On Isabella Street

Chapter Thirty-Three Marion

thirty-three MARION

— March 1968 —

Marion stood paralyzed at the Toronto Airport departure gate for Canadian Pacific Air Lines, sweat rolling down the sides of her face. The passengers behind her had chosen not to wait any longer, so she had become an island, jostled between two rivers of impatient travelers. She apologized to every one of them, but she couldn’t make her feet move either forward to board or back to the safety of the waiting area.

Daniel was late. Had something happened?

Marion was living a nightmare of her own creation. Ever since the idea had dropped into her head that she should go to Vietnam, she had been flitting around like a chickadee, uncertain where to land. The whole idea of boarding a plane and flying thousands of miles to get to a jungle where hospitals were blown up all the time had seemed exciting and heroic. Now it just seemed stupid. And if Daniel didn’t show up, she’d be doing it all on her own.

“Hey.” Daniel’s face appeared in her peripheral vision. “Sorry I’m late.”

She turned to face him. “It’s okay,” she managed breathlessly. “I’ve decided not to go.”

He glanced toward the desk, where the line of passengers was dwindling. Everyone else was already on board. “Too bad, Doc. We’re up. Can’t hold up the entire plane.”

Still, her feet felt rooted to the weathered carpet. The first stop in their journey would be Japan. It struck her that her life would be complete without seeing Japan.

“We’re gonna be fine, Marion. What’s scaring you?”

“To start, I’ve never been on an airplane before.”

“This is the easy part of the trip.”

“That does not fill me with confidence.”

“Well, we’re not walking to Vietnam.” She jumped when his hand curled over her shoulder. “What did you tell me, months ago? Something about taking deep breaths and picturing yourself on solid ground, I believe. Picture yourself sitting in a relatively comfortable seat beside me, possibly getting a glass of wine from a stewardess, if they’re serving. You don’t even have to sit by the window if you don’t want.”

“My ticket says I’m sitting by the window,” she said, reaching for any excuse she could find.

“Let me see. Aha.” He kept ahold of it and handed her his ticket instead. “Now it says you aren’t. So you can choose. Come on, Marion. Time to practice what you preach. They’re waiting.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and her hands like claws over the armrests as the Boeing 707 rocked and bumped, picking up speed on the runway. Then she felt a sense of lift in her stomach. Almost like the elevator on Isabella, but way stronger.

“Open your eyes,” Daniel said gently.

In the end, he had talked her into taking the seat by the window, and now she gawked beyond it. Buildings and cars rushed beneath them, becoming tinier with every second.

“How fast are we going?” she asked in a whisper.

“For takeoff, I think it’s around two fifty or three hundred miles per hour. Up here, cruising speed is double that.”

For a full minute, she stared out the window. The minuscule city and the surrounding farms shrank away gradually then were gone all at once when the plane entered the clouds. She felt a jump, as if the plane had gone over a hurdle, then a drop that left her breathless, and she wondered if she might get sick. Or if she was about to die.

“Air currents,” Daniel explained. “They come and go. If the weather gets bad, the pilot will probably reroute. This is just a light cloud cover, I think.”

She took some long, deep breaths, letting her body sink into the seat cushion, then she became aware that Daniel was humming softly to himself. When she turned toward him, he was leaning back, facing the ceiling, his eye closed.

“Who sings that?” she asked, admiring his profile.

“The Box Tops. I think it’s called ‘The Letter.’ Heard of them?”

She hadn’t, but she’d heard the song. “You have a smile on your face, Daniel.”

“Do I?” He kept his eye shut. “I’m on a high like you wouldn’t believe, Doc.”

This was the first time she’d seen him truly relaxed. Ever since she’d asked him to go with her, he’d been a different man. Cool, efficient, and resolute, reminding her that he was, in every sense but nationality, a marine. He was driven, focused on details, and paying close attention to whatever she said. Everything to do with the journey was now his priority, and he took that very seriously.

It had all happened so quickly. Due to the nature of their travel, her passport and their two visas had been expedited by External Affairs, and she carried a letter of introduction from the External Aid Office of the government of Canada, certifying that they were going to Vietnam as Canadian Red Cross medical specialists. The letter was formally embossed by the national commissioner. To make today worse, Marion still suffered aftereffects of the vaccines and immunizations she’d taken against yellow fever and cholera, two deep muscle injections of immune gamma globulin, and pills for antimalarials, including quinine. Daniel was sympathetic. He was spared the shots, since he’d already gone through them a couple of years before.

