I and two other friends were pressing on our brakes, getting ready for a full stop in front of Tân Tân Movie Theater. We were going to see the movie “The Three Musketeers”. Then all of a sudden a Vélo Solex from behind crashed onto us. All three of us fell down to the ground. I myself was in crucial pain, being stuck under my other friend’s bicycle pressing on my stomach. As soon as tried to turn around to stand up, I heard angry shouting:
– Hey, are you all blind, the Three Musketeers? You deserved this for stopping without paying attention to what was behind you.
We were both embarrassed and angry for being hit and tumbling down in broad daylight in front of so many people. And not only did we not have a chance to scold the culprit, but we also were blamed instead. What nonsense! However, we stopped as we looked up: the culprit was a young girl in her teenage, hair neatly braided, sitting on her Vélo, arms folding, mouth opened, eyes as wide and bright as a car’s lights.
– You guys lucked out. My vélo was ok. I’ll forgive you this time, but beware next time!
Then she curled up her lips, pouted, and restarted her motorcycle, speeding away.
Although we were never reprimanded by (my teacher)Mr. Bửu Cân as “children of no ancestors”, we had to swear to let off our anger. Cường, the mildest among us three, rolled up his sleeves and blurted out first:
– Damn her! She looks pretty but is so untamed. Were she a boy, she’d have had it from me.
She was truly pretty, especially with her big eyes and red lips which, although pouting, still were so lovely. I was pre-occupied with such thoughts as I followed the usher to my seat. It was pitch dark inside. On the screen was some news about President Ngô Đình Diệm’s visit to Ban Mê Thuột (although it did not show the unsuccessful assassination attempted at him during that trip). (1)
Throughout the whole movie, even though my eyes were on the big screen, I was thinking of the girl the whole time, except for when there were gunshots from the musketeers that briefly drew me back to the story.
My father was right when he predicted when I was three, seeing me crying the whole month after my mother passed away, that I would be a sentimental person. And it seemed I was entering the rite of passage of being lovesick that day.
Nha Trang was not much larger than Pleiku, as lamented in a poem about that nondescript small town, “it takes only a few minutes to walk through the whole town”. However, it had been a few months and I still had not seen her again. There were many Vélo Solexes, though, that caused me to turn around to look to the point of hurting my neck. Perhaps she was a visitor from another town. Her healthy, rosy complexion suggested she would be from Đà Lạt, coming to town to visit someone, and then disappearing like a fairy in a fairy tale.
My home village was in Vạn Giã. I went to high school in Nha Trang and boarded at my uncle’s, previously close to the Mr. Bác Ái’s movie theater Moderne. Later on we moved to near the Office of Information. My uncle, in addition to running an electric supply store, also took on contracts. They had only one beloved daughter who was greatly cherished. He therefore needed my assistance in his business transactions. To motivate me to give up on my laziness and innate propensity for playing more than studying, he often encouraged me with such remarks as, “You seem to have a knack for business despite your young age. Stick with me to learn the trade. You might even surpass me in the future.” (He was totally wrong there. I later joined the armed forces and became a fighter. I was never in business my whole life).
The whole schoolyear I longed for summer vacation in order to go back to the village to see my father and to play with my childhood friends. We went to the river of our childhood, swam during the day, set up fishing gear, slept in the open air, competed in counting the stars, in identifying the Milky Way, Ngưu Lang and Chức Nữ’s Ô Thước Bridge,(2), etc. It was a lot more fun compared to life in the City of Nha Trang. However, that summer I was retained in Nha Trang after my uncle convinced my father that it would be good for me to learn “the business world” (!) I was scared of such enticement, as if he was sending me to the battlefield to die!
