Dang Thuy Tram’s Dairies

On the afternoon of October 26, 1967, I left Pho Hiep*. The yard at Thuong’s house was crowded with people who came to say good-by. I was excited, which made me embarrassed, and didn’t know what to do. I sat down next to Thuong’s mother and picked up a potato to pack in the basket. When I looked up suddenly I was surprised to see big, black and very nice eyes returning my look with a gaze of affection… those eyes were Khiem’s.

I knew Khiem during those terrible days of the 1967 dry season when I went back to work in Pho Khanh. This young teacher had come to me with all of his true care and admiration. With the spirit of the people evidenced in the students’ lives it was easy to understand each other. During the days in the trenches I told him about Pavel, about the gadfly and about the poems that I like.

I know your name because it is a heroine’s
Beside the white tombstone in the rice field
When we miss each other I call you, comrade
A heart in a thousand hearts.

Then Khiem told me about his student days, in and out of prison. Khiem had been in prison for 3 years. He was in prisons all over the Province of Hue. The pirates beat him many times and he lost weight and became weak.

In the beginning I just liked him but later we became very close and true friends. We worked in the delta* for awhile and then I returned to base. It has been almost a year since we parted, but I always remember his eyes, black, sad and wet with tears looking at me the day we said good-bye.

Who could know then that good-bye was forever? Khiem already dead! One day the enemy fire landing on Khiem’s foxhole opened up the trench. Khiem jumped out and threw his only grenade at the enemy, making the bloodthirsty devils take cover. He was able to run a ways, but the grenade didn’t explode. The pirates stood up to follow and shot him, and Khiem fell. The bloodthirsty devils then came to chop up Khiem’s body, but he was dead already, his kind black eyes now open with hate. Khiem’s black hair was soaked with blood and full of sand, the sand of this courageous youth’s homeland. His gray uniform shirt was now in bloody pieces. That was the shirt which he wore on the first day that we met, the same shirt he wore to sneak with me along the small path filled with thorns and “tongues-of-tiger”* passing 31, 32, 33 Quy Thuan*, of 19-15 China Sea, and the same shirt that he wore one beautiful moonlit night returning from Pho Khanh*, the cold wind blowing from the sea making him shiver slightly. I gave him my sweater from home to wear. Over the simple gray uniform shirt the red sweater was a warm color. He said that day: “My dear Thuy, in this world except for my parents, Khiem will never care for anyone more than I do for you: that includes my sweetheart”.

Khiem sacrificed already! When I heard the news I was surprised and couldn’t believe it. When I first found that it was true, I did not cry: that was as normal. I sought strength to control myself, but as each minute passed by, the sorrow grew more and more, and then my tears fell. I cried by myself late at night, the salty tears running down my face dropping to my dress. My dear Khiem, how can you ever again hear what I say? Please heed my promise of revenge, the promise made in sadness and in sorrow, the promise made with hate in my heart and the promise made with unfading love. Do you hear me Khiem, immortal friend of my heart?

(From a poem dated October 25, 1967, at Pho Hiep)

My dear Thuy, leaving so many memories when I go.
Whose broken heart will always love?
When will the love of and missing of Thuy stop?
The last breath will be with love.

I left Khiem that day hoping to meet again. Now… who knew that day was the last time we would say good-bye to each other?