Happiness and sadness fill my heart in these days bright with fire.
“These are the days of strong Communist spirit: a spirit clear like glass, hard and strong like diamond and bright with thousands of the lights of a trusting heart. Communists love their life, but when necessary will die as easily as a feather”
December 31, 1969. New Year’s Eve 1969: we went on operations and returned to our old position; saying good-bye to friends and the people I love in Pho Khanh and making me feel that they are hard to forget.
One month ago I returned from work with the Northerners after 2 years away. The first person I met, Van, held me tightly in her arms and cried… Van, the honest girl who loves me like one of her family. How I treasure her. Tonight I was on my way again. I walked along a road filled with thorns and “tiger tongues” but my mind is filled with thought. Day by day for the dead on our side the way is crueler. Just a few days ago I was almost killed or captured, being only about 20 meters from them (the enemy) when our group started to run. By good fortune none of the cadres or wounded soldiers was hurt, but I did lose my bag leaving me only a radio and the special equipment that I usually carry. One night we slept in the forest and took one day to cross the mountain to arrive at Pho Khanh. There we stayed in the friendship of the brothers Bon, Truu, Hon, Long, Ba, Duc, etc. and their family. They all took good care of me and I met Hoan, Tong and Xu… all nice and warm hearted cadres.
This afternoon I left again and all my good friends kept with me for a long ways. When will I return here to sit with the hard wind blowing at the ferry crossing on the An Khe Canal?* Good-bye lovely Pho Khanh, good-bye Van: I hope to see you again.
January 1, 1970. One year older, so 30 years old is not that far away any more. In a few more years I will become an old and serious cadre: thinking that way makes me a little sad. My youth is over: fire, smoke, and war have robbed my youth of the happiness of love. Who doesn’t love spring, who doesn’t want brightness in their eyes when they are 20 years old? But… the 20-year-olds of this generation have given away the dreams and happiness which they should have had. Their dreams now are of ways to defeat the American Pirates and for independence and freedom for the country. From these dreams they will come to own what they will have. I am the same as the young men leaving for the front lines of war who go through the explosive sounds of bombs and fire. My youth is soaked with sweat, tears, blood and the bones of those living and those already dead. My youth has become strong from the challenges and hardships of the battlefield: my youth has also burned hot from the flames of hatred night and day. Also there remains the green of the colorful dreams of youth and the love which shines from the eyes which look at me: the eyes black from lack of sleep which always come to me happy and alive, eyes also shining with deep emotion under long eyebrows, and the naughty eyes of a girlfriend who seems to understand everything and who gives me all her trust. Thuy, my dear, is that a happiness which only Thuan can enjoy? Stay happy and keep in your heart all the dreams, letting the green color of youth stay always bright in your smiling eyes, okay?
January 2, 1970. I am an adult but why am I still like a small girl student who is angry and turns away when they still have many things to say? I am still the little Thuy spoiled by love. The love of all the people lulls me into the dreams of youth. When will I stop expecting life to spoil me? When will I learn patience like the kind mother, or the good wife who withstands all hardships to bring happiness to her family? I cannot do this: I can take the hardships of the material world and be generous to the people I love, but in spiritual matters I think of myself first.
January 3, 1970. On the same road where he said good-bye when he went with me close to the mountain, he still keeps his deep and warm feelings for me, but can still only utter a few of his thoughts when he again said good-bye.
The sky is so dark and it’s raining hard: I’m walking at night in the rain and constantly get lost, not remembering the road. I don’t blame you, but I do pity myself. I know that you are at the meeting and that your thoughts follow my trembling steps on this muddy road. I know that you cannot give attention to the sounds of gunfire in the direction I travel, but how sad it seems! Dear, why can’t we walk together like we did in those days? No matter what happens please keep your eyes bright like precious jade: don’t let there be any dirt in them. Please stay courageous in the face of any hardship; remain calm and clear whatever happens, determined to protect our pure secret emotions until life’s end.
January 4, 1970. I met Tan at night but could not say anything in the crowd of people. Dear Tan, why is love never perfect in the fire and smoke of this place? Is this right? Remember the day when we said good-bye and you held my hand saying only: “Please be careful at home, okay?” I looked into your eyes and already knew what you wanted to say. We said good-bye again… all the time while saying good-bye worrying and thinking about each other. Go dear Tan, lovely comrade who has led me along all the hard parts of this road. I hope that when you see me again I can say everything from the heart of the girl to whom you already have given your entire love and care to.
January 6, 1970. Work is so busy, which makes my head ache… or is it something else? What is it which makes me unhappy? I held some precious jade in my hand, but I dropped it: even though when I picked it up it was unbroken, it was still dull with scratches. How sad this is. Dear Thuy, please follow the advice of comrade M who you love: you must be determined, if you lack determination for even a moment it will cause many sorrows and results you can never foresee. Please prepare to gain the qualities of a Party member, okay? My life is a journal with all the clean white pages, and all the words written in it are beautiful like a song: please continue to write these words.
Please swear before the court of your heart that you will maintain completely all the precious aspects of a Party member with an education in Socialism, okay?
“Please keep the spirit of Communism, a spirit clear like glass and bright with the thousands of lights of a believing heart…” M asked me: “Am I Vu Khiem* when you are Hung Giang?” How can I answer at this time? The war has taken all my dreams of love: I don’t want and cannot think about that because the life around me will not allow it. So M, please go away, follow the calling of the battlefield, and I will remain here, also given to the war. Promise that on the day we meet again we can talk about love, my dear comrade.
January 7, 1970.
I stand here in the very windy forest and mountains
Rain covering all the trees of the woodland.
I hear the winter wind and the storm blowing here,
My heart feels suddenly very sad.
Oh, all the people that I love far away do you know
This afternoon what I think in the cold wind?
This afternoon…
Who is walking in the lines of trees
On the wide way which is the country’s heart?
Who walks in unity with the Party?
Who looks thinking of the South at the coconut shadow?
And the shadow that I love
Suddenly returns to the heart of Ha Noi
And all those nights at the assemblies by the
Ho Hoan Kiem River,*
Hand holding hand happy to welcome the coming spring.
This afternoon…
Along the peaks of the Truong Son Mountains*
Liberation troops build the road to the front.
Do you think anything my dears
When you look at that southern mountain chain?
The ocean waves are still deep with love
Still moving night and day waving and calling
Still waiting for you with shining medals
And a promise that when the country is peaceful and happy
We will hold your hand again and together
Welcome the spring in happiness.
This afternoon…
In a house in the familiar hamlet
Who thinks of anything but shining eyes?
Rain and sun in your youthful hair
Still cannot fade the most beautiful love in your heart.
Those long nights of duty
My heart was excited when I returned to the old road,
The same road we traveled
When we said good-by with family love.
Everyone knows that if we die
For tomorrow, for Country, for freedom;
Then in our hearts the dream will be complete
And also complete will be our deep love.
This afternoon…
In thousands of thoughts
Which sigh on the worried face
I saw already in the long night
The black eyes not yet asleep
Which worry for the people, and the comrades
Sad when bombs still fall.
