he had never said to anyone, but it was true, and he dared to
say it.  Baby, I need you.

They needed each other, and they all needed someone.  You couldn't face
the brutality of what they were living through without having someone
to get you through it.  He walked her up to her room then, thinking
about what they had said and holding her close to him, and when they
reached her door, he pulled her close to him and kissed her for a long,
long time, and when he pulled away again he looked into her eyes with a
gentle smile.  Whatever happens to us, Paxton whatever you decide I'll
always love you.  And then he walked quickly down the stairs, without
turniing back, while she watched him.  1' ['he foIlowing week, she got
a telegram from the Wilsons in San Francisco.  Gabby had had another
little girl, and mother and baby were doing well.  And they had named
her Mathilda.  Paxton was happy for her, but it all seemed so far away,
and so removed from the life Paxton was leading now.  And for the rest
of that week, the Teletypes were full of reports of an incredible
gathering of youth for a concert in a place called Woodstock.  She had
been out with Tony again, and they had finally gotten to the movies
this time and seen The Producers, and they had both loved it.  They'd
also seen a fantastic special newsreel of the first men walking on the
moon a few weeks before, and Tony had tears in his eyes as he watched
it.

And afterward they'd had milkshakes and hamburgers on the base and
talked about their childhoods.  Hers in Savannah and his in New York
were like night and day and when she had tried to explain the Daughters
of the Civil War to him, he refused to believe her.

Paxton, please ... don't tell me people still care about things like
that.  The Civil War?  I don't believe it.  And she had told him about
other things, her father, and the things she'd done with him, and her
beloved Saturday mornings at his office.  And he had told her about
working for his father every summer in The Bronx, and his family slowly
making it, and eventually having a little money.  And how hard he had
worked, feeling like a man when he was a kid, and how much he had loved
it.  And how he had felt when his first baby was born, their little
girl, and how he had felt when she was sick, and when she died.  He had
thought it would kill him.  And then little Joey coming along after
that like a little miracle, but so healthy and so strong, and so
different.  You don't know what it was like.  His eyes were alight from
the memory of the day Joey was born, although he didn't allow himself
to think about it often.  Its the greatest feeling in the world having
kids.  And then, aimost as an afterthought, You want kids one day, Pax?
 There were still a few things he didn't know about her, but not many. 
Being together in a place like that, you learned things about each
other that in most cases, you didn't learn in an entire lifetime.  I
guess so.  I've never thought about it much.  And then, slowly, she
remembered.  No, that's not true.  She always wanted to be honest with
him.  It was just her nature.  I guess with Peter I used to think that
eventually I wanted kids ... with Bill it was different, because I
never let myself think that he'd really marry me, so I wouldn't be too
disappointed if he didn't.  But the funny thing is, I always feel so
remote with other people's children.  It's not the same when they're
your own, he reassured her.  It's so diflerent.  It's just a miracle,
it's hard to explain, and you feel this incredible bond afterwards
knowing that that child is a part of you forever.  She looked at him
gently then over their milkshakes.  Is that how you feel about Joey,
even now?  He nodded, thinking about it, and then he looked at her.

Yes, it is.  There seemed to be no doubt in his mind, in spite of what
had happened.  Then you should go back and see him sometime.

Yeah, I guess I should, he said hoarsely.  And then they went dancing
that night, and eventually they went back to her hotel, and he had his
arm around her as he walked her upstairs, and he didn't expect her to
ask him in, so when he kissed her good night, he started to leave, and
she tugged gently at his sleeve, and when he turned to look at her
again, he saw that the door to her room was open.  He didn't dare ask
her what it meant.  He just followed her inside, and closed the door
behind him, and pulled her into his arms and kissed her as he hadn't
kissed anyone in years, if ever.

And she responded to him as she never had to anyone.  Everything was
different with him.  What she thought, what she did, what she felt.

He made her feel young again, and old, and incredibly womaniy, and
totally at ease.  It was as though she had been born for him, and had
waited all her lile for him, and he felt the same way about her, and as
they lay in bed afterward, side by side, he said that.

' I ve never loved anyone like I love you, Pax.  You make me want to
pack my bags tonight, and run like hell, with you at my side, till
we're home safe and sound forever.  But thinking like that was
dangerous here and they both knew it.  He spent the night with her, and
several nights after that.  And in an odd way, by the end of the
summer, it was alinost as though they were married.  They went
everywhere together when he had time off, and she consulted him about
things she had never talked to anyone about before, even about the
missions she went on with Ralph.  And Tony told her everything, except
about his own missions, when he thought they were too dangerous and
might scare her.  Ralph even relented about him, and in early
September, the four of them went to dinner together.  Poor France was
enormous by then, and Ralph teased her about the way she looked, but
afterward Tony said he thought she looked beautiful, and Paxton was
touched.  She couldn't imagine being that way, or having a baby inside
her.  Once, she thought she saw the baby kick, and it fascinated her
that France didn't seem to mind it.  Doesn't that hurt?  she asked Tony
later.  Everything looks so enormous and so stretched, it must be
awful.  It isn't awful, it's wonderful.  I promise.  He kissed her
gently again.  Trust me.

Neither of them had said anything about marriage, or having each
other's children, except they both knew that that was the plan if they
ever got out of VietNam alive, but that was something they didn't talk
about either.  Instead they talked about R and R in Bangkok, or buying
Christmas presents for Joey.  And finally in mid-September he got a
five-day leave, and took her to Hong Kong and bought her a ring and put
it on her finger without further explanation.  It was a ruby band with
a ruby and diamond heart in the center and Paxton loved it.  It said
everything.  They had a fabulous time in Hong Kong and stayed at the
Ambassador Hotel, like the other GIs and their wives and girlfriends. 
And when they got back, Paxton found out that Ralph was in Da Nang,
which she thought was really stupid.  The baby was due any day and she
had already told him once that she thought he ought to stick around,
but he said he couldn't just sit there waiting for her to have the
baby.

France had a midwife lined up, and a doctor if something went wrong,
and he had given her Paxton's phone number and in any case, he was sure
he'd be 1 back from Da Nang at least a week before she had the baby. 
And Tony and Paxton were in bed at the Caravelle one night sleeping
soundly after they'd made love, when the phone rang, and Paxton
answered.  Mmm yes?  She couldn't imagine who it was at that hour.  She
glanced at the clock in the dark.  And it was four o'clock in the
morning.  Paxton?  The voice sounded French, and for a minute Paxton
didn't recognize her.  It's France.  Oh, my God.  She sat up in bed
wondering where Ralph was.  Are you okay?  I'm fine.  .

Paxton could almost see her smiling politely the darkness.  She was the
kind of person who never complained, never made things difficult, never
wanted to impose.  And yet, she was g Paxton, whom she scarcely knew,
at four o'clock in the moriilng.  I'm terribly sorry, she began
politely, and then seemed to lapse into silence while Paxton wondered
what was going on.  It never dawned on her that the girl was in pain
and having contractions.  Ralph is away, she began again, and I have
been unable to reach the midwife and the doctor I was to call in the
event that .  She suddenly lapsed into silence again and Paxton began
to panic.  France?  France!  are you there?  She jigged the button on
the phone, thinking it had gone dead, and by then she'd woken Tony. 
What's up?  He raised his head and Paxton started to explain when
France began taflng again, this time a little more brusquely.  I cannot
reach my doctor, or the midwife and I have Anhere ... Iamsosorry to
disturb you, but perhaps if you could take me to the hospital, and keep
An with you until Ralph comes home.  . She stopped taIkhig again, and
this time Paxton figured out what was gomg on, while Tony watched her. 
Of course.  I'll be right there.  But you're sure you're all right?

Should I call an ambulance?  Oh, no.  Of course not, she said politely.
 But you will come soon?  Right now.  And France you're havmg the baby
now?  Hopefully not until we reach the hospital.

Thank you, she said again, and hung up abruptly.  And what Paxton did
not know was that she was in excruciating pain and could no longer walk
as she set the phone down.  She had waited too long, but the pains had
come on her very quickly.  And in her hotel room at the Caravelle,
Paxton was already pulling her clothes on, and Tony had jumped out of
bed.  I'll drive you to Gia Dinh.  There shouldn't be too much traffic
at this hour, Tony volunteered, already dressing.  Where's the nearest
hospital there?  She was trying to keep her mind straight, but she was
teriUied.  This was much more frightening than being shot at.  I think
it's I don't know.  I'll check at the desk on the way out.  How did she
sound?  He had already climbed into his uniform, and Paxton was wearing
a skirt and a blouse and a pair of sandals, and she was brushing her
hair when he asked her.  Weird, actually.  She kept lapsing into
silence, and I kept thinking the line had gone dead, but it hadn't.  If
my memory serves me correctly, that's the real thing.  Paxton reached
for her toothbrush with a smile.  I don't think she'd have called if it
wasn't.  It took them twenty minutes to get to Gia Dinh alter that, and
when they reached the building where Ralph and France lived, Paxton
rang the bell to their apartment.  There was no answer for the longest
time, and Paxton wondered if she had gone on to the hospital without
them, but Tony pointed out that there were lights on upstairs so they
waited, and then finally she buzzed them in, and they hurried up the
stairs, and found her crouched at her front door, with a trail of water
behind her.  She looked mortified when she saw that Paxton wasn't
alone, but Tony acted as though everything was pertectly normal.  He
let the hugely swollen girl lean on him as he helped her back to her
bedroom.  She'd been wearing a dressing gown, and under it she was
wearing a pink nightgown, and in the room next to theirs, Paxton had
glimpsed her little boy, An, peacefully sleeping.  She closed his door
quietly, and asked France if she had tried to call the doctor again,
but she only shook her head and clung to Tony.  She didn't seem to care
who was holding her and she wasn't paying any attention to Paxton.

France, you have to get dressed, Paxton tried to say calmly, but as she
said the words, France let out a small scream in spite of herself, and
clutched at Tony.  He held her gently in his arms and laid her down on
the bed again, until the contraction was over.

France, we have to get you out of here, be said calmly.  I'm going to
carry you, he said soothingly, but she started to cry and with a
terrible sound, clutched at him again.  She was half out of her mind
with the pains that had begun just before midnight.  And it was five
o'clock by then, and suddenly Paxton saw that there was blood in the
bed and it scared her.  She tried to motion to Tony, but he knew
exactly what was going on, much better than Paxton did, as he looked at
her calmly.  We're not going anywhere, he said quietly, get me all the
towels you can find, and some newspaper, lots of it.

And as he said it, he started untying his shoes, and Paxton wondered if
he had gone crazy.  He tried to leave France for just a moment alter
that, but she wouldn't let him leave her for a moment, and then between
the pains she kept murmuring, Oh I'm so sorry so sorry.  . And then she
would be racked with pain again as Paxton watched her.  She couldn't
imagine why Tony had ever thought that beautiful.  It looked terrifying
and terrible, and intolerably painful.  She came back with all the
towels she could find, a pair of fresh sheets, and a stack of
newspapers she'd found in the kitchen, and Tony told her to set them
down and kneel beside him.

And as she did, he got behind France, and held her, and this time when
the pain ripped through her, she grabbed wildly for Paxton's hands, and
Paxton held her tight, the two women holding hands as France began to
push out her baby.  Oh no Oh not she screamed.  The baby's coming!  I
know it is, Tony told her gently, tellthg her what to do, as he tied
one of the sheets around him like an apron between the pains, and she
continued to clutch Paxton's hands, and as she pushed again and again,
Paxton cried with her, and then Tony told her to hold France's legs, as
he held her shoulders, and she continued to push, and Paxton wanted to
run away screaming.  She couldn't bear to watch her in such pain.  And
then suddenly she gave an enormous push, and there was a tiny wail, and
all three of them looked at the little red face that had sprung from
France's soul, as she looked at it in amazement.  There you go, Tony
said, now you have to push again, come on ... And this time the
shoulders came, and Tony gently eased the baby out, holding it gently
as the rest of France and Ralph's baby came.  It was a little girl, and
as Paxton looked at the miracle, she was crying, and for the merest
instant, Tony bent and kissed her.  France was smiling then.  And
Paxton watched in amazement while Tony tied the umbilical 1 cord with
his shoelaces.  Call an ambulance, he told her, as she looked at France
with awe, and the man she loved with total admiration.

She wanted to tell him how wonderful he was, but there would be time
for that later.  Instead she went to call the ambulance, and before
they came, she woke An.  They had covered France up by then, and the
little boy was pleased and amazed when he saw his baby sister.  Did she
come while Maman was asleep?  he asked, and the others smiled.  Did she
wake you up?  he asked his mother.  And he was very annoyed that they
had to leave in the ambti lance, but he was excited to go back to the
hotel with Tony, while Paxton rode to the hospital with France and the
baby.  She was still overwhelmed by all that she had seen that night,
the ghastly, searing pain, and then that tiny little face appearing,
pushed from her hiding place into the world as her mother 324   
MESSAGE FROM NAM cheered her on.  And now she lay peacefully sleeping
in her 0erthe'5 arms, and France looked totally content as she lay I'm
sorry I was so much trouble for you, she said apologetically in the
ambulance.  And Paxton continued to hold her hand, totally in awe of
what had happened.  This all seemed so unreal to her.  War was real. 
Death had almost become normal.  But this iniracle of birth, this part
of her womanhood, took her by surprise and completely amazed her.  You
were so brave, France, Paxton said.  I'm sorry I wasn't more helpful I
had no idea what to do ' She thanked God for Tony.  You were wonderful,
France said sleepily, and closed her eyes, still clinging to Paxton's
hand.  And Paxton stayed with her at the hospital until late that
morning.  And when she went back to the hotel, Tony was playing with
An, and both of them looked extremely happy.  Fortunately, Tony was off
for two days, so he had been able to stay and wait for Paxton.  How is
she?  Tony asked worriedly.

