The Mountains Sing(98)
Watching my wife and children depart was the hardest thing I ever had to do.
Alone, I returned home. I rented a rickshaw, stood at street corners and waited for customers. I also waited for the moment I could contact you. I kept believing things would soon change, that I could soon travel back to our home village. Unfortunately, prosecutions against those like me continued. If I sent you letters or came back to see you, I would bring you serious harm.
I longed for news about Linh, Thi?n, Nhan, and my parents-in-law, but only terrible stories reached me. Stories about boat people being robbed, raped, and murdered by pirates at sea; stories about boats running out of food, water, and petrol, being capsized by storms. I could do nothing but pray.
When I fell ill, I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t serious, that it was only caused by my worries. Then I threw up blood and couldn’t get up anymore. I had to sell my house to finance the treatments.
Now, I am in this shack, hoping to get better, longing to see you and tell you how much I’ve yearned for you.
So, I have tried to explain the reasons I couldn’t contact you any earlier. There’s another question that must be burning in your minds: How did Thu?n’s letter come into my possession?
It was a miracle.
It happened in 1972, after a bombing raid. My unit was searching a forest where the enemy had been hiding. Near a bomb crater, I found the body of a soldier whose uniform and hat bore the Communist stars. I searched his knapsack. Among the usual things were a bunch of handwritten letters.
I was supposed to give the letters to my commanding officer but couldn’t resist going through the addresses on the envelopes. Addresses of villages, districts, towns, cities. Addresses of mothers, fathers, sisters, grandparents. I studied them quickly.
Suddenly my heart jumped. “G?i M? Tr?n Di?u Lan, 173 Ph? Kham Thiên, Hà N?i.” The letter was addressed to you, Mama, and the sender was Nguy?n Hoàng Thu?n—my brother. I quickly hid the letter and, once I was alone, opened it, devouring each word. Tears wet my face. For the next years, the letter stayed inside my breast pocket. It gave me hope for another miracle, that I would be united with my family.
I’d wanted to see you in better circumstances, when I had a job, when I was surrounded by my loving wife and children. But once again, fate has reduced me to a loser, a sick man. A man who has nothing to give, except for his burden of pain and sorrow.
Mama, Ng?c, ??t, Thu?n, H?nh, and Sáng, if you meet me before I die, please find the strength inside of you to look past my pitiful appearance and see a fire inside of me. It burns for you, for our ancestors, and for our village. It burns, asking for your forgiveness. Please forgive me, for I haven’t been there for you. Please forgive me, for I have fought in the war. But I didn’t fight against you, I fought for my right to freedom.
Always and always,
Minh
I put down the letter, exhausted. I couldn’t believe Uncle Minh had decided to become a soldier despite the chance to escape the draft. On the other hand, he’d suffered injustices. And he, like Uncle ??t, hated the war.
Grandma pushed herself up, wobbling like a shadow toward the bed.
“Perhaps he lied.” Auntie H?nh eyed Uncle Minh, who now wept in Grandma’s arms. “Maybe he killed Brother Thu?n. That’s how he got the letter. That’s why he didn’t dare contact Mama.”
“Thu?n said that he was sending his letter with a comrade who was traveling North,” said Uncle ??t. “That matched with what Brother Minh wrote. Our eldest brother, I know, would never lie to us.”
My mother’s eyes welled up with tears. “But he did fight alongside the blood-thirsty American imperialists and alongside those monsters. . . .”
“Sister, it was the stupid war,” said Uncle ??t. “Remember the Southern soldier who rescued you? And the door gunner who spared my life? Not all those who fought on the other side were bad.”
My mother bit her lip.
“Sisters,” my uncle continued, “don’t forget how wonderful Brother Minh was to us. He was the one who defended us from bullies. Remember the guy who used to throw rocks at us on the way to school? And how Brother Minh faced him for us?”
“He built rafts and rowed us out on the village pond,” whispered my mother. “Once I wanted a g?o flower high up on the tree, he climbed to pick it for me. The branch broke, he fell . . . he fell down so hard. I ran to him, to find him laughing. He said he got a good massage on his bum. He gave me the flower, perfectly intact.” She cried harder.
“That’s Eldest Brother Minh,” said Uncle ??t, “He’s our brother. Don’t let anything change that.”
“Those childhood memories mean nothing.” Auntie H?nh shook her head. “Even if he didn’t kill Thu?n himself, his comrades did.” She looked at her watch. “I can’t stay. The last train is leaving for Sài Gòn in half an hour.”
“But we just got here,” my mother and Uncle ??t exclaimed in one voice.
“I can’t carry the burden of this family a minute longer,” said Auntie H?nh. “For years I’ve tried to do the best for everyone, but no one cares what I’ve gone through. If Brother Minh is so great, tell him to fight the bullies at my children’s school. The bullies who’ve been calling my kids B?c K? ngu—“stupid Northerners.” The bullies who’ve been saying that we invaded the South, taking away their parents’ jobs.”