This afternoon…
I fly back to be together,
I kiss the people I love and tears come from my eyes,
Tears fall filled with love.
The way I travel is so difficult:
Feet cross the rivers and mountains and keep on.
It doesn’t matter that it is hard,
Eyes look in the direction of tomorrow.
Who knows what will be?
Love has made us take a long view.
January 8, 1970. At the Party review I saw comrades’ mistakes which made me afraid. I won’t ever let the Branch have a meeting to criticize me like that.
This afternoon I sat in a chair in the operating room and suddenly thought of Lien. Here she had lived and died. Her grave is on the mountain top: though I haven’t visited there I think of her whenever I come into this room. Life is so short, but everyday must be a worthy one. Don’t let anyone talk about and be able to criticize your past.
January 9, 1970. I miss you. Who are you, a relative, a comrade, a young man I love or a stranger? What can I say now?
What is happening in life Thuy?
January 10, 1970. Today the big Branch meeting had 3 new comrades, one of which was me. I hadn’t thought that the Party was so young, but really in the Revolution people advance so fast and I am myself raised in this strength. The way we go we still face thousands of hardships. I hope that I step strongly up, walking over all the obstacles so to be a worthy Party member.
January 12, 1970. All those days living near him filled my mind with heavy thoughts: if I say nothing it isn’t right, but if I do say anything, what will I say? Everything needing to be said is already said. Oh! How can I say anything when life is still counted by seconds and minutes? I don’t want to think too far ahead: I only want to talk about now. One minute of life is one minute of honor. Ahead of us are thousands of troubles. I hope you will keep our love and take it to lean on for encouragement.
January 13, 1970. M left already! I cannot think about right now. Eight years ago under the tree on the old road I said good-bye to him as he left to go south, with no words of promise and never a tear we said good-bye, then for five years I kept my heart for this Liberation soldier. Then I also came south following the calls of country and love. I met M again and everyone said that nothing could compare to this love. But life has too many troubles. When we were far from each other I called his name every second and every minute, but when we met again I let self-respect control my emotions. M does not belong to me, of course he saves his highest love for the Party and the People, but if he leaves so little for me then… I can’t answer my love-filled heart. I never asked him to stay with me and to marry me, but even through the falling of bombs and explosions of fire I still kept my love. M did not and I had to force my heart to forget all that made my heart alive for 12 years. It is really like he said: I have a kind, deep love but too much self-respect.
Three years have passed and we have only seen each other twice, both of us sad when we thought about love.
Who is at fault? Is it mine or is it his? No-one can answer: everyone discusses it and makes suggestions. I was told that it isn’t necessary to continue to care for someone who is not worthy of that love. A number of people have a better understanding and tell me I should go back to him and not to be so proud. But both of us just laughed in the face of their ideas. No-one really knows what is going on with our love, so the decision is ours alone.
Now he has left without meeting me, just like the letter he left for me said: “With a living love there is no need to see each other, even from north to south, far or near. Anywhere I am it will be the same many years from now as it was eight years ago for us to love each other or to live with each other as the closest people in the world. The decision remains yours”.
That decision is alright. Here I will give my entire life to the Struggle and to work: I cannot have another love, and he cannot have another love except me.
Life gives me this road, so I must try to travel it: when we see each other then we will talk about the future. I hope M, the comrade that I love, will be safe on the way he goes and I send my best love to him, the love of a friend and a comrade.
January 15, 1970. A rainy afternoon in Dong Ram. I returned to Dong Ram after saying good-by to this place on April 28, 1969 when the clinic was attacked. Today, my heart filled with sorrow, I came back and looked at the land and the ruined houses with the trees all burned.
Here are many sad and happy memories of my revolutionary life. Here I was accepted under the Party flag after so many days of hard work. Here I trained to rise from a new student to become a cadre leader with more or less duties as a result. Here I found the purest family love which made me strong enough to bear the hardships of the life. At this river I waited for him every noon, at this tree I sat with him on the day we separated. How many memories one-by-one come to mind... the Pirates took away two of my journals already, but even though I lost those two books I still have a very precious one, my mind: it notes everything that happens in this life.
January 19, 1970. Thank you dear comrade: you came to me with a true affection like a brother’s love. You are a place for me to lean on. Life is so complicated; I don’t know how to satisfy everyone, just like you said. Would it be natural if I was never sad when meeting trouble on the way? I have said many times that life is a colorful picture: next to the main color is red, victory red, and the green of dreams, but there is still the black mourning color and cold and courageous gray. Anyway, I still love life, the life of the revolutionary filled with love and burning with belief in her own strength.
Dear Tan, do you believe me? Please believe me, do you hear?
January 21, 1970. I find that for a few days I have been angry for no reason at all. What has caused it? My friends and I, none of us feels happy. I must not be that way. Please be severe on yourself, train yourself and know how to yield to him, become nice and kind, a responsible cadre, understanding all the people and knowing how to look after their interests above everything else first of all. I must be humble and courteous. Believe that people must bring admiration but that you must not admire yourself. Please be stern and control all your weaknesses.
January 22, 1970. An afternoon with a few people at Hoc Ban.* The CH class of Pho Cuong has already left so there is no-one in the empty houses. I returned and cannot hide my sadness at this place being empty. Am I thinking of anything in particular? I must believe that the people were also sad to leave this place. Oh! Love is always anxious in my heart.
January 24, 1970. Dew makes the night cold, the moon is bright like a mirror and the cold is just like a small knife pricking my skin. Parachute cloth is too thin so I shiver, and the cold won’t let me sleep. It seems that a lively emotion fills my heart. I heard the warm breathing of my beloved comrades and their hearts beat strongly in their chests. This struggle has thousands and thousands of hardships. Yesterday I passed boot prints from the pirates and an army which has yet to be buried just fallen on the road, with the wires of enemy mines all around the road. We went through the pass with no enemy activity, but soon they will return to the attack. Death is so near and simple. What makes us feel that life is still growing strong and that love remains with us… a dream of tomorrow still burning in our hearts and the hearts of all the people in the same unit… is this true beloved comrade?
January 28, 1970. There is hope and sadness shining in those eyes. When will the hope be realized… from a summer day with the fire of war burning the sky… from the night with the moonlight gloomy on the dusty road… from the hardships when the dead lie next to you? My dear Thuy, girl filled with strength and ideas, are you strong enough to extinguish that hope? Like the person planting a tree in the desert, for himself he thinks that only here can the plant be placed, but still there is a picture in his mind, the image of a thin and weak branch with its attractive flowers. No! This branch of flowers can only be planted in a copper vase: it will die if planted in the desert. We must understand that and act accordingly. Only when nature is controlled and fresh water is brought to the desert will the branch of flowers live: I don’t believe that I am not part of that generation!
