topics: |  fiction | vietnam | military

Excerpts

That was the dry season when the sun burned harshly, the wind blew fiercely,
and the enemy sent napalm spraying through the jungle and a sea of fire
enveloped them, spreading like the fires of hell.  Troops in the fragmented
companies tried to regroup, only to be blown out of their shelters again as
they went mad, became disoriented and threw themselves into nets of bullets,
dying in the flaming inferno.  Above them helicopters flew at tree-top
height and shot them almost one by one, the blood spreading out, spraying
from their backs, flowing like red mud. 2

--

Just the week before, in a battle with Saigon commandos on the other side of
the mountain, Kien had truly made fun of death.  When the Southern ARVN had
faced his own Northern NVA troops both sides had quickly scattered, rushing
to take cover behind tree trunks and then firing blindly.  But Kien had
calmly walked forward.  The enemy fired continuously from behind a tree ahead
of him but Kien hadn't even bothered to duck.  He walked on lazily, seemingly
oblivious to the fire.  One southern soldier behind a tree fired hastily and
the full magazine of thirty rounds from his AK exploded loudly around Kien,
but he walked on unscratched.  Kien had not returned fire even when just a
few steps from his prey, as though he wanted to give the enemy a chance to
survive, to give him more time to change magazines, or time to take sure aim
and kill him.

But in the face of Kien's audacity and cool the man had lost
courage; trembling, he dropped his machine gun.

'Shit!' Kien spat out in disgust, then pulled the trigger from close range,
snapping the ARVN soldier away from the tree, thyen shredding him.

'Ma... aaaaaa!' the dying man screamed.  'Aaaaa...' 13-14

Remember the Playcan fighting in 1972? Remember the pile of corpses in the
men's quarters?  We were up to our ankles in blood, splashing through blood.
I sused to do anything to avoid stabbing with bayonets or bashing skulls in
with my rifle butt, but now I've got used to it.  17

It was hard to remember a time when his whole personality and character had
been intact, a time before the cruelty and the destruction of war had warped
his soul.  A time when he had been deeply in love, passionate, aching with
desire, hilariously frivolous and light-hearted, or quickly depressed by love
and suffering.  Or blushing in embarrassment.  When he, too, was worthy of
being a lover and in love... 26-7

But war was a world with no home, no roof, no comforts.  A miserable journey,
of endless drifting.  War was a world without real men, without real women,
without feeling. 27

[Afterwards] Often in the middle of a busy street, in broad daylight, I've
suddenly become lost in a daydream.  On smelling the stink of rotten meat
I've suddenly imagined I was back crossing Hamburger Hill in 1972, walking
over strewn corpses.  The stench of death is often so overpowering I have to
stop in the middle of the pavement, holding my nose, while startled,
suspicious people step around me, avoiding my mad stare. 42-3

In my bedroom, on many nights the helicopters attack overheaded.  The dreaded
whump-whump-whump of their rotor blades bring horror for us in the field.  I
curl up in defence against the expected vapour-streak and the howling of
their rockets.  ... But the whump-whump-whump continues without the attack,
and the helicopter images dissolve, and I see in its place a ceiling fan.
Whump-whump-whump. 43

And me already forty. An age I once thought distant, strange, somhow
unattainable. 43

[Self-reference] Is this the author who avoids reading anything about any
war, the Vietnam war or any other great wars>  The one who is frightened by
war stories?  Yet who himself cannot stop writing war stories, stories of
rifles firing, bombs dropping, enemies and comrades, wet and dry seasons in
battle.  In fact, the one who cannot write about anything else?  51

When starting this novel, the first in his life, he planned a post-war plot.
He started by writing about the MIA Remains-Gathering team, those
about-to-be-demobilized solidiers on the verge of returning to ordinary
civilian life. // But relentlessly, his pen disobeyed him. 51

[Kien] feels that as a sone he had not sufficiently loved or respected his
father. [see "hieu", Davieson] 52

On summer evenings when there were power blackouts and it was too hot inside,
everyone came out to sit out in front, near the only water tap servicing the
whole three-storey building.  55

The tap trickled, as drop by drop every story was told.  Nothing remained
secret. People said that Mrs. Thuy, the teacher widowed since her twenties,
who was about to retire and become a grandmother, had suddenly fallen in love
with Mr. Tu, the bookseller living on the corner of the same street.  The two
old people had tried to hide their love but had failed.  It was true love,
something that can't be easily hidden. 55

The spirit of Hanoi is strongest in the night, even stronger in the rain. 62

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. 64 [see poem: try to forget]

The sorrow of war inside a soldier's heart was in a strange way similar to
the sorrow of love.  It was a kind of nostalgia, like the immense sadness of
a world at dusk. 86

The sorrow of the battlefield could not normally be pinpointed to one
particular event, or even one person.  If you focused on any one event, it
would become a tearing pain. 86

[Vietnamese saying:] One's life is only a handspan; he who sleeps too much
shortens it by half. 107

[Phuong and Kien meet by the lake.  She has come wearing a daring swimsuit
under her uniform.  After the swim, she dares him to make love.
(In the new communist world, sex, love,
and marriage are the "Three Don'ts' among the young people).]
As he kissed, a sudden sharp pang struck within him and he breathed in
sharply, withdrawing.  Phuong reacted with fright, shame, and confusion,
rolling herself away and buttoning her blouse over her swimsuit. 123
I've often wondered why I loved you so passionately.  I'm a free spirit, a
rebel out of step in these warring times.  You're perfectly suited to them.
Despite these great differences we loved each other, regardless of everything
else. 124

[Eventually] he fell into a warm dreamlike state, and he began unbuttoning
her blouse, uncovering her beautiful pale breasts which rose between his eyes
and the dark sky.  He moved gently and began suckling her, softly at first,
then with a strong passion, holding her breasts between both hands and
tasting her, young and sweet.  But he dared not accept her challenge to make
love to her. 127

[Indeed, in the entire story, he never makes love to her.  She accompanies
him to the front, through a night of gruelling bombings on their troop
train.  At one point he is thrown out of the goods compartment they are in,
and as he is leaving he sees a big burly man raping Phuong.  After many
hours, when he comes back, she is almost in a trance, practically naked, and
blood trickling between her legs.  150-167.
Later, after the war, it seems she has taken many lovers.  Eventually she
moves away.]

'... I can't help myself, but I also have to live.  I'll probably die some
sinful, pleasurable death.  But ignore me, I'm finished.  This is the way
I'll see my life out,' she said.

He pleaded with her to return, saying naive and foolish things, which she
ignored.  He said he wanted to live with her again, instead of just next door
to her.  But she cut in, "Don't even think about it.  It's over.  We deserved
to have had a happy life together, but events conspired against us.  You know
that.  You know the circumstances as well as I do.  Let's go our own separate
ways from now on.  Forever.  It's the only way."... 134

As she was leaving she turned as leaned against the door.  'Forgive me, and
now forget me,' she said.  'I may not know what exactly my furure holds, but
I do know we can't meet again.'

She departed, forever.  He had had only two loves in his entire life.  Phuong
at seventeen in the pre-war days, and Phuong now, after the war. 135

author bio

b. Hanoi 1952. Served with the Glorious 27th Youth Brigade. Of the five
hundred who went to war with the brigade in 1969, he is one of ten who
survived.

Vietnamese title : Than Phan Cua Tinh Yeu, 1991, English version by Frank
Palmos from (French?) translation by Phan Thanh Hao, 1994.