Everything okay?  Everything's great.  Paxton smiled almost shyly at
him.  The baby is beautiful, and she was nursing happily when I left
them.  She still couldn't quite believe all she'd seen, but some-how
now she felt closer to him.  He looked at her for a long moment without
saying anything, feeling it too, and then, still holding An's hand, he
put his other arm around Paxton and kissed her.  You were very brave
last night.  It was a night they would both always remember.  ve never
been so scared in my liic my God, Tony .  how do people do that?  ' 5
worth it, he said without a moment's doubt, and she knew the truth of
that now.  That moment when the baby's head poked out and gave her
first cry made it all worthwhile.  Paxton knew she could never forget
it.  It really is a miracle, isn't it?

He nodded then, and reached down and put An on his shoulders.  And
Ralph came to find them at five o'clock.  He had gone home and found
her note, and then raced to the hospital to see France and their baby. 
And in a way, Paxton was sorry for him, because she had seen his baby
being born and he hadn't.  He was beside himself by the time he got to
the hotel, and he insisted on buying them champagne, and finally he
left, with An in his arms, having thanked them both, and told them that
they were naming the baby after Paxton, more or less.  She was going to
be Pax Tran Johnson.  And Pax seemed an appropriate name for her.  It
meant peace in Latin.  And Paxton was still greatly moved by what she'd
seen when they went to bed that night, still full of the thoughts of
what had happened.  I don't know, Tony, she said quietly as they lay in
the dark.  I don't know if I'm ready for that.  She was still impressed
by the pain she'd seen.  She still wondered how France had stood it. 
But Tony only laughed softly in the darkness as he turned to her and
kissed her.

I don't think you have to worry about it for a while.  I'd say you've
got a few other things to take care of first.  Like surviving VietNam
They both did.  You know what I mean.  God, for a while there, it
looked so awful.  I think it must get pretty bad, he admitted.  But I
don't know, women seem to forget ... they must ...

or they wouldn't have more babies.  It had really made him think seeing
France's baby born, about the things that matter in life, the things
one had left after a place like VietNam and suddenly he ' ' longed for
another life than this one.  Id really love to have kids again, he
confessed that night.  You're good at it, she said sadly, thinking of
how he'd been with An.  But who knew if they would ever have the
chance.  Who knew if any of them would be alive to have children.  But
it was a bond between them, a special moment they had shared, and now
held tightly between them.  I love you, Pax, he whispered in the
darkness.  I love you too, she whispered, and fell asleep in his arms,
dreaming of France's baby.  I In October, there was a nationwide
moratorium in the States, with a huge demonstration to end the war. 
And there was an-other in November.  And on November third, Nixon
promised I to end the war, and the people who listened to him, and
believed him, were hopeful.

And on November sixteenth, the nation was rocked by the II revelation
of what had taken place at My Lai the year before, I and suddenly there
was a huge outcry in VietNam In the States, Lieutenant Galley was being
held, and in VietNam the generals were questioning everyone about it. 
The responsible people in the military were outraged.  And there had
been so I much cruelty in the VietNam war on all sides, that somehow
this example of it seemed to drive everyone mad.  There were
photographs of babies and children who had been shot.  And the AP
office, like Time and CBS, ABC and NBC, were all being rocked by
demands for investigative reporting.  It kept everyone busy for quite a
while, and was the source of some amazing stories.  Ralph and Paxton
were so busy, they hardly had time to catch their breath, and it was a
fight for Paxton to find enough time to spend with Tony.  Tony pulled
some strings and made some trades, and they managed to get to Bangkok
over Thanksgiving for R and R. They stayed at the Montien Hotel and
spent four of the happiest days Paxton had ever had before they went
back to Saigon.  She was actually closer to Tony than she had ever been
to anyone.  They were as much friends as lovers, and seemed to be able
to say anything to each other.  And on the way back to VietNam on the
plane, they talked about My Lai and Lieutenant Calley.  Did you ever
meet him?  She was curious about the man, and he was pleased to say he
hadn't.  No, but I've heard stories like that.  Unofficially, of
course.  You get enough scared GIs pissed off at the gooks, and
some-times they get pretty crazy.

There are no rules over here, Pax, you know that.  And some of the men
don't know what to do with that.  Their buddies keep getting killed. 
They see no way out, their best friend just stepped on a mine, they
can't take it anymore, and all of a sudden they go nuts and take it out
on Charlie.  It was pretty much what had happened at My Lai, but it
sickened them anyway.  The war had been too long, and much too ugly. 
She went to the Bob Hope show with Tony at Christmas that year, and it
was odd to think that only a year before, she'd gone to Martha Raye's
show with Bill.  But here a year wasn't the same time it was anywhere
else.  A year in VietNam was a lifetime.

They spent a quiet evening afterward at her hotel and she had called
her family in Savannah that morning.  And the next day they went to
visit France and Ralph, and they brought gifts for them and An, and the
baby.  Little Pax seemed to be thriving in France's care, and it was
obvious that Ralph was totally nuts about her.  She looked a little bit
like Ralph, but like France as well.  And he was still trying to
convince France to marry him, but so far he hadn't convinced her.  He
tried to talk Paxton into going out on a mission with him on New Year's
Day, to the Mekong Delta, but she hadn't caught up on her work in days.
 Tony had to work that day, and she wanted to spend the time writing in
her hotel room.  And then she and Tony went to China Beach at Da Nang,
for two days.  When they returned she went to look for Ralph at the AP
office, to find out if he'd heard anything about a firebase being
overrun near An Loc over New Year's.  No one seemed to know where he
was, and she went back again the next day, and by then they knew.  And
as Paxton walked in, there was total silence.  It didn't register at
first, and she stopped and checked the Teletypes and then she went back
to see if Ralph was in his office, but he wasn't.  It was empty, and
she could see from the clean coffee cup that he hadn't come in yet.

She tried to decide whether or not to wait, and as she glanced at her
watch, she suddenly saw them.  The others, watching her.  They all
knew, and everyone was afraid to tell her.  They all knew her well, and
knew how close she was to Ralph.  And then finally, the assistant
bureau chief walked slowly toward her.  He beckoned to her without
saying a word, and with a puzzled frown she followed him into his
office.  What's up?  Where's Ralph?  She sounded young and bright, and
as always, she was in a hurry.  There were some stories she wanted to
follow up on that day, and she hoped Ralph would turn up soon, and then
he told her.  Ralph had been killed on the way back from My Tho, a
stupid thing, his jeep had run over a land mine.  A stupid thing a
stupid thing wasn't it always a stupid thing?  Was there an intelligent
way to die here?  By friendly fire or plastic bomb in a restaurant or
howitzer or land mine?  What was smart about any of it?  What
difference did it make once it was all over?  And as Paxton heard the
words, she sat and stared at him, unable to believe what had happened. 
It couldn't have been.  It couldn't happen to Ralph.  He had been there
for years.  He was too smart to be killed, too shrewd, too good, too
kind, too careful.

And he was thirty-nine years old and he had just had his first baby. 
Didn't someone know that?  Hadn't someone told the guy who'd planted
the mine?  Not him hehasababy not her someone loves her back home
didn't anyone listen to those things?  Didn't anyone give a damn?  She
couldn't understand what had gone wrong, as she got up and left his
office without a sound, walked back to her hotel, rented a car, and
drove straight to Cu Chi by herself, without thinking twice about the
danger.  All she wanted was to find Tony and tell him.  And when he saw
her walking across the base, he thought he had seen a vision.  She
didn't even have her combat clothes on.  She was wearing a pink skirt
and blouse and white sandals.  And it was only by sheer coincidence
that he saw her at all.  He was about to leave to take some new
recruits out on maneuvers when he saw her.  He hopped out of the jeep
and told his corporal to cool his heels for a minute, and then he ran
across the field and stopped her.  What are you doing here?  She had
scared the hell out of him.  For a minute, he thought something was
wrong, but then when he saw the way she was dressed, he decided it
wasn't.  Who drove you?  I did, she answered with a desperate air.  She
seemed to be glancing around hlm frantically as though looking for
something.

What's wrong with you, Pax?  What's wrong?  Maybe something had
happened.  She wouldn't look at hiin, and she seemed so agitated and
distracted.  He had seen guys like that, right after their buddies were
killed, half in shock, and about to go completely berserk.  And then
suddenly he knew, and he grabbed her.  He held her fast against hiin
and forced her to look at him.  Baby, what is it?  He was glad she had
come to find him, but he couldn't believe the insanity of her driving
out to Cu Chi alone.  But she was insane at the moment.

And then suddenly she looked at him and started to gulp air.  There
were great sobs in her throat and they were choking her, and she
couldn't breathe as he held her.  Take it easy breathe in slow come on,
that's right .  Another recruit was watching them and Tony didn't give
a damn.  All he could think about was Paxton, choking and
hyperventilating in his arms.  Tell me what happened Ralph .  She could
only say the one word for the first few minutes and he felt his guts
grow taut.  Its okay ... take it slow ... keep breathing .

He lowered her gently to the ground and sat down beside her.  You're
okay you're okay, Pax .  He'd been through this before, knew it too
well, had seen it too often ... and then she told him.  He hit a land
mine coming back from the Delta two days ago.  No one told me.

There was a blank look to her face and then suddenly she began to sob
and she pummeled his chest in anguish and blind fury.  No dammit no! 
The fuckers got him!  After all this time they got him .  He felt sick
listening to her, but to him, it was an old, old story.  Does France
know?  I don't know yet.  I didn't call her.  Shit.  With a GI kid, and
now a brand-new baby.  And what the hell was she going to do in Saigon
with two Amerasian brats?  Starve?  Her parents couldn't help her
anymore, they had nothing left, and no one else would help her either. 
This was just what she needed.  Tony pulled Paxton into his arms again
and kissed her gently.  Look, I hate to do this, but I gotta go.  I got
a whole bunch of guys waiting to go on maneuvers.

As soon as we come back in, I'll come back to the hotel.  I'll take you
out to see her then.  And I want someone to drive you back now.

She nodded, like an obedient child, barely seeing him, and he ran back
to find a private who had nothing to do and told him to drive her back
to Saigon.  Be careful!  she shouted after him as she left, and he
waved and was gone with the others.  And all the way back to Saigon,
she sat stiffly with the boy who drove her.  She said not a word,
didn't ask his name, or answer any of his questions.  She just sat
there and stared out the window, thinking about Ralph, and France, and
An, and Baby Paxxie.  And when she got back to the hotel, she went to
her room, and just lay there.  And when the phone rang, she didn't
answer it.  When he got there at eight o'clock that night, Tony was
hysterical, he thought maybe something had happened to her, because the
kid he'd sent with her hadn't come back yet.

The tension was beginning to wear on everyone.  They had all been there
too long.  And when Tony let himself into her room, he found her where
she had been all alternoon, lying on the bed and staring at the
ceiling.  Baby, come on.  He lay on the bed next to her and talked to
her gently.  Look ... he knew the score.  He knew what could happen. 
We all do.  We take our chances.  He was willing to do that.  He was
the best reporter I ever knew the best friend I ever had .  she said,
sounding like a kid kicking rocks into the riverbed with the toe of her
sneaker.  And then she looked up at Tony.  Until you ... but he was
special.  He was the brother George never had been.  I know he was.  I
liked him too.  I've liked a lot of guys here.  Some of them were lucky
and went home okay, some weren't.  If he was afraid of this, he'd have
gone home a long time ago.  She knew that was true, but it still didn't
solve all the problems.  And God, how she would miss him.  What about
France?  What'll happen to her now?  That, he said grimly, is another
story.  Her future was not going to be easy.  He showered and changed
and they decided not to call her before they went, because she was so
polite she would insist that everything was fine, even if it wasn't. 
And they used Tony's jeep to get there.  And just as had happened the
night the baby was born, she didn't answer the bell for a long time,
but he could see the lights on.  So finally they rang someone else, who
yelled at them out the window, but buzzed them in anyway.  And when
they went up to her door, again there was no answer.  They rang for a
long time, and inside they could hear music.  The radio was on, and the
lights, but there was no sound at all, and finally Tony looked
worriedly at Paxton.  I hate to say this, but I get the feeling
something's wrong in there.  Maybe she's just too upset to see anyone. 
But the kids were quiet too.  Or maybe I'm wrong and she's out.  Do you
want to come back later?  But Paxton shook her head slowly, she had a
strange feeling too.  Can we get in?  she whispered.  You mean break
the door down?  He looked nervous.  We could get arrested for that.  Do
you think there's a landlord?  Yeah, maybe, and I don't know about you,
but my Vietnamese doesn't cover 'excuse me, sir, but could you please
let me into this apartment."

Wait, I'll try this, he said, puling a knife out of his pocket.  He
played with the lock for a while, and just as he was about to give up,
the door suddenly gave, and opened slowly inward.  And then they both
felt strange.  They had wanted to get in, but now that the door was
open they weren't sure they should do it.  It seemed like such an
intrusion.  He stepped in first, and Paxton was right behind him.

