The Mountains Sing Read online

  I closed my eyes and tried to picture my father fishing at a stream deep inside the jungle.

  “But our bodies weren’t made for the harsh jungle conditions, Hương,” continued my uncle. “One month into the walk, many of my comrades were falling ill. I was exhausted. Luckily, spring arrived to save me. Flowers burst out their brilliant colors. Sunlight was as gold as honey. The air smelled of life, rather than death and explosives. Birds, the same type that your father carved as a gift for you, sang.”

  “You met my father then?”

  “No, I first met sốt rét—malaria. Bouts of fever hit me, yet I felt so cold, I shivered uncontrollably. My bones seemed to crumble under me, I’d never experienced such pain. I couldn’t walk and had to lie on my hammock by the roadside, waiting and waiting to get better.

  “At first, when someone fell ill, the soldiers in his company would carry him forward. But my comrades were so weak, too—those that were left. There was a clinic where the men in my unit wanted to take me, but I refused because it was too far away. I told them I’d soon recover and catch up. So my comrades left me food, water, medicine, and said their good-byes.”

  “Uncle, if you’d let them bring you to the clinic, my mother could have been there.”

  “She hadn’t joined the Army at that time yet, Hương. Do you know where she was stationed?”

  I shook my head. “She hasn’t told us much. She just said that she’d gone through terrible things. Things she doesn’t wish to happen to anyone.”

  “Doctors had one of the most dangerous jobs on the battlefields, Hương. They needed to find ways to conceal their clinics from enemy planes. Their job was not only to save lives but also to protect patients. Whenever the enemy attacked, they had to move patients down to shelters or over mountains to set up new clinics. Sometimes they even had to pick up their guns to fight.”

  That stopped me. I hadn’t thought about this. I swallowed. “Uncle, do you think my mother could have delivered babies in the battlefields?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just . . . just curious.”

  “For sure your mother could have delivered babies, Hương. Doctors from the North had to help civilians who’d fled their villages.”

  I nodded, a heavy burden lifted from my chest. “Now that you’re here, Uncle, I hope she’ll come home.”

  I went to the kitchen, bringing back a bowl of roasted peanuts. Uncle Đạt tossed a few into his mouth, chewing noisily. “Grandma told me your mother moved to Duyên’s house because it’s peaceful there. What’s the real reason?”

  “She had a big fight with Grandma.” I turned the bowl in my hand.

  “About what?”

  “She said that if Grandma hadn’t run away from her village, perhaps all of you wouldn’t have had to go to the battlefields and Uncle Thuận wouldn’t have died.”

  “What?” Uncle Đạt looked up to the altar, shaking his head. “Grandma saved us by running away. Besides, had we remained at the village, we would’ve been drafted as well.”

  “So you don’t blame Grandma at all for what happened?”

  “Blame? No way. On the contrary, I feel like I’m not good enough to deserve her. I don’t know why your mother would say such hurtful things.”

  “Uncle, please . . . don’t be upset when you see my mother. I want her to move back with us.”

  “I want her home, too, Hương. Don’t you worry.”

  I picked up the Sơn ca, cupping it to my face. “Uncle, so what happened next?”

  Uncle Đạt sighed and took a drink from his bottle. “Malaria is a terrible thing to have. It makes you so weak. I just lay there in my hammock, shivering and burning with fever as flocks of people passed silently by me. The days and nights dragged on, and still, I couldn’t get up. Whenever a company set up camp where I was, they helped cook my rice and gave me some greens. They were tired, hungry, and sick, too, and I felt so useless.

  “One morning, a man shook me from my blurriness. I thought it was only a dream, but Hoàng was standing in front of me.”

  “My father?”

  “Yes, it was him. He was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Ah, I can’t believe this dead log turned into my brother-in-law,’ he told me.”

  “How was he, Uncle? Very thin?”

  “He was thinner but looked okay. He was growing a beard, too. He said that your mother used to shave him so he was keeping the beard for her, as a gift.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “He still managed to joke?”

  “He’s a rare spirit, I know.”

  “Tell me more about him, Uncle.”