January 29, 1970. Little Nga is dead: just a few days ago she stood here, her head to one side singing: “I still have the fish that the crab kicks; he lies on the cleft and has 8 small crab legs”*. Nga was born in the forest and mountains, with one hand her mother carried her, with the other hand she carried the sickle, studying and working for four years. The women of Viet Nam have a very hard life, but no-one has had more difficulties than Su: she married and had a child and took care of the baby without her husband’s support because of some misunderstanding. Through four years of hardships she raised the child while studying, looking older than her years. But she was successful: she is a pharmacist, a Party member, a mother with a good child, and a wife patient with her husband. She returned to the delta to be with her husband again and the happy days passed. She took her things back to the province and not a month later her daughter died.
Nga died because of swelling in her lungs which could not be treated because of an enemy attack. No one realized she was sick, so no one came to her house which was close to the attack. I am very sorry for her and her mother though Su is not good to me because she doesn’t understand me. All because of the war… if there was no war a simple disease like this wouldn’t have caused Nga to die.
February 1, 1970. All those meaningless stories are like thorns stuck in my heart. You must know how to protect your honor, please school your character and don’t be sorry about where you are going. From now on I must try to be worthy of M and all the people who believe in me. The way passes deep holes so if I don’t pay a little attention I will fall in. Stay awake and vigilant please!
February 2, 1970. The days are so heavy with hate. The Americans are still here so there are still days like today. On a night with no moonlight I want to see clearly every comrade’s face but I can only make out that there are a number of people. I stand looking at him hoping he is vigilant. Oh who can understand that the price of even a single minute of life today is so dear! One minute alive is a single minute of working for the Revolution. I want to forget it all but cannot. How can I forget when the blood of my comrades still is being lost?
February 3, 1970. Is there some aura in the air surrounding me? Are those the eyes of a face I love, wide with sorrow for an unsuccessful job? Is it the poverty of a family beset by war? I don’t know anymore, I only feel sad. It is someone else’s sadness but why does it weigh on my heart? The New Year is here but what does it mean? Am I sad? Has spring not returned to me? The sun comes out but it’s still cold like last year. The sun shines on the vegetables but I still feel cold because I don’t have the love of the person that I love the most. Now… eight years are over!!
February 6, 1970. It’s New Year’s Eve* and four years away from home already, the forth year away from my family. Dear Ha Noi, tonight the Sword River* people still throng together, the Turtle Tower* still shines with electric lights but I know Ha Noi is still not completely happy. With heart still half bleeding how can you be happy? Tonight everyone has a heavy sorrow, and here there is also singing, flowers and New Year’s cakes, but my heart is only thinking.
For four years I haven’t had a New Year in the delta. Dear Thuy, can’t the love of the delta warm your heart? The smile on your lips is not a smile in your heart!
No, please be happy with the spring; please love every minute of this life Thuy!
February 7, 1970. Another spring night with drops of spring rain wetting my hair. Tonight it’s very dark, the stars’ gloomy light only shows the village’s sandy road. I said good-bye to him, but my heart is heavy with worry: the coming circumstances may become very tense. I went leaving behind a lot of hardships. When will we see each other again? Oh, how hateful it is, war only brings pain and sorrow to us, is this right?? I know that I am wrong when I tell you that I don’t hope for the day I see my parents again. You blame my sadness, but that is the truth. I am not sad. Good-bye, I will see you again for sure, and kiss the black eyes that I love.
February 15, 1970. In those days of living next to you I was happy when I saw our love grow. I believed you just like I believed myself, this faith letting me overcome the difficulties and obstacles which grew and controlled my life. How happy I was when the hardships were over: I always had you to lead me, your care for me increased little by little, you taught me a brother’s love for a younger sister, you took me from being secretary to the village to being a new cadre, then to become a Party member. You took care of me with the love of a person in the same unit who had the same duties in this lifeand-death struggle.
Please keep that, Tan…… ”all that love”.
February 18, 1970. I never hoped that he could go to A, if he goes I will lose in my life a place to lean on, lose a comfort which encourages me, and lose a person who protects me on all sides. But for his future, I hope he can go. The circumstances there now are very dangerous. I cannot but worry when I hear the roar of the enemy trucks over there. All the firing sounds like a knocking in my head. Please try to be vigilant, do you hear me?
February 19, 1970. I saw him again and how happy I was. It seems I am alive again like in the days when we were in the Dong Ram clinic. He came from the delta with a deep affection, but when we saw each other we were natural and seemingly very cold with each other: why?
Tonight at the meeting in the forest house I knew there were eyes looking at me with care and happiness. Oh, how lively and deep is our affection!
Tam heard the news that his mother almost died and that his father was seriously wounded when the enemy took him away. He cried and could not stop: what could I say to him? The heartfelt words hurt him more. There are those who bring up their own sorrows to stop the sadness, but I cannot. So many times I have seen this, yet my heart is still full of sorrow and fears seeing it again. Thuan also tried to say something to him, he looked at me only once but I understood that he wanted to tell me that one year ago this circumstance was his, repeated again a few months later.
Oh God! Love for him also came with tears like that. I felt sorry for him because his family had died and I brought the love of a family to him to warm his heart.
February 20, 1970. I watched her a long time, a girl with a strong body, long hair down to her dress, brown skin and big eyes with a sad smile on her face. When did this sadness appear, from the time her love stopped or from the time her smile destroyed that love? I admire her with the regard of a person standing inside looking out at someone walking in the rain on a cold, wind-blown road… who must keep on because she hasn’t gotten to a stopping-place. It appears that she envies me, not because her love has been lost, but because I am loved by most people. It doesn’t matter, because this is not a romantic love, but it is one with a heavy strength. Life is like that, so complicated: even though you want to live very simply you cannot.
February 21, 1970. Once more I came close to death: a few helicopters and HU-1As circled and fired for close to an hour. Their target was only 10 meters away so deafening bullets and fire struck all around us. We all stayed in the trenches not knowing when we would be struck. We seemed to look at death, but then it all passed away. They didn’t find their targets so after firing for awhile the enemy left. We hurried away from the area, looking back at the beautiful forest trees and our building. My heart ached like it had stopped: after two months of the strength and passion of the ten of us to build this place with our hands and minds, all the cold and raining days with the hill slippery as poured oil we had still smiled and sang as we carried the big lumber to build the place. All the noondays when no-one wanted to nap, leaving their bowls of rice and hurrying with knives, busy to decorate our own place… so much work and effort now like sand poured in the South China Sea… what can I say? When will the wounded soldiers have a place to rest? When will we have a life like before? I am so sorry for my comrades who worked so hard all those difficult days.
February 22, 1970. For all the nights sleeping in the forest… the roof is green trees, the moon is very naughty looking straight down through the leaves at my face, half in laughter and half seeming to understand a cadre of the Revolution in her hard times.
I awoke at midnight unable to sleep. I looked at the moon and thought a lot. Three years in the fire-and-smoke-filled battlefield and I have grown up, lying here I worry for the wounded with no place to be cured. Lying here I worry for the clinic now unfinished after having spent so much strength and effort, my worry that of a person responsible to the Party. And for me, what is the matter? I have already given my youth to the Country so even if I am lost what is worth worrying about? Anyway, I will still die, so must live worthily each day. Honor is precious jade without price so don’t let anyone walk over it no matter how much power they have.