Neither of them were sure what they were looking for and they both felt
stupid as they looked around at how neat and clean and orderly
everything was.  Everything was obviously very much in order.  And the
music was still playing softly.  The light in An's room was on, and
Paxton looked in there first, but he wasn't there, and Tony glanced
into the master bedroom, and then he stopped and instinctively put his
arm out to stop Paxton.  Don't!  he said too quickly, but she moved too
fast for him, and then she stood there.

But nothing seemed to be wrong.  They were only sleeping.  France in
her ao dai, with a gentle smile, and the baby in her arms in a
beautiful little dress some-one must have made for her, and little An,
looking like an angel beside them.  His hair was combed and he had his
best suit on.  But Paxton hadn't understood yet.  She wanted to tell
Tony to be quiet so he wouldn't wake them, but nothing would ever wake
them again.  He knew it as he approached them, and then gently bent to
touch their faces.  They had been dead for quite a while by then. 
France had poisoned herself and the children, as soon as she heard
about Ralph.  There was a note in Vietnamese, and next to it a letter
to Paxton.  And as he knelt and looked at them, his eyes filled with
tears and he began to sob, as Paxton came and stood beside them.  She
was crying, too, and she knelt down and touched each of them, as though
in silent blessing.  Oh, God, why ' she whispered to him Why?  .  And
An, and the baby.  The baby they had delivered only three and a half
months before, and now she was dead Pax Peace France had wanted to be
with him, the note said in Vietnamese.  She bad wanted them all to be
together again, and she knew how terrible their life would be in
Saigon.  She could have gone to the States ... she could have .  Paxton
said, but Tony was shaking his head.  He knew better.  She couldn't
have done anything in Saigon without Ralph's protection.  So she had
gone, to be with him, and had taken her babies with her.  And all of
them so beautiful, and so sweet so gentle as they lay there.  Paxton
and Tony stood there watching them for a long time, and then he went to
call the police, and he explained what he believed had happened when
they got there, and the note confirmed it.  The letter to Paxton said
much the same thing, and she thanked her and Tony again for all they'd
done for them, and then she said good-bye, and wished her well and a
happy life, and then Paxton put the letter down and sobbed in Tony's
arms.  She had never seen, or felt, anything so awful.  She watched as
they took the three of them away.

An wrapped in a little white cloth, and the baby bound to her mother. 
It was more than she could stand, and she was still sobbing as Tony led
her away and drove her back to the hotel and ordered them both a
brandy.  Oh, God, Tony, why?  Who did she do that?  She thought she had
to.  Paxton felt a loss like none other she had felt before.  A loss
mixed with despair and sorrow, and loneliness now that her friend was
gone.  She wondered if she would ever be the same again.  And Tony knew
that even though she would seem to be one day, perhaps she really
wouldn't.  They were all like that now.

Pieces of their hearts had fallen away long since, like lepers [( And
it was a long time before she felt even halfway human 1 again.  January
passed like a blur.  February with it.  And finally, in March, when the
monsoons came, she began slowly to feel human.

She had been in VietNam all told, for close to two years by then.

And she and Tony had been together for eight months, which, these days,
felt like a lifetime.  She had a hard time talking about Ralph, or
France, or the children.  But she could talk about others she'd lost
without feeling quite so totally destroyed.  But Tony had been right. 
They were different.  They went out less frequently than they had
before, and with the bad weather now, they seldom went away for the
weekend even when he had a stand-down.  Instead, they tucked themselves
into her hotel room and talked and drank and made love, and tried to
make some sense of what they were seeing.  Her articles seemed stronger
now.  And the paper had written her a while back and told her she was
being considered for an award, but she didn't really care.  Those
things didn't matter now.  All that mattered was staying alive, and the
end of the war, and maybe one day going home again, to see what was
there, if now they talked about Joey a lot, and Paxton urged him to
write to the boy more often.  Tony's tour was up in June, and he knew
he wasn't going to re-up, but he didn't know what else he'd do either. 
He didn't want another tour in VietNam but he didn't know if he was
ready to go home yet.  And Paxton had no idea what she was doing.  She
had told the paper she was staying another year last June, but that
wasn't written in stone.  She could always have gone home sooner or
later.

And she and Tony never talked about future plans.  It seemed too
dangerous to do that now, and both of them were getting superstitious. 
But they were happier thin they'd ever been, and closer and stronger. 
The death of Ralph and France and the children had shaken her to her
very core and made her reach out and come closer to Tony.  And he
needed her more now too.  The thought of going home frightened him,
although he talked about it very little.

All they knew, for now, was that they were going to make one more trip
to Hong Kong in May, and after that they'd have to figure out what they
were doing.  And she still wore the ruby ring he'd given her the last
time they'd been there, everyday and everywhere.  It was her bond to
him.  A band of rubies and a heart, and it touched him that she always
wore it.  Like her, he made no promises, no demands, but his heart was
hers.  Forever.  Three weeks before they were to go to Hong Kong, with
the monsoon in full swing, he set out on a mission to an area that was
supposedly crawling with VC and had been for weeks.  They loved
infiltrating during the monsoon, and the grunts hated to go after them
in the rains.  They hated the constant wet, and had mersion foot from
always having their feet wet.  It was hot and sticky and wet and
miserable wherever they went, but they still had to go after the VC. 
So on a Tuesday morning they set out, and walked into a major ambush. 
Fifteen men were killed almost at once, and nine were wounded.  The
helicopters hovered but couldn't see a bloody thing, and the spotter
planes couldn't take off at all in the weather.  A second unit was sent
in to help, more boys were killed.  And the lieutenant himself took
some shrapnel.  It was a colossal mess, and it was two days before they
could extricate themselves, and retreat back to Cu Chi with their dead,
their wounded, and what amounted to tremendous losses.

They came back wet and sick and scared and horrified by what they'd
been through.  And they came back without Tony.  He was listed as
missing in action.  he lieu tenant came to tell her the news himself at
her hotel.  But Paxton knew long before he arrived and knocked on her
door that something had happened.  She had sensed it for two days, and
she had barely eaten or slept.  She just knew that something was wrong,
although she was not sure what yet.  And oddly, she had the feeling
that he wasn't dead, but maybe wounded.  And then the lieutenant
appeared at her door, and she backed into the room with a look of
horror.  No .  She held up her hand, wanting him to go away.  This
couldn't be happening to her again.  It couldn't.

She wouldn't let it.  Miss Andrews, he said uncomfortably, standing in
the doorway, I wanted to come and see you myself Where's Tony?

There was an endless pause as their eyes met and held and he shook his
head unhappily.  I'm afraid he's missing in action.  I can't tell you
anything more than that.  No one actually saw him take a hit, or go
down but it was a real mess out there.  The monsoon, the VC, we were
ambushed.  We were fed erroneous information and we were attacked.  We
lost a lot of boys, and I'm afraid Sergeant Campobello just isn't
accounted for.  We combed the area before we left, and we didn't find
his body, but I that doesn't mean be's not dead.  I just can't tell you
more than 1 that right now, except that he's missing in action.  Could
he have been taken prisoner?  The thought of it made her stomach turn
over.  She knew too many of those horror stories from VietCong who
talked about the way they treated prisoners, and one GI who had escaped
and talked to her several months before.  But at least he wouldn't be
dead.  At least there would be hope.  Maybe.  Its possible.  The
lieutenant didn't want to raise false hopes.  But not likely.  I don't
think they were interested in taking prisoners, just in hitting us as
hard as they could.  And I they did, he said sadly, still standing near
the doorway, and she didn't invite him in any farther.  He was like the
angel of death standing there and she didn't want him in her life for I
another moment.  Where were you?  We went through the Hobo Woods to
Trang Bang, and then up to Tay Nirh, pretty close to Cambodia.  And
that's where we lost him.  She sat down in a chair as she listened, and
put her face in her hands, trying to believe he was dead, but somehow
she couldn't.  She just couldn't go through it again.  Not with him. 
It had been bad enough with the others.  But with Tony, she'd had
something she'd never had with anyone, a kind of trust, a strange
symmetry, a kind of unspoken understanding.

They always seemed to understand what the other was thinkmg.  And now
she was thinking that he wasn't dead, and she didn't know why, and she
didn't know what to say to this man standing in her doorway.  All she
could do was look up at him and finally she just thanked him for coming
to tell her.  It would have been worse hearing it from someone else. 
But this was odd.  The other times, she had known they were dead.  She
could grieve, she could mourn.

And if she'd been brave enough, she could have seen them.  But there
was no question of what had happened.  But now, all they could tell her
was that Tony had disappeared in a rainstorm, or something like that. 
It was crazy.  And maybe he'd turn up in the morning.  d after the
lieutenant left, as she lay in the bed that she and Tony had shared for
the past ten months, she had that same feeling that someone was going
to come and tell her there'd been a mistake, and he was fine.  Only
this time she really did believe it.  And she felt like that for days. 
She couldn't even bring herself to cry, because she refused to believe
that he was dead.  And she went on moving, like a zombie.  She wrote
columns, she read Teletypes, she went to the AP office, she wrote a
piece about Saigon, she even went on a brief mission.  And when she was
in town she went to the Five O'Clock Follies.  And by now, after two
years in Saigon, everyone knew her.  She was certainly the prettiest
correspondent there, and one of the youngest, and apparently one of the
best, as the award they sent her from the State of California was
supposed to attest.

But she didn't really give a damn, and she brushed it off, as she did
everything else, and those who knew her well knew why.  Tony was
missing, but she had died.  In April.  And as she went on moving, she
could barely function.  Everything she cared about was gone.  The
peopIe she had loved had all left or died and taken the past with them.
 And without Tony, she had no present and no future.  And it was May
second when her brother called and told her their mother had died
unexpectedly of a complication after a gallbladder operation Paxton
hadn't even known about, and he thought she should come home to help
Allison with the arrangements.  She told him she'd call him back, and
that night she drove to Cu Chi and went to see Tony's lieutenant to
find out if they'd discovered anything, but they hadn't.  No one knew
anything more than they had in April.  And Tony's family had been
officially notified.  First Sergeant Anthony Edward Campobello was
missing in action.  What the hell does that mean?  she railed at him,
oblivious to his rank or his good intentions.  Do I wait for him here? 
Do look forhimmyself?  DoIhelp you?  001 go borne and wait?  What the
fuck do I do now?  she asked, as tears bulged in her eyes for the first
time.  She couldn't hide from it anymore.  He III wasn't coming back,
maybe never, and she was beginning to understand that.  And then, in a
broken voice, What if be's still wounded out there?  I don't think he
is, the lieutenant said gently, Paxton, I think he's gone.  I think we
just couldn't find him.  I'm sorry.  He reached over and touched her
arm, and she moved away so he couldn't make the pain any worse with his
kindness.  You know what I think?  I think you should go borne.  We all
have our limits here.  All of us.  The smarter ones go home when they
reach it, the others wait too long.  You've done the equivalent of two
tours.  Don't you think that's enough?  Tony was going home in June,
and he thought you were too.  Why don't you hang it up, and go home
now?  Ifwe find something, I swear to you, we'll call you.  She nodded,
and looked at him for a long time, and then she walked out of the room,
and she knew that I he was right.  It was time for her to go home. 
Maybe for good this time.  Without Tony.  She had grown up in VietNam
She had come here as a girl, heartbroken over the boy she had lost,
searching for answers.  And she hadn't found them, she had found only
questions.  She was twenty-four years old, and she had lost three men
to this war, four if you counted Ralph, and friends, and colleagues,
and even people she didn't give a damn about, like Nigel.  And a piece
of herself that she knew she I would never find again.  But she had
found something too.  She had found a truth, and a country that was
dying, a beautiful place that had once been lovely and was slowly being
destroyed.  But she had seen it before it had disappeared.  And she had
loved him before he'd gone.  And wherever he was, dead or alive, he
wasn't missing to her.

