The Tears of Autumn - Charles McCarry [26]
Now he poured wine into Christopher’s glass. “Did you hear about the other Ngo brother?” Kim asked. “Ngo Dinh Can —a vicious tyrant and torturer, Molly sweetheart. He used to run central Vietnam.”
“I heard he was in jail.”
“Chi Hoa prison, where the French used to crush yellow testicles. You know how Can got there? He went to the American consulate in Hué and asked for asylum. The Americans handed him over to the generals. I’d say Can has about a month to live. No doubt CBS will film the firing squad, so the world can see what happens to people who don’t cooperate with the Americans.”
“You’re talking to an American, you know,” Molly said.
“I know. That’s the wonderful thing about them. They don’t mind being insulted.” Kim reached across the table and punched Christopher on the biceps. “Well,” he said, “I guess you’ve got a big story in the States now. Are you working on it?”
“No, I haven’t even heard from the magazine. The people who were in Dallas are the only ones who are writing this week.”
“It’s a great tragedy when a leader dies like that,” Kim said. “There’s no sense in it. A people just falls to its knees. Even the Americans—even you, I’ll bet, Paul. It’s a blow that strikes every person in the country.”
“In the world, I should have thought,” Molly said.
“Yes, I saw in the paper that Khrushchev cried,” Kim said. “No one hates a murdered man if he’s an American. These Kennedys were the real royalty of the modern age—too bad their reign was so brief.”
They began to eat their spaghetti. “This is pretty good,” Kim said. “I taste eggs and smoked pork. There should be more pepper in it.”
Christopher said, “I must say you seem pretty cheerful, Kim, for a man without a country.”
“Oh, I’ll get by,” Kim said. “We lose the country every once in a while, but we always get it back. We know a secret, Paul —in the end, nobody really wants Vietnam but us. All the rest of you have to learn that the hard way.”
“Do you really think either branch of your family will ever get back in power?”
“Who knows?” Kim said. “Kings never come back, that’s for sure. But the Ngos—that’s another matter. They’re very hard people.”
“Yes,” Christopher said. “But they’re dead.”
“Diem and Nhu are dead. Would you say the Kennedys are finished because the one who happened to be President has been shot?”
“No,” Christopher said.
“People like the Kennedys and the Ngos always recover. One martyr wipes out all the bad memories. The Ngos have two martyrs.”
“Are the two families really comparable?” Molly asked. “After all, the Kennedys are in America.”
“What difference does that make?” Kim asked.
“They’ll be safe there.”
“Molly, my dear!” said Kim. “John Kennedy’s funeral is tomorrow.”
“That was the work of a lunatic,” Molly said.
“Agreed. Will you now tell me that the assassination of Diem and Nhu was the work of sane men?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Molly said.
“You’re offended to have the two assassinations compared,” Kim said. “Why should grief belong only to the Kennedys and the Americans?”
“It shouldn’t. But, forgive me, Kennedy’s death was more important.”
“Ah, Realpolitik in such a beautiful young girl. Really, we backward people have no chance against you—even your women think in terms of power relationships.”
“And yours don’t?” Christopher said. “Didn’t you just mention someone called Madame Nhu?”
Kim had been drinking a great deal of wine. When the waiter brought the second course, he asked for another liter. His face was flushed and his voice vibrated. The conversation excited him.
“Lê Xuan is a remarkable woman,” he said. “She is more Ngo than the Ngos. I’ll tell you a little family history. She comes from a Buddhist family, a very important family called Tran. She always felt that she was the least favorite child—she fought against her mother and father, she hardly tolerates