The first lesson was for me to carry a briefcase and accompany my uncle to meetings with other contractors, in a project that was a “win-win” for all. The meeting place was a beautiful villa on Duy Tân Street, along the beach with leaping waves and whispering winds…
I timidly followed my uncle to the living room. A number of people were already there. They all looked impressive, especially a tall man in military outfit, who seemed to command utmost respect from all. After following the conversation for a while, I realized that that was Colonel Đỗ Cao Trí, superintendent of Military Training Center Đồng Đế. I was then a young boy and did not know much about the military world, but I learned about the love story between the colonel and a pharmacist who owned a pharmacy on Độc Lập Street. This woman had just separated from her pharmacist husband, and had a boyfriend who was a handsome captain in the Air Force and who usually took her riding along the beach on his Vespa, even though she owned the only convertible car in town. The poor captain had just been transferred to a faraway post in Corps I Tactical Region, for the colonel had a few words with high ranking friends in the Air Force. (Later the pilot captain married a singer known for the song “A Nameless Sadness Invaded my Soul” (Buồn vào Hồn Không Tên).
I sat behind my uncle, taking notes as if I were a journalist-in-training. After the first half of the meeting, they stopped for lunch. It was a luxurious banquet catered from a restaurant. As I was of junior rank, I was sent to the back to join chauffeurs and children of the host. Hardly had I time to sit down then I stopped what I was doing. She, the Vélo Solex Princess who hit me in front of Tân Tân Theater about three months ago, was there, ceremoniously claiming the only armchair next to the dining table.
I gathered my calm and pulled a chair next to her:
– Hello Her Highness, do you allow a musketeer who was crashed to the ground to sit next to you?
Her eyes opened wide. The eyes I had been looking for, that I thought had left Nha Trang, were now looking at me, wide-opened. She seemed to finally remember, and smiled:
– Sure, be at home. If one has good karma, one would meet even from long distances.
She surprised me by quoting a Vietnamese-Chinese verse. I told myself, “She’s quite something!”
This chancy encounter, however, led to a step up the ladder for a distinguished career: I became her governor. Actually, I became just her tutor.
As it turned out, I usually accompanied my uncle to her place, and sometimes came just by myself to deliver papers or consult with the principal contractor, her daddy. Eventually I became a regular in the household. The family had previously resided in Đà lạt and owned several hotels. The wife died in a car accident right at the Ngoạn Mục Pass. The father was so desolate he wanted to get away from the fog-shrouded town that reminded him of his wife. He moved down to Nha Trang and returned to his old profession of being a contractor, the family’s business for generations. The couple had only one daughter, but he took in quite few nephews and nieces, and kept a number of domestic helps. After seeing me numerous times, and through my uncle, learning that I was a gentle, hardworking country boy, he asked me to come three evenings a week to help his daughter with Math and Vietnamese. The daughter just transferred out of Domaine de Marie in Đà Lạt to the eighth grade at the Girls’ High School in Nha Trang. There, the Princess was reciting Chinh Phụ Ngâm (Lament of a Soldier’s Wife) (3) and Cung Oán Ngâm Khúc (Complaints of A Royal Harem) (4) without having the slightest idea what the authors Đoàn thị Điểm and Ôn như Hầu talked about.
I could not make up much in Math, but Vietnamese was such a large subject that I could deviate and embellish as much as I wanted to.
On the first day of class, the princess ceremoniously called me “Teacher”. I did not know whether the father had wanted to prevent me from fraternizing with his daughter and assigned me the title professed by the saying “even if someone teaches you one word, he/she is still your teacher. Even if he/she teaches you half a word, he/she is still your teacher”, or whether the princess wanted to tease me by using that respectful title.
As it did not look like I could attract much attention by explaining stories from Complaints of a Royal Harem, I turned to reading poetry to her. At the time in Nha Trang there were two poets well known in their young age, and their pen names were also very attractive: Thanh Nhung and Cao Hoành Nhân, or Tôn nữ Nha Trang and Bùi Cao Hoành, or something like that. I did not know how true it was, but I was told there was a beautiful romance between those two student poets. I selected some of their most romantic poems to recite to my student. To my surprise, she understood it without much explanation on my part. She seemed to absorb all the beauty by half closing her eyes, looking afar.
I forgot to mention something: She carried the royal last name: Tôn Nữ (5), and her own name was a very nice name: Giáng Vân. However, I preferred to call her Princess, the name she claimed when her motorbike crashed into us in front of the Tân Tân Movie Theater. Furthermore, I thought the name was very suitable for her. I felt like all the Tôn Nữs of the old capital Huế were beautiful and romantic.