February 24, 1970. I feel like blaming him, why did he do something like that? I only want him to not make the mistake which Le made before and which Met made these last few days.
Please be careful, you with your lively heart filled with strength.
Tonight three of us sat and talked, my heart nervous with sorrow: it may be the last night we are together. Everyone knows this is true, naturally. What can I say? I can only answer that even in the explosions of fire and bombs; even in the heat of burning or boiling I will keep always our true affections. This way we must travel has too many thorns; any other way, including our way together, will be the same. Don’t think that I am mad at you or blame you like today and that I don’t cherish you. Because I care for you so much, I want you to have perfect happiness. I read your diary and know that your care for me more than anyone else, but why do you have something to hide from me? That makes me very angry at you: I want to be very generous regarding your weakness, but I cannot. I have to say that that is also a challenge for you: if you put the love of me first then it is all right; if not then forget about it all… it’s up to you. I always keep the self-respect of the petty bourgeoise and cannot be any different.
February 25, 1970. A leader’s duties are very complicated. It’s very hard; how can I make everyone happy? In every circumstance I must be firm to:
I am still too young, so I must please try hard to learn and to train myself to be a cadre worthy of the Party’s faith.
The conversation also revealed a number of problems: I must be careful the way I speak and in my every action because near me there are always jealous people searching for weaknesses: life is like that! But what can be done? Please live with each other in true affection: these times (already) have millions of difficulties and you are surrounded by the dead; forget the small things.
February 26, 1970. Now I feel so sorry for Chin, a wounded soldier still so young with an arm bandaged and not yet healed, and with legs still trembling when he walks. But he still has to leave the hospital. He smiles and sings, but I know that he is tired. Oh God, who knows that this young boy is a courageous soldier who has killed the enemy Americans and is a very special guerilla from Pho Cuong, one of the best hamlets of the village? My love is suddenly stirred, but why is that? Though when he left I only told him to be vigilant, try to let his arm heal, and then looked at him with friendly eyes.
Well, go, and I wish you a fast recovery and return to your fighting unit.
February 27, 1970. Life is really a colorful painting: I am like an artist just out of school and into practical considerations. In front of me is the mountain chain with some green mountains with white clouds hanging alongside, some of them crumbling from bombs and bullets and scarred red with bomb craters. I have come from far away on a road filled with hardship. The burning sun with the trees dry because of the poisons… the river’s cool water and the roots of fragrant flowers… and the faces I met on the way with shining eyes bright with love looking at me with belief and understanding. Some of the eyes look at me to see what is going on and some eyes to fool me try to hide a jealous light with a false smile.
Dear Thuy, make smart choices, stay smart and calm. You are old enough; hopefully you know now how to be a person: don’t waste your faith, don’t be too narrowminded. You must know how to follow the Party rules. Why, now I am also a leader, developing in the same Movement (my “rally day” was in November, 1968, and I became Branch Secretary in June 1969). But can I get everyone’s support? Is it because of those accomplishments above? Of course no one progresses without weaknesses: I am not afraid of that. If something is wrong then try hard to control that: if something is right then try hard to encourage that, don’t follow others, don’t be too arbitrary or official, don’t be afraid to hurt someone and go against principles. Before doing anything be careful. I am playing a role on stage with so many eyes in the audience examining me. I can do it of course; it is natural because I am an actress. They praise me when I really do well (but I haven’t done that well yet). If I don’t do so well they will criticize, and criticize a lot. How can I be such an actress? Too bad, etc. and etc…
It would be natural if I was in different circumstances, then no-one would say anything, they would feel sorry for and understand a girl far from home, a weak female who had enjoyed a happy life since her childhood but now meeting so many hardships. But today I am different: “Oh this girl whose strengths and contributions to the Revolution are small compared to mine wants to be my leader? After so many years living and dying on the battlefield in the South and now I let her take command?”
No my dear comrade! I also have a job for the Revolution. The Party hands me an important responsibility only because it wants to use all my talents and abilities for the good of the Party. I am honored because the Party has faith in me, but it is not because of that that I am proud. I understand that I can study and learn many ideas over many years of school, but no university is as good as the practical university. I have only been here for three years and of course that is not as good as your comrades who have spent ten or twenty years in the field. So please approach me in the friendship of blood held in common in order to free the country with the love of persons far away from home who look to the family of the Revolution as the only place to learn about life. Please teach me and help me to be a capable cadre working for the Party. As for me I know what I must do: I know my abilities, and I tell myself that I must be courteous to learn from others around me.
February 28, 1970. Today I am missing Hai a lot: her few letters filled with affection leave me excited and confused. Dear Hai, I will never forget: in summer the burning noon sunshine when I sent you on your way, tears and sweat running down your face. I didn’t have courage enough to return but followed you to Thuong’s table and then left, and then you were gone. Those times I returned to see your mother and Lai I was confused and missed you. Lai has grown, taller than me by half a head with eyes and mouth like you. She loves me a lot. The love of a revolutionary has a wonderful strength: it binds people together with a string that nothing can cut. I have never wanted to return to your mother to ask her for this and for that, and have never used love to gain anything: you are the same, and all the people we love are the same sister! There are some who will never understand this kind of emotion.
Dear sister, so far away do you know that I love you so much?
March 1, 1970. Every night when asleep I have seen clearly the likenesses of people that I love. Why? Because those images are impressed deeply in my mind and my heart, and because I am living here, a place where every step is heavy with memories: the pharmacy room, a heavy rainy afternoon in October 1968, the beautiful moonlight on the chair in room number 1, a night of the Branch meeting, a morning going to the stream to wash clothing, an operation hearing the tired breath and burning hands of those assisting me, one late night returning from visiting patients, and all those days bidding good-bye to the ones leaving with the ones staying standing there not knowing what to say… Oh, all those days passed here and anywhere else, it is the same: all carry deep memories! So what Thuy? I know that my emotions are just like that of Jean van Jean* for Codet, the love of a father for a child, the love of an elder brother for a sister and that is all the consolation for love and the hope of life. I am not like Jean van Jean because I am not that lonely, but in one respect I am just like that old man, and they are like Codet, the sorrowful orphan girl who grew up in the deep love of the old man. But no matter how much she loved him, she still had a life of her own: Maricuyt would come to her… that was it! But Thuy, please don’t be like Jean van Jean: you are different; life welcomes you with all the friendly hands, guiding you up to maturity. I have a lot of people’s love: there is not only one Codet, so don’t be selfish. Jean van Jean can be that way because Codet was his entire life, but me I am not like that. I don’t need to be that way. I have to try to be a person with my own ideas in every circumstance.
March 5, 1970. I get confused and think a lot every time I am with that girl. Can she be worthy of his love? I compare her to myself, already believing that he is like me: he has said things which show that. So what is it? Can she guarantee happiness for him or not? Thinking about him I feel sad that there is the same true affection but not as energetic as before, am I right? Before when late at night after work, just getting over a high fever or after barely escaping capture, his image was before me… now it’s different. Maybe the Struggle has taught me to have a strong heart like my M. Last night I dreamed of meeting all the people North and South, and in those images of people I love were eyes that watched me with deep worry.
