by James Dunn
The entire scene was actually glowing, not from any external source of light, but from itself. The ground glowed brightly. My captor seemed to radiate light, and even the weapon glowed with a light all its’ own. My feet, my knees, everything! It all glowed. The tree, the branches above. The leaves. Everything I saw was pulsating light. I wondered briefly if I was going blind, and rubbed my eyes with my glowing hand. I held it out at arm’s length and turned it palm up, then palm down. It didn't seem to matter which way I turned it or where I placed it. It all glowed and pulsated. I closed my eyes and the glow remained, but inside of me there seemed not to be any shapes, just light.
Now I heard the soft voice of the Abbot. "Embrace this too, Toby." His singsong voice sounded clearly as if he were very close to me. "You are not dreaming now. Maybe for the second time in your life you are awake beyond the dream.
Embrace it all, Brother Toby. And try to recall this moment when you get really lost in the dream.”
I scarcely dared to breathe. It was so beautiful that I wanted to hold the light in my mind forever. But even as I looked about the campsite, I saw the light fading. Too soon the pitch darkness surrounded me.
I sighed, and wondered what was real. I stood up and stretched in the pitch darkness, and groped around until I found a comfortable place to lie down to sleep. I could hear my captor snoring softly somewhere nearby.
Chapter 6
I dreamed again of mail call back at base camp. I could hear the "pop-pop" of the Huey and the sounds of the soldiers’ feet as they ran to the landing zone.
The coming of the mailbag was always a time of high interest to the guys. I ran too, even though I knew that I would get a letter from Myrna.
I dreamed this dream so many times I knew how it would go. I knew I would get an envelope, to open it and read that Myrna was marrying a hippie.
The crazy part was that although I knew how it was going to go, I would keep hoping that this time I could make the dream end differently. And so I would stand around with all the other guys, and wait, and hope that there was no letter for me.
But there always was. And it never changed. It always had her childish handwriting with the little round circles above each "i" and the short and low crossings of each "t."
Each time it started the same way. "Dear Toby," it began. "I hope you are doing okay." I didn't need to read the rest, because I knew it was going to tell me that she was marrying a guy named Ted from Kent State.
Myrna even said in the letter that I would like this guy if I got to know him.
Fat chance! I always crumpled up the letter after she wrote that. But this time I willed myself to change the dream. So instead of burning the letter in the ashtray, I willed myself to see it folded and put it in my footlocker. And so I was able to change the dream.
For the first time I was actually a little glad that our engagement was over. And it helped me to become aware that I really wasn't sure I was the same guy she kissed goodbye at the airport. And I wasn't sure that I even knew her well enough to marry her. And this time, I actually smiled at the idea that I might like Ted. Hell, I probably would, if I ever met him. I would shake his hand and introduce myself, "I'm the guy from her hometown, her childhood sweetheart. Pleased to meet you."
I recalled that our letters had started out so passionate, so honest. But as the months passed, they got more polite, less revealing. After the fourth month neither of us really talked about our deepest thoughts or our daydreams.
So this time, in this dream, I blessed her and wished her well, and Ted too. For the first time I saw her as if we were two ships, each heading in a different direction, which just happened to share some space for a moment before they passed out of sight.
It was then that I realized that her last few letters weren't even signed with love, just her name at the bottom of the page.
I woke up in total darkness of the night, moved by a deep sense of peacefulness. My captor slept, snoring lightly. There was no way to tell what time it was. But I was completely awake so I sat up and made myself comfortable.
The first thought I had was a vivid memory of watching the raft with all my possessions float down the river. The next one was a sense of lightness; of being freer than I had ever remembered being.
I smiled as I realized that I had originally resisted the Abbot's idea that a monk needs only a bowl, a robe and sandals. I thought about my pocket bible, knowing full well I couldn't have even seen it in the pre-dawn darkness. Did I miss it because I believed it had protected me? Or did I miss its wisdom?
I tried to remember some of my favorite passages. All I could think of was the story about the people who met Jesus, and they turned away,
"I was cold, and you didn't offer me a coat. I was hungry, and you didn't share your meal." And one of them said, "But Master, we didn't recognize you!" And he answered and said, "What so ever you do unto the least of them, you do unto me."
One of the Abbot's lectures talked about the concept of right timing. He had said that everything that seems to occur in our lives happens at exactly the moment when it will be in our best interest. "Accidents are only possible in our perception, but impossible in the grand scheme of things."
So why had the thought of this parable occurred to me tonight? Was it just because it was the first thing I could remember? It didn't actually seem to apply in my current situation; at least not to me.
If my sleeping captor had heard it, I am sure it would have had some significance. But I was his captive, in a hostile land, held against my will in a place very near Cambodia. And the worst part was, my captor seemed like the better of two awful choices.
"Breathe in the suffering," came the voice of the old Abbot. "Embrace it all, and let it into your heart. Transform it to a blessing and send it out to everyone.
Exclude no one. Send it to all sentient beings."
It seemed as though the Abbot had his own key to get into my head, and there was little I could do to stop him, so I just let him ramble.
