Memories

We went in the echoes of the battle song. But on this trip, we did not have to put aside anything heavy, nor did we have to put down our pens and ink, only leaving behind the quiet campus of the Humanities School, which was lazily waking up on the first day of the holiday. We went in a bright red coach, as imposing as a train car. We called it the “drunk carriage” because we discovered that in our backpacks, each person had a bottle of strong alcohol. Having entered our fifties and sixties, we did not know how much alcohol we could drink, but in the midst of the happy holidays, “Who forbids us to get drunk, to get drunk divinely”. Even if it was just “singing elephants and shooting reed guns”, just having wine to lift up and put down, looking at each other was enough to be happy. The war was far away, it had become a story of half a century ago.

The delegation of veterans of the University this time had all the branches of the army: infantry, navy, signal, anti-aircraft, with representatives from all the battlefields: B, C, North - South border. The delegation leader Nguyen Chi Hoa discovered that in the delegation there were two veterans: Nguyen Long and Tran Xuan Hong, who were still "young", not "veteran". The two of them had held guns on the southwestern border battlefield and then went to fight to protect the northern border in 1979. The delegation also had two female veterans: Tang Kim Oanh from the Vietnam Studies Department and Lieutenant Colonel Nguyen Hong Phuong - "lifelong bodyguard" of Dr. Tran Nhat Chinh. The youngest, strongest, most beautiful person in the car was Master Nguyen Van Thuy - Head of the Inspection Department, representative of the University's militia and self-defense force. The person with the highest position in the delegation was Mr. Pham Quang Long, former principal and director of the capital's Department of Culture. Mr. Long went because the group went to Quang Tri - a province that has been a place of coming and going for decades. Having been to Quang Tri twenty times, he still has not found the remains of his brother - martyr Pham Quang Thang, who died in 1970.

Leaving the school gate, the “Drunken Train” joined the traffic on Nguyen Trai Street. After the campaign to clear the rows of classic green cajuput trees, Nguyen Trai Street became strange and deserted, reminiscent of a garden capital with no houses and no houses preparing to enter the war. The cars ran chaotically on the road like a swarm of ants running around. Someone in the car complained, missing the cajuput tree line, but the atmosphere of the journey still overwhelmed us. We happily left Hanoi. The joy of the veterans in the car was doubled by a surprising news: Associate Professor, Dr. Vu Ngoc Loan could not depart with the delegation, due to an urgent family matter. But Loan did not give up, but would arrange things properly and catch a car to follow. It was truly a rare news. According to the plan, some veterans had registered to attend, but at the last minute, due to health reasons or because their wives and children forced them to travel with their families, they excused themselves and did not come. The story of Mr. Loan chasing the car reminds me of the story of chasing the unit's convoy to the South, to the battlefield years ago.

The car ran without drowning out the laughter and conversations on mobile phones. There was a phone call from the School Leaders asking about the Group and wishing them a happy and successful journey. There was a voice of someone advising like a wife advising her husband: Holding a jug of wine and a handful of spring rolls, don't forget everything while having fun... Ah, so that's it. We, the group of veterans, each time we went out, still couldn't get past an entire train car behind us. Our hearts became warm because of the phone calls from home. At retirement age, every time we went far away, hearing our wives' instructions, we naturally felt happy. But if we didn't hear our wives calling, or weren't cared for, we were still praised by our fellow passengers as lucky people, enjoying the joy of being released from their cages.

Based on that reasoning, we teased Mr. Chinh, a Vietnamese major, that his trip would only be half successful because his wife was accompanying him. Our joke was promptly ended by Ms. Phuong’s correction: She “carried rice with her husband” this trip partly to keep Mr. Chinh healthy, and partly to burn incense for Mr. Dinh – Martyr Tran Nhat Dinh who is resting in Vinh Linh Cemetery… Lieutenant Colonel Phuong’s announcement made everyone feel sad, realizing the spiritual responsibility of the pilgrimage group. The trip became a pilgrimage full of meaning and affection.

At 3:00 p.m., the group arrived in Quang Trach - Quang Binh, the fiery land of the anti-American resistance war. The memories of war in me subsided, giving way to a nostalgic feeling, especially when the car turned to Vung Chua - Yen Island. The road to the tomb of General Vo Nguyen Giap was paved smoothly, with rows of boxes selling incense and flowers on both sides. The tomb of the General is gradually becoming a spiritual tourist destination.