  “He showed me the Sơn ca he’d carved for you. He went on and on about how much he missed you and your mother. He said he regretted he’d never told you how much he loved you, and that you meant the world to him.”

  “Why hasn’t he come back, Uncle? Do you think something happened to him?”

  “It took me a while, you see? He might be home any time now.”

  I nodded. Uncle Đạt’s return gave me hope.

  “That day, your father cooked and fed me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For the first time in weeks, I got to eat fresh meat. He also managed to find medicine for me. He stayed by my side, whispering to me about you and your mother, and about our happy times in Hà Nội. As the sun began to set, he pulled the Sơn ca out of his breast pocket, asking me to give it to you if I made it home first.”

  I held the bird tightly, a tear sliding down my cheek.

  “I didn’t want to see darkness, but it came. Time to say good-bye. Your father poured all the rice from his cloth bag into mine. He went to a stream nearby and filled my canteen, disinfecting it with one of our medicine tablets. He gave me his big, brotherly hug. He joked that whoever got home first would have to buy the other a round of beer.

  “Around half an hour . . .” My uncle quickly glanced at me. He cleared his voice. “Hmm . . . as I said, I wished your father could stay. I tried to get up from my hammock, thinking I was strong enough to join his troops, but my feet collapsed under me. I couldn’t be his burden, so I lay there, watching him leave. Two weeks . . . two weeks after his departure, American planes arrived. Bombs darkened the sky. Explosions turned the world upside down. Jungles were uprooted and burned like wild grass.”

  I looked up to our family altar and prayed.

  “Your father’s medicine gave me strength to crawl into a cave and hide inside. His food helped me survive the bombing days.

  “As soon as I got better, I staggered out of the cave. Enemy planes were gone, and I couldn’t believe my eyes: hundreds of soldiers were silently moving past me, on the same trail the bombs had destroyed. Groups of Youth Brigade volunteers, most of them women, were repairing the trail; their first task was to find unexploded bombs and defuse them.

  “I joined up with another unit, and now we were walking during the day as well as night. It was by pure chance that Thành, your Auntie Hạnh’s classmate, was one of my new comrades.

  “Along our way south, I saw bomb craters, so many that it seemed flocks of gigantic animals had rushed by, leaving their footsteps carved into the earth. Sometimes when we were trekking, I felt a light rain being sprayed from airplanes overhead. Plants around us shriveled instantly, large trees dropping their leaves. Everything around us just withered. To protect ourselves, our commander ordered us to take out our handkerchiefs, pee onto them, and put them against our noses. We walked on.”

  My uncle held the bottle with both hands, staring at it.

  “It was depressing whenever we passed a destroyed area. No birds, butterflies, flowers, or green trees. The howling wind sounded like the cackling of angry ghosts.

  “It was more dangerous, too, as the enemy could see us more easily from above. I’d never touched a dead person before the war, except my father, but now I was constantly digging graves, burying my comrades.”

  I reached for my uncle’s arm.

  “Thành and I became best friends. We
told each other we had to survive, to get back to our families. Thành showed me his wristband made of tiny wooden beads. His mother had walked the Yên Tử Mountain’s thousands of steps, to reach the sacred Yên Tử Pagoda where she received the wristband from the head monk whose blessing she believed would protect her son from harm. I showed Thành my lucky charm: the Sơn ca bird.”

  My uncle took another sip of the liquor.

  “After many weeks, we arrived in Quảng Bình, a central province. As we stood on a riverbank, my jaw dropped. In front of me, hundreds of sampans glided on the emerald water. They’d come to pick us up, bringing us into the famous Phong Nha caves. We rowed under thousands of magical-looking rock formations that hung low, glimmering like domes of stars above the flickering light of torches.”

  “The caves sound stunning, Uncle.”

  He nodded. “Yes. . . . For a little while it felt as if we’d left the war to enter the world of peace. There were no more bombs and bullets, no more death. Just water lapping against our boats. I smelled the sweetness of peace in those caves, Hương. I inhaled it, and I longed for peace.

