Family of Fallen Leaves: Stories of Agent Orange by Vietnamese Writers

The Spirit Pond

฀ 105฀ nguyen฀thi฀ngoc฀ha the฀spirit฀pond The girl who helped with my cooking and cleaning looked anxious when she opened the gate and said hello. “Maybe something serious has happened with your family,” she said. “Your uncle has phoned so many times, and he just called again. He said if I saw you come home from work to tell you you’ve got to go out there as soon as possible.” My paternal grandparents had three children. Their eldest daughter , my aunt Ca Mau, went to work in a fishing village near the Tien Hai district at a very young age. Then they had my father, and eleven years later, my uncle Doan. My grandfather died before Doan’s first birthday. My grandmother worked very hard to raise her boys and to make sure they stayed in school. My father also died when I was still very young. Since Aunt Ca Mau had taken a husband in the fishing village, and since my grandmother allowed my mother to marry a new husband when I was five, Grandma and Uncle Doan raised me as their own child, taking care of me with love. Uncle Doan felt things deeply but learned to hide his bitterness and sorrow in silence. When he did choose to communicate with people, he always made a good impression, coming across as a fluent and joyful person. He also had a good sense of humor and liked to help other people. Because he always treated people straightforwardly and honestly, his business deals didn’t always work out the best for him, which put him somewhat at a disadvantage nearly all his life. I treated Doan as my father, even though he was only twelve years 106฀ nguyen฀thi฀ngoc฀ha older than me. Whenever I earned good grades, he made a clay animal figurine for me as a reward. Anywhere he went, he let me come along. In later years, when I moved up to level three and had to go to the district school all week, I could only come home on weekends. How I missed my uncle then! At the start of each new week, when it was time to leave home again, I could hardly bring myself to take half a step. In December 1967, before finishing high school, Doan joined the army. For the first two years, he sent letters home regularly, always including a private letter for me. But after that, we didn’t hear anything from him for a long time. My grandma got sick, she was so sad. Despite it all, she forced herself out of bed every day hoping my uncle would return, not wanting to be caught having given up. Sorrow settled like a black cloud over my family. Grandma’s illness worsened to the point she felt it necessary to call my Aunt Ca Mau to her side. “I know I won’t get any better,” she said. “When I die, I want you to pray for me at the temple and at the spirit pond afterward. Pray also for Doan to come home safely. When he does, take a wife for him, so he can give birth to a child who will continue to honor our ancestors.” Silently I prayed that Grandma would live to see my uncle’s return. She died still waiting for her son, just two weeks before the liberation of the South. Hearing of Grandma’s death, Aunt Ca Mau came home right away to pray with me at the temple and spirit pond as her mother had wished. Many soldiers began to come back from the front, and the deaths of many others were reported to their families, but even six or seven months after Unification Day, we still had not heard a word about my uncle. In October of the following year, two pieces of good news came at the same time. The first was I had been accepted into the College the฀spirit฀pond฀ 107฀ of Education; the second was that my uncle was still alive and under medical treatment at the military hospital in Hai Duong. I was so happy! My body trembled, shivering with sweat. I rushed home and placed the letters on the altar. Standing in front of the pictures of my grandma and father, I didn’t know how to pray; my voice was too choked by tears. By evening, everyone was...