The days have passed when the whole country mourned the last celebrity of the generation of Ho Chi Minh's students and colleagues. The crowd of people who came to pay their respects to the General on April 30th had many smiles without any blame. Many couples held chrysanthemums, holding hands with each other, their faces radiant. After all, the General had passed away at a great age. The grief has subsided, and there should be some fresh, peaceful faces in the commemorative photos taken with the General. Who knows, in the eternal high place, the General will also smile with satisfaction because of that.

Our group of war veterans followed each other, each person received an incense stick from the guard, and approached the tomb. The General's tomb was covered with a red velvet sheet. The whole group respectfully offered incense, remembering their highest leader at one time. Stepping down the hill, each person's feet still seemed to linger. Looking back, the General's tomb appeared like a question mark on the five-color flower platform. A heavy, somewhat fearful feeling appeared in our hearts. We do not know when the elliptical wreath used in Vietnamese funerals appeared. It seems that our ancestors did not do that. We hope that one day when we visit the General (and also visit Uncle Ho's mausoleum), we Vietnamese will hold light fresh flowers, not heavy elliptical wreaths, which only evoke the color of a tragic death. Flowers, especially artificial flowers and nylon flowers, when used in wreaths, have lost their aesthetic nature. Flowers are always a symbol of beauty. So after the funeral, when the deceased has definitely returned to the “world of the good”, we should bring beauty to the foot of monuments, tombstones, mausoleums to honor the beauty of the spiritual world. Those fresh, gentle flowers will surely please the person in the grave more than the heavy, scary wreaths, sometimes attached to fake sad faces.

Our car gradually moved away from Vung Chua. In the distance, Yen Island had no sign of birds. It seemed that this island had no cliffs for the swiftlets to nest. Maybe this was just a place for a species of swallows to migrate seasonally. Saying goodbye to Quang Trach, we hoped that one day we would return and see flocks of swiftlets hovering over the relic site of the heroic general. Cua Ong is the estuary of Quang Ninh with a temple to worship General Tran Quoc Tang. One day a temple might appear here, and Vung Chua would have another name: Vung Ong.

A group of veterans offer incense at Vung Chua - the eternal resting place of General Vo Nguyen Giap (Photo: Vinh Long)

The first day of our War Veterans' Group's journey ended on a happy evening in Dong Hoi city. The city had just turned on the lights when Associate Professor of Mathematics Vu Ngoc Loan carried his suitcase and jumped into the Group like a cool whirlwind. He arrived with a bright face, because of a successful chase. We still remember him returning to school from the army in a sailor's uniform. He was also the one who joined the No Number Ship, transporting weapons to the South on the East Sea. In 1972, when he was in his third year, this handsome Mathematics student from Hai Hau volunteered to go to war. Seeing that he was from the coastal area, the No Number Ship immediately accepted him. Sadly, after many days of training, he could only swim a few meters. The unit commander, knowing his weakness, took advantage of him in the engine room to do technical calculations and tried not to let him fall into the water.

During the war, he was a member of the navy, not a soldier, so this pilgrimage of the group of war veterans for Mr. Loan was also an opportunity to explore and learn about the war past. As soon as he met Doan, he immediately gave Doan 5 million VND, commonly known as the wine money to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Unification. Everyone was surprised and felt sorry for him. He had to confess: that was the scholarship money his son had saved up to give to "his comrades in arms". However, 5 million was not a carefree gift. Along with that, he also asked Doan to help him find a daughter-in-law. Because after 6 years of studying abroad in Canada, his son returned home after defending his PhD, still knew nothing but math. He said, unlike his father (who knew both math and sex), his son blushed when he saw a beautiful girl. So in this happy party, I would like to say “I rely on you all for everything”… Showing the comradeship of Vu Ngoc Loan, Vice President of the Association Pham Dinh Lan stood up, on behalf of the Group, happily accepted the money, but…did not make any promises. Mr. Lan said, the Group has many beautiful children and grandchildren who are of age to find husbands. If we announce it widely, they will compete with each other and it will easily destroy the internal solidarity of the Association…