  “When we arrived at the heart of Phong Nha, I found thousands of soldiers resting on sandy beaches along the riverbanks. I tried to find Thuận and your father, but they weren’t there.

  “Phong Nha isn’t a cave—it’s a gigantic system of caves. Where I rested, sunlight poured in through cracks between high mountains, twinkling on the rock formations. The mountains shielded us. At night, artists who’d traveled all the way from Hà Nội sang, danced, and read poetry to us. For the first time in months, we were able to talk and laugh freely. We no longer had to be afraid of our own voices.

  “I had one of the best nights of my life in that cave. I could hold a girl performer’s hands, inhaling her hair’s perfume. When I fell asleep on the riverbank, amidst the water’s gentle lapping sounds, I dreamed of Nhung.” Uncle Đạt gulped down his liquor.

  Miss Nhung? Last night, my uncle’s girlfriend had arrived shortly after our dinner. She’d waited for him seven long years, and I’d thought he would be happy to see her. But he avoided her eyes and only answered what she asked. Grandma was still boiling water for her tea when my uncle said he was exhausted and needed to sleep. After he’d gone to bed, Grandma tried to console Miss Nhung, but she left, crying. Had the girl performer made Uncle Đạt change his mind about Miss Nhung?

  “The cave was so peaceful, Hương, that I wanted to stay there, forever. I imagined getting married and raising my children there. But when morning came, we had to leave.

  “To help us get to the South, the Hồ Chí Minh Trail cut through both Laos and Cambodia. But the American bombs found us there. We brought the war into our neighbors’ homes.”

  I saw myself in the girls and boys in our neighboring countries who had to run for shelters during bombings. Years later, I was to learn that hundreds of thousands of Laotians and Cambodians perished in the war known internationally as “the Việt Nam War,” but called by the current Vietnamese government “the Resistance War against America to Save the Nation.” Regardless of its name, even today the war continues to kill children in Việt Nam, Laos, and Cambodia, with millions of tons of unexploded ordnance still buried in the belly of the earth.

  My uncle swallowed. “Soon, we moved back onto Vietnamese soil, into southern areas controlled by the enemy. Thành and I stayed close. I hung on to my lucky charm, and I pulled the little bird out night after night, whispering to it. By this time, the war had cut down more than half of my company. There were just around fifty of us left.

  “I had to be alert and careful all the time. In a war, the smallest mistake or negligence could cost a man his life, Hương.

  “Once, we stopped at a stream to get drinking water. One of my comrades made a sign. He gestured toward the stream, then pointed at his nose. I cupped some water into my palms, sniffing it. It smelled of soap. Our captain sent a small group of us upstream. We sneaked through the jungle, keeping a safe distance from the stream’s bank. After a while, we heard muffled laughter. Creeping closer, I saw a group of soldiers through gaps in the foliage.”

  My uncle stopped speaking. The oil lamp flickered.

  “There were around ten shirtless men washing themselves on the opposite shore. They were young, these foreigners, perhaps just eighteen or nineteen. Some were white and had blond hair, while the others were so black, their skin looked like it’d been smoothed with charcoal. Two boys were just standing in the middle of the stream, splashing water at each other, laughing. Dappled sunlight glimmered on their bodies, glittering on the stream’s surface. The air smelled fresh and happy. It was such a peaceful sight that I just watched, entranced.

  “Rounds of gunfire shook me. In the blink of an eye, the foreign boys had fallen backward into the stream. They howled, kicking up water. Their handsome faces twisted into pictures of horror. I stayed frozen as more bullets pierced through them, blowing their flesh into the air.

  “Hương, watching the blood of those men seep down the stream, I suddenly thought about their mothers and sisters. I thought about tears and sorrow. I thought about you, Grandma, your mother, and Hạnh.

  “I had hated the Americans and their allies so much before that day. I hated them for dropping bombs on our people, killing innocent civilians. But from that day, I hated the war.”

  What my uncle said made me think. I had resented America, too. But by reading their books, I saw the other side of them—their humanity. Somehow I was sure that if people were willing to read each other, and see the light of other cultures, there would be no war on earth.

