The Sorrow of War (9 page)

From that day on, Kien avoided her. If their paths accidentally crossed, Kien would bend his head and weakly mumble,". . . Sister." Hanh would look quiedy and sympathetically at him and say, "Good day, younger brother." She seemed willing to say more, to tell him something she had long wanted to say, but Kien's continued avoidance of her acted as a deterrent. The words she longed to say would never be voiced. Perhaps in their dreams, for soon she was gone.

When Kien joined up Hanh had already become involved with the Volunteer Youth Brigade, which had gone off to Military Zone 4.When Kien returned to Hanoi before heading south he found a new occupant in Hanh's old room. The deep shelter had been filled in and tiled over and there was no indication that the floor had ever been disturbed.

"There's something I want to tell you," she had said.The words lingered with him for vears.

When later he recalled his actions, her words, his timidity, he would grieve and regret his loss.

The passing of beautiful youth had been so rapid that even its normal periods of anxiety and torment, of deep intense blind love, had been taken from him as the war clouds loomed. A moment so close, yet so far, then totally lost to him, to remain only as a memory forever.

Kien sighed and pressed his face to the cold glass window, looking out into the dark night. He could see the top of the tree in front of his house, the leaves brushing wetly against his window.

In the streets below scattered lights shone, the light mixing with the rain. Illumination stopped at the end of the street, marking the start of the vast lake. Swinging his vision to the right he saw the dark cloud canopies low over the familiar tiled roofs of Hanoi, although hardly any of the houses emitted light. There were no cars on the street, and not a single pedestrian.

At this moment the city was so calm that one could practically hear the clouds blow over the rooftops. He thought of them as part of his life being blown away in wispy sections, leaving vast, open areas of complete emptiness, as in his own life.

The spirit of Hanoi is strongest by night, even stronger in the rain. Like now, when the whole town seems deserted, wet, lonely, cold, and deeply sad.

When they slept in the jungle the rain fell on forest canopies, and Kien would dream of Hanoi in the rain, Hanoi with leaves falling. Now, as he watched the leaves falling, he remembered the jungle rains and the dreams of Hanoi. The dreams focused and refocused until past scenes and the present became a raging reality within him, images of the present and the past merging to double the impact and the smell and atmosphere of the jungle there in the room with him. Wave after wave of agonizing memories washed over his mental shores.

One year in the seventies a false spring had appeared in Hanoi. The sun shone during the day and the air was as light and clean as any April or early May. The trees whose branches had turned bare during winter suddenly sprouted beautiful green buds. In the parks the flowers began blooming, and migratory birds began returning to nest under the eaves of city buildings. For those few moments in a season Hanoi lost its lonely, desolate look.

One day after that week of sunny midwinter days the sky darkened, an icy cold wind began gusting along the newly greened streets, and a sorrowful, drizzling rain began. The newly emerged buds retreated, the blooms wilted, the birds remained hidden, and the colors and the new hope that had arrived like a golden promise evaporated into the reality of harsh grey winter.

Phuong, his childhood sweetheart, his classmate, his female lead in one of the strangest opening nights of the war theater, and his self-created ikon for salvation in peacetime, had left him again. She had gone from him when the false spring faded and real winter returned.

Phuong had left no note and since departing had not written to him. She had probably decided never to return. The doors and the windows in her apartment were shuttered and locked and had the look of permanency about them. That had been their first parting since he had returned from the war. Her sudden, cruel departure had cut Kien deeply.

Kien sat forlornly in his apartment, emotionally exhausted. A glint caught his eye and he turned to face a small mirror. What he saw astounded him: his hair, his beard, his wrinkles, the circles under his eyes. He tested his voice; even that had changed; it was now deep and sad. His looks, his voice, seemed to upset others these days. Was it the empty, blank stare he now saw in the mirror? Was that what they turned from, avoiding his glances?

