by James Dunn
"I try to remember that harmlessness is a way of life," he said. "But I too, forget sometimes. If there are ever soldiers present, your very life may depend upon your remembering." He turned toward the door, but then turned back to me.
"And I must remember that my duty is to observe my own mind and not stand in judgment of another. Beloved Abbot reminds us that condemnation is nothing more than a sly form of attack. And attack is never practicing harmlessness." And with that comment he turned and left.
The days slid by in a haze of dreariness. The dampness got inside me, chilling me to the bone and even chilling my mind. I slept in bursts and starts, awake for most of the nights and some of the days. I stopped allowing my head to be shaved, and my beard came in ragged and wild.
Truong never came back after I refused to let him shave me, and the only marks of time were the gongs that called them to meditate and dine. My food was delivered silently twice each day. Each day I ate half of the food, carefully saving anything that I might be able to take with me. I placed it against the wall at the back corner of the top of my bed.
One morning my own guttural scream woke me from a fitful night of sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to shake the sleep from my mind. I straightened my spine and began the process of deep breathing.
I needed to rid my mind of the terrifying images of enemy soldiers and explosions and screams, the silent sounds of my own weapon chattering in slow motion as the shells impacted the bodies. I consciously tried to remember the faces of my mom and dad, but nothing came. I panicked at the thought that I was so far removed from everything I loved that I couldn't even get a clear picture of my parents’ faces.
No sooner would a vague picture of my parents appear than it would be replaced by a face of an enemy soldier. Each face would silently scream at me to stop, whether it seemed to be Mom or Dad or the enemy, the message was always the same.
If I had been back at the unit, I would have requested a chaplain. The guys called it wigging out, and now I knew what they were talking about. I was definitely wigging out.
But there was no chaplain. And I was not back in my unit. And that damned rain was never going to quit.
Once I allowed my mind to move upwards and away from the images. I drifted up to a place where I could imagine that I could see myself sitting on the edge of the cot. I imagined seeing the top of my own head, and noticing the posture of a man at the ragged edge of crisis. I wanted to reach out and comfort that form of myself. I imagined I actually did reach out and place a hand on my own forehead, and immediately felt a sense of peace calm me.
I was so startled by the sudden change, the sudden sense of peace that I came quickly out of the meditation.
"Huh, I snorted. What just happened?
I stood and stretched and noticed for the first time that the day was very bright. And there was no sound of rain. I listened carefully. Nothing. The silence almost hurt.
I quickly washed, noticing the stiff and bristly beard, and the hair that once again covered my head. Today, I decided, I would shave again. I need to look like a Buddhist to succeed in the escape.
I sighed and hobbled outside and headed towards the well. I drew a bucket and ladled some of it into my bowl. Buddhists drink from the same vessel that they eat from, and I decided to get used to their routines. The sun was bright and hot as I moved backwards against the building, stepping out of the sunlight and into the cooling shadows of a large tree.
A movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was a small figure, even smaller that Truong. The head was shaved, and whoever it was moved slowly with the aid of two homemade crutches. Was it a girl? I squinted in the bright morning light.
Whoever she was, she seemed so intent on getting to the garden that she never even glanced in my direction. She was obviously new to the crutches, and very awkward in her movements. She cried out or winced with nearly every movement, and my first reaction was to go and help.
Buddhists discourage any contact between genders, and so I decided to wait and watch her progress. I didn't even know there were any nuns in the temple, and certainly no wounded ones. Maybe she was an acolyte, like myself.
I waited while she made her way past me and into the courtyard. My eyes were drawn to her foot. Not feet, but foot. She had only one foot.
I had a bowl full of water in my hand, and started to raise it to drink, but realized I was no longer thirsty. My heart went out to her. I blessed her for her courage to try to get around on just one foot. She had a lot of courage that one. She hobbled over to my favorite place and sat down.
I noticed that I had become sort of territorial about the garden. I had so often braved the rain and sat under the overhanging roof of the temple, it was a place to go and think and not be bothered. I watched my mind struggle with empathy for her and anger that she had taken my favorite place in the garden.
For a moment I considered returning to my room, but then I decided that this garden was as much mine as it was hers to use. And I really needed to do some thinking.
I sighed and stepped out of the shadow of the tree and moved towards the garden. I was moving slowly, and yet still my foot miscalculated a small step causing me to lurch. She jerked her head at the sound of my approach, and clamored to her feet, grabbing a crutch. "Stay away!" she hissed.
I stopped in my tracks. I studied her for a moment and extended the bowl. "Water?" I muttered. I was close enough that she could have taken it.
Her face was a mask of hatred. Her eyes darted up and down, taking me in. For some reason I wished I had a fresh shave. I extended the bowl closer, spilling some of the water at her feet.
She lashed out with the crutch and knocked the bowl to the floor, spilling most of the water onto her robe. The bowl bounced once and landed on its rim and spun like a tired top. Both of us watched in silence as it spun round and around and around again on its rim, making a noise that got louder and louder as it went. It finally stopped. The silence suddenly seemed too loud.
I muttered in Vietnamese, "I just thought you might like some water."