He didn’t have much in the way of clothes, so they went to the military surplus store to outfit them both. She had been issued a light blue gown and a white apron with a red cross on the front, but Daniel shook his head at that.

“Makes you a target,” he said. “You can wear it for these folks here, but we’re going to get you something more practical for real life.”

When she first saw him in olive camouflage, his black lace boots shining, wearing a flat-brimmed hat he called a “boonie,” he seemed larger. He was definitely more confident, as if he’d slipped back into his skin. He’d insisted she dress similarly. She felt silly pulling on trousers made for a small man then tucking in the tail of an olive shirt, but he approved, and that was good enough for her. He found her a boonie as well, then he opened her eyes to yet another threat of their destination when he attached a suffocating mosquito netting to the hat.

The next day he brought her to a shooting range outside of the city and produced a pistol. She snorted, uncomfortable with even looking at the cold, black metal weapon.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“That’s what I’m gonna show you. Vietnam’s not Disneyland, Marion. You need to know how to take care of yourself if anything unexpected happens.”

“Like what? You’re going to be with me.” She wrinkled her nose. “I really don’t want to touch that.”

“I’m sure there’s a psychiatrist word for what you’re doing now. Delusion?” He offered that slow, one-shouldered shrug. “This isn’t up for discussion. You have, for whatever reason, decided to go to a highly charged war zone. Time to face reality. This is a Colt M1911. It’s what I used over there. Pretty standard, but there are some things you need to understand about it.”

“Really? Can’t you just—”

His lip pulled up like a snarl. “Enough, Marion. Now watch. The grip goes right here, between my thumb and first finger. When I do that, this hammer pulls back, but even if I pull the trigger, it’s not gonna fire. See that? I haven’t loaded it, and I haven’t unlocked the safety. Here. Hold that. It’s perfectly safe.”

He slid it into her hand, and she wrapped her fingers around the grip like he said.

“Think of the barrel of that gun as your pointer finger, okay? It’s gotta be straight, lining up with your arm, or it won’t hit anything. Got it? Good, now keep a tight grip and lock your elbow, then raise your arm straight up to your eye level. Use your left hand to steady it, flat under the butt so it’s supporting your right hand. That’s it. That’s the basic setup. Look straight down the barrel and line up that dot between the two sights. Can you see those? Yeah. And your target is lined up with the dot. Now you’re ready to shoot. Your finger is on the trigger, but the safety is still on. Try it.”

Something about holding the weapon gave Marion an unexpected rush of adrenaline. She was almost disappointed that nothing happened when she pulled the trigger.

“Next is the complicated but necessary part. You gotta load the weapon if it’s going to do anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“I would never say that about you. I’m just talking you through this so you will see it step by step if you ever need to use it. So to get started, put your hand over the top of the slide. It’s called that because you push this button on the side so you can slide it back until it clicks. See how that leaves a hole here? That’s the ‘magazine well.’ Look through it and you’ll see it’s empty, right?”

She was glad he told her what to expect, because she had no idea what she was supposed to look for.

Next, he pulled a thin rectangular metal block from his pocket. “This is the magazine, and it holds the bullets. Usually seven or eight. Push the flat end here into the butt of the gun then shove it in hard, all the way. Now put your hand back on the slide, pull it back toward your chest, and let it go. That locks the magazine in place. You are now loaded, but you still can’t fire, because of the… what?”

“The safety?” she asked tentatively.

He smiled. “See where your thumb is, near the top? See that little lever? That’s the safety. When you lift the gun to your eye level, your thumb needs to push that down.” He stepped back. “Point it at the ground, would you? Not at me. I mean, unless you wanna kill me. Can’t miss at this range.”

After she’d practiced moving the safety a few times, he came around behind her. “Now hold that grip tight and raise your arm like I told you, and brace your legs.”