Our group of war veterans entered Truong Son Cemetery in the sunny noon. We offered incense, paid homage, and conveyed the gratitude of the School's leaders and staff to the souls of more than twenty thousand martyrs. At first glance, the Cemetery appeared like fields of pink lotus. Unlike the usual days of previous years, this year each martyr's grave had a branch of plastic lotus. Looking at the hard, dry flowers placed next to the burnt incense burner, we felt our hearts tighten. Mr. Nguyen Van Mao whispered to Associate Professor Trinh Duc Hien to ask him a few verses of Che Lan Vien's poem. That poem appeared in the 50s, few people still know it today, but it was a poem that suited our feelings at the moment:

…Go one day on Truong Son

Fall down here, the forest land becomes a grave

Just go past that.

The grave lies alone

The plains are far away, the sound of chickens and dogs

Wife, children, house, door

Only once a year

Send people to Truong Son.

No flowers, spring without grass,

What to get on Qingming day?

Add some more mounds of rock

Oh grave of cadres

Sacrifice after death

It is true that after death, soldiers in the graves continue to sacrifice and suffer. In this cemetery, the graves of martyrs are not lonely but only a few inches of land, neat and square like a suitcase. Although they sacrificed at a very young age, could a whole life be contained in a cramped concrete box like this? The martyrs seemed to give up their land to the living. And today, after 40 years, on the occasion of a big holiday, they were given this simple plastic flower branch. The flowers are similar because they are cast in the same mold, like a meal and a bullet portion divided equally among each soldier. I hope the souls of the martyrs will happily accept it, as is the custom in the military.

Under the shade of the legendary Bodhi tree that covers the Truong Son Cemetery Memorial, a warden asked us about Master Bui Thanh Quat. It turned out that he knew Master Quat much better than we did. He said: once Master Quat came to stay with us in the cemetery for a few days, then returned and decided to leave home to become a monk... It turned out that over the past decades, the Cemetery has become an attractive spiritual tourist destination for many young people and students. Groups of young visitors often come to ask the warden to sleep with them outside the memorial yard, so that when they wake up in the middle of the night, they have the opportunity to witness and experience phenomena considered mystical. They have heard and seen a lot: They have heard the sound of soldiers laughing, playing cards, groaning in pain, seen groups of soldiers marching, figures walking without legs... The warden often encourages night tourists not to be afraid, "the martyrs are only teasing us at most, they don't harm anyone". You guys called the returning martyrs “good ghosts” and it was right, because they all fell at the age of twenty, the most innocent of human life. Sending gifts and offerings, we thanked and said goodbye to the maintenance team. Leaving the foot of the memorial, the words of the maintenance team leader still echoed in our ears: “If you retire and have free time, please come and live with us for a few days.”know. However, when you come to spend the night with the martyrs, don't worry about whether you are an idealist or a materialist, don't choose a philosophical stance before the tens of thousands of souls in this immense cemetery.

Duong Chin Cemetery is less than ten kilometers from Truong Son National Park. This is the third place we visited on our veterans' pilgrimage. After two years of renovation and upgrading, the cemetery's reliefs and monuments have appeared majestic and magnificent. No cemetery should be called a cemetery.Pretty, just like Uncle Ho used to remind journalists not to call victorious battles "beautiful battles", but to replace the phrase "battle" with "beautiful battles".Pretty"become "battle"good”. That is a correct and humane aesthetic point of view. Because beauty is only associated with life.

Before the ancient citadel of Quang Tri, Road Nine was the first battlefield in the soldier's life of this writer. In 1972, standing on a high point of Quan Ngang, I looked down at Road Nine with a very childish longing. I wished I could set foot on the road to feel the cool feeling from the soles of my feet. Until the age of 18, I had never seen such a big, long, green, smooth and solid road in my whole life. The US military road built at that time looked like a bayonet from afar, shining green in the midday sun, but it meant death. Because along the road were anti-tank mines, leaf mines. If a person appeared on the road, he would become a target for OV10 aircraft or receive a sniper bullet. After 40 years, this strategic road no longer has much strategic significance, and especially even though it has been expanded and upgraded, it still lost the coolness of the road surface and the old steel-green color.