March 7, 1970. Away from Pho Cuong one month exactly: it’s strange that I half miss it and half blame it that place so familiar to me. There, there are many things which bind us together: familiar roads with muddy water, the young brush on the road-side which stays frayed because of the artillery fire, the smiles of young soldiers, the words “Sister Hai” which are greetings from the friendly people. There are also some unhappy things there, people who make me unhappy, but most of that is my fault. Please try hard, please care for and protect your honor. Of course you cannot make everyone happy, but if there is something not right, then try seriously to correct that.
March 9, 1970. I don’t accept that I must forgive him, but what does that mean?
Because the many nights of no sleep and sadness make him thin am I sorry? Because of the sad sound of his sorrow which I missed in his conversation and did not finish? Because life is so tenuous that this afternoon the bullet of a soldier under the bridge hit a girl in the stomach in front of her house, and that clothing drying on the mountain showed a helicopter pilot where they were so that nine people were killed, twelve wounded, 4 captured with only 2 escaping after the bombs fell. If I hadn’t been making clothes and staying at home then he also would have gone over there to seek shelter. Oh God, because of all of that should I forgive him? No, I already acted responsibly, I already forgave him and let Cuc’s and his love grow, but to forgive him for the lack of his love for me is impossible. Don’t let emotions make me too simple. It’s easy enough to break apart the close affections which you and I vowed to protect forever. Don’t let emotions control life. I must be like Pavel, or the gadfly, or like M. I have to be that way, do you hear me, and do you understand me my dear comrade?
March 24, 1970. I read your letter: I understand and care for you more, Tan. You really cherish me and care for me with an affection which we always talked about: in any circumstance you will always be faithful to our emotions. It’s not that I don’t believe you: I always said that I trust you like I trust myself… but I sometimes still don’t know whether this is right or not. Because of that please don’t blame me when I am angry at you. Actually because of my kind deep care I feel that I am mad at you. If not, a letter like that with those words is very normal for other people. But… to me it is different: I ask from you a special regard for me, the sort of love a brother has for a young sister.
Is that too much to ask? “I already have given all of my only love to you.” If that is true, then it is not too much: that’s it. Please understand a young woman filled with emotion and life. Still very young, I very easily trust people and life is not really worth that trust. I hope you are the one to lead me step-by-step along this hard and dangerous way, but most honorable is the way we have chosen already.
March 26, 1970. All these moments in the life of people doing the job of the Revolution are worth being noted. I am calm listening to the breath from the beloved comrade warm on my hair, feeling his calloused fingers in my hand, then his hands covering my hands to hold me tightly with emotion. “Deep and pure love” day by day is fresher and more green in my spirit. I care for it, respect it, and protect it; no matter what the situation I will guard its perfection. Oh my dear comrade, life around us is so vital and burning with hate so that the spirit of the members of the fighting unit is bound to us in the secret of love. Even if life today still has thousands of hardships and difficulties we hold each other tightly, firmly step out and flatten all the thorns, hardships, and obstacles. We came together through having the same ideas: this emotion is completely different from romantic love, but it also has a wonderful strength which gives us happiness, hope, and helps us forget the sorrow around us. It also is a flame to warm our hearts: warm and vital hearts need to be nourished by a pure, clean, and correct kind of love.
March 27, 1970. It is always the same for people at bases far away from home; I join with others at 4 o’clock in the morning ready to hear that when dawn comes we will carry our bags and leave for the place we have decided to live at. I can’t believe that this area just went through a fierce bombing raid: all parts of the forest are a mess of collapsed houses and fallen trees with the leaves all blown away. When I put down the bags and was quiet, looking at everyone I could see from their eyes that though they were smiling, they worried and were thinking of the jobs which the Revolution continues to bring. In this situation what will happen? Tonight the rain falls on the bags and a pot left over there makes a sort of very sad music. I look at my comrade and my heart fills with sorrow: he looks pale and skinny; his eyes looking out of his pale and shinning face after the many nights without sleep because of the worry and the work. My dear comrade, no matter how much I care for you, I still have no way to protect your health. My situation won’t let me do anything: I think you understand this.
March 28, 1970. The enemy presses the clinic area very seriously: all the HU-1As and helicopters flying around close to the tree-tops throwing grenades, the short rockets and the cannon fire make me deaf. Artillery shells from Chop Mountain explode next to the trench. A large round brought down the trees next to the trench by the operating shelter. My mind suddenly comes up with a question: if the enemy comes here how will we have time to move the wounded men? Thanh and Xuat left to stand guard at the front and haven’t returned. Guns fired in that direction and planes landed there so I don’t know what happened to anyone over there.
Worry weighs heavily on my mind. I think about the question he asked me: “Who told you to come here and to with-stand all these miseries? Why didn’t you stay in the North?” Was he complaining? I know that he doesn’t blame me but that he only cares about me so asked in this way. Two others also asked the same question. From these hardships we come to understand the value of a revolutionary: those who can stand firmly in the fire and boiling water will come to be like steel. As N. Ostrovsky said: “Steel already tempered by fire and cool water will be harder and will have the strength to cut through all the challenges…”
Tonight the trees in the forest are so quiet, quiet but lively. Here I listen for every movement and follow the enemy’s steps and over there you may be following every one of my steps.
March 29, 1970. For the first time I dug a grave to bury a comrade. Every time the pick struck sparks on stone it was like the sparks of burning hate in my heart. Yesterday when Thanh was returning from the front he was killed and fell just at the river’s edge near our house. Xuat was wounded by their fire and was then taken away by helicopter. His pants were torn and left on one side… not even a month yet and our unit has lost 3 people.
The grave was not well made but Thanh was brought back. One day after his death the blood still ran making the dirt red. I didn’t clearly see his face, only his closed eyes and his paleness. When he lived there were many things I didn’t like about him, but when the dirt covered him I couldn’t stop my tears. So, please try to be a help to each other and love each other when alive, so that although you cry and are sad when someone dies, that you cry only tear-drops on unfeeling dirt.
March 30, 1970. It is very sad all the people that I love! What can I say to make you understand what I understand? The way I travel is so very hard, the way of a girl student becoming a leader: something causes me to be different from others. Is it my way of life, a life of love, a life of too much thinking with my heart? Is the way of life of a petty bourgeoise asking for a little too much? What is all of this? That is the real difference from other people. I am sad that around me are all these jealous people who still feel that they remain courteous. Dear Thuy, please stay calm and strong; please accept those weaknesses in order to change them all. Don’t be sad: you understand life already so save those tears until you are once again in the arms of the people you love. They will understand you like you understand yourself and they will make you feel better with their deep affections. Please smile Thuy? Okay?
Oh you girl student, three years on the battlefield, in the fire and the thorns of life… your legs are stronger so be courageous and step out firmly, girl of Socialism now in the South!
April 1, 1970. The anniversary of 10 years since joining the group, 10 years ago a youth, now I am already a cadre strong in the fire. I am never proud but feel that I did only what I swore to do under the group flag on that day.