She felt his body press against her back, and his arms went around hers. “I’m gonna do a couple with you so you don’t get hurt. After you shoot, the gun recoils.” He put his hands on hers and adjusted her wrists so her thumbs lay toward the barrel. “You don’t want your wrists to bend up with that recoil, and that means you have to hang on tight. Someone taught me years ago to focus on your baby finger. If it’s tight, your wrist won’t bend up, so make sure that baby finger is as tight as you can get it. The recoil is a pretty solid kick, so I’ll stay here while you get used to it. Okay. See that tree straight ahead? Match that with the dot, then line them both up between the little sights. Got it? All right, then. When you’re ready, pull the trigger. Remember to keep your baby finger tight around the grip.”

Marion ran through the whole procedure in her head, aimed, then fired. The recoil shoved her back against him, and she felt the shock of it through her wrists and shoulders.

“Feel that? Try it again, but this time, concentrate on the strength in your forearms and your baby fingers.”

That time, the recoil was much less violent. She grunted and was still shoved back, but it didn’t hurt.

“Yeah?” he asked.

She nodded, keen to go again. “Yeah. I get it.”

He stepped back, encouraging her to do it on her own. She missed a few times, but Daniel said nothing. He was waiting, encouraging from the side. She didn’t want to disappoint him, and even more, she wanted to accomplish this for herself. So Marion closed her eyes briefly and imagined herself standing in the emergency room. The enmity coming from the weapon was the chaos. She was the calm. She breathed in, remembered everything he’d told her in exactly the right order, then she fired. And she hit the target dead centre.

Elated, she lowered the weapon and faced Daniel, savouring the approval on his face.

“But I’ll never need to use it.”

“I hope not,” he said, but he had her practice over and over, making sure.

Another day, he took her to a park for more basic training. “I’m not going to show you much, because you don’t have time for drills or anything, but I want you to know a few things in case you’re ever in close contact with the enemy.” He frowned slightly, looking apologetic. “Though in all likelihood, if you are faced by a Vietcong intent on fighting, you’re in big trouble.”

Marion had never been in a position where she’d had to defend herself, other than with Paul, who had given up the chase after one angry slap across his face. But it was always better to be safe.

“Yes, please,” she told him. “What you teach me would work anywhere, not just in Vietnam. Where do we start?”

“Let’s pretend I’m trying to strangle you. I’m way heavier, way stronger.” He put his hands around her neck. When she felt his hold tighten, she put her hands on his arms and tried to pry them apart.

He released the pressure. “Do you think you’re as strong as I am? Are your arms going to beat mine? Never. Now, watch this. Put your hands around my throat, Marion, and squeeze.”

His skin was warm, his pulse hammering loyally beneath her fingers.

“Your thumbs are the weakest connection. Remember that, because it’s true in every case. All I have to do is duck straight down between your thumbs. Once I’m bent over, I spin out of your reach.”

He very slowly showed her the move, then he turned the tables on her, his strong hands circling her throat. Her first reaction was panic, but the steadying sense of controlling an emergency room returned, and she ducked between his thumbs then spun free. It was an exhilarating feeling, learning that she could save herself if needed.

“Now that you’re out of my grasp, kick your heel to the back of my knee, and I won’t be able to stand up. Or, well, you tell me, Marion. You’re the doctor. If you were able to shove your palm as hard as you could straight into my nose, what would happen?”

“I could kill you.”

“Lesson learned. Let’s do this exercise again then try another.” He hesitated. “Speaking of which, what happened to Big John? You know, after the cops came to get him.”

Despite everything John had done, it still made Marion smile, knowing he was being taken care of. “I called Paul McKenny. Remember him? He was your first doctor at the hospital. Anyway, I asked him to help me have John readmitted to the institution. So now John’s hospitalized again, and back on his meds. He most likely will never leave.”

“Better for him,” Daniel murmured.

“For everyone,” she agreed.

He exhaled, moving on. “Okay. Back to what we were doing.” His hands went to her throat. “Get me off you, Marion.”

Every day leading up to their departure, Marion learned more about herself. She was stronger, smarter, and braver than she’d ever thought. She’d never known what she was missing before, and with Daniel’s lessons her confidence soared. The night before she and Daniel were set to leave, she pulled on the boonie hat and marched down to Sassy’s apartment. Her friend gasped with surprise then laughed, which was exactly what Marion had hoped for.

“I brought us a bottle,” she said, producing a bottle of red from behind her back. “Your favourite.”

“You’d better not drink too much of that,” Sassy said, carrying it to her kitchen. “You have an early flight.”

