“I should have understood this since then. I should have changed my game after that day. But I was not fast enough, so now I am washed away in floodwaters.
“Oh, they are much too many while I am one, by myself. It’s terrible to think that I consented to go along with them, believing that compromise would save the great work. I thought that, if I sacrificed for them, then—out of respect for what was greatly righteous—they would forget their personal ambitions. That was my stupidity. The chess game moved toward mate. They took advantage of that compromise to push me into the back rooms.
“But where does it lie, the root of my failure? Was it my stupidity or was it only fate’s twisted road? I journeyed in the same ship with them but when we reached the other side of the ocean, how could it be that only I was left behind on a forsaken island? Could it be that I am fated to be a lone wolf that can’t survive long in any gathering?”
Was it fate or wasn’t it?
These questions go around and around unceasingly in his head. His old, tired heart palpitates.
The clouds still roll unceasingly on top of Lan Vu Mountain. The snowy season of Paris and reflections of a youth long past also float by. His brain is racked by suspicions. Then his melancholy heart suddenly turns back to a Western city, a place known forever as one for love and short-lived love affairs. Only his soul remains behind like an orphan left on a deserted beach after the noisy days of a summer with lots of visitors. Paris! Strange that after leaving it, he had looked back as if it were no more than an inn; yet now that city appears in his heart as a port of last resort, very much inviting to a traveler. He misses an absent child because, after he left the apartment in the alley right next to Rue St-Jean, a baby girl had seen the day. A baby girl with a name extremely popular in France—Louise. He did not suspect that the nights spent with the seamstress had left a forbidden fruit. It was dumb negligence on his part. It was not until seven years later, on a chance encounter with the mother, that he had learned of this. He realized that it was simply the unexpected result of bodily urges. Nonetheless, the child still carries his blood, his very own blood. He had always meant to go back to the old alley and find the seamstress and Louise, but he did not have enough money in his pocket to buy her a proper gift. Then the tornado of revolution carried him away. In the end, he never bought for his daughter a single skirt or a pair of shoes. He has yet to hold her in his arms and look into her eyes.
“By now, she must have become a grown woman, for sure. She must be married with children. Does she ever, I wonder, search for the image of her absent father? Does she ever entertain, I wonder, the idea of going to Vietnam, a faraway tropical land, to watch an alien people who somehow are still related to her by blood? Or has she simply forgotten all about me even before getting to know me, deliberately so?”
This last thought makes him feel numb. He touches the teapot; he wants to take a sip but the tea is already cold. His face is reflected clearly in the mirrorlike surface of the table. He leans down to take a look at his silhouette. In silence. And a whisper is heard in his mind:
“This man is the worst possible father on earth. One of these days, you will have to come face-to-face with loved ones in the supreme court of your heart. The Autumn Revolution of 1945 will eventually be lost in the on-flowing river of history, just like any other revolution. Like the earthquakes, the tsunamis, the volcanic eruptions. Time will efface all traces. In time, all the crowns on earth will be shredded. All illusions of glory will be shattered. But the supreme court of the heart will always be there on the grounds of a secular world and that court will also be there on the other side of the river of illusions, where the souls of the dead are crowded together on boats made from ashes and dust, with empty eye sockets and three pennies placed on their silent tongues.”
An invisible net closes on the president, nearly asphyxiating him.
His head feels ice cold but his entrails are burning. He thinks this must be his own private suffering, only his. For he is a materialist, he does not believe in telepathy. From the beginning, he only knew the visible world, only considered real things that impacted the six senses, like most people.
Yet the president’s suffering is precisely the result of sympathy with other people’s sufferings. For on this earth there is another person in exile. An anonymous person. A person whose name he no longer remembers; whose face he does not know. A shadow of nothingness. Yet that shadow is still and always a living being in the flesh. That other being never stops thinking of him. That unfortunate person is linked to him because of an unusual destiny, a constant suffering, and a tragic chase. But the irony of fate makes it so that all the things happening to that other person must remain in the dark, beyond his understanding and imagination.
THE UNKNOWN
BROTHER-IN-LAW
1
According to an announcement from division staff, the entertainment that evening would not start until 7:00 p.m. But dinner had been moved up from 4:00 to 3:30. After eating, the soldiers gather in large numbers in front of the stage, noisily chatting, with all the excitement of men who haven’t seen women in a long time. Some greedy fellows still have in hand a big chunk of burned rice, which they crunch while expectantly looking up at the curtains as if they would like to find behind those garish veils their “dream princesses.” Actually, those princesses are still having dreams in the trenches of the command post, partly because of fatigue after the long trip, partly because they all have a pale complexion and white lips due to malaria and thus they have no interest in showing themselves to people without makeup. They all sleep rolled up with one another like silkworms hanging on a board, trying to catch a few more hours before they have to appear onstage. The division command promises to wake them up at 5:30. But well before five, the soldiers outside are already yelling:
“Fairy ladies, why are you sleeping so much? You haven’t been to see us for several years, how can you have the heart to go on sleeping?”