All the long nights of thinking and thinking Thuy… please be more serious with yourself and don’t let a single question hurt you. Why don’t people understand me? Of course there are bad people with jealous narrow minds, but even if they are like that most people cannot say anything to them. Do like those people, don’t cry… save your tears until you meet the people that you love. Late at night I sleep next to the people in the same unit. They sleep with the same rhythmic breathing while outside the guns fire loudly. Oh my dear comrades… we all breathe together on the same battlefield of fire, so please love one another, and help each other. With life and death so close why must you be jealous?
April 5, 1970. Do I yearn so much because of loneliness? This afternoon Cuc returned to work at his unit and I suddenly felt sadder.
Life is so complicated and why am I such a small girl with a warm heart filled with emotion? Why? Because since I was little I have just been that way. Listening to Hanh’s idea I felt very sad: there are still those who only live with narrow eyes… they cannot have pure and true emotions like other people. With them there are only material values: they only have a body! My God how terrible that is… so stingy!
Are your words right? “Our affections always remain no matter that time or things change”. That means we will live correctly and will step clear of all the obstacles in our way. I will do the same as you do: I will do exactly as I promised you.
April 9, 1970. I had a strange dream of the days through which I have lived in both the North and South. I saw a special class with all the people in white blouses working beside me with all the microscopes before them. There was a beautiful building given to the members to meet in: I went there as I usually go to all the houses I frequent and there I met him with his clothes so neat, still a person who cares for me with every small action, and with him his sad-faced sister still in a simple dress. Oh God is that what tomorrow will bring? Tomorrow when peace returns will I return to the old school like before, with all the people bound to me on the battlefield able to enjoy the happy and peaceful scenes with me?
April 10, 1970. Only part of the dream is coming true. It seems that I am not happy when the things I hope for come to pass. Why? I will have to find out.
April 22, 1970. For a long time I hadn’t re-read the lovely words of his letter, one filled with sadness because he thought I had stopped caring for him. Truthfully, I always keep his image in my heart, but as I told him: love can be bright and shining, but at times is very calm and quiet because we shouldn’t and cannot always show everything. Do you understand that?
April 27, 1970. Thuong was captured!* Oh! The only son of an old mother for whom she worked hard all her life, all her dreams and hopes bound up in him alone, now this dear young man grown up in the Revolution is held in the bloody hands of the enemy.
I think about one of the last nights that I met him… with a moon so gloomy that only his sad face could be seen. He held my hand and said: “Maybe after this time I will not see you again”. I yelled at him: “Why do you talk like that?” But in a low voice he answered: “No, it is not crazy. To work for the Revolution and to sacrifice yourself is natural. I am already lucky to have survived for 10 years. My luck won’t continue like that”.
Oh, why did he foresee that? So that my heart would bleed when I heard that he was captured? Is that all? Will I never see this kind, simple, and nice young man from Pho Hiep again? Sadness and sorrow cannot be shown with tears now: only with the thought of revenge, by the grinding of teeth and by the raising of your head to continue traveling despite the hardships of the road.
April 28, 1970. I should be happy now with all the Southerners I love being near to me. It is hard when we are all together… but happiness is only like a summer wind at noontime shining and burning, not enough for these people in the summer’s heat, people on their way leaving me with two young men. I can’t sleep with an aching heart. Oh, the war continues, and there are still losses and sorrows!
April 29, 1970. What can I tell this young friend after listening to him? I cannot stop crying. If he dies then there will be no-one to continue his family. Thinking of that he wants to get married, but dear young man your love and happiness will have so many hardships waiting. Because I care for him I would like for him to have more of a guarantee of happiness, and because I care I don’t want him to be confused by the question: “Should I follow other people’s thoughts or my own?”
Holding his hand I want to put all my affections and belief in his grasp, but I am not sure how to use my emotions in the best way.
May 3. 1970. The military situation at Pho Cuong has become very dangerous again. I had just left when the tanks arrived, with enemy troops dropping from helicopters right at the place where I have been living. Thuy, Lien, Thuong, and Loi were all captured. I don’t know what has happened to the young man.
Worry makes it hard to breathe and my body feels tired all over. Oh! If there was any way I could protect you, I would do everything even if it meant paying a great price. Kim arrived: I looked into her tear filled eyes and understood her heart. Dear Kim, you are not perfect but I love you because you love my young friend so deeply. Just like me you also worry until your heart burns but we can’t do anything except follow closely the steps of the enemy across our homeland, steps which threaten the people we love. We have no other choice!
May 5, 1970. The War spreads farther across Indochina. The dog Nixon is foolish and crazy as he widens the War. We will have to cope with very difficult circumstances again, but I have already promised my comrades that even if it kills us we will try hard until we break the warlike head of this poisonous snake.
How hateful it is! We are all humans, but some are so cruel as to want the blood of others to water their gold tree. Because of that there is never enough to satisfy the avarice and crazy ambitions of those blood-thirsty demons.
May 7, 1970. Today is the 16th anniversary of the victory at Dien Ben Phu, the historic victory which broke the invading French colonialists. That happened but after 16 years the flow of blood and fall of bones has still not come to an end in the South even with 25 years of war. Dear Country, 25 years in the fire but still strong and patient, still you raise your head to attack. At every step blood from fighting still makes the road red. Is there another country in the entire world which stands so much sorrow as ours? Or are there any peoples as courageous and patient as we are?
This afternoon everyone left for the delta: I don’t know if they can get through or not, and wonder if the enemy fire is still at Xoi Hill on the way. My heart is burning, sad, worried, and so full of hate I cannot breathe.
May 13, 1970. Nghia was wounded in the fighting: he broke his arm. When I was first away from him, I hoped that I could be close even though he was only lightly injured so he could come to the hospital and I could take care of him… now this hope comes true. (My M had dreams of the warm hands of Doctor Thuy taking care of him, but it didn’t happen.) Nghia is thin and older than his 23 years after being away for a long time and the pain in his arm makes him tremble, all of these things stirring me. I wanted to hold him in my hands and touch him, but I could not because everyone would missunderstand our true emotions and our regard for each other. They would think of other reasons.
Very simple the things he brought with him, the underwear that he wears and a pair of undershirts which Thuan handed to me, also a few parachutes and a notebook on duty. I found the souvenir book which I gave him in 1967 when I told him good-by and returned to base. The book is very carefully covered with nylon paper, and my heart is warmed when I realize all of my words still follow him along the road to war. Dear Nghia, please hold our affections forever like they were when we were living together in Pho Hiep. Truthfully, in the time gone by the beautiful picture of our affections has somehow faded because we didn’t take such good care of it: is that because of you, or because of me?
May 19, 1970. I received another letter… dear Mother, your every word and every line is filled with love, so that blood runs back to my thirsty heart. Does anyone understand how much I hope that I can return to live with my family, if even for only a minute? I have understood that since I stepped into the car which took me away to fire and bombs, but I still wanted to go. In these 3 years as I have traveled through the mix of thousands of sounds of war there has always been a nicer sound which was louder than that of the bombs and bullets: that has been the sound of the North, of Mother, of Father, of young sister, of all the people, of the trees on the wide way, of the waves on the Hong Ha River, and all the sounds of the capitol which I never cease hearing.