He continued. "Loving-kindness is not real until it is offered to everyone indiscriminately. Can you offer loving kindness?"
In the temple, each monk would respond with an affirmative, "Of course!" Almost before I thought about it, I said it aloud.
My captor stirred, sighing deeply and softly whimpered in the darkness nearby.
I asked myself if I could bless this man who kept poking me with a loaded weapon. "Of course I can," came my silent reply.
Next came the vision of Myrna's soft brown hair. In the summers it looked blonde, but by winter it was a light brown. Her smile could still light up a dark night. Could I bless her? "Of course!"
That old woman who appeared above me in the pit showed up next. I could see the hatred in her face, and I closed my eyes as the thought of her urinating all over me. Her too? I winced when I thought of her.
Could I honestly offer her a blessing? I wondered what kind of a life she had in a small village. I wondered if she had watched her husband die. ARVN and American troops often visited the villages randomly, and any sudden move might result in a shooting.
And after dark, the Viet Cong appeared. Any sign of hesitancy or even an implied unwillingness to support the cause could have ended in a death at the hands of the VC.
Maybe she had lost children, or grandchildren. How could I possibly know her mind?
"You can't," came the voice of Beloved Abbot. "But you can bless her and hold her in loving kindness in your mind." I sighed, "Of course I can," I said finally.
The faces changed from Vietnamese to American, from old to young. I saw the men of my unit. I silently blessed each one. I saw the face of my Commanding Officer. I even saw the face of that Lieutenant who just had to go on our last patrol.
I wondered if he had a wife who got a visit from the Chaplain and another officer. I wondered if he had kids.
The blessings came easier now. And the last face that appeared was a young soldier that at first I didn't even recognize.
I spent the night sitting in the lotus pose. I blessed everyone that came to mind. I even blessed the politicians on both sides of this crazy war, the hippies that protested the war, and the South Vietnamese officers who made sure they were never anywhere near the front.
I found myself letting go of all the grievances I had held against anyone or any group. For a fleeting instance, I even saw the faces of those Cambodians with the long hair that my captor seemed so intent on avoiding. I sent them a blessing just in case.
The light of dawn came upon me as I sat. I watched the jungle stir and awaken. I saw tiny critters on the earthen floor of the forest as they got themselves busy doing what they do. A couple of ants checked my foot out, but as I blasted them with loving-kindness they turned away.
I watched my captor sleeping, knowing that I could easily have grabbed his weapon and made him my captive. But there didn't seem to be any reason to disturb the order of it all. Soon enough he opened his eyes.
When he saw me sitting there he quickly sat up and grabbed the weapon. A look of surprise flicked across his face for an instant, only to be replaced by the stoic mask.
"We must leave immediately," he said in English.
When I didn't respond, he jumped to his feet and pointed the weapon at me. "Get on your feet now!" he ordered.
I struggled to my feet, stiff and sore from a whole night in the lotus pose. I had to test each leg and massage the circulation back to be able to feel anything. He watched impassively.
"A change of plans?" I asked.
"Cambodians are not supposed to be in Viet Nam. I must get word of this to my superiors. We leave immediately."
I nodded and grabbed my crutch and gear. We walked back the way we had come, with the morning sun in our eyes and the fear of an encounter keeping us next to one side of the trail. We walked uphill most of the day. Twice we jumped into the forest, once to watch three Cambodians heading west, and once to watch an old farmer lugging rice sacks tied on a pole across his shoulders.
The trail started to look familiar, and I knew we would soon be stopping, since I remembered a group of trees that signaled the nearby presence of a small river. We had made camp on the other side, and he had dug up two maniocs and replanted the seeds.
We forded the stream and he ordered me off the trail. I smiled to see his garden.
"We should be safe here," he said. He set about making a small fire. I watched as he made a circle of rocks, just like my dad had taught me so many years ago on our camping trips back in Oklahoma. He dug through his pack and produced an old aluminum coffeepot, which he filled with canteen water and placed in the fire. Next to it he placed a pan, with its handle missing, into the coals, and splashed a small amount of water into it.
My captor took his time fixing vegetables and rice, and even dug in his pack and came up with some garlic. The tea was nice and hot and smelled like good green tea. He handed me a full bowl of food and left the fire going. I figured he must have felt he was in a very safe part of the country.
I bowed when he handed the steaming bowl to me, mostly out of a habit I hadn't realized I had formed from my stay at the temple. He bowed in return, and we both sat and ate in silence.
I had given up on asking him any questions, and vowed that I would only respond when he spoke. He seemed more than okay with that. The evening grew later and the fire burned down, and still he made no effort to douse it, or hide it, or disguise our campsite.
I had the feeling that we had pretty much arrived at wherever we were heading, with him getting careless with the campsite. My suspicions were confirmed when he produced a cigarette and lit up. He offered me one, but I waived it away.
I ate slowly as he inhaled deeply and let the smoke cascade out of his slightly opened mouth. He seemed to be studying me as intently as I studied him.
"You eat too slow," he said.
