Reality and Illusion

They had left his restraints loose and this was the time he had been waiting for. Day or night, he didn’t care, he didn’t know. He had always wanted to escape, he had always tried to escape...once a week...once a day...even twice a day. He didn’t know, he had lost track of time. Now again, he sensed as he always did, it was time for him to escape. He was almost certain, despite all unsuccessful attempts, that this one would be successful.

He was incarcerated in a place where light never came, where the only two things he could feel except the manacles and walls were darkness and silence. An occasional scream interrupted the silence, but he was used to it. They had never tortured him but he knew they tortured others.

He could sense movements around him, but it was pitch dark and he was sure nobody could see him. Sense of touch had become sense of direction for him. He kept crawling as close to the walls as he could, turning as they did. At every turn his head bumped into the wall in front, but for some reason that didn’t hurt. Occasionally his hand would run across a door, all same but none unlocked...

Carlson Lambert was a doctor and a happy man. He had an affectionate wife and two adorable kids. He always wanted to be there for his family, but he was forced to go with the American army at war in Vietnam. As a medic he felt immense satisfaction in helping people, but the Vietnam War disappointed him. Several soldiers were brought to him every day...some were sent back to the battlefield after necessary treatment, some couldn’t carry on because of serious mutilations and were sent back to the headquarters in Saigon, and some were buried behind the barracks without a funeral. And since the government wanted to keep the American people oblivious to the unprecedented debacle the postage for soldiers was halted. Lambert was appalled.

Even more deplorable was the state of South Vietnamese soldiers; always on the frontline, hundreds lost their lives everyday. Lambert and the other medics had been strictly ordered to attend to the American soldiers and ignore the Vietnamese. Soldiers had come with high spirits, but with time the ambiance of the camp became funereal. What was expected to be a smooth crusade soon turned into a challenge and a matter of pride for the American regime. Casualties didn’t intimidate the super power anymore. They kept sending in supplies and men...and more supplies...and more men. But the North Vietnamese just didn’t give up and the war went on and on and on...and on.

Things worsened for Lambert with time. Over a period of three years he had treated a multiplicity of maimed soldiers, amputated dozens of limbs and seen hundreds die. He was not a normal person anymore. Guilt and resentment accrued inside him. He hated the government, he hated him job and he hated himself.

He wondered how his kids would feel when they would learn that their dad was part of a ghastly episode of American history. He often used to think they must have grown a lot since he had been away from home. And meeting his kids was the only hope that helped him make through all the tough times and suicidal periods he had been in.

The prayer of every American soldier in Vietnam was finally answered. United Stated reached a ceasefire agreement with North Vietnam. The American army, after losing thousands of soldiers and wasting invaluable time and money, was now going to retreat and withdraw all it’s support from the South Vietnamese. Lambert was glad. Once he got back he was going to sever all connections with the army and lead an anonymous life with his family—once he got back.

Lambert had a fear. The Americans were deserting the South Vietnamese who had wrongly or rightly put blind trust in them. He feared that out of indignation the Vietnamese, greater in number, might attack the American army. His fear grew stronger and stronger as more and more American soldiers boarded the ships and left. And he was almost sure they were going to be mobbed when his was one of the last two battalions left.

He knew they were closing in, waiting for the right time. And then he saw heads emerging from behind everything. His eyes widened in horror. He knew they were Vietnamese with American weapons, and they were coming for them…him. “Run!” he shouted and dashed for the ship that had just left. It wasn’t far away and he was going to swim for it. He didn’t want to get caught and killed by Vietnamese. “Stop Lambert!” somebody shouted, “What’s wrong?” he kept running, looked back and shouted, “Ambush!” He tripped over something and landed heavily on his temple. He tried to get up but he was hurt. Darkness swept in…

Lambert opened his eyes. He had heard about Vietnamese prison cells and that was exactly what it looked like; dark and uncomfortable. He realized he wasn’t a free man anymore. He was a prisoner of war. Prisoner of a new war, a war between the South Vietnamese and the Americans.

Prisoners of war were never treated benevolently. He had heard petrifying travails of those who escaped or were set free, but none matched his. His capturers didn’t subject him to any physical torture, they just kept him in pitch darkness. They didn’t torture him even when they caught him trying to escape. Maybe they had figured out he was only a medic and were being tolerant. Or maybe they hadn’t figured out he was a medic and were being tolerant. He kept coming up with different explanations for the way he was being treated. But that wasn’t important, he was sick of darkness and he was sick of being tied up in one place and he was sick of Vietnam. He wanted to get out into the light and go back to his family. And this time he was going to do it.

With this determination he kept crawling along the walls, stealthily. He passed another closed door, his head bumped into a wall soon after, he turned left and started crawling again. After passing the door, four times he his head bumped into a wall and four times he turned left and passed another closed door. This happened again, and again, and again, and again. But with the unwavering resolve and confidence that he would find an open door that would lead him to deliverance, he kept crawling.

Unexpectedly, the absolute silence around him was broken. Somebody was crying. The voice was familiar, very familiar. He felt a sharp twinge in his left arm and every muscle in his body went limp. He couldn’t move, he didn’t want to move. He had recognized the voice. What was she doing here in Vietnam? He thought of every possible answer. She was here to rescue him…no…they had captured her too…not possible…she was one of them…never. He lost consciousness.

…In room number seventeen of the insane asylum a young psychiatrist had been taking down notes for the last two hours. “…And he’s never been normal since the time he fell on his head. He lost his sight and he still thinks he’s in Vietnam. He doesn’t even remember his kids and…” Mrs. Carlson Lambert couldn’t whisper anymore, she started crying. The man who had been crawling along all four walls of the room suddenly stopped. The sedation was finally taking effect. He fell into fitful oblivion. The psychiatrist completed her notes and took a deep breath. She was working on her first case, Carlson Lambert, a blind man gone insane.