Of all the novels by Tự Lực Văn Đoàn, she loved Hồn Bướm Mơ Tiên (The Fairy from A Butterfly‘s Spirit) (6) the most, and made me recount the story again and again. Her mother was a faithful Buddhist. After her death, her father made a handsome donation to rebuild the two temples Tỉnh Hội and Hải Đức and also acquired numerous statues of Buddha for them. She usually accompanied her father to visit Hải Đức Temple. She said that each time she prostrated to Buddha, she imagine herself being the monk Lan. However, she was scared of the ringing of the big bell, and for that reason she could never disguise herself as a boy to be admitted to the temple as a monk.
One day Princess insisted that her tutor write a poem for her, otherwise she would not study. Oh Man, this was really the princess’ wish to harm her humble subject. Even though I was in a C class (majoring in literature), I never wrote any real poetry except putting together a few rudimentary six-word and eight-word verses in jest to tease some sharp-tongued girls in class. However, I did not know what romantic mood swing took over me that day. I completed a poem in ten minutes. It sounded rather soapy, but I was full of admiration of myself. I showed it to her:
Nights and days go by, thus It seems fate has entangled us No one could resist water and winds and the moon and clouds How could I ever forget places that are solely ours Like the street corner where we met Or the bright moon that prints leaves on your dress Verses of a poem, lines of a song Engraved in my heart Sending the sweetest dreams Venturing across hills and streams And reminding me that our love, so powerful today Never ever will fade away(7)
I did not know if she understood or got the idea. Actually, in all honesty, the poem was kind of nonsensical to be understood. She nodded approvingly and asked:
– How come it does not have a title?
– Yes it does. Don’t you see it, Princess?
She turned the paper around, back and forth.
– Did not see it. Here, I’m returning it to you, Teacher.
I smiled, appeasing my student.
– Just connect the first letters of the lines, then you’ll see it.
Bummer! I had to explain the Chinese-Vietnamese word “letter” to her for her to be able to connect the right things. Then she blushed and threw the poem on the ground.
– I’m not going to be friend with you anymore.
Contrary to her threat, she became even closer to me since that day. Her father also seemed to trust and appreciate this youngster-in-a-teacher-role, for he saw that his daughter became more studious and happy.
That summer, she went with me to my village, as my uncle’s daughter also went with us to visit her paternal village. It probably was her first visit to the countryside. It was not clear whether the serene air of the village agreed with her, or she enjoyed roaming everywhere with her “teacher”, but she was singing songs all the time and vowed to be in love with the countryside. And that was also the happiest, most meaningful summer for me in my student life, even though there were no flamboyant flowers brightening the sky or cicadas serenading in my village.
Two years later I left Nha Trang to continue my studies in Sài gòn. I was sad to stop tutoring my little student with big eyes. Her father took her to the Nha Trang train station to see me off. I put on the right look of “ leaving is dying a bit in my heart” and caused her to cry. Her father thought they owed me for her passing the middle school completion exam. He shook hands with me, thanked me profusely, and gave me some cash gift.
And our love (not sure it was true love, but let’s just pretend it was for the sake of romanticism and to show off a bit) was bothering me a while.
I received a few letters from her, telling me about her friends at the Girls’ High School, about the jet plane crashing near the Tân Tân Movie Theater, where we got to know each other for the first time thanks to her crashing onto me. And each letter was accompanied with a toady-soapy (8) love poem.
Five years later, when the little student became an adult and forgot her “teacher” who liked to read love poems to her while she would half close her eyes and get lost in her dreams, I put aside my studies to follow a military career.
