We awake one morning to find a bird waiting in the bathroom, it arrived in the night and patiently perched plumping plumbing pipes, we we’re ripe for the planting pouring hot rain, little birdy says it all the time, a whisper in my ear about the cyclone brewing and we’re out the door sending rejections left and right, their objections obtain kernels of truth but then, we’re just two American spending some vacation time in Hanoi. Only got two weeks every year for that.
Instead, her and I opt for a flight aboard an ancient automobile, a hundred-passenger bus built for forty, we escape the bust stop just barely bustling past busted windows and bruising doors, our breath is met heartily hot air our incubated English flits fits past fittingly composed Vietnamese veiled in comfort amongst each other, each within each’s confines of space time losing meaning in the contextual face of public transportation, each roadsign passing beneath arms and under conversation, you must keep a careful eye. But who can argue with a 7000 dong fare?
We re-arrive at our ceremonial home, several stops past our destination deboarding debutantes dealing delicious delicacies across the street we dine dine dine on cafe milk and an egg baguette prepared precisely at a time when such conveniences were most conducive. The remaining walk is wobbly, a park of transvestites traversed our fearless dialogue in perfectly prescient English protect plurality we polish the sidewalk along our fabled one’s blvd. arriving quite correctly at an obelisk. She suggests shortcuts slicing laterally against the grass but an armed guard sends a shrill sound slanting sliding slightly spine shaped warnings we walk weakly, meekly offering good thanks and plentiful remorse as we adjust our blvd. tactics and then align.
Before and beyond we surrender our technology taking carefully taxable tags targeting our camera and stand silently surrounded by sonic soldiers of preparatory schools for the six and under crowd, the mass of tots take each other by the hand humming human chains of twenty or thirty march behavingly ahead. One boy daringly drops a toy to the ground, dazed at the crack he thinks not to stop and retrieve the slightly sideways toy cast aside asunder we briefly consider this sad song with our eyes before fixing our gaze and solemn souls surrendered to the man inside. The line leaves marks in the sky stretching the length of a single mile, millions milling, at our periphery are soldiers taking aim and talking tensely with soundless stillness and gesture, “HurryHurryHurryHurryHurry…” we rapidly ascend into the swolen black obelisk, a marvel of marble steeped aplop a silver expanses, a perpetually paved lake waving a golden star in a sea of red far above our heads.
Around the bend we readily rescind wretched revolvers return each overdue overture ovulating outside of our outer being and arrive inside inner tranquility. The light languishes bluely beautiful, a quadron of soldiers at his side and centered solidly stands horizontal, Ho Chi Minh. Abruptly we shuffle our feet guide invisibly around the perimeter of his clear glass coffin each edge endowed brightly by a militarymen, and beside me she lingers longingly at the last corner for one final embrace, our protectors pry her grasp of the mighty one with a sharp shoo! and we return again to the day of light.
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