He became bored with his university studies. One morning he simply decided he wouldn't attend. From that point on he ended his easy student life, quietly and for no apparent reason. He stopped reading newspapers, then books, then let everything go. He lost contact with his friends, then with the outside world in general. Except drink. And cigarettes. He couldn't care less that he was penniless, that he drank and smoked almost nonstop. He wandered around outside, pacing the lonely streets. When he did sleep, it was a heavy, drunken slumber.

In his dreams he saw Phuong now and then, but more often he dreamed of crazy, twisted things, distorted apparitions of loneliness and sorrow. Horrible, poisonous nightmares brought back images that had haunted him constantly throughout the war. During the twilights of those cold nights the familiar, lonely spirits reappeared from the Jungle of Screaming Souls, sighing and moaning to him, whispering as they floated around like pale vapors, shredded with bullet-holes.They moved into his sleep as though they were mirrors surrounding him.

He would often awake to find himself writhing on the floor, tears streaming down his face, shivering with fear and cold. His numbed heart was seized up and his emotions overcame him. When the icy winds outside blew fiercely and rain pelted heavily against his dark windows, he would just sit there, still, not wishing to move. Sad, foolish self-pity washed over him.

He had tried desperately to forget Phuong, but she was unforgettable. He longed for her still. Nothing lasted forever in this world, he knew that. Even love and sorrow inside an aging man would finally dissipate under the realization that his suffering, his tortured thoughts, were small and meaningless in the overall scheme of things. Like wispy smoke spiral -ing into the sky, glimpsed for a moment, then gone.

That cold spring Kien was frequently out on the streets late at night. On one memorable night, near theThuyen Quang park by the lake, he saw two figures struggling on the ground under a kapok tree. One of them, a man, rose quickly and drew a knife from his belt. Kien jumped into the fray, kicked the man, then knocked him into a gutter before chasing him off. He turned and saw that the second figure was an attractive young girl. Kien called a pedicab going past, bundled her into it, and headed for home. Once inside, he saw she was made up in the familiar flaunting way made famous by the "Green Coffee Girls" of the area.These were the most notable Hanoi prostitutes, so called because they waited for their men in a certain group of coffee houses.

"Do you know whose life it is you've just saved, and brought into your home? Well, do you?" she asked. "I'm a Green Coffee Girl."

She stood, feet slightly apart, looking directly at him. Not yet nineteen, but sure of herself. A little paler, a little less healthy than he had first thought. And on closer scrutiny her bright clothes, attractive from a distance, had seen better days.

"That punch was worth a lot to me.That was real trouble for me. I owe you," she said, taking charge. "You were just wonderful," she added, stepping out of her skirt slowly. She continued to undress for him, ending by pulling her blouse lightly over her head. It was a smooth performance, but something was wrong. She began to shiver, smiling hesitantly, shyly. Kien noticed her smooth skin was blue with cold, that her ribs formed sharp lines under her breasts. She was starving.

"Let's share that cigarette," she said in a final effort to retain her composure. But after only one puff she slid into his bed, sighed like a sleepy child, and was soon in a deep sleep.

When she woke up she saw Kien sitting over by the table and realized with astonishment that she knew him. In the morning light she could see him clearly and recognized him as the friend of her big brother, in the same platoon, from years ago. Kien came over, lighting a new cigarette, then sat down on the bed beside her. In the light of the new day he had recognized her, too, despite the makeup.

As she slept he had wondered how she came to be in town. Why had she left her village? How had she joined the most famous of all the street-girl groups, the Green Coffee Girls?

She was embarrassed by the recognition. The shared memory of her brother Vinh, with him in the same platoon, at M'Drac batdefield with him, was with them both. And of their only other sad meeting.

After the war Kien had taken his friend's last possessions toVinh's family, in a hamlet on the outer edges of Hanoi. The landscape was half marsh, half rubbish dump. The scrawny children wore rags. Dirty dogs ran here and there and the flies, mosquitoes, and rats were numerous and evident. The hamlet's inhabitants were semibeggars, gathering garbage for their meager living, and there were small dumps of obviously stolen goods lining the paths where thieves had set up tiny stalls.