After training, I was sent to a mobile combat unit in the rain-soaked plateaus surrounded by hollering winds. In 1972, I was wounded in the Fiery Summer (9) in Kontum and transported to Pleiku Military Hospital for treatment. Upon release, I was selected by my unit to go to Sài Gòn to join the “distinguished soldiers” to be received by President Thiệu in Độc Lập Palace. I was actually not distinguished at all. When single, I was more gung ho, but after I got married, I was more apprehensive of “returning as a burden to you, my beloved”(10). However, the war was going on intensely. If they sent distinguished fighters to the capital, the fighting force would suffer. As I was not ready for assignments, it would hit both purposes to send me. The “distinguished” soldier was privileged with tickets on a civilian airline. At the Pleiku Airport covered with red dust, I suddenly ran into the Princess when, as a lost traveler, I set foot on an Air Vietnam plane . I stopped short at the sight of a stewardess with big eyes who was greeting passengers with smiles. In a lovely blue áo dài with golden dragons embroidered on the collar, she was as beautiful as a fairy. After the DC4 regained its balance in high altitude, she came to take an empty seat in front of me and turned around to talk to me. I instantly knew she was married. He was a F5 fighter jet pilot, stationed in Biên Hòa. They had been married over a year. I knew beautiful women usually chose their husbands in the Air Force. That gained them the nice reputation of having a handsome and adventurous husband as well as having him on safe assignments without direct battles that could turn their wives into widows. The man who became her husband must be very good looking and very lucky. The thought put me in a pensive mood.
After we visited a bit, she noted my address in Sài gòn and promised to come see me with her husband. They would pick me up to go to Maxim’s to listen to Lệ Thu sing “A Souvenir for You” (10). I smiled and said that I was afraid of that song, the song that would cause any soldier who was faint of heart to skip returning to their post and desert their unit. In the end she came alone. Her husband was just sent to Corps I Tactical Region. Instead of going to Maxim’s, she took me to the restaurant Pagoda, for a little artistic mood and to treat her “teacher” to some coffee that resembled the Café Tùng in Đà lạt, where the owner used to personally make it just right for her. It seemed that as adults we tended to remember a lot of our student days. The two of us reminisced about Nha Trang, about the toady-soapy poems, then parted without setting a date to meet again. It was wartime. “Since ancient times how many soldiers ever come home?”(11). One would not know whether it would be possible to meet in the future.
March 1975. Nha Trang and then the whole Corps II Tactical Region fell. After living years in the “Hoàng Triều Cương Thổ” territory, I followed my unit who lost most of its troops and had only a quarter of its force left, to evacuate to Vũng Tàu for replenishment. Then we moved down to the Delta to participate in some of the last lonely and boring battles in unfamiliar locations: Bến Lức, Cần Giuộc in Long An, to prevent the enemy from taking siege of and raining shellings on Sài Gòn.
Just like many other units, on the 25th hour, we fought without our “eagles” (commanders). The last time we gathered and shouted “At ease!”, there was no follow-up of “Try hard!”. It was then that I learned that our commanding officer had left for the 7th Fleet two days before. Well, the old saying said, “When one general launched an attack, ten thousand dry skeletons are left in the battlefield”. At long last the South fell. We vanquished soldiers were invited by our brothers the conquerors to go to re-education camps to benefit from the “generous policies of the Revolution”.
During eight long years in re-education camps, transferring from the South to the North, my life was just floating in all directions like clouds. Happiness existed only in moments of remembrances. And we had to be on “high alert” with remembrances, otherwise we would be guilty of “clinging to the past”. I did not know what my fellow prisoners were clinging to, I myself reminisced a lot about my student years, of the first time falling in love. And I thought of the Princess, of her big round eyes, of my happy days being her tutor more than I remembered the ten plus years of being friends with the poet Nguyễn Bắc Sơn. “I was very mild. I was a soldier in name only. I bring liquor with me on the march, and very clear innocent thoughts. I think of the war as a curse befallen the country”. I supposed the Princess was being happy with her husband somewhere in the US. With her husband being a pilot, and with him stationed in Biên Hòa, it would take only a quick flight to get out and build a new life.
After release from prison, I returned to Nha Trang and found myself a stranger in my own town. Nha Trang was no longer the “childhood cave” that it was for us in the past. And then I was not even allowed to stay in this town. I had to return for temporary residence in my village Vạn Giã. I only had an old aunt who lived a lonely life in the ancestors’ house that belonged to my grandparents. My father died six years before in a re-education camp in Đá Bàn. His gravesite was not yet known. However, I lucked out in that I had a chance to stop by Nha Trang almost every day . A cousin of mine took me in as an aide to the driver on a passenger bus that ran the Nha Trang – Tuy Hòa rounds. The bus ran on coal combustion, and customers were mostly female vendors.
