The Beginning of the End.

by Yardier

Background
Lee Morason is a Vietnam veteran with the aftereffects of combat clouding his view of life. He avoids the symptoms and denies he is heading to a psychological and spiritual break down.

A sharp, loud blast from a ship's horn signaling its arrival in the Saigon port raced across the dock and rolled down the wet streets, echoing like bowling balls of thunder. Windows shuddered, and doors rattled in their openings as the incredible sound pressed against all in its way. The authoritative concussive force hit Lee square on the chest, causing him to bolt as if shot from a sprinter's starting block and run blindly away from Le Chien. Suddenly, everyone and everything continued their forward movement, unaware they had been placed motionless in time by Le Chien's curse. Lee stumbled wildly over a street vendor's stack of produce, spilling fish and shrimp and black eels into the gutter. The dead fish and shrimp slid into a curb drain while the voracious eels wriggled toward Le Chien who was pinned beneath the minivan occupied with shocked wide-eyed tourists.

Lee did not look back as the Vietnamese fish vendor shouted protests and curses at him. He felt his internal compass come into balance with each stride as he darted quickly down a residential street toward the Saigon River. The nausea and confusion he felt earlier had diminished in direct contrast to his newfound energy and determined sprint. He didn't want to call attention to himself, but he didn't want to stop either; he had to keep going.

Drawn to the harbor lights glowing softly against the low-hanging clouds he knew he couldn't go back to his hotel. Le Chien would be waiting for him. He hoped he could present himself to the Harbor Master as a derelict merchant marine or stevedore who had jumped ship without papers. He thought the worst that could happen is his being detained until he could be handed over to one of the embassies or consulates.

He slowed his pace as he approached Tan Duc Thang Street and stopped in the shadow of a residential brick wall. The rain had turned into a light mist as the moon peeked through broken clouds slowly passing overhead. Lee took a quick look around the corner and saw his hotel standing about a mile away. He knew he couldn't go there; he'd be arrested for sure. He had to find a way to reach the Harbor Master, but it would be foolish to try and go through the front gate; security would detain him and turn him over to the Communist Cadre.

There was only one way, and that was by way of the Saigon River.