How many times in dreams have I returned to Ha Noi, to the warm embrace of my parents, the clear laughter of my sister, and to the bright shining light of Ha Noi? Even after 3 years away from home, 5 years away, or however long away, my love would never be different. Someone else may leave for money or for status, but for me only the Party would make me leave home. I am still a soldier in this struggle. The enemy attacks and guns fire, but I still smile calmly and go to my trench. When the enemy attacks I have to hide, sometimes even sleeping in the forest, but I still smile. The smile is still there when helicopters and HU-1As throw grenades near… but when I think of the people I love in both North and South my heart is nervous and sorrowful and sometimes tears flow from my eyes.
Does my heart burn in the fire and bullets yet remain weak? Is it alright to be that kind of revolutionary? I recall the words of Lenin: “The revolutionary is a person with a heart very rich and filled with love.” I am that way already.
May 22, 1970. I returned to attend the group meeting, and while living with the young people I felt very happy. The situation with the enemy was very dangerous: they had already sneaked troops in close to where we were but we didn’t know and continued to laugh and to sing, cutting trees and wood and making noise until a civilian came to say that the enemy was near. Only then did we know: that was lucky. If we hadn’t found out helicopters would have already killed us or we would have died by the army’s fire. Even so we remained happy and smiles stayed on those young faces. At night in the crowded house with all the hammocks full of people, the kidding funny words still brought sounds of laughter which we had to suppress and keep in our hearts.
Did something else made me happy? Yes, the love of the people, Phuong, Tong, Han, Ky, Minh….and all the rest of the warm family.
May 24, 1970. You will go far away, but it seems as if you are far from me already so even though I met with you I still felt the same. Far away! Is that because of time, the air, or something else? I have already asked you about that. If you don’t leave before I go home I will only say one word of good-by to you, nothing else. I am mad at you: that day I ran back to report the enemy situation and asked you to give me some idea about the youths’ problems, you blamed Ky saying that he wasn’t lively enough and that the group members were not smart enough. I told Ky to leave, not saying good-bye or anything to anyone. That night you told Cuc* to tell me to come back and sleep, but I never did: you know my pride. All day I wouldn’t return, and even when you were at the meeting I kept quiet. Until today when we almost said our good-byes: if you hadn’t been leaving I wouldn’t have said a thing and would have returned, but the former affection between us won’t allow me to continue that way so I have to write a short letter.
The letter you wrote before the meeting thrilled me that you might understand me also. But why before you left “the first thing I worry about is you” and yet you said nothing? Why when we weren’t together you waited and missed me, but when we met you remained so quiet? Oh! Why are you so close yet so distant at the same time? I understand and don’t understand: (even you must also have questions about this!) So why?
May 25, 1970. Some things that he knows about me:
• My ideas about the Revolution have become stronger, clearer, and righteous.
• I have improved a lot in every way.
• I need to do more scientific research as I retain bourgeois characteristics.
June 2, 1970. There was a surprising but in war-time a very normal incident at the dispensary: many bombs fell right on the patients’ room and 5 persons were killed. In just a minute everything turned to fire and smoke! After the explosions I became very quiet with fear. Perhaps everyone was dead… but then Lanh yelled that “everyone in Mr. Chanh’s room had perished”. We all ran outside and what a miserable sight it was. Part of the forest had been stripped bare with trees fallen all around. Clothing hung in the tree branches and a few houses were collapsed. We dug up Nien and Buoi and by then it was almost dark. Inside, Thanh who had just had his appendix removed yesterday now had a more serious wound and was almost dead. He looked at us all and said: “Please keep fighting and training so you can avenge me. I will soon be dead”.
Oh courageous comrade, your plea brings a promise from all of those still surviving to live on and fight until the end to gain revenge for all the dead!
For most of the night I couldn’t sleep and the next day when it was almost light we had to leave again. “The resistance against the Americans to save the Country continues. The people will continue to be sacrificed until we become victorious at last.”
Dear Uncle Ho… your determination still sounds in my ears and at this time the words come and drown out the sounds of bullets and bombs. I carry them in my heart and leave.
June 4, 1970. Why weren’t we satisfied when our emotions were still clean, pure, fresh and wonderful in our hearts? I met him and all of the young men after the silent moments with you. We should have held each other tightly in our arms, excited and happy, but we only looked at each other and couldn’t say anything! Oh young man that I love and all of the other young men that I respect… why, why can’t we come to each other in a relationship both beautiful and righteous? In the South the Revolution has many heroes, much history, and also many complications and garbage in society. This is easy to understand as we have to fully concentrate on fighting the Americans and saving the country so cannot focus our strength on building a socialist people, the perfect society which knows how to live for the people, how to live a life of culture.
June 6, 1970. I read Van’s letter on a quiet summer noon, a scrawl of handwriting sent to me with so much care. Dear Van, be proud that we are faithful to each other even when we are apart, not mattering that the times are hard and miserable. Do you know that your friendly words always follow me along this difficult journey and that they have brought warmth to my heart? It has been said that we like each other only for status and money, but what do status and money mean? They are far distant from us. You are only a normal girl in a land of fire and smoke, only different from other girls in that you keep a spirit of sacrifice for the Revolution. You have already abandoned happiness in order to join the cadres suffering bombings, bullets and hardships. More different is that you are very kind and care for the cadres: your highest kindness is your kindness for me. You understand me, care for me, and give me your all.
As for me, to you I am not a high ranking doctor: I am only a normal cadre, a girl who forgot her happiness to go south and to fight with the Southerners on the battlefield. In response to your care I give you my true affection.
That’s it Van, on this hard journey we lean on each other to walk: we will be proud of our friendship so please take care of it and respect it my dear beloved friend.
June 10, 1970. Why am I so sad this afternoon? It’s the last time you can come to see me before you go away, but the time has passed already which means that I will not be able to see you and say good-bye. To say good-bye, all the times when saying good-bye in this war-filled land… who knows what will happen or on what day we will see each other again, so see each other again or not you left and didn’t say anything to me. Dear man that I love, I am sad because of a letter from my mother, a short letter which tries to hide her unhappy worry for me, but which in a few words to which she paid little attention showed me that she is very sad. Dear Mother, I know that your heart aches because I have to throw myself into the fire and bullets. All of my letters and those from young brother tell you only a thousandth of the hardships… but you worry already so if you knew everything we have to go through then what would you say? Dear Mother, if I am lost because of the victory tomorrow, don’t cry too much, but please be proud because we have already been worthy of living. Everyone has to die once.
Of course in my heart I always hope that I can return to you and Father and a North filled with love.
June 12, 1970. I am waiting for something… what? I am waiting for people to return to the clinic to take the heavy responsibilities in the coming days. I am waiting for him to return at the end of this month, waiting for letters from people I love, and my big hope is for peace and independence so I can return to my mother’s heart.
Why in these few days has my mind been so heavy with thoughts? Every night I dream of the North, and in the daytime I also dream and wait… my dear Thuy! The road still has many hardships to face but I continue the journey. Please be more patient and courageous: can you stand this Thuy?
