Smooth Jams Cafe | District 1, Saigon | Noon | September 5th, 1998 | Anh Tranh Trung

“Konichiwaa Saiiigon!”

Belted the Newscasters on the CRT Monitor.

The smell of stale beer and fried foods wafted through the humid air and the framed relics of Western Rock Stars. Anh caught the picture of the smiling newscaster through the reflection on the window as she was looking at the rain drenched street of Hai Bia Trung outside. Swarms of bikes braved the rain as they did every day, between the newly developed glass of Japanese buildings and old yellow plaster of The French ones. Bikes carrying various necessities from passengers to cargo crates past the two bronze statues of Vietnam’s founding sisters graced the avenue: one bore a cross, the other a lotus.

In the front of the restaurant, near the window, sat a young Vietnamese woman, whose straight poise, perfect leg cross, and shoulder pads made her out of place in the bar that preached American Casual. Especially so since her date across the table seemed a devout adherent.

“It is September 5, 1998, and The city is gearing up for another productive morning. It seems that the classic Saigon traffic rush has finally started to subside, and business begins to move as usual.”

The Japanese news lady smiled with warm lips and tired eyes as she gave the news, along with a ticker showing the prices of various Nikkei index stocks and world news affairs. Anh’s eyes wandered the Rock n Roll Reliquary till she saw a poster featuring the head of an aging rockabilly star. “Return of The King, 1995 Tour.”

“I got to see that tour, you know?” Her date said, awkwardly playing with a french fry between his fingers.

She returned her gaze to the man across from her dressed like a backpacker. Open button-down linen shirt and khaki shorts draped over a doughy sandy haired boy.

“The King I mean. My grandfather got us tickets for the Toronto show. It was…kind of sad honestly, I think maybe he should stay in Vegas. But I’ve never really liked old rock.” he said pointing to some yellow icon on his black t-shirt, answering a question Anh never asked.

“Say. Why are you dressed like a Japanese Office Lady? I thought Lunch dates were supposed to be more casual.”

“Because I am a Junior Executive for Saito Vietnam, and this is my lunch break.” Anh let some of her regret air out as she spoke.

My lunch break ends in 30 minutes. If i leave now I could grab a banh mi or something, scarf it down, and feed my fish, and still get back to work.

"Yeah,, but your outfit is so…vintage. I mean shoulder pads? I figured it was your mom’s or something.”

“No, my mother ran a coffee stand, and my father worked at the docks.”

Anh spoke with both a little bit of indignation mixed with pride.

“Oh wow! That's…cool. I guess I haven't told you much about me yet. You're probably wondering, ‘he must be American with his appearance and name Corey Marshall. How'd he even get into Hanoi, let alone Saigon."

“In Eastern Europe, fallout from the “Demon Core” continues to devastate the once breadbasket, as Soviet Premier Akhromayev has vowed further military support against…”

"You're Canadian," Anh spoke quickly, her eyes sized up the thin but soft adventurer. Tanks burned in a bog on the tv behind him.

The coffee date was a disaster, as was the coffee. Which shouldn’t be surprising. This was an alcoholic establishment. She tried not to let the syrupy sweetness of the “Vietnamese Coffee” and aftertaste show on her face.

It's too late to go home. Maybe I just go to the office, feed my fish and make my own coffee. Skip lunch.

The crowd of bikes slows to a trickle, which Anh finds odd. A couple of the more business-looking patrons go up to the counter, to request their check, or just leave money on the table with half eaten food. Ahead clergy cars from the Cathedral are parking, and a group of men step out carrying a golden box. Trung Street is mysteriously calm.

“So yeah, I just showed them my Canadian passport, and, you know, since I'm not an American, I don't have any of the restrictions that they have. So I can come in. And I've been really enjoying my time here. The Airport is nicer here, than Hanoi, but I think I prefer the North, It's just so much more spiritual there. I've been reading some… are you familiar with Buddhism?"

"Yes,"

“In Macau this week, CEO of Hu Si Limitada, “Ito Hughes” has been forced to retract his proposals for NEAT-compatible aircraft, following cancelled contracts from France and The Holy Indochinese Empire. Acting president Mina Hughes-Da Silva has promised to restore the Defense contractor’s relationship with “their historic clients.”

"Oh, I've been looking more into—it now, and I have to say, I've really enjoyed journey and the empowering ideas that the great teachers have here, but…”

While he prattled on, Anh looked around for a waitress to flag for the check.

At the very least I could get this terrible coffee paid for.

She returned to Corey and gave a forced smile and nodded along.

Streams of protesters begin to march down from behind Anh, Buddhist monks with brown and orange robes, and Vietnamese working class clutching lucky amulets and placards. She caught the symbol on the back of one’s jacket. A lotus flower with a bomb as the stem. Some of the patrons of the bar look on nervously before trying to get back to their conversations.

I need to get out of here.

"And a special announcement from the Saito Corporation," the newscaster said, his stern, business-like smile bracing for impact. "This special report of “what day is it today, is brought to you by the beloved AI assistant Mitsuki Haiku!”

While still staring at the teleprompter, the newscaster kept his smile warm as he slowly pulled out a small, lunchbox-sized TV with a flickering CRT screen. The CRT screen flickered to life and the dancing image of a schoolgirl, sporting blue hair with large eyes danced along the screen.

The woman newscaster continued with forced joviality.

"So Haiku, what day is it today?"

The mouthless 3d figure blue-haired and large blue eyes danced and made a pose.