Like VietNam she knew she would always love him.  Ker last day in
Saigon passed like a dream before her eyes, and it was strange how
little there really was to do, once she decided that she was leaving. 
She said good-bye to everyone at the AP office that afternoon, and she
could hardly speak when she left, because all she kept thinking about
as she walked across the square was Ralph, and France, and the two
children.  She went to the Five O'Clock Follies for the last time, and
then just for the hell of it, she went to the terrace at the
Continental Palace Hotel.  And the beggars clamoring there no longer
frightened her, they just depressed her.  She ran into Jean-Pierre and
said good-bye to him too.  But there was no one she cared about
anymore.  The people she had loved were gone, for assorted reasons. 
She sat down and had a drink with Jean-Pierre, but he was already
pretty far gone, and for some reason, he kept talking to her about
Nigel.  He had been dead for a long time, and she was beginning to
wonder if she had stayed, whether she would have wound up like
Jean-Pierre, drunk, confused, aimless, bitter.  Those who stayed too
often did, and yet those who left were never quite the same again
either.  So who was left?  Those who died?  Who went unscathed after
the time they spent there?  I 343 no no maybe one.  Maybe that was the
conclusion to all this.  That no one won.  And no one ever would.  Will
you come back?  He looked at her, almost sober for an instant between
drinks, and she shook her head, and this time she knew she really meant
it.  No matter how difficult it was going to be going back, the answers
were no longer here for her, nor were the questions.  She had to go
home and make a life of it now.  And a part of her knew that she would
continue prodding them about Tony.  But maybe she could do it more
effectively from there.  There were other people in the States who
cared about the men they'd lost, either as prisoners of war, or missing
in action.  I should go home one of these days too, Jean-Pierre added,
almost as an afterthought.  But like her, he had nothing to go home to.
 The people she had loved had died there, except I for Tony, and for
now, he was gone too, or perhaps forever.  -I And even in the States,
nothing would be the same.  Her mother was gone.  And there was nothing
to hold her to Savannah any longer.  She said good-bye to him then, and
walked down the Tu Do to her hotel, and she felt a terrible tug at her
heart at the sounds and the smells, and she laughed as she looked into
the square and saw a GI trying to teach a bunch of street urchins how
to play softball.  There were softball games at Tan Son Nhut all the
time, and she had gone a couple of times with Bill, but Tony had never
really liked them.  He was too nervous, too quick, he wanted to talk
and think and argue and philosophize, he didn't want to sit around
watching people play baseball.  And he had taught her so much while
they were here.  About life, and peopIe, and war, and doing what she
had to do the best she could, but that was part of her too.  She kept
remembering things he had said to her ideas they had shared and the
night they had delivered France's baby.  And it all seemed like a dream
now.  She walked through the lobby of the Caravelle, remembering when
he'd first come to see her there, how ill at ease they had been after
their difficult beginnings.  And how happy they had been in the end ...
how sweet the time in Hong Kong had been.

She stlll wore the ruby ring with the heart, and she always would.

Just as she still wore Bill's bracelet.  And kept Peter's dog tags
locked away with her papers.  Just as others wore locks of hair, or
pieces of string, or carried a tiny piece of someone's uniform or wore
MJA bracelets with people's names.  They were all relics of a time that
had hurt so much and yet had brought them love, a time that had cost so
much, and was not yet over.  There were ghosts around her everywhere as
she packed her bags and put her books away.  She was leaving them for a
few friends.  She was taking precious little with her, except for the
memories, which no one could ever take away.  And the next morning she
took a cab to Tan Son Nhut Base, and waited with the others to go home
again.  There were Vietnamese girls crying for their GIs, and big,
strapping, healthy-looking boys who could hardly wait to get on the
plane, and a handful of wounded.  But they were the easy ones, because
you could see their wounds, a bandaged hand, a missing arm, a brand-new
pair of crutches.  The others who went back unmarked were more
complicated.  The wounds were there, like Paxton's, you just couldn't
see them.  They circled once over Saigon, and she caught her breath as
she looked down.  Chao ong she whispered as they headed home.  So long
... good-bye, VietNam ... good-bye I really loved you and she could
almost feel Tony sitting beside her as she closed her eyes.  She felt
like a traitor leaving him there, except that they kept insisting he
was gone, and she bad to make herself believe them.  And she had no
choice now anyway.  She had to go home for her mother's funeral.  But
it was strange.  She didn't feel anything, for anyone.  She felt
absolutely nothing, except a rock in her heart that had once been the
place where she'd loved Tony.  She knew she still loved him, she always
would, but he had taken a piece of her with him, they all had.  They
flew from Saigon to Midway and from there to San Francisco.  But she
didn't call the paper or the Wilsons.  They knew she was going home. 
But she had to change planes and go on to Savannah, and in a few days
she would fly back to San Francisco to decide what she was going to do
about her job on the paper.  But Message from Nam had been written and
closed, and now it was over forever.  It was four o'clock in the
afternoon when she landed at Travis Field in Savannah, and she picked
up her bags and hailed a cab, and gave the driver the address of the
house she had grown up in.  She still had her key, and there was no one
there when she arrived.  The new girl had been off since her mother
died, there was no reason now for her to be there.  And she called
George almost as soon as she got in, and sat down with a groan of
exhaustion in the familiar kitchen.  There was nothing in the fridge,
and surprisingly very little in the cupboards.  But Paxton didn't care.
 She didn't care about anything.

And coming back here turned out to be more painful than she had
expected.  Being there was a reminder of what had been and was no more,
and some things that never had been.  She showered and changed and went
to the funeral parlor downtown to meet George, and as she stood there,
looking down at her mother, she felt absolutely nothing except pity. 
Pity for the unhappy woman she had been, unable to give love for most
of her life, or receive it.  At least her father had lived, and loved
her so deeply, and maybe others as well.  And Queenie had given
everything she had to give and Ralph had ledafuIl life ... and even
France ... and Peter and Bill and Tony but this woman had never done
anything except go to her clubs and now it was all over.  You look
tired, George whispered to her.

He was wearing a dark suit, and Paxton noticed that there was a little
gray in his hair, which made him look very distinguished.

I've just been traveling for twenty-six hours.  She looked at him
ruefully.  He was so much like her mother.  He had barely kissed her
hello, barely embraced her, never asked her how she was, and after all
that she'd been through, he was surprised that she looked tired.  You
seem thinner.  She smiled at him.  I probably am.  Things in VietNam
can be a little dicey.  Land mines, snipers, suicides, guys going
missing in action, you know, just like downtown Savannah, she thought. 
They were speaking quietly near their mother's casket.  How are Allison
and the kids?  They had had a second baby while she was gone, and
Paxton felt totally distant from it.  Fine.  She'd have come tonight,
but the kids are sick.  It didn't matter.  Her mother would never know
the difference.  People came to pay their respects that night, mostly
from the Daughters of the Civil War.  And the next day, they held the
funeral at St. John's Episcopal Church, with pomp and ceremony, and her
pallbearers were the husbands of her friends.  It was respectable and
appropriate, and everything her mother would have wanted.  And
afterward, all Paxton wanted to do was get out of town.  Just being
there, in the empty house, depressed her.  She told her brother to
dispose of the house, she had absolutely no interest in it, and
couldn't imagine moving back to Savannah.  Unless you and Allison want
to move in.  Its not big enough for us, he said politely.  Do you want
any of her things?  She had some pearls, a diamond watch their father
had given her, a few pairs of earrings, most of it was sentimental, but
it would have made Paxton feel sick now to start pawing through her
jewelry.  Just send it to me, and take something for Allison. 
'Actually,' he seemed to clear ' his throat, shed like to have I Mama's
clothes, and her fur jacket.  It was ten years old and sadly out of
fashion, and Paxton looked at him with regret and pity, wanting to
suggest he go out and buy his wife a new one, but she didn't.  That's
fine.  She'd been a lot taller than her mother, and she would have
hated the idea of wearing her clothes.

None of it I was that important to Paxton.  What are you going to do
now?  he asked the sister he had never really known.  He still couldn't
understand why she had spent most of the last two years in VietNam even
though he had been surprised by how well she wrote, and how good her
column was when it was syndicated to the Georgia papers.  I don't know
yet.  She looked at him with a sigh, wondering what Tony would have
thought of him, and knowing instantly that they would have hated each
other.  Tony was too blunt and too direct, and too honest to have put
up with George's non' sense.  I m going back to San Francisco tomorrow
sometime, and I'll have to talk to them about what they have in mind. 
I think, for a while anyway, like most of the GIs who come back from
Nam, I'll be a misfit.  I was last year anyway.  I And you're not going
back again?

He looked at her, won-I dering who she was and if he had ever known
her, but she could have told him he hadn't.  I don't think so.  I think
I have to stay here now.  I never really understood why you went ...
except ... well, that boy dying but that was no reason for you to go to
Saigon.  Maybe not.  But somehow that had kept her there for two years.
 Her sorrow over the war, her need to tell it like it was, her need to
be there.  Anyway, I'll let you know what I'm doing.  She said
goodnight to him then, and he barely kissed her when he said goodbye. 
And in the morning when she left, she locked the door, and slipped the
key into the mailbox.  She wouldn't be needing it I anymore, and she
had told him to send her things when she let him know where she was
staying in San Francisco.  But she felt like a gypsy as she left.  She
was a person with no home, no roots, and a questionable destination. 
And if her brother had thought of it, he would have found it strange
that someone who had lived under one roof all her life was suddenly so
rootless.  And others returning from Vietnam were doing the same thing.
 They came back but they didn't want to go home, they didn't know where
to go or what to do, or what would happen when they got there.  She was
like that as she flew to San Francisco, and checked into a small hotel.
 This tlme there was no suite at the Fairmont Hotel, and the Wilsons
didn't invite her to dinner.  And after thinking about it for a few
days, she decided not to call Gabby.  She just didn't know what to tell
her.  What could you say about France ... about Ralph ... about Bill
... about Tony How did you explain all that to somebody who had been
sitting safely at home, going to dinner parties and football games, and
movies?  You didn't.  She saw Ed Wilson at the paper, and they talked
about her plans, and the best he could ofler her was a column based on
local events.  In some ways, it was a small town and a small paper. 
Things are quieter in the country these days.  People don't want to
hear about the war anymore, Paxton.  They're tired of it.  They're
tired of the noise and the demonstrations, and the complaints.  I think
this is going to be a quiet time.  But he was wrong.  He wasn't taking
into account the impact of the four students killed and eight wounded
by the National Guard at an antiwar demonstration at Kent State
University in Ohio.  And it proved what Paxton still believed.  That
some people cared, and the country was still aching over the open wound
it had created for itself in VietNam and didn't know how to heal now. 
But The New York Times made it an easier decision.  The I Morning Sun
had been decent to her.  And Ed Wilson had given her a chance in Saigon
when she was as green as the countryside around it.  But now she had
outgrown them.  And out of nowhere, she got an offer from the Times to
go to Paris and cover the Palis peace talks.  They wanted her to come
to New York and discuss it with them first, but she was very flattered
both by the salary and the offer.  They said a lot of very nice things
about the column she'd written for the Sun, and they seemed to consider
her some kind of expert.  It was a little hard to believe, and she
almost giggled like a kid again, as she set the phone down.  She wished
she could tell Tony about it, and she thought about him all that night,
silently communing with him wherever he was.  And when she slept, she
dreamt of him that night, crawling through bushes and jungle and hiding
in tunnels.

And when she awoke, she knew it was only a dream.  And yet, she still
had that feeling she had had from the flrst that he was not dead but
still living.  Sometimes she wondered if it was just because she
couldn't stand death anymore.  But whatever it was, it was a real
feeling.  Ed Wilson was pleased for her when she told him about the job
with the Timex And relieved.  He sensed that had she stayed, she would
have become a problem.  Like so many of the boys coming home, she
didn't seem to know what to do with herself, or what she really wanted.
 It was almost as though VietNam had sapped their strength and their
goals and their direction.  It had taken their courage and their guts,
and taken everything else.  Or maybe it was the drugs, he wondered to
himself.  Maybe that was it.  But whatever it was, he was glad she was
going.  She wasn't the same girl anymore, and he knew it.  She was
bitter, she was strong, she was sad to her very core, and in a hidden
part of her, he knew she was still angry.  He wished her luck, and she
told him to give her love to Mrs Wilson and Gabby.  She had seen
neither of them when she left, and it was a relief in some ways not to
make the pretense that she still cared about the same things they did. 
The truth was, she didn't.  In New York, she had several meetings at
the Times, and they put her up at a hotel called the Algonquin.  It was
filled with journalists and writers and playwrights, and a few
businessmen, and they looked like an interesting crowd coming and
going, although she didn't talk to anyone.  And she liked what the
Times had to say about what they wanted from her.  What they wanted was
the truth, and whatever she saw in Paris.  They wanted the peace talks,
and an interview with Lieutenant Calley before she left, and anything
she could think of that related to VietNam and what she had seen there.
 They wanted strong words from her, and the kind of powerful material
she had sent back when she was going on missions with Ralph to An Loc
and Da Nang, and Long Binh, and Chu Lai, and the other places that had
come to mean so much in the past two years she had been there.  They
wanted it all.  The past and the present and the future, until at last
the war finally ended.  They wanted to consider her their
editor-at-large on the subject of VietNam and Paxton knew she couldn't
have asked for anything better.  How soon do I start?  she asked with a
look of excitement.  Tomorrow, the editor in chief answered with a
smile of satisfaction.  They had been worried that she wouldn't want
the job.  A lot of people were sick to death of the subject. 
Seriously, why don't you tackle the Calley piece next week?  We'll go
through the appropriate channels to get you in.  And you can fly to
Paris as soon as you finish.  How does that sound?  Terrific.  If you
could call interviewing a man accused of war atrocities terrific.  But
she was pleased to have a little time.  There was something she wanted
to do in New York be-fore she interviewed Lieutenant Galley.  She
wandered around New York for a day, feeling the way she had when she
first discovered Saigon, investigating new places and smells, watching
the people and the action and the traffic.  She bought herself a few
things to wear, which were much needed by then, particularly if she was
going to become an authority on VietNam for The New York Timex And then
I finally, she went back to her hotel and called him.  She sat on the
bed and closed her eyes, and then she held her breath, and said I a
little prayer to Tony, hoping he wouldn't mind.  But she didn't I think
he would, and somehow she knew she had to do it.  She called
information for Queens, and spelled the name three times, and finally
in Great Neck, Long Island, they found him.  Thomas Campobello.  She
prayed it was the right one.  But it had to be.