A group of veterans offer incense at the martyrs' monument in Quang Tri ancient citadel (Photo: Vinh Long)

This year, when I entered Duong Chin, I had prepared from home 9 incense offerings for 9 graves of my comrades. To have enough time to go to Huong Hoa and the Citadel, I asked the members of the delegation to burn incense for 8 martyrs, because they were scattered in many different areas. Mr. Chinh, Ms. Phuong, Ms. Oanh helped me visit the martyrs from Ninh Binh and Thanh Hoa. Mr. Tran Manh Hong, Bui Duy Dan, Nguyen Long, Vuong Kha Dung helped me visit the martyrs of Thai Binh.

The group of veterans took souvenir photos at the memorial stele of 10 female youth volunteers who died atDong Loc T-junction Cemetery (Photo: Vinh Long)

As for me, I went to find martyr Vu Dung - former student of class 11, Faculty of Literature, Hanoi University. Vu Dung sacrificed himself on the artillery platform, like a hero. Even though he had been wounded and almost had his arm severed, he still did not leave the second gunner's seat, still gritted his teeth and pressed the trigger until he was hit by a bomb, which blew up the entire artillery platform. His body was only half left, wrapped in a bag.nylon, buried near Road Nine, with a hastily made “stele” made from a thin piece of corrugated iron, with the name carved with a dagger tip… The night of April 23, 1972 – the most tragic night in my short military career, has still made me wake up from time to time over the years. Dung’s parents had passed away, he was the youngest in a large but poor family, the remains of Martyr Dung are still a mystery. A few years ago, the entire Road Nine cemetery only had one line of the name Vu Le Dung in the book, but there was no engraving on the face of stele number 31, belonging to the “Unknown Martyr” grave area. After a year, this year I saw that grave number 31 was moved to the “General” area, but the stele had an additional enlistment date of 1965. The word Le in the name and the number 1965 discouraged me. His family and his classmates (such as writers Le Quang Trang, Nguyen Ngoc Ky, Nguyen Thi Kim Cuc) all confirmed that the word Le had never appeared in his school records, files, or pen name before 1970... Not knowing what else to do, I set up an incense offering ceremony to pray to the martyrs at their graves. Well, let me send my prayers to Vu Dung - the artilleryman and poet of the 308th Division. Well, the name Vu Le Dung is a common name - a collective name of soldiers with the last names Vu, Le, and Dung who fought and rested on this land. In the decisive battle on the afternoon of April 23 that year, if I had not been a little lucky, I would have been lying next to them. Forty years have passed, I have become an old man of 60, but they still live in my heart with the proud image of the immortal age of 20.

Leaving Dung’s grave, I had to loudly remind the children who were leading the way, wandering around the cemetery to make a living. When buying offerings, I thought of the martyrs when they were still alive and the children who had benefited. I bought pens, candy, and fruit, but not cigarettes, because I didn’t want the children to start smoking and then become drug addicts. They could use pens, and while they were alive, the martyrs and our company still dreamed of having one that flowed well, so they could pass it around to write letters… I reminded the children to wait for the incense to burn for a while before “asking for them”. They listened, moved aside, but when they saw me turn my back, they rushed in to fight over it. I had to close my eyes, pretend not to see, and then console myself: The martyrs must have urged them to take it. The children here are your friends. You are all cheerful, generous, and have been sharing candy with children for decades.

The sky in Quang Tri is still blue and hot, even hotter than the war days. The smell of burning grass and the lingering smell of rotting corpses in the wind on the hills are gone. After several decades, rows of ancient mahogany trees have appeared in Nghia Hy village. Instead of the hills of sim and mua flowers these days, there are fields of cassava and sweet potatoes. The strategic hamlets have turned into cities. The land of Dong Ha and Cam Lo is green with life, but the faces of the people still show signs of hardship and hardship.

On August 28, 1972, I was wounded on Hill 132, at the time of the shift change, between two battles, near the Thach Han River. After a series of coordinate bombs hit the battlefield, everyone was happy to see that I was not dead. Over the past few years, I have met the person who carried me to the surgery station and determined the administrative location of the old battlefield: Hai Le commune, Quang Tri town. A few years ago, I visited Tri Buu village with Bui Duy Dan, where his unit was stationed. I wish that one day when I have free time, I will wander with him (or alone) to find the exact battlefield with the stream where I fired bullets to catch fish to celebrate my birthday and the shallow stream where I shed blood...