“Little ones, wake up. We have been waiting and waiting for this day.”
“Where are you, princesses? Let us have a glimpse of your beauty.”
All these calls and shouts, the teasing and joking, get so loud that the women cannot go on sleeping, so they get up. Every one of them keeps yawning so hugely that their jaws nearly go out of joint. The assistant to the division commander clears his throat several times before putting his head inside the trench:
“Please be understanding, the soldiers haven’t seen even the shadow of a woman in a long while now. More than three years have gone by without a troupe coming here.”
The deputy head of the troupe responds, “It’s the same wherever we go, you don’t have to worry. The battlefronts are too far apart and there are not enough troupes to entertain them.”
“Thank you, the division is lucky to have you. Now the cooks are bringing you dinner so that you can have something before you put on your makeup.”
“Where is the troupe leader?”
“She has eaten with the commanding officers out there. So have the male actors.”
The deputy head of the troupe turns back and yells, “You see? We were privileged to go on sleeping. Everyone else has eaten and is setting up the stage. Anyone who wants to yawn, go ahead and yawn, then we will get ready for dinner.”
The actresses do not have time to respond, for the cooks are already coming in with their clanging pots and pans. They feel lucky, as if they have found some gold, for they are privileged to see the girls first, when the latter have not yet even put on their cosmetics. Needless to say, they feel at home, for if they were strangers to one another they would have to be entertained in the sitting room; only close friends or relatives could have the right to go into the kitchen:
“Today we specially prepared banana flower salad mixed with chicken and we made mung bean pudding to give you a treat. We hope you enjoy it.”
“Thank you, friends. With this pudding we will be so much more graceful in our dancing.”
The girls gather to have dinner while the three cooks sit around. Finally, the assistant looks at his watch then asks:
“It’s five twenty already. How long do you need to do makeup and change into your costumes?”
“Twenty-five minutes, not more.”
“Bravo, I will let the guys know.”
He leaves. In a blink one can hear loud clapping of hands and shouts coming from the soldiers.
The deputy troupe leader smiles. “They are fine, the guys in this division.”
Another girl rejoins, “They are all northerners.”
“Right.”
A second girl joins in: “They have been waiting for us partly because they want to see a fine performance but also because they wish to see people coming from their native provinces. I heard that the last troupe to visit them a few years back was a folksong group from Interzone Five.”
“Where’s Interzone Five?”
“What an ignorant girl! You have been serving in the army for the last five or six years and yet you can’t even tell the differences between the military zones.”
“Whoever asks doesn’t know. We just go where we’re told. Everywhere we go, all we see are springs and woods…Woods and springs, then springs and woods. After a Van Kieu village, we would go to a lowland Lao village, then to an upland one. Everywhere we go all we do is follow the walking stick of the guide between two locations.”
“Same here, I have no idea what an interzone is. Everywhere we go, all we do is to look at the backside of whoever is in front.”
“You’d be lucky to be able to see the behind of the guy in front. Do you remember the time we went up Monkey Piss Mountain? The slopes were like cliffs, the sole of the guy in front touched the head of the person who followed. No chance then to watch the guy’s behind or ass.”
“Yah, that was terrible, that time. Clouds wrapped all around us, and we had to climb as if we were blind. It was good karma inherited from our ancestors that kept us all from falling down into an abyss.”
The girls have yet to finish changing when the assistant to the division commander can be heard clearing his voice outside. The deputy troupe leader announces: “Exactly another seven minutes.” Then she turns to her companions: “Come on, gals, quicker. The guys out there are causing a riot. This division must have been stuck in this deep jungle for much too long. These soldiers are not as patient as the last ones we entertained.”
“I guess. Last time, they did not yell in confusion like today.”
“Well, as I have said, they have been imprisoned here too long.”
“But here is where?”
“Who knows? I heard from the commander that we are in Laos. And far into the Laos jungle at that.”
“Is that so? It’s all mountains and forests everywhere you look. If one gets lost here, one’s bones will have a new home. There is no finding a way back.”
“That’s for sure. But we each have our fate when it comes to dying or living, so why worry? Only when all the soldiers die will we run into a sad fate. We performers are the spice of their lives, true gold in war. No one will let us get lost.”
After making up and changing into stage dresses, the girls file out of the trenches. The soldiers crowding on the two sides of the tunnel’s leading to the performing stage clap their hands and shout vociferously:
“Hey, pretty fairies, why don’t you say something so we can hear your northern accent?”
The deputy troupe leader smiles right and left and asks, “What can we say?”
That is enough for the soldiers to begin talking all at once:
“Say anything…Or you can even give a shout.”
“Darling, we are from Hai Hung. All you have to do is to call out ‘Oh, Hai Hung!’ That would be enough to soothe us.”