There couldn't be too many Thomas Campobellos.  She dialed the phone,
and it rang, and for a minute she thought no one would answer, and
finally a voice did.  It was a (III woman.  III missis Campobello,
please.  It was strange now to think that had circumstances been
different, this might have been her own I name, but she couldn't allow
herself to think of that now.  I I This is her.  A very New York voice
answered, but she I' sounded young, and reasonably pleasant.  And
unless it was Tony's mother, Paxton knew it had to be Barbara.  missis
Campobello?  Barbara Campobello?  I Yes.

She started to sound nervous.  Who is this?  Maybe it 'l was one of
those fake surveys where they start talking dirty.  I I ... I know this
is kind of-a strange call, but I .  Oh, 'I' please don't hang up, oh,
please I knew your ex-husband in VietNam There was an endless pause,
and both women sat I at their respective ends, shaking.  I ... we were
very good I friends, and if anything happened to him, he wanted me to
call you and Joey.  It was a lie, but not completely.  Once, very late
at night, in bed, he had asked her to look his y up, if I anything ever
happened.  He just hadn't mentioned the boy's I mother.  But Paxton
thought she had a better chance if she included the double missis
Campobello.  I don't mean to intrude atatime like this, but I
happenedtobein New York and I How did you know him?  She was almost
whispering at her end, as though his name were forbidden.  We were .,'
She didn't know what to say.  . close friends and he loved Joey very
much, I'm sure you know that.  He hadn't seen him in five years, she
said bitterly, but Paxton knew more than she expected.  He hadn't been
back to the States, missis Campobello.  After what happened I think he
felt he couldn't .  A little guilt wouldn't kill her now.  It had been
almost six years and she had three other kids by Tony's brother.  How
guilty could she feel, and what difference did it make if it helped
Paxton reach out to Joey?  He thought Joey was happy with you and your
husband.  He is, she said defensively, and Paxton could sense that she
was losing.  Does he know what happened to his father in VietNam Only
that he's missing in action.  He used to write to Joey from time to
time, we never kept it a secret from him.  I gave him the letters every
time, she said, as though trying to clear herself.  I think he was
upset when we told him his father died.  Any kid would be.  But he's
kind of a quiet kid, he don't say much.  Who would if your mother
married your uncle and you never saw your father again?  Paxton
thought.  But she found it interesting that missis Campobello regarded
Tony's MA status as a definite declaration that he had died in VietNam
Could I talk to him?

There was nothing else to say.  Would you nlind that?  What do you want
to say to him?  That his Daddy loved him.  That I'm sorry.  What he was
like at the end.  He was one of the bravest men in VietNam He was with
a unit unofficially called the tunnel rats, they used to go down in
these incredible tunnels the VCs build to circumvent our troops and the
South Vietnamese Army.  He might find that fascinating and something to
be proud of, Paxton said calmly.  Yeah, Barbara Campobello said.  He
might.  And then, I have to ask my husband.  What's your name again? 
Paxton Andrews.  And you knew him in VietNam Are you a nurse or
something?  No.  I was a correspondent, for a paper in San Francisco. 
Now I work for The New York Times, and I'm leaving for Washington,
Georgia and Paris in a few days.  She threw it all in to impress her,
and she had.  Hell, maybe they'd write a story about Tony and his
ex-wife and his kid ... Paxton hadn't missed her mark, she only
wondered what the hell Tony had ever done with a bimbo like that,
except that he'd been thirteen years old when they fell in love, and
eighteen when they married, which made it a little better.  Should I
call you back?

Paxton pressed her.  We'll call you.  What's your number?  I'm at the
Hotel Algonquhi in Manhattan.  I'Il call you tonight.  Thank you, and
then, more gently, I promise I'll try not to upset him just want to see
him for Tony's sake, because I promised.  It was true in a way, but she
also wanted to see him for herself, because he was a part of Tony.  And
the boy's mother heard something in her voice and she hesitated for a
long moment.  'Were you in love with him?"  I Paxton's pause was even
longer.  Yes, I was.  She was proud of it, but she didn't think it was
any of this woman's business.  But oddly enough it formed a bond
between them.  So was I, a long time ago.  He was a good man and a good
father.  We had a little girl ... she died ... maybe Tony told you
about it Yes, he did, Paxton said softly.

I think that's what finished our marriage.  It wasn't anyone's fault,
what happened to her, I mean, it was just that every time I looked at
him, I thought of it, he was so broken up, I couldn't get away from it.
 And Tommy well, he made me feel better.  Yeah, I'll bet, Paxton
thought to herself, but she also suspected that there was some truth to
what she was saying.  Tony himself had admitted that he was so devoured
with grief, and then so obsessed with Joey when he was born, it kind of
did something to their marriage.  So she wasn't totally wrong.  But she
had been tasteless in her choice of second husbands.  And her lack of
tact had driven Tony to VietNam , and deprived Joey of his father.  But
who was she to judge?  If Barbara Campobello hadn't married her
brother-in-law, Paxton would never have met Tony in Saigon.  I'm sorry,
Paxton said again.  Yeah I'll call you.  And then she was gone, and
Paxton spent the rest of the afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum.  It
was a far cry from Saigon.  And when she got back to the hotel there
was a message from Joey's mother.  Paxton called her right back and to
her amusement, she told her to come the next morning.  It was Saturday
and Joey would be out of school.  Tony's mother would even be there,
and she wanted to meet Paxton.  She didn't tell her that her husband
was furious over it, but she had told him they owed it to Tony, and
Joey, and that was that, and she was an important correspondent from
The New York Times, and maybe she'd make a real big stink if they
didn't let her see the boy, seeing as it was Tony's last request, that
she see Joey.  He had agreed, but he was mad as hell.

But Barbara didn't care now.  She wanted to do it.  She gave Paxton the
directions on how to come.  And the next morning, Paxton rented a car
at the hotel, and drove to Great Neck.  I And when she got there, they
were all waiting for her.  Even missis Campobello, Sr., in a black
dress, and three little girls in fancy little pink dresses.  They
looked like bonbons on a cake, and Paxtcn almost laughed as she looked
at them.  They were cute, but they were so foreign to her, she didn't
know what to say.  It was all a little overwhelming.  Barbara and her
mother-in-law and the girls were outside I when Paxton came, and in the
distance she could see a tall, I powerful-looking man, but he didn't
approach, and she couldn't see from that distance if he looked anything
like Tony.

And in any case, he didn't seem anxious to meet her.  And then Barbara
introduced her to her mother-in-law.  And when Paxton looked at her,
all she could see was Tony.  She started to cry almost as soon as
Paxton touched her hand, and she had a heavy Italian accent.  You knew
my boy in VietNam Her voice quavered as she asked, not so much from
age, as from emotion.  I Yes, I did.  Paxton was fighting back tears,
too, as Barbara stepped away with her daughters.  He was a fine man. 
You can be very proud of him, she said as her voice broke.  He was
famous in all of VietNam for his courage.  The truth was a little
stretched there, but not much, and she knew that it would mean a lot to
Tony's mother.  And then tears stung her eyes and she reached out and
took the old lady into her arms.  It's my fault he wennaway ... I
shouldda stopped what happened, but I didn't.  You couldn't have,
Paxton comforted her, knowing what she meant.  They all had so much
guilt, all of them.

She had told herself for years that it was her fault that Peter had
died, and Bill ... and now Tony?  Had she killed them all?  Had they?

Or had Charlie?  He didn't resent anyone, Paxton reassured her.  He was
happy.  missis Campobello blew her nose and nodded, and then looked up
at Paxton with interest.  You was his girlfriend?  Paxton smiled at the
term and nodded.  He was a wonderful man, and I loved him very much. 
And then she wondered why she kept talking in the past tense.  Except
that for their own sanity, they all kept pretending that they knew he
was dead, but they didn't.  You're a pretty girl, his mother said. 
What were you doing over there?  She was torn between curiosity and
disapproval.  I write for a newspaper.  That's how I met him.  And then
she smiled.  We used to fight a lot in the beginning.  His mother
laughed through her tears at that.  He used to fight with me too.  When
he was a kid, he drove me crazy.  He wasn't like Tommy, she started to
say, and then thought better of it.  God had already punished her for
that, because Tommy was still there and Tony wasn't.  And then Barbara
Campobello came back, and she looked pointedly at Paxton.  Joe's inside
if you want to talk to him there.  That would be nice, Paxton said, and
Barbara led her to the front door as Paxton followed.

Barbara had obviously had a good figure once, and she had an attractive
face, but she seemed hardened, and tough, and somehow disappointed. 
Paxton followed her inside, and there he was, sitting on the couch,
wearingjeans and a clean shirt and a baseball cap, and he looked up at
her with exactly the same expression she had come to love so much in
his father.  Hi, she said quietly, and much to her surprise, Barbara
discreetly disappeared back outside to the others.  My name is Paxton. 
He looked up at her, and then she sat down slowly in a chair near him. 
I knew your Dad in VietNam And he asked me to visit you if I ever came
this way.  And Ihappenedtobeintown, so thought I'd come by andsee you. 
He nodded, interested in her, and looking so much like his father that
he scared her.  Are you writing a story about my Dad?  That's what my
Mom said, but Paxton was quick to shake her bead.  I' I No, Joey.

She wanted to be honest with him, as honest as she had been with Tony. 
I'm here because I loved him.  And he loved you very much ...

in fact, she smiled through her tears, I still love him.  I just came
back from VietNam a couple of weeks ago, and I wanted to come see you. 
What happened?  Joey looked at her almost accusingly.  How did he die? 
They don't even know for sure that he did die.  They just know he's
missing in action.  That means there was a battle and I he got lost,
and he never came back.  He could be alive, he could be dead, he could
be wounded out there somewhere, he could even be a prisoner of the
VietCong, but no one knows.  Wow!  He looked excited as he sat up on
the couch.  No one told me that!  He was eight years old and she
thought he had a right to know, and that was why she had told him.  No
one knows anything.  They think he might be dead.  And I there's a good
chance that he could be.  But the truth is they're not sure yet.  And
then he looked her square in the eye and asked her the hardest question
of all.  What do you think?  What do I think?  she repeated back to
him, wondering if she should tell him.  And then she decided to anyway.
 I can't tell you why, and I could be wrong, but I think he's still
alive.  I just feel it in my heart maybe just loved him so much that I
don't want him to die.  Maybe that's why I feel like that.  But that's
how I feel.  He nodded, absorbing what she'd said, and moving a little
bit closer.  Do you have any pictures of him?  She could have kicked
herself for not bringing them.  She hadn't even thought of it.  I do,
back at the hotel.  I'll send you copies of them when I get to Paris. 
He nodded again, satisfied with that.  Are you going back to VietNam
again?  I don't think so.  It must have been pretty scary, huh?  He
moved closer again, fascinated by her, by how pretty she was, and the
fact I that she knew his father.  There was no one else he could talk
to about him.  His mom always acted like talking about him was a crime,
and whenever he mentioned him, his grandmother cried, and his Dad
yelled at him.  But Paxton was a direct emissary from his father, and
Joey could say anything he wanted.  It was pretty scary.  Paxton smiled
at him.  But not all the tune.  We had some good times too.  And he
talked about youa lot, she told him, and watched his face light up, and
she wanted to reach out and touch hlm.  He did?  Yeali.  All the time. 
He used to show me your photograph.  He wanted to come home and see you
But he never got the chance.  Gone at thirty-one, there was a lot he
wasn't going to do now.  Will you come back and see me again?  Joey
asked her hopefully, sidling closer to her, and finally reaching out to
touch her hair, which was so straight and gold, and so unlike his
mother's.  I'd like that a lot, if your Mom and stepfather don't mind. 
Joey made a face and whispered to her, He's not really my stepdad, he's
my uncle And she whispered back, I know Your Dad told me.  He told you
everything, huh?  And then he laughed.  He had a new friend and he
really liked her.  She stroked his hair then, and touched his face, and
she had an arm around him when his mother came back in.  We had a nice
visit, Paxton said, grateful to her for letting her come.

And I'm going to send Joey some pictures of his Dad from Paris.