She turned her back to me, so I hobbled past her to a place out of the sun and sat on a stone bench. I deliberately turned away from her, and studied the contents of the pond. I had been so long with the monks I thought I knew everyone at the monastery. Who was she, and why was she here?
Maybe she was a recent rescue. Whoever she was, she definitely was not friendly. I wondered if she would contact the closest authority and have me arrested. She must have noticed I was a foreigner. Whatever peace of mind I had hoped to find in the garden had vanished, and my mind was jumbled with this new discovery.
The murmur of the brook sounded suddenly threatening, the white flowers in the pond seemed like ghosts. The garden that used to calm me and afford such peace now seemed like an ambush about to happen.
I looked around, my senses on full alert, with memories of patrols and firefights filling my mind. My breathing was shallow and rapid. For the first time in months I could actually taste the bitter fear in my dry mouth. The thump, thump of my heart and the shallowness of breath told me that I was no longer in a safe place.
My months of recovery and long discussions of philosophy had suddenly ended. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to cry.
I decided to try the methods I had learned to still my racing mind, but had no luck at all. I wanted to outwait her so that I wouldn't have to pass her again when I left, so I just sat there. Once or twice I opened one eye and checked the movement of the shadows.
She had to be Viet Cong! How else could I explain the wounds, and the hatred at seeing me? And if she were Viet Cong, she'd do everything in her power to tell them of my presence and have me arrested. Suddenly I hated the temple and needed to be gone.
I waited with my eyes closed as long as I could and then glanced in her direction. She was gone. I stood stiffly and shuffled back towards my room. I needed to find Truong and get some straight answers.
The door tha
t I had always assumed was a storage room stood ajar, and a heap of orange rags was keeping it from closing. Two crutches had been propped beside the door. I went to move the rags and saw a pool of blood and a small hand.
"Truong!" I yelled. "Please help! Anyone!" I kneeled down and lifted her into my arms and kicked the door open.
An old nun appeared and stared at me. "Give her to me!" she commanded. The nun was tiny, maybe four and a half feet tall. On a good day she might have weighed 75 pounds. I could just imagine me handing the girl to her and watching her drop her.
''Get out of my way," I said. "And hold the door open!"
She swallowed and bowed and pushed the door wider. I went in and gently placed the girl on the bed. "She needs help," I said. The old nun nodded and pointed at the door. No words were needed to tell me that I wasn't needed or allowed in this room.
Inside was a cot like mine, and a nightstand. "This girl has fallen. She needs help," I said again.
The nun's face contorted into a mask of rage. "Get away from her! Leave! Now! Again she pointed a bony finger at the door.
I hobbled back to my room and flopped onto the bed. My mind was jumbled and bruised. Too many images! Too many disconnected thoughts for one day. I could still feel the softness of the girl's body against my chest. I could still taste the fear in my mouth.
What did all this mean? It meant I had to get the hell out of here, that's what it meant! I closed my eyes and held them tightly shut for a long time. Mercifully, I must have drifted off to sleep.
The sweat had gathered in my eye sockets. A stinging sensation pulled me out of sleep, and I awakened to find myself lying on my back in a pool of sweat, inside a very hot room that seemed to have no air at all. I groaned and sat up. My clothes were soaked. My foot hurt. My belly hurt. But most of all my brain hurt. Funny how one day could change things. I had to leave and soon. I gave up on the idea of staying until I felt healed.
I wanted it to have been so different. I wanted to be healed in the belly, and healed in the foot and ankle. I wanted to be back with my unit. I wanted to believe I could even find my unit, or any other unit of American troops.
And then the thought of the girl came creeping back into my mind. I remembered holding her unconscious body in my arms. I wanted to just hold her and protect her. I wanted her to listen as I told her how sorry I was for her pain, and for her wounds.
I wanted to tell her that I knew who she was. I wanted to tell her it was my weapon that took her foot, and tore through her body and nearly took her life. And I knew she hated me, and couldn't wait to signal some VC unit, and have me taken out and shot. And I knew I had to get the hell out of here!
I lurched to my feet and hobbled outside, hoping for cooler air. I almost tripped on the bowl of food, and cursed under my breath when I put my bad foot down too fast to keep me from falling.
I was starved! And so I knelt down and took the bowl and the wrapped vegetables, and the tiny pot of tea, and headed for the garden. Mercifully, I was its only occupant. I remembered to slow down my mind and savor each slurp of tea. I ate half of each vegetable roll, and half of the sticky rice. I would stash the saved food under my bed with all the rest.
I sat for a while and watched the day tum into night. Finally, I picked up the bowl and teapot and made my way back to my room. I left the door open, hoping to get some breeze to cool it down. I placed the bowl and pot at the door, slid the saved food under the bed and laid down. I was almost immediately asleep.
"Brother Toby?" came Truong's soft voice.
I sat up in the pitch darkness. "I came with your mid-day meal, but you were nowhere in sight."
"And where were you when I needed to ask you some questions? Who is that girl?" My voice was louder than it needed to be and I consciously toned it down. "Is she Viet Cong? Is she the other survivor of my last mission?"
Truong let himself in and smiled. "Yes and yes. There is much commotion since you picked her up and entered her room, too."