Someone pointed out Vinh's family house to Kien. It was like all the others, a shanty of tin and old timber, surrounded by garbage. Vinh's little sister was barely fifteen then. Her eyes had swollen and sent tears down her cheeks as she recognized her brother's knapsack and his personal belongings. There was no need to ask why Kien had come to visit them. The sad news was there for them to touch. Vinh's blind mother sat with the girl, feeling the items as she handed them over. A cloth hat. A folded knife. An iron bowl. A broken flute. A notebook.When Kien rose to leave, the old lady had reached up and touched his cheek. "At least you came back," she said quietly.

He stared at the little sister, now naked in his bed, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. He had forgotten her name and was now too embarrassed to ask. She began to speak, quietly: "My mother died that same year. I stopped collecting garbage. In fact, the dump doesn't even exist now. I came to town alone."

They each spilled their stories, talking throughout the morning. She in bed, he beside it. Kien found some rice and fried it over his kerosene stove, and they shared a small meal. She rested again.

Later she opened her eyes, looking over at him with a small smile. She reached out and began tugging his arm, inviting him to slide in beside her. Kien held back.

"Come on, please.You saved me," she said.

When Kien declined again, she seemed thankful and didn't persist. "You're funny," she said. "Strange, I mean."

Kien moved around the room picking up anything of value he could find. Paper money, lottery tickets, anything.

After she'd dressed and was preparing to leave he handed her the money and the tickets. She started laughing gaily, but took them. He saw her out into the street and back up to the Thuyen Quang lake, where he had helped her the long night before. "You'd better make yourself scarce," she told him. "People will jump to wrong conclusions if they see you with me. I'll never forget you, though.You're really nice, and strange."

The girl withdrew her hand and walked away. He felt so dry, so vulgar, so impotent and spent. The result of those months and years at war.

He was at a stage when he had no idea how he would spend the rest of his life. Study? Career? Business? All those things he had once considered important, and attainable, suddenly seemed meaningless and beyond his reach. He was still alive —just. He had no idea of how he would earn his daily living. It was a time of utter isolation, of spiritual emptiness, of surrender.

Yet the city was now coming alive again, this time in a synthetically generated frenzy of patriotism. Another war was about to break out! Pol Pot had been chased out of Cambodia by Vietnamese troops and because of that Pol Pot's allies, the Chinese, were threatening Vietnam's northern border. This would be another turning-point in their lives. Kien's friends emerged to advise him to rejoin the army. Long live his career! Long live the army of Vietnam! A good soldier would always be invaluable, they said.That went on for weeks.

In the streets, on the trains, in offices, in shops, in teahouses and beer gardens, the talk once more was of fighting and weapons. Passionate discussions on the situation on the northern border, with China threatening to invade because of their humiliation in losing Pol Pot, removed from power in Cambodia by the glorious Vietnamese Army.

And night after night express trains packed with soldiers rumbled through Hanoi on the way to the northern front. Tanks , and guns were jammed into freight cars, compartments were filled with young soldiers, and the smell of soldiers' sweat wafted out from train doors and windows. Kien caught the familiar smell of excited fear, of young men soon to be burdened with hardships, bullets and blasting, hunger and cold. This time on the northern border.

"Just like old times, right?" said someone in the crowd close by. "Like in 1965 in the early days against the Americans," the rich city people commented.

"At least we're much stronger compared to those days," others commented, confident of another victory.

Kien listened, thinking they might be right. But he knew it wasn't true that young Vietnamese loved war. Not true at all. If war came they would fight, and fight courageously. But that didn't mean they loved fighting.

No. The ones who loved war were not the young men but the others like the politicians, middle-aged men with fat bellies and short legs. Not the ordinary people. The recent years of war had brought enough suffering and pain to last them a thousand years.