Yeali, he said by way of corirrmation.  And they walked slowly outside,
holding hands.  It was as though they could communicate now without
saying anything.  And before she left, she took him in her arms and
held him.  Remember how much be loved you.  Joey nodded with I tears in
his eyes, and Paxton bugged him to her, remembering how it had felt
when her own father died, but she hadn't said I any of that to Joey. 
I'Il call you agam.  Okay.  She saw his stepfather then, lurking
nearby, watching her, and he was tall and dark, but he didn't look
anything like his I brother, and he didn't approach to shake her hand
or meet her.  He went back to the garage to attend to whatever he was
doing.  She thanked Barbara Campobello again, and kissed Tony's mother
good-bye, and they wished her good luck in Paris, almost as though they
knew her.  Ill send you those photographs, she promised the child
again, and he was still waving when she turned slowly around the
corner, thinking of him, and how sad it was that he would never know
his father.  she arrived in Paris on a beautiful spring day, a week
after she'd gone to Washington to see Pentagon officials and Fort
Benning, Georgia, to interview Lieutenant Calley.  The interview with
him had been brief, and in some ways very painful.  He was becoming
almost a symbol of the war, and our loss of control, our brutishness
and the grief we caused, and as Paxton thought about it later, she was
sorry for him, for everyone, for all that had happened.  But Paris
healed some of her wounds, and she found a sweet I I studio near the
Seine.  And she would walk alone at night, thinking of how different
her life was from the life she'd led in Saigon.  Here, her life was
solitary and austere, and serious, as she went to the peace talks each
day, and interviewed people like Kissinger and Le Duc Tho.  And in
Saigon, as hard as it was at times, her life had been happier and
easier than it was now, filled with only memories of a place she would
never see again, and the men she had loved there.  She sent Joey the
copies of the photographs, and he wrote her back, in a careful hand,
and thanked her.  And every now and then, she sent him a postcard from
Paris.  She was integrally tied into all the news from VietNam and by
October, the American casualties were lower than they had ever been. 
But still, it would have been nice to know it was all over.  And she
spoke frequently to all the connections she had made to find out if
there was any news of the MIAs, but there was never any news of Tony. 
She had stopped expecting it now, and yet there was always that same
strange feeling.  In some ways, she just thought it was because he
would always be alive to her.  I But by year end, they had almost
convinced her it was hopeless.  In November, the Times Sew her back to
Fort Benning, Georgia, for the beginmng of the Galley trial, and that
was a depressing affair, with hideous photographs, and frightening
testimony that, in the end, led to his conviction.  She went to see her
brother after the trial, and as usual, had almost nothing to say to
him, and she was beyond making the effort with Allison anymore.  She
went to Washington after that, for another interview with I Kissinger. 
And then she went to see her editor in New York.  And she called and
saw Joey again, and this time, she took the II boy to lunch.  He had
just turned nine, and he looked even more I like Tony than he had
before.  She took him to Radio City Music Hall, and before that they
had a very grown-up lunch.  She had taken him to 21, and he was
extremely impressed, as he looked up at the airplanes hanging near the
bar.  And the head-waiter had recogrized her name, as an ardent devotee
of The New York Times, and they deferred to her every whim, and brought
Joey a backpack that said 21.  This is a terrific place, he said,
admiring her taste, and she smiled at hlm.  Think Dad would have liked
it here?  That was the criterion for everything with him.

I think he would have loved it.  We used to talk about coming to New
York sometimes.  Or going to San Francisco.  That's where I used to
live.  I went to college there.  He was enormously impressed and
demanded that she tell him all about it, and then as they finished
dessert be looked at her with painful seriousness.  My Dad my other
Dad, I mean you know, my uncle.  Paxton almost laughed, he was so
intense, and somehow it was so grotesque and confusing, and she knew
Tony would have laughed too.  In fact, he might almost have loved it. 
He says that what you said isn't true about my Dad maybe being alive
because he's inissing in action.  He says he's probably dead, and
you're crazy.  He could be right.  In fact, he probably is, on both
counts.  Paxton tried to smile at him.  But the real truth, Joey, is
that no one known That's what missing in action is- Some of the men who
disappeared have been taken prisoners- But we don't even know that
about him.  I keep pretty close tabs on it, and I call the Pentagon
whenever I can, but they haven't heard anything about your Dad being on
the lists of prisoners.  And they haven't found his remains near where
he died.  So the truth is, no one knows.  It was hard for him.  It was
hard for everyone.  It was kilhng not to know what had happened.  So
that still means he could be alive, doesn't it?  He looked hopeful
again, and then as he turned it over in his mind, he Med depressed
again.  But my Dad ... my uncle ... he says he's dead.  Paxton, do you
think he is?  No, she said, shaking her head as she looked at him
honestly, Joey, I don't.  And with that she took his hand, and held it
tightly in her own, thmking again how much he looked like Tony.  Paxton
was busy in 1971, and she spent most of the year in I 'I, Paris.  She
still bad high hopes for the Paris talks, and conveyed I that feeling
through much of what she wrote for the paper.  But the war still went
on.  And in VietNam the troops were getting angry.  They were getting
tired of the war, and there seemed to be more problems with
insubordination to the officers than there had been when she was there.
 And fragging, GIs using fragmentation grenades to wound their officers
by mistake, was becoming common.  Racial issues were tense as well. 
And in February, the ARVN began operations in Laos, to destroy parts of
the Ho Chi Mimi Trail.  And still, whenever she inquired, in whatever
sector, there was never any news of Tony.  And in March, Paxton went
back to the States for the rest of the Calley trial, and saw him
convicted.  And she was in Washington to see the enormous VietNam
Veterans Against the War demonstration, where some of the men Sung
their medals on the steps of the Capitol.  She wrote about it for the
Times, and then flew back to Paris.  She was still in Paris when the
Pentagon Papert were made public by Daniel Ellsberg in June.  And in
July, when Nixon announced Kissinger's trip to China.  And when Thieu
was reelected president of South Vietnam in October 1971, she w still
busy covering the peace talks.

And finally, in December, she was happy to report that American troops
in VietNam were down to a hundred and forty thousand, less than a third
of what it had been when she was there nineteen months before.  And in
those nineteen months, there had been not a single bit of news about
Tony Campobello.  The evidence was overwhelming now.  Had he been taken
prisoner, or been hiding wounded somewhere, surely by now someone would
have heard it.  She couldn't offer much hope to Joey anymore, and yet,
when he asked her, whenever they talked on the phone, every few months
when she called him, she always told him what she felt and that was
that his Dad was out there somewhere.  He was ten by then and better
able to understand it.  She had told him about her own father by then,
and it gave him a special kinship with her.  They had both grown up
without their fathers.  And for her, at the end of 1971, life was
interesting but strange.  She was twenty-five years old, and very
beautiful, and greatly admired in Paris.  But it was as though a part
of her life didn't exist at all, and never had.  It was sealed off now.
 She lived for her work, and a little boy she had come to love in Great
Neck.  And he was the oniy love in her life.  The rest were memories,
and photographs she kept on a table in her living room.  Peter Bill
Ralph France Pax An and, of course, Tony.  It was a strange gallery of
people she had loved and lost, in a place she knew she would never go
back to, and yet oddly she still missed it.  She missed what it had
been, and who they were, and what she had been when they all lived
there.  And yet, she was very successful at what she did, and very
respected.  And in an odd way, she was content.  Not happy, but
satisfied, and she still missed him.  And his ruby ring was still on
her finger.  And in '72, it was painful for her knowing what distress
VietNam was in.  The peace talks had gone nowhere.

And in March the North Vietnamese crossed the demilitarized zone with
tanks i and began moving south down Highway One on a rampage of I
terror.  By May, Route One was filled with refugees and soldiers.  I
The southern ARVN proved no match for the northern troops, and
civilians were constantly being killed, children burned and women
dying.  The photographs she saw, with the rest of the world,
particularly in Time magazine, were awful.  A second wave of attacks
devastated the Central Highlands with similar results in the North. 
Everywhere people were I homeless and starving.  The Americans were
trying to pull out and turn the war back to the ARVN, the Army of South
VietNam and they were losing.  A third attack in APril near the
Cambodian border, north of Saigon, brought tears to Paxton's eyes as
she read the AP re- I ports.  Three thousand Vietnamese troops stormed
An Loc, and I took over the entire province.  It was becoming clear
that the Vietnamization of VietNam was a joke, but a costly one, and no
one in VietNam was laughing.  By mid April, Nixon authorized the
bombing of areas near Haiphong and Hanoi, and for the first time in two
years, Paxton was grateful that she hadn't stayed in VietNam It was
becoming questionable if anyone would survive it.  And wholesale
slaughter made no sense.  She could do more here in Paris.  But I what
truly worried her, as well, was what would happen to I Tony if he were
being held prisoner, or hiding somewhere in the countryside.  With the
constant NVA attacks, American prisoners anywhere in VietNam were in
great danger.  But she still cherished the hope, after two years, that
somewhere, out there, he was among them.  And the only thing that
distracted her after the fall of Quang Tri in May, was the arrest in
June of the five men who had broken into the Watergate complex in
Washington.  Everyone in I the States was talking about it, and
although she was still in Paris at the time, she wrote a very amusing
editorial, which the 366MESSAGE FROM NAM Times ran and which won her a
lot of favorable comment.  She was slowly becoming something of a star,
but it was an aspect of her life to which she paid little attention. 
She loved her work, but cared nothing for the acclaim it brought her. 
Her mission in life was to inform, to cut through the lies and brambles
with a sword of truth, as it were, and herjournalistic friends teased
her and called her a zealot.  But she had no interest whatsoever in
becoming famous.  And the fact that Kissinger, Nixon, and important
journalists around the world had great regard for her, pleased her, but
to Paxton, it still did not seem of paramount importance.  All that
mattered to her was that what she wrote made a difference.  The
breakthrough in Paris finally came in October 1972, as a result of
meetings between Kissinger and Le Duc Tho, although few knew it.

And on October twenty-first, the North Vietnamese approved the proposed
plan for peace, and within five days, Kissinger himself promised from
the White House that peace is at hand.  But President Thieu of South
VietNam refused to sign the agreement, refusing to allow northern
troops to remain in place in the South, for fear of what they would do
there.  'And less than two weeks later, Nixon was reelected by a I'
landslide.  Two weeks after that, President Thieu demanded l'
sixty-nine amendments to the agreement that could bring peace III to
VietNam and Paxton, along with other knowledgeable journalists,
groaned.  The situation was, once again, beginning to look hopeless. 
The talks stopped and started all through December.  There were
American bombings of military targets, and promises that I fewer
civilians would be affected.  Hanoi indicated they would talk if the
bombing stopped.  The bombs stopped for a single day at Christmas. 
Hanoi spoke up again.  And at last, on December thirtieth, the bombing
stopped once more, and the talks resumed again.  And through it all,
Bob Hope had gone to Viet I Nam to put on his Christmas show for the
last time.  But Paxton wasn't thinking of him this year.  She was
totally engrossed in the Paris peace talks, and whatever inside
information she could I get from sources very high up, some of them in
Washington.  And the high point of her holiday that year was a call
from Joey in Great Neck on Christmas Eve.  He was fine, and he warmed
her heart when he told her in an undertone that he missed her.  She was
his special ally, special friend, the guardian angel who had been sent
by the father he barely knew to love and keep himAnd at last on January
8, 1973, Kissinger and Le Duc Tho II'lll resumed serious talks in
Paris, the day before President Nixon's sixtieth birthday.  And exactly
one week alter that, Ambassador Ill Ellsworth Bunker, in Saigon,
allegedly told President Thieu that if he didn't sign the peace
agreement mediately, there would be no farther aid from the U.S.
forthcoming.  As a result, the cease-fire began less than two weeks
later, on I the twenty-seventh of January, five days after Lyndon
Johnson died.  And Nixon demanded that all of our POWs be released at
once.  And he promised to have all American forces out of Viet I Nam
within sixty days, March.  Paxton heard the news in Paris with
disbelief, and silent prayers, that maybe, maybe when the prisoners
were released, someone might know something about Tony.  And if nothing
else, they could lay him to rest at last.  It was terrible not knowing.
 She could hardly stand it herself anymore, after almost three years. 
And she had come to realize that not knowing, and always cherishing
hope, was too hard on Joey.  He always longed for a father who wasn't
there, and very probably never would be.

Instead of adjusting to the one he had, however lacking he might have
been, which by then Paxton knew he was, in spite of the fact that he
had been Tony's brother.  He resented the boy, she suspected, because
he himself felt guilty, and she also suspected that he had gotten more,
or perhaps less, than he knew when he got stuck with the first missis
Campobello, and by then he knew it.  On February 5, 1973, it was
announced that 57,597 men had died in VietNam , and just thinking of it
tore at her heart, and reminded her of Peter, Bill, and Tony.  At times
it was hard for her to separate herself as woman and journalist.  And
when she heard that the first POWs were being released on February
twelfth, she lay on her bed and cried, imagining what it must mean to
them and their wives to be free at last, from the agony, the loss, the
terror.  She was in Paris, writing then, working not only on her
articles for the Times, but on a book she had promised herself for
three years now that she would write about VietNam when her editor
called from New York, and asked her to hop a military transport to
Manila.  But why?  Who me?  she wanted to ask.  It had taken three
years for the pain to dim, three years to stop dreaming of the maimed
children wandering the streets of Saigon.  And the prisoners were
coming home, full of their own horror of it.  Did she really have to go
back there?  At long last, she didn't want to go back anymore, didn't
long for that incredible green, the smell of smoke at dawn.

And now they wanted her to go back and relive it.  Back to the memory
as she looked into the faces of the men who had been there.

The prisoners of war were flying to Clark Field in the Philip-pines. 
And she had two days to get there.  Is this an order, or a request? 
she asked with a tired voice at midnight Paris time.

They always called her just before they left the office in New York.  A
little of both, the editor said gently, and Paxton sighed.

It was starting again.  The hope.  The prayers.  The wish that someone
would have seen him.  All right, she said after a brief pause.  I'll
go.  Thank you.  We appreciate it.  But the editor had known she'd
go.