Marion shuddered at the thought. Flying was at the top of her list of things she wasn’t looking forward to.

Sassy was already pouring into two wineglasses. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I wish I could be there for you tomorrow,” Marion replied.

Sassy just shook her head. “You are flying to Vietnam because of me, Marion. The fact that you are going to miss the fundraising concert we’re throwing to help pay for you and Daniel to go is nothing to apologize for.”

“What are friends for, if not to fly across the world for them?” Marion teased. “Cheers.”

They regarded each other over the rims of their glasses, and Marion watched Sassy’s eyes fill with tears.

“I really am going to miss you,” Sassy whispered. “You better be careful out there.”

Marion swallowed past a knot in her throat. “I promise. It’s only two months, but I’m going to miss you, too. Gosh, this seems much more like an adventure fit for you, not me.”

“If only I was a doctor,” Sassy replied sadly.

“You’ve been through so much in such a short period of time. I hate leaving you right now, but this is the only window of time I could go.”

“I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” Marion said again. “You have Davey—”

Sassy’s smile turned mischievous. “Yes, but even better, I think I might have Tom.”

Marion elbowed her playfully. “Now I know you’re going to be all right. I see that look in your eye. Poor Tom. He has no idea what he’s in for.”

“I think he does,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “I just hope he’s prepared.” She took a sip. “Did you tell your parents you were going?”

Marion nodded. She’d called ahead, then taken the long ride up to their house to join them for Sunday dinner. Pat and her family had come as well, which was good. It meant she could tell everyone at the same time.

“What did they say?”

Marion chuckled. “Well, I thought my mother was going to faint, honestly. Pat got mad at the mention of Vietnam, so she didn’t listen to much after that. Her husband did, though. He was nodding, and I think he understood that I’m not going there to support the war. I’m going to support the men involved. He’ll try to explain it to her later, but Pat’s not great at listening sometimes.”

“What about your dad?”

They both knew that was the real question. Joey’s departure to Vietnam had been the beginning of the end for Sassy’s father. Marion had been well aware of that the whole time she had made her decision to go, but she knew her father better now. She thought he knew her better, too.

She smiled faintly, recalling his expression. “He didn’t say much at first, but he watched me as I talked it through. I explained that I would be in a safe compound, I was with the Red Cross, and I would have Daniel. I needed to know what he was thinking, so I just asked him straight out. He told me he didn’t want me to go for obvious reasons, but mostly he wanted to understand my motivation. That was hard, because I wanted to tell him he had inspired me to be courageous, but I didn’t want him to feel responsible in case anything went wrong.”

Sassy nodded. She understood that all too well, Marion knew.

“So I told him that I wanted to do more with my life, and an opportunity had presented itself.”

You hadn’t planned that day in Italy , she’d reminded him gently. Would you change what happened if you could?

He had held her gaze, a gentle understanding in his expression. Not a thing.

Sassy waited, knowing there was more to the story, but Marion was relieved she didn’t ask. Something about the look in his eye, the pride she saw, had felt deeply personal. She wanted to keep it for herself.

She had tried not to watch the news leading up to their departure, but at the same time, the rational part of her needed to know what she was getting herself into. The Tet Offensive, the organized and vicious attack on southern points, including U.S. military bases, was tentatively controlled for now. Other than the news media reading their talking points to the camera, no one seemed confident the invasion would continue uncontested. Hundreds of military and civilian casualties had resulted from the battles, including nurses, physicians, and surgeons. Mass graves had been discovered, holding corpses of teachers, doctors, civil leaders, and other enemies of the North Vietnamese. Some of the murdered had been shot in the head, some had been buried alive. Others had died of asphyxiation due to the plastic bags tied over their faces.

She’d brought all those points up with Daniel, and he’d nodded coolly. “There are atrocities everywhere. On all sides. But that’s why we’re going, right? To do what we can to ease the suffering.”

There were no more terrifying bumps on the flight, and Marion eventually nodded off to sleep. She had no idea how long she was out before she woke up with her face in Daniel’s sleeve.

“Sorry,” she said.

“What for? Look.” He pointed out the window. “That’s Mount Fujiyama.”

She stared in awe as they approached over Tokyo Bay. The angle seemed impossibly low, but they landed with barely a bump. After refuelling, they were off again, this time for Hong Kong.

