The Stars, the Earth, the River | Asian American Bookview

The Stars, The Earth, The River
by Le Minh Khue; translated by Bac Hoai Tran & Dana Sachs
Curbstone Press, Willimantic, CT, 1997, 179pp, $12.95
A powerful antidote to the dehumanizing of the Vietnamese by the American media, by a gifted Vietnamese woman writer.
EXCERPT:

here were three of us. Three girls. We lived in a cavern at the foot of a strategic hill. The trail led past the front of the case and on up the hillside somewhere, very far. It had been punctured by bombs, mixing the red and white soil together. Neither side of the trial had any sign of vegetation. There were only stripped and burned tree trunks, uprooted trees, boulders, and a few empty gas cans and twisted parts of vehicles, rusting in the earth.
     Our job was to sit there. Whenever a bomb exploded, we had to run up, figure out how much earth was needed to fill the hole, count the unexploded bombs, and, if necessary, detonate them. They called us the Ground Reconnaissance Team. That title inspired in us a passion to do heroic deeds and therefore out work was not that simple. The bombs often buried us. Sometimes, when we came down from the hill we were so covered in dirt that only our gleaming eyes showed through. When we laughed, our teeth glowed out of our grimy faces. At those moments, we called each other the "Black-Eyed Demons".
     Our unit took good care of us. When they had something to eat, they would say, "Leave some for the Recon Team, because they're up there."
     It was easy to understand that. The unit often went out at sunset and sometimes they worked all night. But, as for us, we had to be up there even in that daylight. And being out on that hill in the daytime was no fun. Death was a serious guy. He hid himself inside the bombs. But every job has its own pleasures. Where else could you experience smoking earth, trembling air, or the roar of airplanes that only gradually fades away? Where else could you experience taut nerves, an erratic heartbeat and the knowledge that all around lay unexploded bombs. Maybe they'd explode now or maybe in another moment. But definitely they would explode.
     When we finished, we'd go back and take one more look at the road, breathe with relief, and dash back into the cave. Outside, it was over 30 degrees celsius, so when we crawled into the cave, we entered a different world. The chill made our bodies suddenly begin to shiver. Then we'd turn our heads up to drink some sugared spring water from our canteens. After that, we'd stretch out on the damp ground and squint our eyes while listening to the music on our tiny radio, for which we always had batteries. Maybe we'd listen closely, maybe just think about things.
     It seemed like we were about to start a big offensive. Every night, a stream of vehicles drove by on the trail. At night we usually could sleep. But for the past few nights it had been impossible. Two of us carried our spades up to the strategic hill, where we had fun joking with the drivers. Too bad for the one who had to stay in the cave to answer the two-way radio.
     It was noon and very quiet. I sat leaning against the stone wall, humming a song. I loved to sing. Often I would memorize a certain melody and then make up my own words. My lyrics were so confused and silly that they sometimes surprised me and made me burst out laughing all by myself.
     I was a Hanoi girl. To put it modestly, I was impressive. My ponytails were thick and relatively soft. My neck was graceful and I stood as proud as a lily. And as for my eyes, the drivers would say, "You have such a distant look in your eyes."
     Regardless of how distant the look was, I liked to hold the mirror and gaze into my own eyes. They were long and narrow, brown, and were often squinted as if from a glare.
     It puzzled me that the drivers and artillery men often asked about me. Either they asked about me or they sent me long letters as if we were thousands of kilometers apart, although we could greet each other in person every day. I never made an effort to please them. Whenever the girls grouped together to talk to some eloquent army man, I always stood aloof, looking elsewhere, my lips tightly sealed. But I was only striking a pose. The truth is that in my thoughts, the most handsome, intelligent, courageous and noble men were these, the men who wore military uniforms with stars on their caps.

     I never said that to anyone, but the men who went by on the trails still sent me their greetings in a respectful and affectionate manner.
     "You sing well, you look pretty decent, and you are an expert at detonating bombs," my friends explained. Though of course, that was not accurate.
     Outside it was still quiet. Ever since ten in the morning, no planes had flown past the strategic hill. They'd only dropped bombs further inland, as we could tell from the reverberations. It was precisely this low, seemingly fragile rumble, carried here on the wind, that made the quiet more tense, as if it were heralding something fierce. The sun burned. The wind was dry. But inside the cave, it was cool.
     Each of us had her own hobby. Nho was embroidering a pillow. Thao was copying a song into a small journal balanced on her thigh. The two of them were talking, but I hadn't listened to the first part. Then, I suddenly began to pay attention.
     "When will it be over?" Nho asked.
     "When will what be over?" Thao didn't look up, but her voice betrayed some surprise.
     Nho yawned. Then they were quiet. I knew what she meant. She would have said that when the war was over she wanted a job in a big hydroelectric plant. She would work as a welder and play ont he plant's volleyball team. She would try to really slam the ball and--who knew?--with luck she might be selected for the Northern team.
     As for Thao, she wanted to become a doctor. Her husband would be a captain in the military who would travel to distant places and sport a beard. She had no desire to live by his side every day because love would quickly become boring.
     I also often talked about my plans. I had many wishes, but I still didn't know my priorities. Perhaps to become an architect? How interesting! A voice-over artist in a children's movie theater? A freight driver on the wharf? Or a singer in a choir at a construction site? Any of these careers would mean happiness. I would be as enthusiastic and creative as I was now, out here at our strategic hill, where wishes and desires were born.

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