She couldn't stay away from it.  None of them could.  VietNam had
gotten into their very core, their soul.  It was a I constant pain,
even once it grew numb ... a sorrow a I joy an addiction.  I I I I I I
I I I I' She flew from Paris to Wiesbaden, West Germany, where she
caught a military flight, which got her to Manila eight hours before
the POWs arrived.  And as she sat among their wives and children,
thinking and quietly taking notes, she looked at the faces around her,
the children who barely remembered them, and she knew how awful it had
been for all of them.  She knew it much too well as she watched and
listened.  And for some time now, she had begun to accept the loss of
Tony.  No matter what she felt in her heart, there was no way he could
still be alive today, and in her mind, if not her heart, she knew it. 
And she had said as much to Joey.  But these women were all talking
about how they had survived from year to year, with photographs, scraps
of news, reports from two men who had gotten out earlier, five who'd
escaped two years before.  They knew their men were alive, from time to
time at least, and they, like their men, had survived it.  I What
remained of them now, was, of course, another question.  And Paxton
could feel her stomach turn over as she waited with them, wanting not
to increase their pain, their nervousness, or annoy them.  She spoke
directly to none of them, she just sat there and listened.  Later, she
would ask for interviews, speak to the men.  But now she just wanted to
be here and watch and listen.  She told herself she was dispassionate,
that she was there as a journalist, that she had no right to intrude,
but as the men came off the plane that afternoon, she sobbed almost as
loud as their wives when she saw them.  They were thin, halting,
hesitant, battle scarred for the most part, with red-rimmed eyes and
fungus in their hair, knuckles swollen to the size of onions from being
beaten, legs that seemed wobbly and unstable.  On the surface they
looked whole, but if you looked beyond that, they looked awful.  And as
they held each other up, they stood proud, and looked around and
cheered as they stood there.  It I was a victory for freedom and
liberty, and love and sheer survival, that touched everyone's heart who
saw them.  It was an emotional afternoon, and Paxton spent almost as
much time crying as they did.  But there was no relief for her, no time
off, no incredible embrace they had waited seven years for.  How did
one survive a time like that?  How did one cling to hope?  And what did
one say to each other when it was over?  What if she had been taken
prisoner on one of the missions I she'd gone on with Ralph!  It had
been close a couple of times, and she knew it.  What if she had been
taken prisoner by the VietCong?  She doubted she could have survived,
and marveled that they could.  And the next day, she began her
interviews, talking to them after they had been debriefed, talking to
their wives, in some II cases their children.  A photographer joined
her eventually, and by the time she was almost through, she herself was
overwrought.  And then, as she interviewed one of them, she realized he
had been a tunnel rat at Cu Chi, and had been taken prisoner not very
long before Tony became MA, and as she attempted to hold her pen, her
hand shook so badly she could no longer write what the man was saying. 
He had been held prisoner for three years, which seemed a long time to
him, and to her, but Tony had been gone for just as long and she still
didn't know if he was dead or alive now.  I .  Her voice was shaking as
much as her hands, I'd like to ask you something off-the-record.  He
looked frightened of her suddenly, as though she would ask him
something terrible that might disgrace him or his family forever.  Did
you ever know a first sergeant named Tony Campobello when you were at
Cu Chi?  He looked at her strangely then and nodded his head, wondering
if it was a trick.  Maybe Campobello had been an enemy agent.  Why?" 
because I loved him I was in Saigon then, she said in a voice as soft
and broken as his own, but he had brought back the past to her and it
was much too painful.  He became MA just after you were taken prisoner
... and there's been no conclusive report in his case for three years I
just thought ... I wondered .  She started to cry and hated herself for
it.  These people had been through enough without taking on her pain
too.  But he reached out and touched her hand with his own gnarled,
broken fingers.  She was his sister now his friend his child And she
looked at him through her tears as he answered.  All I can tell you is
that he was alive two years ago.  They brought him to one of the
prisons I was in.  I don't even know what it was called, and I was very
sick when I got there, he went on softly, and no one around them could
hear them.

Do you know where it was?  she asked in the same tone of voice.  No ...
but he was there.  I knew him at Cu Chi I hadn't been there long before
I was caught by the VC he was tough ... and he was still alive when
they had him.  That's all I know.  You should ask Jordan.

He was there too, and I think he knew him.  But when she finally got to
talk to Jordan three days later, he had bad news.  Tony was one of
three men who had escaped, and Jordan was sure that all three had been
killed in the effort.  There had been rumors briefly that only two
bodies were brought back, but he was never sure, and he assured her
that no one could have escaped their dogs, their weapons, their booby I
the past two years, their paths had never crossed again, and he traps,
their spears.  He would have to have been killed.  And in had never
heard his name.  He assured her that Tony was dead.  I He had to be. 
And as he told her, he cried, and so did Paxton.  It was a terrible
week for her, a brutal time, of facing pain and death and hope and
grief and their tales of brutality at the hands of the North
Vietnamese.  It was endless, and their wives were so brave.  By the
time it was over, and she went back to France, she felt as though she
had been in prison with them.  It was the most emotionally exhausting
piece she'd ever done, and she swore to herself that if they asked her
again, she wouldn't do it.  But the piece she wrote as a result was
absolutely brilliant, I and brought her the praise of her peers, and
people began talking about one day Paxton winning the Pulitzer.  Ralph
used to tease her about it, but that had been years ago, when she was
young and green, and so had Tony.  And she had her painful answers
about him now.  There was no hiding from it.  And on the first of
March, she flew to New York to see his son, and tell him what the two
POWs had told her, the first who had seen him briefly two years before,
the second who knew he had escaped and was certain he'd been killed by
the VietCong when they caught him.  And from everything she'd heard at
Clark Air Force Base, that now seemed certain.  She told Joey as gently
as she could before they went to lunch.  They went for a long walk in
Central Park, and finally she sat him down on a bench and told him.  He
was eleven now, the same age she had been when her father died, and he
was a bright boy, and she knew that he could take it.  I'm sorry, Joey.
 Tears filed her eyes again.  I somehow thought that if he'd lived at
all, if he hadn't been killed that day, that he'd make it.  He was so
tough, so strong, so smart so good .  But he was gone now, and they
both had to face it.  Without saying another word, she put her arms
around him and held him close to her and they both cried.  Do you
believe it now?  he asked her painfully, and this time she nodded.  For
his sake as much as her own.  At twentyseven she had loved the man for
so long, it was hard to give up hope, but she knew she had to.  Yes, I
do believe it now, Joey.  We have to.  He's gone.  It was like losing
him all over again, hearing the words of the man who'd survived the
Hanoi Hilton.  Now what?  the boy asked sadly, as he held her hand.  I
don't know .  She felt lost again.  Almost as lost as she had three
years before.  The other women had their men home again and she didn't.
 We remember him we think about him and smile, we remember the good
stuff, the silly stuff we love him.  And what about you?  He had always
wondered about her, and now he felt he was old enough to ask.  He knew
she'd been waiting for his Dad, but what would she do now?  The same
thing she always had done.  In Paxton's mind, all that was over.  Think
you'll marry someone else?  Joey asked with a worried frown.  Maybe
someone who wouldn't let her see him anymore.  But she read his
thoughts and pulled him closer.  No, I don't.  Unless you're willing to
grow up real quick.  I could wait, you know.  What are you going to do
now?  Are you still going to be in Paris?  He missed her when she was
there.  Between them, they had something very special.  It was a little
bit of what she had shared with his Dad, but not having children of her
own, it was more and less, and different.  And she had good news for
him in answer to his question.  It looks like I'll be coming back to
New York pretty soon, to work for the Times here.  Probably at the end
of March after the last troops pull out.  It won't be long now.  He
looked pleased.  If he couldn't have his father, at least he had her. 
Maybe your Mom will let us go away for a weekend some-where when I come
back.  Think she would?  Sure.  He would see to it that they'd let him,
no matter what.  And they were both more peaceful when they went to
lunch.  Peaceful, but sad.  They had finally started to let go of Tony.
 American troops left VietNam on March 29, 1973, and three days later,
on April first, the last American POWs were released in Hanoi.  And the
day before that, Paxton flew to New York after giving up her apartment
in Paris.  She was staying at the Algonquin until she found her own
place, and when she got to the paper the next day, she couldn't believe
it, but they asked her to fly to San Francisco to interview the
prisoners of war at the Presidio.  And she told them she just couldn't
do it.  They had to send someone else, she'd just gotten back, she was
tired, and she had to look for an apartment.  None of which held water,
and both she and her editor knew it.  And when finally they pressed
her, she turned on the editor and told her that she didn't give a damn
what they did to her, she wouldn't go, it was just too fucking
painful.

They left her alone all that day, and at six o'clock the editor in
chief called her in and begged her to go.  And finally, tired,
jet-lagged, exhausted, and more than a little angry, she relented.

She flew out the next day, just in time to meet the plane as it was
arriving at Travis Air Force Base.  And as she stood looking at the
same scene she'd seen in Manila six weeks before, she knew just how
draining it was going to be and how painful.  But at least this time
she was prepared, and she braced herself for what she would hear from
the wives, the men, and even their children.  And for the next few
days, it was every bit as bad as she knew it would be, and worse.  But
the very worst came when one of the men talked about three men who had
escaped, and the story had a familiar ring to it.

Part of her wanted not to know, and another part of her told her she
had to.  And she began asking him the same questions as she had the
other men at Clark, but this time, the answers were different.

Yes, he was certain three men had escaped.  And two others had
successfully done it before that.  The others who tried it were all
killed, he thought, a group of seven once, a foursome, another pair. 
But some made it through, and of the threesome he referred to, one did.
 Two were killed, but one of them never came back.  Who was he?  she
asked in a strangled voice, wishing she had never come, not wanting to
start the hope again.  She was willing to lay him to rest now, why
wouldn't they let her?  Do you know who he was, sir?

I I'm not sure.  He racked his memory, which was not what it once had
been.  They had done everything to him.  Electric shock, torture, he
had lost both thumbs, and almost lost his leg to gangrene, how the hell
did he know who had escaped and lived.  How could he do this to her,
and yet he was, and she held her breath as she waited.

I know he was from Cu Chi base a tunnel rat but I'm not sure of the
name.  I might know it if I heard it, he said apologetically, and she
was feeling guilty for pumping him, but she had to.  Tony Campobello? 
she whispered.  That's right.  He stared at her.  That's him!  He
looked stunned, amazed she knew it.  He escaped, oh ... I don't know
... maybe eighteen months ago two years ... I'm not sure now.  And I
know he made it.  She felt faint as she listened to him.

How do you know, sir?  They didn't bring his body back, and .  He
looked mildly embarrassed.  One of the guards told me.  Wouldn't he
have lied to you?  She almost wanted him to be dead now, wanted not to
be tortured with the hope again, but there was no denying what this man
said.  She couldn't ignore it.  I don't think so.  They hated to admit
it when anyone escaped, soif they said it, it was probably true.  And
they tortured one of the others to teach everyone a lesson.  Do you
know where he might have gone?  ' ' I m sorry, I don't.  South, I would
assume, if he could or he could still be in hiding somewhere in the
interior.  If he was a tunnel rat, he was probably pretty wily.  He
could still be alive now.  Could and then what?  And what was she to
tell Joey?  That his father could be alive somewhere in the interior? 
Or he could be dead in a tunnel, too, or in a trench, or a hole
somewhere, or a tree trunk.  She thanked the man, and feeling numb, she
finished her interviews and took the red-eye back to New York from San
Francisco.  And she spent the next three days locked in her apartment,
talking to no one.  There was nothing she could do or say.  She had to
think.  She had to go over what they'd said.  She read her notes over
again and again, but there was nothing she could do.  And on Monday,
she had made her decision.  She went in to see her editor, and at first
she told Paxton she was crazy.  But after a little while, Paxton had
convinced her.  She'd been there before, and she knew the country.

There would be others staying now that the military had left.

Journalists, medical personnel, a few foreign businessmen, fools,
opportunists.  Someone was bound to be there.  And there was no doubt
whatsoever in her mind.  She had to go back there, and stay there until
she found the answers, no matter how long it took, or what it did to
her to be there.  They agreed finally.  They had no choice.

The choice was to lose Paxton, or let her go with their blessing, so
they let her have everything she wanted.  And that weekend, she went
for a long, long walk with Joey.  She told him she was going back to
VietNam to find his father, or his remains, or someone who could tell
her for sure what had really happened.  She told him about the prisoner
of war at the Presidio, and what he had said.  He had a right to know,
and she had to tell him.  You know, my Mom and Dad still think you're
crazy.  He smiled at her, he wondered about it at times himself, but he
also knew he loved her.  Is that what you think?  She smiled at him. 
Sometimes.  I don't really care if you are, Pax.  It's okay.  Thanks. 
To tell you the truth, I think I'm crazy to go back too.  But I don't
think I'll ever be satisfied until we have the answers.  I thought we
knew for a while there, after what she'd heard at Clark, from Jordan,
but I guess we didn't.  This guy was 50 sure he made it.  You really
think he could be alive by now?  It's been three years since he became
MA.  Even Joey sounded skeptical by this time.  I just don't know
anymore, Joey.  He nodded, worried about her now.  How long you think
you'Il be gone?  I don't know.  I don't want to promise you anything. 
I'll write to you, and call you if I can.  I don't know what the phone
service will be like there now, with the GIs gone.  Probably I pretty
lousy.  But I'll do what I can.  And I'll come home when I have the
answers, and not before.  He grabbed her arm then and held it tightly
in his young hand.  Don't get hurt, Pax don't let anything happen to
you like it did to Dad.  It won't, she promised him, as she leaned
toward him and kissed his hair, and then stroked it.  I'm not as brave
as he fhe plane came down at Tan Son Nhut Airport, and from the air it
looked the same, but as they flew low, she saw that there were a lot
more craters than there had been three years before.  And in Saigon,
things had changed too.  There were more children in the streets, more
orphans, more begging Amerasians, abandoned by fathers who had gone
home with the military and left them there with mothers who didn't want
them.

