July 29, 1969. The war is so cruel: this morning a wounded soldier was carried in who was burned all over by phosphorous, arriving only an hour after he was hurt so that his burns still smoked. He is young, only 20 years old, the only son of a cadre in the village where I am now living. An unfortunate accident that the phosphorous exploded and he was burned so seriously that no one can recognize the once happy, handsome and young boy anymore. The black happy eyes have now become just small holes; the eyebrows burned a yellow color, with the phosphorous smoke and a burning smell. Looking at him is like seeing a golden roast in the oven. I stood still with sorrow. His mother cried and with her two hands touched all over his body. Pieces of skin, bit by bit, came off turned up like rice paper. Tears ran from his young brother and older sister trying to care for him, and another girl sat still next to him with kind worried eyes. Her cheeks were sticky with sweat because she was tired and nervous. Tu (her name) is Khanh’s (his name) beloved. She just arrived here with him and heard that serum was needed, so she crossed the river to buy it. The river is rising and she doesn’t know how to swim, but she crossed it anyway… love gave her strength. Now she sits there quiet and patient, sadness coming to her lovely young face. Looking at her I want to write a poem, to tell of the cruel crimes of war, those cruelties already choking to death the happiness of millions and millions of people, but I cannot. My pen cannot write of all I have seen and felt with my own senses.
July 30, 1969. At twelve midnight Ky from the Southern Group came and told me the bad news: the clinic suffered a surprise attack. Lien was killed when she led the wounded soldiers trying to escape. The wounded soldiers and the cadre don’t know who survived!!
In 3 months the clinic has been attacked 4 times. My heart burns with worry. Oh my dear comrades! Who has lived and who has died? Where are you now? Difficulties weigh like a mountain heavily on your comrades, and also press on my heart. Do you still have the strength to resist this mountain my comrades? You have to fight it or it will kill us all.
My dear Lien, on the day we said good-bye you hugged me and kissed me, and told me to be very careful, but today the person who fell was you, a girl beautiful in her work. The girl who the clinic has loved will never be there again. Some day while I live I promise to seek revenge for Lien, for Ly, and for millions of others fallen in this life and death struggle!!
July 31, 1969. Hanh arrived to report the clinic’s situation. Three months ago on the 28th it was attacked for the first time. Now it has been found again: Lien has been killed, Tu also on the hilltop, and Le was captured.
Sadness, sorrow, and hate leave me silent. Even though I know the situation already I cannot regain any calmness. Oh! My people already dead and still alive we will always be together, always close to each other so as to fight the enemy. We still have Lien, Tu, Ly, Hung and the billions of souls of comrades I love living next to me and fighting until the day of total victory.
August 3, 1969. I met Tan again after 3 months of hardship, fire and smoke. He treats me like a close friend and not as though he is the comrade village secretary. I don’t know if he agrees or not that in the relationship I maintain the character of a girl raised in Socialism… which means there will always be friendships and understandings not divided by class or rank.
The day I said good-bye to him as he returned to the Southern Group and I returned from Binh Me, I worried that I would miss him before he left. In the late afternoon when almost dark I arrived home and met him by surprise as he was leaving. In the shades of evening the color of his shirt seemed to be mixed with air… I could only see in front of me a smiling face and his black eyes. I felt suddenly sorry for him, this young man who always keeps a strong and wonderful happiness. I wanted to run to him, drop my head in his arms like all the times when I returned home from far away to meet my parents and Uncle Hien, but I didn’t say anything as around us were other people. He shook my hand and said: “Be strengthened Comrade Tram!” (I understood the word “comrade” that he used here). I did not think anything and replied: “When you get there write a letter back, okay Tan”. Afterwards I felt some regret at my words. I don’t know if people understand our devotion or not, or if they won’t be happy with the way a comrade cadre treats the Secretary of the Village Cadre in an incorrect manner!