One day I was standing on top of the bus when a passenger asked me to help with her merchandise. She used all her force to push the basket up, but, lacking strength, she let it slide down again and again. Inside the basket there nuggets of black sugar. I had to lower a steel hook for her to hook it up. When I used my force to lift the basket, I suddenly saw the big round eyes. The eyes looking at me was like a deep cut in my stomach. I jumped down, held the passenger’s thin shoulders very tightly:
– Is that you, Princess?
She looked at me with teary eyes.
– Princes, I mean Vân, how come you are in this situation?
She looked down and did not say a word.
When we arrived in Tuy Hòa, I carried the basket of sugar for her and delivered it to a shop in the market. Then I invited her to lunch. I was very anxious to learn about her situation.
– My husband was stuck in the Corps I Tactical Region and was missing since. I inquired among his comrades and was told he was shot down while supporting the ARVN rangers in their retreat to Đà Nẵng. I was waiting to see if he was imprisoned somewhere, but by now I am certain he was dead.
– What about your father?
– All our properties were confiscated. He was sent to re-education camps for being a contractor who built barracks for the US forces inside the airport. He died within a year.
– Who are you living with now?
– With my daughter. She is almost ten now. When I met you in Sài gòn I was carrying her but did not know. We were granted a small house with tin roof in the old quarters for ARVN wounded soldiers, behind the train station.
I pressed in Vân’s hands all the cash I earned that day and asked her to buy some treats for my niece, her daughter.
I met her again twice after that day, then my life took a turn. My cousin had to do a fire sale on the bus, for it required unaffordable repairs, and additionally, the bus was often “borrowed” by the government to transport rice for co-ops without pay. It was at that time that I planned to get out of the country.
I told my wife about the Princess. I felt as if she were my own little sister now. My kind-hearted wife felt sorry for what the Princess went through and agreed to give her two seats on the trip that I was organizing to get out of the country.
A week before departure, I went to Nha Trang to look for her. The house was locked. I waited until night fall but did not see them return. I knocked on the house next door. The owner was a war invalid who lost both legs, thanks to which he was not evicted out of the house. He told me that the mother and daughter had moved away somewhere several weeks before. They had not returned since.
Thanks to the good graces of God, my escape by sea was successful. We were rescued by a Norwegian oiler just before a big hurricane struck. With such indebtedness, we chose Norway as the place to spend the rest of our life and to build the future for the children.
In the summer of 1989, we went with our two daughters to the US for them to attend school, and to stop by and give condolences to a cousin of mine, who left in 1978 and resettled in Sacramento, North California. He just lost his son during a fishing trip between the two of them.
After years of not seeing us, my cousin and his wife received us very well, amid sadness each time we looked at the picture of his son on the altar with fresh daily burnt incense.
The next day, they took us to the cemetery to visit his son’s gravesite, then took us to a female monks’ temple nearby, in order to arrange for a praying ceremony for the soul of the son. They told us they were close friends of the nun who was abbess of the temple. She valued them not only because they had known each other since Nha Trang, but also because being a contractor, my cousin was able to help the temple quite a bit. A great part of the construction was his donation to the temple.
The temple was not too large. Its main hall was not yet finished, but it had a good size garden with many different flowers. From the garden we could hear the soothing sounds of prayers and the sounds of metal and wooden bells which rendered a solemn and spiritual air all around. We were greeted by a nun who offered us tea and asked us to wait about half an hour, for the abbess was in the middle of the mid-day praying ceremony.
Then my cousin and his wife stood up, and I saw the abbess step out. I was surprised as she was rather young and very good looking, with her long ears that were just like Buddha’s long ears I had seen in statues at temples. What was interesting to us was that the abbess was very open and friendly. She told us that as a Nha Trang native, she was particularly happy to receive two countrymen from a Scandinavian country that came to visit.
After a little visiting, I learned the abbess was highly educated. She earned a B.A. from the Faculty of Letters in Sài Gòn and was completing her masters at Vạn Hạnh University when the South fell to the enemy.