  “Perhaps it was my sympathy for the enemy that later saved me.” Uncle Đạt shook his head. “Once, I was journeying alone through a forest to deliver an important message to a close-by camp. Then I heard the sounds of an approaching helicopter.

  “I ran, trying to find a hiding place, but there was nowhere to hide, so I lay down and covered my body with rotten leaves.

  “The helicopter floated into my view, and in its open door stood a white man, tall and broad-shouldered. He was studying the forest beneath, his hands clutching an M-60 machine gun.”

  I gasped.

  “The foreigner pointed the gun at me. I was sure he saw me. The helicopter blades had blown the leaves covering me away. I held my breath, waiting for the sounds of gunfire, waiting for terrifying pain to sear through my flesh, waiting for death to take me away. But the man just stared at me—then he shook his head and flicked his hand. The helicopter slowly floated away, and above me was nothing but the brilliant sky.

  “I still wonder who that man was and why he didn’t shoot me. Perhaps he didn’t see that I had a weapon, for I had hidden my AK-47 behind my back. Perhaps he was sick of killing or had turned against the war. Or perhaps he simply thought I was dead, but I know that isn’t true. In that instant we looked into each other’s eyes as if into mirrors.

  “But war isn’t kindness or sympathy, Hương. War is death, sorrow, and misery. I know, because I wound up at one of the worst battlefields, near Núi Bà Đen—the Black Virgin Mountain, southwest of Sài Gòn. We thought we were safe in the shelters dug under large bamboo groves, near the mountain’s foot, but the enemy quickly located us. They bombarded us with artillery before sending in their ground troops. The battle only ended when we shot down two of their helicopters. After the enemy had withdrawn, I thought our captain would order us to move away, to find another hiding spot, but for some reason he decided that we’d stay the night. He sent some soldiers out, to form a circle of protection around us, and a team up to the Cambodian border to buy a pig. We had to celebrate our victory, he decided. We’d been hungry for days, so he wanted us to gain strength for another difficult journey.

  “When the meal was ready, we squatted on the ground, about to enjoy our feast. As soon as we picked up our chopsticks, noise rumbled from the sky. I thought it was thunder.

  “‘B-52 bombers!’ someone shouted. We sprang up, running f
or our lives. I pulled Thành along, dashing for a nearby bomb shelter. It was a large one, dug for common use.

  “I dived down, Thành followed, together with six other men. Explosions lifted us off the ground, flinging us about like pebbles. My ears went deaf, my vision black. Rocks and soil rained down on us. More explosions came. I thought the shelter would give way and collapse on us, but all of a sudden, the bombing stopped.

  “Things became quiet. I could hear my frantic heartbeat and the crackle of a fire. I smelled dust and a burning stench.”

  My uncle gazed at the oil lamp. His face twitched.

  “But I knew it wasn’t over yet. The Americans liked to carpet bomb with their B-52s. The second attack would come soon. I longed for the security of my honeycombed-rock shelter, where I’d been earlier. ‘I’m going back to my place,’ I shouted. ‘Comrade Thành, come with me!’

  “‘No, you go ahead.’ Thành’s voice trembled. He didn’t want to risk being hit while running outside.

  “Two of my comrades followed, but not Thành. The ground was strewn with rocks, bamboo branches, and pieces of the delicious pork we’d prepared but hadn’t had time to eat. I could hardly see where I was going. Finally, I found my shelter and jumped down. The other two men ran toward their own. Soon, the second round of bombing hit.

  “Later, when silence returned to the bamboo forest, my company gathered. The B-52 bombs had killed more than half of us. Thirty-six young men died that night, including four people with whom I’d shared the common shelter. Some were crushed beyond recognition. Some were blown into pieces. I could only recognize Thành by his beaded bracelet.

  “I’d already buried many comrades along the way, but that night was the hardest. Disfigured bodies and unrecognizable body parts . . . Thirty-six men in an unmarked mass grave . . . I agonized for the family of my best friend, a man so shy he hadn’t even held a girl’s hand yet. There were no tears of good-bye. It was forbidden for us to show sadness. If we expressed emotion, it could only be hatred toward the enemy.”