I nodded. "You told me that before. And I told you that you eat too fast, remember?"
He nodded and pinched out the cigarette. He carefully placed the remainder in his shirt pocket and stood up. "It’s time for the rope," he said.
I set my bowl and cup to the side and stood up, thinking he was going to tie my legs again. He busied himself with the rope and secured my hands in front of me and then threw dirt over the fire and stomped out any embers. Without another word he lay down next to the ever-present AK-47 and closed his eyes.
"Goodnight," I called. He didn't answer. "I'd hate to meet you in a poker game," I said, more to myself than to him.
Without moving in the darkness, a voice from his direction said, "You would lose."
I smiled and yawned and realized how tired I was. With my hands tied I couldn't even wash out the cup and bowl, so I lay on my back and closed my eyes and was instantly asleep.
The whistle of incoming artillery came in the dead of night. I may have awakened with the first round fired, and the soldier in me sensed that there was trouble. I was on my feet when the first explosion hit about two hundred feet from us, and directly in the middle of the path we had walked earlier.
I heard the whistle of the next round and broke into a full run. My captor passed me running fast, but he didn't have the handicap of tied hands. The moon was up, and finding the trail was not difficult. I watched his dark figure disappear into the dark shadows in front of me.
A huge explosion behind me spurred me into even more speed, and I ran for my life. The trouble is my bad leg was slowing me down, and those shells were being walked right at my position. I veered left, off the trail and into the heavy undergrowth. I could hear the boots of my captor, and knew that he had also left the trail and was somewhere in front of me. I tripped and slammed my face first into the muddy ground with a thud.
The shrill whistle of the incoming round sounded much too close, so I closed my eyes. I would have covered my head, if my hands weren't tied, but I pressed my face deeper into the mud.
Even with eyes tightly closed and filled with mud I could see the brilliant flash in front of me light up the jungle, with a deafening explosion that followed a millisecond later. Shrapnel whistled past me just inches above my head. "Oh, God!" I called into the mud and the darkness.
The explosion in front of me was exactly where I had heard the thrashing and running of my captor. I managed to jump to my feet and run towards the mayhem in front of me, cursing the idiot who had tied me.
"Are you all right?" I called into the darkness. I was running as fast as I could go when my head whacked into a huge low-hanging branch, hitting me just above the eyes. I slammed to the earth again. "Oh, shit." I muttered just before I lost consciousness.
A strange tickling sensation brought me awake in the full of the day. The sunlight burned my muddy eyes and I blinked and squinted, trying to see in the glare. I finally managed to open one eye and began blinking rapidly, trying to focus.
The strange shape of a furry face with long whiskers and beady black eyes formed in my vision. It was less than an inch from my nose, and smelled like death in a sewer. A mouth opened, revealing filthy pointed teeth and a gut wrenching case of bad breath. The stench shocked me fully awake, and I sat bolt upright, slamming my forehead into a giant black rodent's snout.
A strange and guttural scream arose from deep within me, and was instantly matched by a high-pitched howl from the rat. It sprang backwards and hissed.
Somehow, without the use of my hands, I was on my feet. I kicked wildly at the startled rat, got lucky and caught him on the snout. He squealed and flew backwards hitting a tree. He landed with a thud, obviously stunned for an instant, but was up quickly and scurried away. I looked around wildly, fearful that there were more of these giant rats, but he must have been alone.
Panting and gasping, I leaned forward and vomited again a
nd again.
When there was no more to eject, and my stomach was contorted in pain, I fell on my knees and cried for a long time. The sobbing finally stopped and I stood and backed away from the stench of my own vomit. My memory kicked in and I recalled the horror of the night.
It didn't take any effort to find his trail, and follow it through the jungle. I must have trailed him for two or three minutes before I came to a huge crater. Off to the left and outside the crater I spotted the crumpled body, face down in a pool of blood. My K-bar knife was visible tucked into the back of his belt.
It took me a couple of minutes to hobble around the edge of the crater. When I got to the body I used my good foot to nudge his body. There was no response. The amount of blood suggested that if he wasn't dead now, he would be shortly. Since he had tied my hands in front of me it took only a few tries to remove the K-bar knife from his belt. I swatted several times at the flies with the knife. I guess I thought that maybe I could cut one of those flies with the knife? I smiled at the absurdity of it and quit trying to disturb the flies and focused on freeing my hands.
I dropped the knife twice before I managed to cut the cotton rope from my wrists. He had tied it so tightly that I had to rub my wrists to regain circulation.
A soft moan from the crumpled form jerked my head around, so I hurried over and heaved him over on his back and probed for a pulse. I didn't find any on the wrist, but detected a very faint one on his neck. It was there, but it was weak. Real weak.
I pulled and tugged until I had removed him from the pool of blood. His right trouser was soaked from the knee down. I used the K-bar and sliced away his pant leg, revealing a huge chunk of blackened steel that was imbedded in his shinbone. The tendons on the front sides of his leg had been severed, and the foot flopped wildly when I attempted to reposition the leg. I started to work quickly with the knife, and the shrapnel piece gave way.
