I motioned to my companions, as if to say, “Did you see... There it is... I can't believe that there is a big grey rat right over.... What the hell is going on here? Where am I?” They didn’t see me and I chose not to interrupt Michael and Luat's conversation with my petty little fear. I made a decision. I had to deal with the Rat on my own. I would not let the rat ruin my meal. I refused to be overcome with fear. I made a plan. The Rat kept coming out of the hole, closer and closer to our table. I knew it would eventually be directly under our table, where I wouldn’t be able to see it, near my feet and my legs. This was totally unacceptable; and I could not and would not allow this to happen. The Rat was my enemy now and under the table was my territory to defend. It wouldn’t get in. A washcloth quickly became my weapon of choice to fight the Rat. In Vietnam, you don't get paper napkins. At the start of each meal, you are given a very hot, white washcloth. After the first steamy, refreshing hand-and-face wipe, you keep the dampened cloth handy for finger and mouth cleaning as necessary. I decided that it was heavy enough to reach the target and could be balled up for accuracy. At least that’s what I was betting on. I kept an eye out and, as expected, it slunk out again. This time, it was definitely aiming for the morsels under our table, but I was ready for the assault. It wouldn’t breach my perimeter. I had a plan. Closer, closer, closer…FIRE! The Rat dashed for our table; I cocked my right arm, washcloth squeezed in a tight, hand-grenade-sized ball, cold and wet, yet heavy enough to inflict damage. The Rat broke for the table at full speed. My washcloth fired over Luat’s shoulder. Until then, Michael and Luat had had no idea about the silent war being waged directly in front of them between their two dining companions, me and the Rat. It was a direct hit, a perfect head shot. The weight of the washcloth pounded the Rat’s small, fragile skull down into the rough, uncovered cement floor. It turned, dazed, and ran back into its protective tunnel in the wall in full retreat. |
| It Took a Rat (continued) |