What was even more surprising for us was her telling us that there were quite a few nuns from Nha Trang at that temple. Among them was a daughter of the well known photography studio on Phan Bội Châu Street where my friends and I came to have our photos taken. Then there was a daughter of the jewelry store in front of Grande Pharmacie, and a few more. The abbess told us that a few of them had suffered great tragedies at sea; some lost their husbands or their children and were now just by themselves. At first she took them in and gave them refuge. Eventually they asked to join as nuns. The abbess invited us to lunch. She would then introduce us to the nuns, as I was also a Buddhist.
I was following my cousin and his wife to the kitchen to help get lunch ready, but my cousin stopped me.
– You are guests. Don’t enter the kitchen. Today you are the abbess’ guests.
The nuns and a few Buddhists sat along the long table on one side. We were the only “civilians” there. The abbess introduced us as folks from the same town. I stood up and folded my arms. All of a sudden I saw big, round eyes from a nun at the end of the table. The nun just caught my eyes too, then looked down. There was telepathy between my eyes and hers. In this whole world only the Princess had such eyes.
After lunch was the afternoon break for the abbess. We thanked her and offered some donations to fix up the main hall.
I bid farewell to the abbess, looking around to search for something. But all was silence except the temple’s bells chiming, fading in the air yet lingering, never ending.
I walked out of the gate of the temple. The temple was on a flat surface, but I felt as if I was strolling at the foot of a hill. In my mind was the image of Ngọc who just bid farewell to “the monk” Lan for the last time at Long Giáng Temple in the novel “Hồn Bướm Mơ Tiên” (Fairy from A Butterfly’s Spirit) (6) by Khái Hưng, the story that the Princess made me tell again and again numerous times.
Phạm Tín An Ninh
Translated to English by Thúy Messegee
Translator’s Notes
(1) There was an unsuccessful an attempt at assassinating President Ngô Đình Diệm during his visit to Ban Mê Thuộc in 1957.
(2) From the Chinese legend “The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl”. Their love was not allowed, andthus they were banished to opposite sides of the heavenly river (symbolizing the Milky Way). Once a year, on the 7th day of the 7th lunar month, a flock of magpies would form a bridge to reunite the lovers for a single day. (Source: Wikipedia)
(3) Lament of A Soldier’s Wife: a poem translated from Chinese to Vietnamese by Đoàn thị Điểm (one of a few translators) narrating loneliness and hardships a wife went through when her husband was conscripted to serve the king far away from home.
(4) Complaints of A Royal Harem: A Vietnamese poem lamenting the hard life of a beautiful woman selected to join the royal harem but lived a secluded, lonely life and never met the King.
(5) Tôn nữ: last name given to female offsprings of the royal family.
(6) The Fairy from A Butterfly’s Spirit: the novel by Khái Hưng, one of the founders of Tự Lực Văn Đoàn Writers’ Club in the 1930’s. It is a story about a young man who went to visit his uncle, the abbot of Long Giáng Temple. There he met a young, handome monk whom he suspected was a woman in disguise. She was indeed a woman. The two felt a strong love for each other, but the woman was committed to a life of following Buddha and refused him. They kept thinking of each other and were unable to get over their ill-fated love.
(7) The author used the first letters of the lines to spell out a love message: NINH LOVES VAN
(8) A widespread mockery of a group of poets who had no talent but were full of themselves. One day they wanted to jointly compose a poem. They followed each other to make the following verses:
“The toad was inside the cave The toad got out of the cave The toad sat in front of cave Then the toad jumped away.”
Then they congratulated each other for co-composing a great poem. The term “toady poetry” was coined to refer to poems that are bad poetry.
(9) The spring-summer offensive of 1972 by Communist North Vietnam resulted in 100,000 dead from the PAVN (North) side and 40,000 dead from the ARVN (South) side.
(10) “A Souvenir for You”: a sad song about a soldier asked by his lover when he would return from war. His desolate answer was “Soon!”. He would soon return on crutches, or on a white helicopter bearing the Red Cross. Or he would return missing a leg would be a burden and ruin the rest of her life. Or he would return in a coffin covered with flowers. The song was judged as anti-war and banned by the South Viet Nam Government.
(11) From the poem by Wang Han 王翰, a poet in the early eighth century in China.
“They sing, they drain their cups of jade, They strum on horseback their guitars. …Why laugh when they fall asleep drunk on the sand ? – How many soldiers ever come home?” (Source: Wikipedia)