Lee tried to slow his heart rate as he waited for traffic to thin. Then, finally, he took a deep breath and casually jay-walked across the street. He took a few steps toward his hotel and looked over his shoulder. When he didn't see anyone, he stepped off the sidewalk and slid down the muddy embankment to the river's edge.

~~~~

The Saigon River picked up speed as it flowed south along the edges of the 'The Pearl of the Orient' toward the Mekong Delta. Freighters and junks strained on their mid-channel moorings with their bows facing into the relentless current as Lee stepped carefully into knee-high water. He struggled with his balance and mud sucked one of his shoes off. He fell sideways and tried to brace himself but found his arm stuck in the mud up to his elbow. The wake from a passing junk rolled onto Lee threatening to suck him out into the fast-moving tide but it also freed him from the muddy quagmire. He half-dog-paddled, half-crawled through the receding muddy water to a row of rotting dock pilings standing like a dark denuded forest. He wrapped his arms around the nearest pilling illuminated by a fickle moon and looked for the harbor master tower. As the waist-high tide pulled on him he realized he was on the edge of the old Saigon waterfront bombed during Saigon's fall.

Abandoned and left to collapse upon itself, the remnants of the old wharf provided a helpful obstacle. Lee could use the pilings as cover and support as he made his way to the lights of the modern Port of Saigon about half a mile away.

Surprised at the strength of the undercurrent threatening to pull his feet from beneath him, Lee took a deep breath and carefully adjusted his grip on the piling to move to the next one. He let go of the piling and tried to swim using the current to pull him along to the next piling twenty feet away. He was almost there when something wrapped around his ankle with sharp biting teeth.

"Got you now," The Vietnamese voices said with glee.

Lee grimaced in pain and tried to kick his foot free. Why didn't I listen to Brother Archer? He was right, Annie had probably been a base whore and lied to me about being pregnant. She might have been a commie spy for all I know. I was stupid young and took her at her word. What an idiot.

As the current pulled Lee along the rotting pilings, the sharp, biting teeth dug deeper into his ankle. Desperate, he swam hard to keep his head above water and tried to grasp another piling when he saw an old, weathered rope ladder hanging just out of reach.

Ignoring the excruciating pain biting into his ankle, he kicked hard and reached for the rope ladder.

His fingers touched the rope, but he failed to grip it and fell back into the river.

The muddy water washed over him, and again, Lee kicked hard and jumped for the rope ladder and grabbed it with his fingertips. He hung there for a moment with one hand, then adjusted his grip and began to pull himself out of the river, hoping whatever giant Mekong catfish or beast clamped onto his ankle would let go.

But it didn't.

"And we won't," The determined Vietnamese voices said.

Lee's shoulders burned with pain as he reached up and grabbed the next rung and the next. What were Brother Archer's words? Something about the effort required to find a child might best be directed to rekindling my marriage?

He paused, took a deep breath, and willed himself up one more rung freeing himself from the river, but whatever had clamped onto his ankle would not let go.

Lee looked down through the rippling shadows pierced by the capricious moonlight and saw the dull glimmer of rusty concertina wire wrapped around his ankle.

How long is that damn thing…? He grunted up one more rung and felt the concertina wire stretch a little, but the weight still pulled down on him.

"We are not measured by distance but by time, and we have all the time in the world; you don't," The Vietnamese voices taunted.

Lee did not know how much longer he could hang on, and now his foot had become numb. Maybe it would be better if it just fell off. He looked past his trembling hands and saw the rope ladder entangled with an old canvas duffle bag wedged between the piling and wood cross member. He hoped it would hold.

It didn't.

One of the side ropes unraveled then snapped, causing Lee to swing in the air like a pendulum. He wrapped his arms around the remaining rope as the duffle bag broke free from the cross member.

Lee hit the water with the duffle bag landing on his head. The violent impact compressed his neck and spine, unleashing brilliant lightning bolts in his brain. Stunned to the edge of unconsciousness, searing pain flashed throughout his body resulting in numb tingling hands.

"No need for thanks; it's a gift," The Vietnamese voices echoed.

The weight of the duffle bag drove him beneath the surface with the force of a cannonball, causing him to become entangled with the remnants of the rope ladder and concertina wire. Angry and panicked, he kicked and thrashed to the surface, gasping for air. Then, with limited feeling in his hands, he wrapped his arms around the duffle bag and locked his hands together as the current pulled him further away from the old harbor out into the middle of the Saigon River.

Relieved he was floating, Lee coughed and sputtered muddy water as he pulled himself onto the duffle bag. His weight caused a stream of bubbles to release from inside the duffle bag and percolate a hideous stench.

He gagged at the stench of death that surrounded him as sudden dark images of dead soldiers, Viet Cong, bloated cats, and babies decomposing inside the duffle bag filled his mind with terror. What kind of hell have I found myself in?

"There's only one," The Vietnamese voices said with pride.

Startled and repulsed by the image, he knew he had to let go of the duffle bag.

Relieved he was no longer stuck against the old wharf pilings, the power of indecision crippled him as thoughts of compromise raced through his mind. Hang on, let go, let go, hang on. He knew if he hung on to the duffle bag, the current would take him past the Port of Saigon into the darkness of the Mekong and Rung Sat. I can't do that. It's too dark.

His fear of the unknown overwhelmed him, and he began to smother any rational thought. I'll drown if I let go.

Overcome with fear and weakening by the second, he tried to let go and push the duffle bag away with hands that tingled and buzzed. His hope of treading water drifted away into the Vietnam night as he became increasingly entangled with the rope and concertina wire.

The duffle bag began to fill with water.

Lee relaxed his grip and let the duffle bag sink into the darkness.

Helpless and unable to free himself from the weight of the concertina wire and rope ladder, Lee tread water slower and slower. Finally, with his energy and will gone, he turned his head upward and watched a cloud drift in front of the moon.

He closed his eyes as the moon and the Harbor Master's tower lights faded away. Then, drifting toward the Rung Sat, he slipped beneath the surface where the cold undercurrent of the Saigon River gripped him like a ruthless python squeezing the life out of its prey.

"Finally." The Vietnamese voices smirked.

~~~~

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The title Concertina refers to razor wire used to secure a combat perimeter. It is also used on prison walls. It is designed with barbs and razor type hooks intended to snag a person from entering or attempting to escape a secure area.

Concertina, in the context of this novella refers to psychological and spiritual entanglement. Specifically, it refers to a Vietnam combat veteran who is ensnared by the deepest and darkest fetters of torment and denial. Those fetters consist of alcohol abuse, guilt, and resentment.

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Lee attempts escape from Saigon.

A chapter in the book Concertina

The Beginning of the End.

by Yardier

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