|
|
The American |
|
|
Write:
|
The handwriting was very delicate on the envelope, which was addressed to my home. I recognized the place of origin from the stamp and postmark, but did not know who sent it, until opened. The card within featured a hand-painted silkscreen cover that depicted a traditional Vietnamese fishing boat on a calm body of water with tropical vegetation visible on the shoreline. Beneath the image was inscribed, “Merry Christmas.” When I opened the cover, I found a smaller card that presented an image of a woman, veiled, hands clasped together and eyes upward, prayerful. The background was blue, with traces of clouds. The inscription at the base read, “Lay Duc Me Viet Nam can cho chung con.” (Our Lady of Vietnam, pray for us). An onion-skin, handwritten note was enclosed, “So as a great blessing of God to you and all your family. Sincerely, Vo thi Nhan.” It was from “Mama San,” the lady who worked at the Bien Hoa military base and was paid by the GI’s in my hut (“hootch”) to clean boots each morning after we had finished night patrols, and assist with laundry, sweep, and clean the hut. It was a bargain for us, and the contract was a godsend to Mrs. Nhan, a widow with 3 children. Her husband was a ‘Red Cap’ South Vietnamese Army Ranger who died fighting not far from her home. Vo thi Nhan attended the Catholic Church in the village that was at the edge of the base complex. She had seen me there one Sunday, with a few other GIs, though I had not noticed her. She told me later, in her limited English, “I see you at Mass with GI’s.” It was a connection between us, even though limited by culture and circumstance. We also had church facilities on the base and attendance was higher than in the States. The war made young men face mortality on a daily basis. It did awaken me. The base chapel was generic and used by all denominations. We learned that God can be found anywhere, even on a battlefield. Cathedrals inspire through their splendor, but it is the faith of the people that uplifts the spirit and sanctifies any place. I knew the date when Mrs. Nhan saw me because her remarks were made after my first visit to her church, following a particularly terrible night when the base had come under rocket attack. There had been loss of life and destruction. I prayed for God’s protection through the night while patrolling an area outside the base perimeter from sundown to sunrise, alone with a German Shepherd. We were K-9 Corps. In the morning, after our squad returned to the base and our hut, everybody began to ‘sack-out.’ I changed to a clean uniform and, though weary, began the long walk to the Vietnamese church. One of my buddies called to me, asking where I was going. I told him. He hooted, derisively. I walked a few steps, then turned and answered. “I guess I was the only one praying last night.” I continued walking and didn’t hear another word. As I neared the church, I heard footsteps behind me. Three hut mates were hustling to catch up. We walked quietly together into the church and joined the service. Though the liturgy was in the Vietnamese language, we understood the universal Catholic service, which connected all. The earnest faith of the humble parishioners touched my heart. Holding that Christmas card, I thought of Vo thi Nhan, her family, and the people in that church. There was no return address and no way to contact her. I never heard from her again. American forces left in 1973, following the so-called Paris Peace Accords. Our Democrat Congress abandoned the South Vietnamese people shortly afterwards, allowing North Vietnamese communists to sweep through the country. In April of 1975, Bien Hoa was leveled by long-range artillery as the Russian and Chinese-equipped forces of North Vietnam marched to Saigon. Bien Hoa lay defenseless before the onslaught. I never heard from Mrs. Nhan again. I pray that she and her family are in the care of the Son of Lay Duc me Viet Nam.
|