On May 1, our pilgrimage of the War Veterans Group split into two routes: West and South, visiting the Quang Tri Citadel and visiting Huong Hoa Cemetery. I went with Mr. Pham Quang Long to Huong Hoa to find traces of Martyr Pham Quang Thang. Mrs. Pham Thi Tac, Long's mother, became a heroic Vietnamese mother, because she had a husband and son who were martyrs. Remembering his mother's words and urged by his longing, Mr. Long went to Quang Tri nearly twenty times but still did not know which cemetery his brother's grave was in. A psychic told him that Martyr Thang had not been gathered yet, and was still lying by the stream. Another psychic confirmed that Martyr Thang was among the unnamed graves, from the numberxarrivex+ nright area… Once Mr. Long hired a raft to go down the stream to find traces. The mountains, hills, rivers and streams of Dakrong and Huong Hoa are immense, where is Mr. Long?

Among the district cemeteries, Huong Hoa cemetery can be classified as a green cemetery because this is the place with the most shade. The Central region's Lagerstroemia flowers bloom early, purple. We entered the cemetery amidst the sound of cicadas. Many newly gathered graves appeared. Some of the new graves had temporary tombstones, with scribbled handwriting, hastily recording the names, dates of sacrifice, and hometowns. Mr. Long had sent the Martyrs' biographies and incense money many times to the cemetery managers to call and inform them if they saw the Martyrs return. After many years of waiting, many visits and reminders, Mr. Long still had not heard that dreamy phone ring.

The cemetery has a quarter of the martyrs with the surname Ho. Thus, Huong Hoa is the land of the Van Kieu and Pako people who follow the Party. The remaining three quarters of the martyrs are Kinh people, scattered throughout the provinces. We searched for and read each new tombstone, hoping for luck. Each tombstone is like the cover of a novel, because each grave represents a life. What else can we do but light incense sticks for all of them?

As noon approached, the cemetery became more and more silent, not a bird's sound, not a person's shadow. I quickly took a few photos of the memorial stele of the 264th Anti-Aircraft Regiment - the regiment that fought for many years on the Tri Thien front. The cemetery suddenly became windy. Two red flags hung high on the back of the platform fluttered. I suddenly remembered a verse from Chinh Phu Ngam: "The wind blows the souls of the dead soldiers / The moon shines on the faces of the soldiers / How many soldiers died / Who has left their faces, who has called their souls?.

…On the morning of the fourth day of the pilgrimage, we departed from Dong Hoi city. According to the plan of the Executive Committee of the Association, we would stop by the Vung Ang industrial park and burn incense for the female martyrs of Dong Loc Crossroads. A veteran in the group said something that made everyone feel sad: “On the day of the victory celebration, the school gives money but the veterans cannot travel or enjoy anything, they just live with the incense and tombs forever like this”. Without waiting for his comrades to react, Professor Nguyen Huu Thu immediately exclaimed: “It would be best if the whole group went to the beach”.

What a great idea. We called several taxis and rushed to Nhat Le beach. Mr. Duong Xuan Son and Nguyen Huu Thu were truly two whales of the ocean, but this year they seemed to be swimming carefully and cautiously. I criticized Mr. Son for aging quickly and swimming poorly, but he explained: “Swimming in the salty sea is good. Salty sea water makes the body float easily, the skin tightens and shrinks, the lungs need less oxygen, and swimming for a long time is tiring.” Listening to him, I tasted it. It is true that the sea water in early summer is very bland. If you accidentally drink a sip, it is like drinking brackish water. I admire Mr. Son, I don’t know how he teaches and writes books, but when it comes to the ocean, he is truly a sophisticated person.

To make time for dinner, we slowly went ashore. In the distance, Bao Ninh village, the legendary village of Mother Suot during the war against the Americans, was flashing with electric lights. Quang Binh sea was getting cleaner and happier every day. The streets were getting more spacious and green every year. And it seemed that Quang Binh women's legs this year were slimmer and whiter. My comment was unanimously agreed upon by all the soldiers in the group: Like the whole country, Quang Binh, after 40 years of the end of the war, had passed the period of hardship.

We raise our glasses, so that tomorrow we can hit the road again!

Willow, 7-7-15