June 14, 1970. It’s Sunday: after a shower the sky is clear and cool and the leaves are all green. In the house the flowers on the table were just changed this morning, those beautiful swaying sunflowers with their shadows on the radio’s shining wood in the center of the house. A record plays familiar music, the Blue Danube Waltz… the sound of visiting friends’ laughter… Oh, it is only a dream, a dream while awake!
This morning is also Sunday and it has also rained. The air is calm: if there was no rough sound of airplanes destroying the sky then the only difference would be the sound of the flowing river water! Where I am living just suffered a bombing. Yesterday afternoon the plane with two bodies flew around firing rockets: hearing the explosions everyone ran for the trenches. Hearing the bombs go off over our heads we thought that they were dropped on the hills, but after four bombings they left. We were all frightened when we realized that they had fallen just 20 meters away. All the trees were stripped bare and the nylon covering the house was all torn to pieces. Every tree was cut down by shrapnel: dirt and stones fell into the trenches, but fortunately no-one was wounded. After the bombing we all knew that this place had been discovered so we hurried to find another place to put up a building to move to.
Anyone with strength enough left, leaving only 4 girls and 5 seriously wounded soldiers who could not move. Yesterday afternoon it poured rain so we took nylon to cover the building, but water still got in everywhere. Inside was all wet: everyone got soaked. We carried the water from the leaks outside but the wounded patients still sat there wet and cold.
I looked at them all and smiled, but tears were close: Lanh asked me: “Does anyone else realize our situation?”
Who knows? Maybe a lot of people know but no-one knows clearly. As for me, I also don’t know how many more miserable situations there are in this terrible Resistance. This book cannot list them all but perhaps they shouldn’t all be written down. In all my letters I have never told anyone I love about these hardships. Why tell them and make them worry? Thuan has already experienced the death of those close to him, so much sadness happening to him, leaving his face full of wrinkles…making him older than his years: but anytime he writes he always worries about me and tells me to be careful, saying “I am very well”. I learn from his spirit. Something presses heavy on my heart: what is it? It’s worry about the clinic. The situation with the enemy is tense and if they come here how can I leave the wounded soldiers? If they bomb then there is no choice but to wait in the trenches for luck or misfortune. The thoughts and hopes of the people I love come to comfort me… all those things press on my heart and fill my mind like the waves on flood waters.
Yesterday after the bombing everyone carried the things to leave. Dat looked at me and half-kidding, half-serious asked me: “Who knows about this? If peace comes they must pity all who have been in these circumstances”. I felt a pain in my heart; I don’t do this for pity: everyone knows my hopes. I answered him: “I don’t need their pity; my only hope is that peace comes so I can go home to my mother… that’s all”.
Indeed I don’t think about the happiness of my youth and never hope that I can enjoy a burning romantic love. At this time I only think of family love, hoping only that, except for the times of my duties to the Party, I can be with my family.
June 16, 1970. I read Bon’s diary. He is a young student from Phu Xuyen in Ha Tay. I was thrilled: his thinking is like mine, we are all living in anxious times. The clinic is destroyed and the enemy continuously threatens us terribly with all kinds of aircraft. Hearing their noise makes my head pulse like a tightly drawn music string. There is no other choice: I have to remain here with the wounded soldiers. It’s very funny that the political cadre for the clinic refused to stay with me in this situation. That is it: fire tests gold, hardship tests strength. I have to withstand these conditions, what else can I do?
These days I miss the North very much: looking at the sky cold and fresh I think of the afternoons with a friend on bicycles going through the garden trees, with all the beautiful fancy flowers like groups of butterflies settling on the ground, the fragrant roses… I recall also the willow trees in the garden and the summer flowers I picked to put in the house. Oh, the North far away… when will I return there again?
June 17, 1970. Today the planes didn’t circle around, the air is very quiet. Sometimes an HU1A comes close to the hill so surely the enemy is close. Only 3 girls remain here with 5 wounded soldiers who cannot be moved. If the enemy comes maybe all we can do is to run away. Can we do that? Everyone has made that decision already, but can I do that? Nien, a young soldier still a boy said in a very truthful way: “Sisters, stay calm and flee if the enemy comes, we will stay and fight until the death”.
Nien is 19. He worked in the district security unit. He is very handsome with high nose, full face, and big eyes under thick eye brows. All the time he was in pain he watched me with eyes full of tears. He was wounded on duty, an arterial wound which hemorrhaged blood. I had just finished the operation and bandaged the wound 3 or 4 days before when the dispensary was bombed. His leg was broken by wood in the trench pressing on it exactly where he had been wounded.
I had taken care of him for 12 days when his leg started bleeding again. If it stays like that it will be very hard to keep his leg well. Today the danger is past, but if the enemy comes again he will die. Will he die? My heart aches: I don’t know what to say and how to protect these wounded soldiers for whom we are working so hard with so much difficulty these days.
June 18, 1970. The afternoon sun went down and its light was very weak behind the far-away chain of mountains. All the jets have stopped their roar. The calm of the afternoon in the forest makes me afraid, with no birds singing, no sound of talking… only the sound of the running river and the radio playing. I don’t listen for the song’s title only knowing that the music is very soft and smooth like a green and soft rice field on a foggy afternoon. I suddenly forget everything; forget all the heavy pressures which weigh on me all day.
Since this morning, except for meal-times all 3 of us have sat in a corner watching for the enemy. I never left my position for a minute but in my mind were scenes of the family together. I will return to them and will build a warm family: I will know how to enjoy every precious minute with them. When you live like this then you understand the value of life. Oh, life changed by blood and bones, by the youth of so many people… how many lives have ended in order to allow other lives to be fresh and green. My dear North, do you understand the heart of the South?
June 20, 1970. Until today no-one has returned yet. It has been almost 10 days since we were bombed the second time. Everyone left and promised they would soon be right back to take us out of this dangerous area which everyone thinks spies have revealed. From the time they left the people remaining here have counted every minute; from 6 o’clock in the morning until noon, from noon until afternoon… one day, two days, and then 9 days have passed. No one has returned yet. All the questions go around in our minds. Why? Why doesn’t anyone come back? Is there some problem? We didn’t think anyone would leave us like this.
No-one answers. We few girls question each other: we are mad, angry and then we laugh, smiling through the tears which almost run from our eyes. Today we have only enough rice for this afternoon. We cannot look at the wounded hungry soldiers. If we leave, one person alone is not safe as the way is very dangerous. If two people go leaving one here and something happens, what can she do? We do not say much. It will soon rain, but if I put up nylon then I worry that the enemy will see us. Finally two people leave: I stand there looking at Lanh and Xang wading through the river’s running water and suddenly tears want to flow…
I read this softly:
No I am not a child: I am grown up and already strong in the face of hardships, but at this minute why do I want so much a mother’s hand to care for me, or really the hand of a close friend, or just that of a person I know who is all right? Please come to me and hold my hand when I am so lonely, love me and give me strength to travel all the hard sections of the road ahead…