“Sleep some more,” Daniel advised, balling up his jacket to use as a pillow. He placed it on his arm and patted it, indicating she should lean in. When she did, he dropped his head back on his chair so he faced the ceiling. “Next stop is Saigon. Trust me. You want to be awake for that.”

Almost immediately, his face relaxed into slumber. She stared at him, as confused as she always was about this man. So young and gentle, breathing calmly beside her, and yet behind that soft exterior was the hunger of a lion. It was obvious he couldn’t wait to get his boots on the ground and head into the violence.

As a psychiatrist, she found the dichotomy fascinating.

As a woman, she was experiencing something new. Daniel was the very picture of a warrior. To both her dismay and her selfish delight, he had already said he would die without hesitation to protect her. Her job was surgery, he said. His job was her.

But, like most women, Marion held feminist views, like demanding equality and fighting back against exactly the kind of male strength that he represented. Marion had experienced chauvinism firsthand, so she understood the need for progress. And yet here she sat, propped comfortably against a tall, rugged, handsome soldier determined to be her champion. She was surprised by how content she felt, letting him take care of her. How it filled her up inside, knowing he kept her safe.

He made a little sound in his sleep, and a scowl flickered across his expression. He had come so far from the tortured man she had first met, screaming in panic whether awake or asleep. He still suffered, though. Recently, she had seen him flinch on occasion, but it was nothing like the soul-stealing episodes he’d had before.

His jaw loosened slightly as he dropped deeper in his slumber. How on earth was Marion supposed to sleep when her whole nervous system vibrated? But the combined flights added up to almost twenty-four hours, and she knew he was right about being prepared for the next landing. Neither her body nor her mind argued when she closed her eyes.

She was jarred awake by the thud of the plane’s wheels touching down at Saigon’s Tan Son Nhut Air Base. Daniel was already wide-awake, his gaze on the view beyond her window.

“I read this is the busiest airfield in the world right now,” she said, scanning the scene. “Look at all those helicopters!”

They stood in lines like huge, lethal dragonflies. Warplanes were parked beside them, awaiting pilots and commands. Men in dark green jumpsuits milled around the machines.

“Look,” Daniel said, pointing across the runway. “A Phantom. The fastest fighter jet there is. I knew one of those pilots once. He said their slogan was ‘Speed is life.’ I wonder where that guy is now.”

If the helicopters were dragonflies, the camouflage-painted Phantom was a wasp.

“Are those… on the wings…?”

“Missiles,” Daniel confirmed. “Air to surface. These birds can carry thermonuclear weapons, if required. Don’t worry. They’re not right now. But they could.”

“And over there?”

A giant plane stood in the sunlight. If the Phantom was a wasp, this was a bumblebee. It struck her that she must not have gotten enough sleep if she was classifying warplanes into types of insects.

“That’s a bomber. The Boeing B-52 Stratofortress. Those things saved my ass more than once.”

Their own plane jerked to a stop. Marion caught a glimpse of scattered, charred metal off to the side, the burnt remains of aircraft. She squinted beyond them at a pillar of smoke.

“What’s that?”

“Artillery fire,” Daniel murmured, then he straightened and stretched his neck, tilting it one way then the other. “Ready, Marion? We’re almost there.”

His calm statement shot adrenaline through her, and she felt the compulsion to cry. What in the world was she doing out here? She held her breath all the way to their plane’s eventual parking spot, then she watched the other passengers rise calmly and grab their bags.

Daniel stayed in place. He faced her, and it struck her for the first time that he looked uncertain.

“I know you’re frightened,” he said. “If you weren’t, you’d be nuts. This is alien to you. But you’re doing the right thing, Marion. You’re going to save lives. I’m not gonna lie: it’s going to get scary, but I know you pretty well. You can do this. Just keep pressing forward, no matter what. If it gets dicey, do everything I tell you to do. That’s the only way I can protect you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“You’re trying to tell me not to panic,” she replied softly. “It’s not working.”

“I’m trying to tell you that we will get through this. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

She nodded, wide-eyed.

“Do you know what our slogan is? The U.S. Marine’s slogan?”

She shook her head.

“Semper fidelis.”

“Always faithful,” she translated.

“That’s me,” he told her. “You are my sole responsibility here, Marion. You can count on me. Always.”