“What do you mean, calling out just Hai Hung? How about Hanoi, Ha Tay, Ha Bac, Vinh Phu: our home provinces? Are these provinces just for dogs? How selfish!!”
“And how about Hai Phong? If you forget the city of the red flame tree, American bombs will get you all.”
“Stop complaining! Ladies, you can just cuss them all and their fathers, too.”
Then arms stretch out to touch the girls’ shoulders and dresses, or caress their hair. As they walk, a crowd of soldiers follows in their wake. From a distance, the division command staff smile and watch the procession with undisguised envy. However, in their position as leaders, they have to restrain themselves, whether they like it or not. In traditional fashion, the girls split into groups of two or three to chat with the soldiers before going onstage to perform. But this time that way of engaging will not do, because the division has just been reinforced, so there are too many of them. More than a thousand soldiers jam the place, in serried ranks. The deputy troupe leader orders:
“With so many of you we cannot possibly entertain you all. I suggest the girls split into teams by province, to sing and entertain you outside of the main program. The musicians also should split likewise.”
With that, the leaders of provincial groups call out in confusion:
“Hai Hung, where are you? Follow me to the left of the stage, right next to the speaker here.”
“Hanoi, where are you? Those from the capital, go to the back of the performance stage. Be orderly, will you.”
“How about Ha Tay, land of silk? Let’s gather next to the Hanoi bunch, on the right side of the stage.”
The soldiers assemble according to their province of origin, shouting to one another, even louder than a market fair breaking up at the end of day. The deputy troupe leader is seen gesticulating to the musicians, apparently negotiating in view of some tense assignments. Thereafter, some can be seen taking their organs, others their guitars or mandolins, others yet their flutes and bamboo flutes, and going to different groups. This brings a strange sense of animation to the whole forest clearing, which normally would hear only the wind rustling the leaves, or rain pattering on the fronds, soldiers talking or arguing among themselves, or bombs exploding.
Company Commander An stands there, absentmindedly looking at the joyous crowd. Suddenly someone taps his shoulder:
“You couldn’t find your Lang Son group?”
His battalion commander is right behind him, smiling behind a pair of thick glasses.
“I report to you, Commander. I am the only one here.”
“Aren’t there a couple of ethnic Tay in Battalion 2?”
“Sir, they are Tay from Cao Bang, on the border with China. I have never set foot in their territory and they have never been to Lang Son, to visit Dong Mo, my native place.”
“Is that so? So you are all Tay, yet you live in different territories and your customs also differ. Me, I am an ethnic Vietnamese and I can’t tell who is Tay from Lang Son and who is Tay from Can Bang. They all look alike.”
“I report to you, sir, we are not all that different. But since the troupe told us to gather by province, there’s no reason for us to form a Tay group from two different battalions.”
“That’s the right principle. We cannot tolerate differentiation by ethnic group within our nation, among people who all carry the same Vietnamese nationality.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Nha, the battalion commander, pulls out some cigarettes and offers An one. On the stage, the assistant to the division commander looks around, with a loudspeaker in one hand and a notebook in the other. At a favorable moment, just as the songs stop temporarily, he yells into the loudspeaker:
“Hi, hi…Attention, please. The performance program is being delayed by one hour and a half, so the curtains will not go up until eight thirty. This is because there suddenly is a new development: we have to wait for Battalion 209, which is a reinforcement from the north. They are right now encamped on the other side of Panda Mountain. They do not belong to our division, but are an independent combat unit. However, because we are on the same battlefield we have the duty to wait for them so they, too, can enjoy tonight’s performance. In the meantim
e, the troupe will continue performing among the provincial groups already gathered, supplemented by local talent from our units.”
At that the soldiers all jump up, their yells ringing through the forest:
“Hurrah, hurrah…”
“Headquarters can go on delaying the performances, even until midnight. In fact, the later, the better.”
“This will be the most marvelous night in the last three years. Those who have a favorite song can start practicing it. For we have musical accompaniment and our local talent will have a chance to show off.”
Nha, the battalion commander, asks An, “Do you know how to sing?”
“I am afraid I am totally ignorant on that score.”
“Likewise here. We can then take advantage and have some rest before the curtains go up. We still have two and a half hours to go.”
Just at that moment, the division commander walks toward them, and warns loudly: “Looks like you two are thinking of slipping out of here. How can you leave a good party and waste it?”
“I report to you, sir, I don’t know how to sing. Besides, I am nearly fifty and my vertebral column is not standing up well.”
“Am I any younger than you?” retorts the division commander.
Indeed, he is older than Nha by a few years, but being a fisherman originally, he still shows an abundance of energy. And despite all the ravage of the war and years, he still has rippling muscles. His shoulders are broad and even and, because he is not very tall, his build is almost square. Whenever he walks by the side of the battalion commander, he is often compared by the literate soldiers with Sancho Panza walking with Don Quixote, his superior. Instead of being upset, he would return the compliment:
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