There were more drugs in the streets, more prostitutes, more buildings
falling apart.  More chaos.  And even the Hotel Caravelle seemed
somehow less than it had been, although they remembered her, and were
very pleasant.  And she had a different room this time, which was just
as well.  She couldn't have borne being in the same room she had once
shared with Tony.  The AP office was the same, and she ran into some of
the same faces, and in some ways it seemed that nothing had changed,
and yet things had.  The American soldiers were gone, and subtly that
changed things.  She began by establishing her contacts again, and
remarkably she still felt at home there.  And yet, there were too many
memories for her here now, and she had been back in the West for too
long.  And more often than not, as she lay awake at night, she thought
of Joey.  Maybe it was different now, too, because she was older.  At
twenty-seven, she was not quite as anxious to risk her life as she had
been five years before.  In that sense, she was also different.  And
thinkmg of that reminded her of Ralph again, and the missions they'd
been on together.  Now when she went out into the countryside, she went
out alone, with rented cars, or with a driver, or a photographer she
got from AP, and everywhere she went, in every town, in every
countryside, in every ruin, she asked for Tony.  And no one had seen
him.  But I she felt that if she asked enough people for long enough,
eventually, if he was still alive, someone would know him.

Maybe he I was afraid to come out, maybe he was too crippled or too
maimed or too injured, and if he was, she would take him home, and heal
his wounds and fix them ... if he was still alive, which was always
uncertain.  And as she began to see the dam-age the northern troops had
done, and the American bombings before they left, she began to
understand how difficult it would have been to survive, and escape
unnoticed somewhere.  Even knowing he was dead would have been a
relief.  Something.  Some shred of clothing, a bone, some hair anything
that had once been Tony.  In April, Graham Martin arrived in Saigon to
replace Ellsworth Bunker as ambassador.  And in June the Watergate
affair exploded in the States, much to Paxton's fascination.  Politics
seemed to be getting more complicated everywhere these days, and she
enjoyed the Teletypes she read in Saigon, while she continued to write
articles from there, and search for Tony.  I And in July, the Senate
held hearings on the bombings in Cambodia, which stopped in August. 
And eight days after that, Nixon appointed Kissinger as Secretary of
State to replace Rogers.  And that summer, in VietNam things were
quiet.  It rained constantly, and Paxton continued to drive all over
the countryside, showing photographs of him, and asking if they had
seen him, but no one had seen him anywhere, and she wound up with
pneumonia.  And in September, she was better, and began the search
again.  And every week, she reported in letters to Joey.  It was all
beginning to seem more than a little crazy even to her.  But everything
in VietNam always had been.  She kept coming across children in the
streets who were half American and had been abandoned, and she always
gave them what money and food she could, but for them the situation was
hopeless.  This was the fate France had feared when she had poisoned
herself and her children after Ralph was killed.  It was hard to
believe she was right, but who knew anymore?  Who knew anything?

Paxton was certain she didn't.  In October, Agnew resigned as Nixon's
vice-president, and in November Congress overrode Nixon's veto of the
law that would have limited the President's right to wage war.  They
wanted the same situation never to come again.  We had lost in VietNam
but they wanted to think twice before we ever got into something like
it again.  And Congress wanted to maintain their controls on the
President forever.  Paxton spent Christmas in Saigon, eight months
after she'd gotten there.  She told herself she would go home as soon
as she found something concrete, or a year after she'd come, if by then
she still had no answer.  But a year to the day after she arrived,
someone recognized Tony's picture and it spurred her on.  She was an
old peasant woman from the North, and she said she'd found him in a
wood and given him food, and then he had been taken away by soldiers. 
So he had been taken prisoner again, but where and by whom, and then
what had happened?  She spared Joey the recital of that.  There was no
point.  But she just kept on looking.  And three months later, in
August 1974, Nixon resigned, and Ford became president, and the Times
asked her to come home, and she refused.  She was writing beautiful
pieces from VietNam and she seemed to have no interest in any other
subject.

She spent Christmas in Saigon again that year, her second since she'd
been back.  Her brother bad given up on her completely by then.  And Ed
Wilson was intrigued whenever he saw her byline.  Her pieces were
brilliant, but she seemed obsessed with the country she had gone to as
a girl, and which had wounded her, and so many others, so badly.  And
by then, even Joey was beginning to wonder.

Maybe she just liked it there, and maybe she couldn't face the fact
that his father was dead, I maybe she was more than a little bit crazy,
as his parents sug- I gested.  He hadn't seen her In almost two years,
but the funny thing was, as he secretly told his grandmother sometimes,
he still missed her.  He wondered if she'd ever come back, but he
wasn't sure anymore.  He was almost thirteen, and his father I had been
missing for almost five years, gone from him for ten.  It was a hell of
a long time to carry a torch for someone.  But Paxton didn't seem to
want to give up, no matter what, even if it killed her.  And every now
and then, someone would recognize a photo-graph she showed them.  But
she never really knew if they told the truth, or lied, or wanted a tip,
or a reward, or just wanted to please her.  It was impossible to tell. 
But the one thing she could tell, and wrote about in the Times, was
that South VietNam was in big trouble.  And she wrote about the
Americans secretly I promising to get a million people out of South
VietNam before I I it fell into Communist hands, which it was becoming
obvious I that it would soon.  And when it did, she knew she'd have to
go home and leave Tony there, whether he was alive or not.  She would
have to go then, and give up.  But in the meantime, she just couldn't. 
In February 1975 things got tough, and in March they got tougher. 
Refugees from the North were streaming into Saigon, and farther north,
over a million refugees fled the Communists and entered Da Nang, as Hue
fell, and North Vietnamese rockets ripped across the city and into the
civilians.  People were crying and running and falling, and bleeding. 
Children were lost and trampled by the crowds.  And Ainericans were
told to get out, and Paxton with them.  The Teletypes into the AP
office were going crazy.  Everyone had to get out, the Teletypes said,
once Hue had fallen.  But three days later, people were jamming
airports, docks, and beaches trying to get out of VietNam by any means
they could.  And for the last few days, Paxton forgot her futile search
and once again turned correspondent.  On Easter Sunday, Da Nang fell to
the Communists, and in April the Americans began to pack up, and Paxton
with them.

It was time to go.  It was just a matter of days before it would be all
over.  The country that had once been so lovely and had cost them so
much was about to fall, and secretly everyone knew it.  The Americans
still in Saigon were getting anxious about getting out before the
Communists arrived, and the Vietnamese who'd been too closely linked to
the Americans were panicking that they would be the victims of
reprisals.  Fifty thousand American and Vietnamese managed to leave
during April.  But over a million Vietnamese had been promised that
they would be able to leave for the States, and in the last weeks of
April it became obvious that this was impossible, and very few were
going to make it.  Paxton was warned again by the Times to get out, but
after contacting the ambassador, he promised her a seat in the very
last plane, no matter what, and with one bag packed, ready to go, she
continued her coverage of the fall of Saigon, with her own camera.  She
had totally abandoned her search for Tony by then.  She had accepted it
at last.  He was dead, and the people in the countryside who said they
had seen him had lied.  They had said what they thought she wanted to
hear.  And as the last days of Saigon came, she knew that he had to be
dead now.

And she was so exhausted by then, she couldn't think about him anymore.
 All she wanted was to get back to the States, to a clean bed, a safe
town, and see Joey.  On APril twenty-fifth, President Thieu left for
Taiwan.  And on April twenty-eighth, the Communist troops faced the
South Vietnamese Army at the Newport Bridge, at the gates of SaiI gon. 
Paxton was staying in the embassy by then, waiting for the very last
bulletins.  And if she had to go, she wanted to be one of the very last
to leave Saigon.  And in a gentle rain on the twenty-ninth, the embassy
aides solemnly announced that Option IV was going into effect.  It was
about to be the largest helicopter evacuation on record.  The million
Vietnamese that had been promised asylum were being abandoned, and only
those the Americans could get out by helicopter would, but it wouldn't
be many.  All day Paxton watched I the operation begin, as helicopters
carried refugees and Americans to waiting carriers offshore, and the
Communists continued to rocket the Saigon airport.  In eighteen hours
on April twenty-ninth, Paxton reported later, seventy U.S. choppers
ferried people between the embassy and the waiting carriers.  One
thousand Americans, and six thousand Vietnamese got out.  Not the
million that had been promised.  There were buses around the city to
bring people to the em bassy grounds, but there was so much panic that
the buses got bogged down and never got anywhere, and people began
running through the streets, screaming and hysterical, and every I
where there were lost and abandoned children.  Paxton tried to go out
at noon to help some of the people in the streets.  She could get
nowhere.  You couldn't move in the frantic crowd.  The embassy gates
had been forced open hours since, and crowds of people were on the
embassy grounds trying to force their way I onto choppers.  They were
the people of the city, the country, I the mountains, some Americans,
mostly Vietnamese, desperate I to escape the Communists before they
took over.  She knew she I had to go soon, and as she headed back
through the embassy compound, she felt her arms and body clawed as she
tried to go I back the way she had come to where she knew the
ambassador was waiting.  And then suddenly an arm pulled at her, it was
a man, an ancient Vietnamese dragging her with him as he forced his way
along, and she saw as she tried to wrestle away from him that he was
barely conscious.  He smelled terrible and he looked worse, and he was
caked with mud as she fought free of him and he lurched forward again
into her arms.  And then she saw ... it wasn't possible ... it couldn't
be ... it was a cruel joke she had finally lost her mind in the midst
of the fall of Saigon.  No .  It wasn't.

She only wanted it to be.  The man said something to her in Vietnamese
as he straightened up again, and instinctively she reached out to him
and he started to collapse in her arms, but she knew then without a
doubt.  It was Tony.  Oh, my God .  People were pressing all around
them to get on the helicopters, and most of them weren't going to make
it.  How did you get here?  she asked, still confused and stunned as
she stared at him, trying to be sure she hadn't dreamt it.  He said
something in Vietnamese again, and then listening to her, he knew.  He
didn't know who she was, but he knew she was American and he was safe
now, as she guided him forcefully to one of the buildings.  First
Sergeant Anthony Campobello, Cu Chi Base, VietNam he recited as she
dragged him physically toward where they were loading the choppers. 
They couldn't wait anymore.  And she had her story.  She wasn't staying
there another minute with him.  She had to get him out, before someone
stopped them.  He had a vicious gash on one arm, and then he looked at
her oddly, and tears began to slide down his cheeks as she half
carried, half dragged him toward the choppers.  Come on, she shouted at
him over the racket, as someone tried to force a baby into her arms. 
But she wasn't taking one but him.  She had fought too bard and long
for this.  She had looked for him for five years, and so had his son
while he waited.  Tony, come on!  He started to collapse before they
reached I the chopper, and they had to climb a narrow stair, which she
wasn't sure he could still climb, and she couldn't drag him, and there
was no one there who would have helped her.  Dammit lift your feet come
on, climb .  She was screaming at him, and she was crying too.  But he
was crying with relief.  It had taken him two months to come down from
his hiding place in the tunnels he had found and used until he reached
the outskirts of Saigon, and now he had just made it.  And she was
there, and he didn't understand how or why he had found her.  But it
didn't matter anymore.  She was there.  And they were together, even if
they died now.  This man is a POW!  she shouted at someone who didn't
care, and then suddeniy a strong pair of arms dragged him up and free
of the crowd and pushed him into the chopper, and suddenly with a huge
push, she was in it just behind him, and they were pulled to safety as
they headed to the open seas, and she was suddenly reminded of the
Dustoffs that had saved the wounded men.

And now they were free, as VietNam shrank slowly behind them.

There were people still screaming as they left, people crying, people
begging.  People who would die and be killed.  But she couldn't help
them anymore.  She had written about them.  She had been there off and
on for seven years.  She 'I had done everything she could for them. 
And it had been too long.  It had cost too much.

Too many had died.  But at least not Tony.  She looked at him in
disbelief as he lay in her arms, battered, bruised, scarred, almost
unrecognizable.  But it was he, and he smiled at her as they began
their descent toward the I deck of the carrier and safety.  Where the
hell have you been?  he grinned with his dirt covered face.  He had
lived in tunnels he had made and found and used for the past two years,
and he had survived by wiles and horrors she couldn't have dared to
think of.  And now, by sheer miracle, by nothing more than chance, or
the hand of God, he had found her.  I've been looking for you, she said
softly, gently brushing the dirt from his face.  He had hidden in a
wagon full of earth and dirt on the way into the city.  I've been
looking for you for a long, long time, mister .  And so had Joey. 
Welcome home, a voice said, as someone helped them down.  Welcome home
the voices said as they were welcomed to safety from the chopper, and
Tony stood there and cried as she held him in her arms, and their flag
soared overhead, and he whispered in the din.  I love you, Delta Delta
At eleven o'clock the next day, on APril 30, 1975, Saigon fell, and the
South Vietnamese surrendered to the North.  The battle we had fought
for and with them for so long was over.  And on the USS Blue Ridge,
Paxton and Tony steamed to-ward home, and their son, and the world they
had lost for too long.  A world they had all but forgotten.  But Nam
was gone now.  A distant memory ... a nightmare a dream.  For them, and
everyone else, now, it was finally over.  the end.