In April 1975, as the government in
Saigon is falling, Michael Andrews prepares to make his way back to Vietnam to
find the love he was forced to leave.
But Michael’s journey begins four years earlier. He joins the Air Force to keep
out of the Army and out of Vietnam, but his first assignment is teaching
English in Saigon to members of the Vietnamese military in an Army program
called Palace Dog. As an artist, and a man, before his time in Vietnam, Michael found life lonely and unsatisfying. In the midst of war, Michael searches for direction and meaning. He ultimately finds love and hope with Thao, a young Vietnamese art student, only to have their already uncertain future wrenched from them when he is pulled out of the country.
For Michael, his return in 1975 is inevitable and without question, though the outcome he hopes for is anything but assured.
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Playlist for Palace Dog...
Music actually played a big part in writing PALACE DOG. I listened to the songs I recalled from my
time there, and individual songs took me back to the place and time I recalled
them. Not all were from that specific
time—some were from a few years earlier, but they take me back to Vietnam
anyway. In my mind, they form the
soundtrack for the book .
I Feel The Earth Move—Carole King
Maggie Mae—Rod Stewart
American Pie—Don MacLean
Vincent—Don MacLean
Alone Again, Naturally—Gilbert O’Sullivan
Cathy’s Song—Simon & Garfunkel
Country Roads—John Denver
A Million Years or So—Vikki Carr
In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida—Iron Butterfly
We Gotta Get Out of This Place—The Animals
Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves—Cher
Across The Universe—The Beatles
For Once In My Life—Stevie Wonder
One Less Bell To Answer—5th Dimension
If You Could Read My Mind—Barbra Streisand
Get Back—The Beatles
In My Life—Judy Collins
Share The Land—The Guess Who
Daydream Believer—The Monkees
Let It Be—Joan Baez
Have You Seen Her—Chi-Lites
Exclusive Excerpt:
By the
time we returned to the apartment, we were both drenched in sweat. I offered to
let him take a shower, but he declined. Instead, he opened his shirt and stood
beneath the slowly rotating ceiling fan, letting his sweat evaporate into the
warm breeze.
I
changed back into my jeans and a T-shirt, and while I put the new purchases
away, Thao finished setting up the stereo. He seemed to find some sort of
switch in the back that adjusted the voltage, and in no time, his feet were
tapping to the sound of the Beatles’ “Get Back.”
“You
like music?” I asked, returning from the bedroom.
“Oh,
yes,” he answered, his eyes alive with the feeling of the music. “With foreign
song I don’t understand so much, but I like. My father does not let us have it
in my house. Only quiet music.” He smiled. “But I like that too.”
Thunder
sounded in the distance, and we moved to the balcony off the bedroom. The
strong, warm smell of the approaching rain was intoxicating. And when, moments
later, it began pounding heavily against the metal roofing covering the
balcony, I wanted to press this moment, with all the smells and tastes and
feelings, permanently into my memory.
“What
are you thinking?” I asked, noticing his gaze went beyond where we were
looking.
He
turned, embarrassed, smiling as he withdrew closer to the wall.
“Come
on,” I laughed. “We’re friends. Tell me.”
He shook
his head, then said, “I think rain very sad.”
I looked
back toward the city. “How sad?”
He
shrugged. “I remember my friend who go Army. My brother. Something like that.”
I
nodded.
“And
you, teacher. What you think?”
I
breathed in the heavy, moist smell. “The rain here is warm. That makes me feel
warm inside. I will remember this, I think.” My hand scanned the skyline and
ended pointing to him. “My souvenir of Vietnam.”
He
looked at me for a long moment, then, with a slight smile, said, “That very
nice.”
We stood
in silence, each looking out through the heavy rain that fell straight down,
covering the city with layers of thin, gray, gauze-like curtains.
In the
silence, I studied Thao. He seemed so young, so vulnerable. I tried to see him
in a uniform, living in Tent City like Tuan and the other students did. Some
looked even younger than Thao. But he was different. I could not imagine him
with his hair cut that short, with his body covered in the fatigue uniform.
“Will
you go into the Army?” I asked, almost without thinking.
He
answered in a low voice. “We never know about that, sir. Maybe next year I
must.”
I was
sorry I asked, for his mood change was obvious.
He stepped
closer, wrapping his hands tightly around the metal rail of the balcony. “I
think Tuan told you I changed my ID card.”
I
nodded.
“For two
years. My mother did that. My father was very angry about she do it, but she
very strong. Before I have two old brother who die about war. She love me and
my brother too much. I think you know about that. All mother feel that.”
I saw my
mother’s tears just before I left the States.
“She
change ID for Tuan too. But he have too many trouble. I told you before. He stop
going to school. He go around all the time and come home late. Sometime he
didn’t come home at all.” He shook his head, and then a smile crept onto his
lips. “Sometime he go to taxi girl.”
I knew
that was street language for prostitutes.
Thao’s
grip relaxed as he rested his elbows on the railing.
“But
you’re not that way,” I observed quietly.
His eyes
reflected openness and irony. “My family very poor, sir. And we love our
country so much. My mother does not want me to go to war, but sometimes I think
I must.”
I had
the urge to reach out, to pull him to me, to put my arms around him, to hold
him. I would have said I was being protective, compassionate, a friend. But if
I had done so, it would have been more than that. I wanted to tell him how
special the day had been for me, how appreciative I was of his help. That might
have led me to confess even more than I was willing to confess even to myself,
so I stood there silently, again not doing anything.
R.E.
Nelson was born in Texas and raised in Southern California. He has been writing
for as long as he can remember. One of his earliest recollections related to
writing is winning an essay contest in sixth grade--something patriotic about
the American flag. When he travels, his preference is staying in select areas
for an extended period of time and learning about that place. He has lived in
both Vietnam (twice, actually) and Saudi Arabia, and also spent time in Egypt,
South Korea, Shanghai (his only China visit thus far), and Dubai. Now he is
happy to call San Francisco home.
Where
to find the author: Twitter:
@RENelson13
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