"What was I supposed to do, let her die in the doorway? Is that the Buddhist way? Don't touch a member of the opposite sex, just let them die?"
He took his time answering, but then that was nothing new. Sometimes I think he only did that to try to look wise, or to piss me off.
"Surely you must remember that you two came to the temple together. There were only two survivors."
I knew who she was. I had just hoped I was wrong. I guess I had hoped that the one I shot had died, and this one was somehow a different one. But I also knew that was just bullshit. The memory of that young girl lying next to her foot wouldn't leave my mind.
He studied me for what seemed like five minutes. I was determined to outwait him.
Finally he frowned and drew a deep breath. Each word came out slowly, as if he was having trouble with the translation. "There was a heated discussion when we found the two of you. Most of the monks said it would bring only trouble to our temple to bring you two back here." He smiled sadly, "I had almost convinced myself they were wrong until today. Guests in a monastery are never supposed to have any contact with a person of the opposite gender."
"We ran into each other in the garden. I had no idea she was here, or even alive," I muttered darkly.
He nodded. "I see," he said softly. I could tell he didn't see at all. "The Lord Buddha admonishes us to have right-minded thinking and right- minded actions." He frowned again, "You did not speak to her, did you?"
"I never heard it was against the law to speak to a… female!" He nodded his head up and down.
"Hey!" I said. "I never took any vows! I agreed to listen to what you guys had to say, but only to pass the time until I got better." It occurred to me that I may have said more than I wanted to.
He held up his hand. "Promise me you will not speak to her again. Please try to stay away from her. If you see her..."
"If I see her I'll damned well hide!" I retorted. "She made it clear that she hates me and will have me killed if she gets the chance."
His voice was as soft as mine was loud. "Then you will honor us by keeping our customs?"
A part of me was mad at him for suspecting me of making a pass at her. I didn't think I had. Another part of me was mad at myself for remembering with such intensity the feelings and sensations of softness that I had when I held her in my arms.
"So I should not have helped her when she collapsed?" I asked quietly.
Truong tilted his head and was still for some time. "It is wrong for you to offer her water in the garden. It is wrong to speak to her. But one never turns away from someone in distress."
" I am sorry for my poor manners," I said. I bowed to him formally. "Please forgive my lack of knowledge of your customs. I don't fully know all of your ways."
He was still for some time, and then returned the bow. "Forgive me, Brother Toby. I have spoken so harshly. I must admit that sometimes I wish I could look upon her and speak to her. Sometimes I am weak in my commitment to the Path of Buddha."
I smiled and slapped him on the arm. "Hey! We are men, remember? We all have our moments of weakness."
He didn't smile back, and he didn't get my attempt at teasing. He bowed again and started to leave. I held up my hand and he paused.
"What should I do if I see her again?" I asked.
"You won't," he said softly. She has re-injured herself, and may not live long."
"How can I know if she contacted the enemy?"
He shook his head. "Today was the first time she was able to stand or leave her room. She is now unconscious, and someone is with her all the time."
He stepped through the open door, and turned back to me. "And besides," he said, "If she contacts the "enemy" all of us would probably be shot. Not just you."
I lay down on my bed and tried to sleep. I kept reliving that moment of raking my weapon across that column of soldiers, and seeing in slow motion the impact of each shell on the bodies of the men and the girl. I remembered letting up on the trigger after she lost her foot,
and I remembered the last two impacts; one in her mid-section and one in the shoulder.
I tried to will it so that I stopped firing before she was hit, but that picture refused to form in my mind. There is something thankfully impersonal about killing the enemy. You don't know them. You don't relate to them at any level. They become targets. Nothing more. Now all that was changed.
Killing had seemed so normal. So necessary! And yet the amputation of a limb seemed so barbaric, so, so inexcusable. Was it just because I had met her? I had offered her water. I had actually held her in my arms. Felt her vulnerability?
Damn this war! And damn those memories I can't seem to lose! I lay there for a long time, but couldn't fall asleep.
Finally I sat up and decided to go again to the garden. I softly stepped outside and was very careful to step carefully so as not to slip or make a misstep. It was very dark, with no moon to help me. I had to feel my way along the path, past the fountain and to my favorite place. I started to ease onto the bench. A sudden shove nearly made me jump out of my skin.
"Go away!" a voice hissed.
I caught myself and tried to focus my eyes into the dark shadows. "What are you doing here?" I finally managed to say.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw her staring at my sore foot. "At least you still have your foot. You shot mine off!"
I rubbed my eyes and drew a deep breath. "I was told you were unconscious...near death. I am glad to see you are not."
She laughed an angry hollow laugh. "I waited until the old lady fell asleep. I intend to go and find some comrades."
I took a deep breath, searching for the right words, "If there was any way I could undo that day, and that firefight, I would. I... I am so sorry, so really sorry that you lost your foot."
Her eyes bore into mine. "I didn't lose it! You shot it off! And I would kill you now if I had a way!"
I bowed my head. "I have to go. We are not supposed to ever talk to each other."
"The next time I see you, I will kill you." I nodded.
She looked at me with all the hatred she could muster. I turned and shuffled back to my room.