"Xin Chao, Sai Gon. Konichiwa! Thank you, Miyamoto Senpai, and Asuka-Sama. Today is the festival of Hungry Ghosts in Saigon. Today is the day that Buddhists believe the dead are let out onto the earth!" Said the familiar vocaloid sing-song of Mitsuki Haiku

“That sounds scary, Haiku!” 

The two newscasters attempted to give this paid advertisement all the sincerity and severity they could muster as they spoke to the dancing figure in the center of their table.

“Hai, Miyamoto-Sempai!”

Mitsuki Haiku on the TV performed an exaggerated frightened face before switching back to a Scholar’s pose with Glasses and Graduation Cap. “Mitsuki Haiku Says” written in bubble-gum kanji on the tv screen.

“But that’s why the Buddhists are extra careful to leave food and offerings out for all the hungry ghosts. They aren’t mean. They’re restless. So Be Nice!”

“Thank you Ms Haiku.” Said the newscaster, smile locked in place.

“Happy to help Miyamoto-sempai! Mata ne, Sai-gon!”

“Mata Ne!”

The Haiku Units in the room each said their goodbyes to the dancing girl on the TV before returning to their duties. The large Japanese man shook his head and then continued his conversation with his own Mitsuki Haiku.

“See, that’s impressive!” Said Corey with enthusiasm. “Ivy Bess M and Lady Bell can’t do that! Wait.. I thought the Catholic regime banned tech?"

"Saigon has special privileges. It's a treaty city. Same reason you can get in but not the rest of the country…Canadian.”

Sirens can be heard. Up ahead, Anh catches the sight of Saigon’s Magistrate Personal Guard establishing blockades ahead. She recognized the weapons and equipment. She helped with the sale after all. Police forces were equipped with Saito’s finest: State of the Art APCs, top of the line shock sticks and crowd disbursement equipment. The crowd at the bar seemed to be almost aggressively calm. As if they small talked loud enough they could conjure away the sight outside.

There was a time to get out. It was 10 minutes ago.

Seems others thought so too. She saw patrons order more drinks, and others go to play with the Mitsuki Haiku and turn the music up.

“Hey…you work for Saito, do you think you could help me get one. Have you ever talked to Mitsuki Haiku?"

“Um…no sorry, I still don’t have one myself.” She brushed her bangs and caught a glimpse out the window.

A crowd was beginning to gather outside the truck and the priests inside. Corey tried to hide his nervousness as the orange robed figures began to flock around the street towards the corner.

Anh straightened the sleeves on her button-down coat, again looking for the waiter or waitress to catch their attention. She finally got one. The waitress, dressed as a “Stage hand” in a black polo and black jeans came to the table, occasionally looking out the window.

"You want more? Or would you like the check?" The woman quickly recited her broken english with her broken hospitality smile.

Anh smiled and nodded before looking at her date, waiting to see what he would do.

The man across from her decided to be a gentleman. He gets up and pulls his plastic card from his wallet.

"No cash here, only card.""

"Well, I didn't want to necessarily show my Ðong to a lady this early in the morning."

He laughed at his own joke and handed the waitress the wad of money.

"Your đong no good here." She pushed the blue and green bills away.

Corey stifled a laugh and then looked at the waitress. The humor wasn't infectious.

Anh patiently explained.

“Saigon is a treaty port, but it belongs to The Indochinese Empire, remember? Sai Gon Real or Ðu Ca Thi here.”

Corey sheepishly stammered while looking through his wallet, the peacock of notes seemingly contained currency from the entire world.

“ No Money?”

“ I have US Dollars…”

Anh sighed and gave the waitress a purple note emblazoned with a chi-rho and the words “Lord have mercy” in Latin, Hmong, Vietnamese, and Khmer.

The Newscasters continued their report news.

“In Local News, The Relic of The True Cross has made its way processional tract from Phenom Pheh where it will reach The Patriarch of Hue in time for the feast on September 14th. The Archbishop of Saigon, Saigon Magistrate, have thanked the CEO of Saito SE for his generous sponsorship of vehicles for the procession.”

The woman continues, "Patriarch Antoine Năn Thiện spoke this morning following the 7`o clock Angelus..."

An elderly Vietnamese man dressed somewhere between a pope and Ming Emperor stood on the tv clutching his crozier and speaking with what force his age allowed him to.

“Today all Indochina, both the faithful and the Buddhist, are thinking of the dead. I ask during this time as the True cross enters the city that all of Saigon, indeed, all of Indochina, pray for our restless dead, and the restless living who survive them. I beg you to pray in these dark times to look to the lifted cross for peace for ourselves for those who are suffering in silence.”

Anh didn’t need to see the TV to hear about this, she could see the Trucks outside the window, tarps and umbrellas clashing with protest signs as clergy struggled against the rain and mob.

“The Procession is scheduled for Tonight and Tomorrow around the central district of Saigon, where after blessing the Saigon River, the relic will leave the city for Da Lat."

The TV continued to banter, just as patrons did. Some to each other, some to their Mitsuke Haikus. The Bubbly figure danced around and gave answers to the headphones the figure wore. One patron was laughing, one was crying, and one was nodding seriously.

Across the street near the Statues, Anh could see the Procession set up. The TV cut to feed of a group of Vietnamese priests holding a large, golden box as they're walking with the box, incense surrounding them. They approach a ramp upon where they will load the priest carrying the relics onto the bed of a Saito Corporation truck.

In the window she could see herself, powdered make up too light, eyes too sternum hair too tight, and her date's gawking reflection in the glass.

“Perhaps we can go to a pagoda together sometime, me and you. There is one near Bu Vien that…”

“I don't think that's likely.” Anh said, trying not to sound either too hopeful or too ominous.

That's when the first gunshot was heard.