by James Dunn
With that he bowed and strode to the door. His three young companions jumped quickly to their feet, grabbed their weapons and followed him out.
Mai busied herself clearing up the china. Our eyes met briefly and I thought maybe I detected a smile, but she turned away before I could be sure. With her back to me she said in a firm voice, "It’s getting late in the afternoon. I might suggest that you decide what tonight's lecture should be about."
I realized I had been holding my breath for some time, so I slowly exhaled and bowed. It occurred to me that right mindfulness would be the perfect thing to talk about tonight. Once again I swear I heard Truong's voice giggle.
So I spoke that evening on Right Mindfulness. I imitated the old Abbot, and was amazed that I could nearly recall word for word his entire lecture right down to his dramatic pauses, and his stories to illustrate each point.
About halfway through the lecture the room got so full that the village elder suggested we move to the largest building in the village. By the time we all got relocated and the talk was finished, and the long and silent meditation was over, it was nearly midnight.
I spoke every night after that, but tried to cut down the time a little. The crowds kept growing, and many people came from nearby villages. Soon enough the village elders decided to locate us in the nearby Province of Lam Dong, just across the river. There was an abandoned Catholic church, and it was plenty big enough.
I don't know how many days passed in Lam Dong, but the monsoons came and went, and still I lectured, discussing the Suttras, and occasionally counseling a couple or performing a funeral or a marriage.
A young man appeared one day at the door to the temple and informed me that he wanted to follow the path of the Lord Buddha. I bowed and invited him to sit for ten lectures. I told him that after ten lectures he would know if this was his path.
He nodded and bowed and said, "I am Phuoc. I am sure that this is my path, but I will obey your wish and sit for ten lectures. Is there a place where I can sleep?"
I showed him our four cots. Since only mine was being used, he took the one on the other side of the room.
"Brother Phuoc, you are welcome to stay as long as you would like. Would you be offended if I called you Honored sir?"
He bowed again and said, "From this day forward my name is Honored Sir. I am grateful for your kindness."
And so our little temple now had two monks. Honored Sir quickly adapted to the rituals and patterns of the temple. Each morning I would school him much the way Beloved Abbot had schooled me. Like me, he asked a lot of questions, and like the Abbot, I tried to be as clear as I could in the answers. I found it helped me to clarify my own understanding to explain it to him.
Occasionally, I would hear news of the war. It seemed that the Americans had left in a big hurry, and the Southern forces had lost their will. Desertions from the Southern forces were massive, and only small pockets of resistance were being encountered. Many soldiers from the south who wouldn't desert were being executed. The northern forces were not prepared for the rapid disintegration of the ARVN armies, and couldn't advance fast enough to take the places the south had abandoned.
One night, in the middle of our meditation and chanting, I heard the door open and close. I was facing away from the door, and assumed it was a farmer who had decided I was too long-winded.
After the service ended, I was cleaning up and straightening the altar when a voice behind me said, "Brother Toby!" I turned quickly, surprised that I was not alone. Honored Sir had asked for leave to attend the funeral of his grandmother, and wasn't expected back for another week.
I collided with a monk in an orange robe. I blinked in the dim light to see who it was. I recognized the voice before I did the image. Troung's voice was weaker than I remembered.
'Toby Allman, That was a wonderful lecture tonight!"
"Brother Truong I" I shouted. I grabbed him and lifted him off the ground, and spun around, nearly tripping. He was thinner than I remembered, and didn't seem as healthy.
Ordinarily physical contact between monks is most unusual. In fact, the entire society seemed to have an aversion to physical contact except for the women in a family hugging each other. It might have been inappropriate, but I had to admit I was mighty glad to see him. His face was bright red, and his smile was nearly ear to ear.
"How did you find me?" I asked as I started a fire and put on water for tea.
His face got serious. "We had quite a visit from some gentlemen from the provisional government," Truong explained. "At first we thought they were coming there to close our temple, but they assured us that they only wanted to know about an American monk."
He looked around suspiciously, "They asked so many questions about you. You may be in great danger!"
I was surprised. I knew that they watched my every move, and made daily reports about me. But I passed that off as normal paranoia that seemed to be a part of their culture. They had rules about everyone becoming the eyes for the party.
"But I thought everything was good," I said. "No soldiers have come to bother me in a long while."
Truong lowered his eyes. "The war is almost over. Now the factional fighting begins. There are hardliners, and there are moderates. No one has any idea which group will prevail."
"Hardliners?" I asked. He nodded. "Hardliners want to destroy all religions and create a Marxist state. And they want to purge the party of any moderates. The moderates want Viet Nam to return to a place where Buddhism is the religion, and the people are free to do the will of the party."
The tea water boiled, and I served my honored friend. He went on to explain that certain elements wanted to reconcile with the ARVN troops and other groups wanted to execute them all. Viet Nam was becoming a very dangerous place.
"I thought that the war was about getting rid of foreigners," I said.
Truong shook his head. "It is much more complicated than that. The north is driven and funded by money from China and Russia. Both have embraced the ideology of communism, which has a goal to rid the world of religions."
He frowned, with wrinkles magically appearing on his smooth face. "There was a common enemy, which is disintegrating, and now the factions will struggle for power."
I sipped my tea, thinking about the fact that I had managed to convince myself that I might make a home for myself. It was almost as if I was willing myself to forget that my goal was to escape. The Abbot had lectured about the life of a monk, often repeating that a monk is to avoid getting attached to anyone or anything or any place.
Truong broke into my reverie, "The north is winning the war, but there will be a struggle to win the peace. You must go now to Saigon, before it falls."
"Saigon? Why Saigon?"
Truong leaned close to me and whispered, "There is an American embassy still in Saigon. When it falls, the purges will begin."
"Purges?"
He nodded. "They will round up anyone that has been accused of conspiring with the South. They may execute anyone who is religious. Or they may let the religions be."
He put his hand on my arm, and leaned close. His face showed tiredness I had never seen before. "You may be sure that an American who used to be a soldier will not have many friends to protect him."
"What about the Abbot?" I asked. "Maybe he is in danger too.'' Truong lowered his eyes. "That is the other thing I came here to tell you. The Abbot is not well. He has asked about you."
"Me? Why would he ask about me?"
A big smile appeared on Troung's face. "He said to tell you that he misses your profound questions."
It was my turn to smile, "Yeah, right!" I said.
Instantly Truong's face lost its smile. His eyes suddenly focused on the floor. "Do you remember what he told us about telling the truth? I would not tease about that."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I meant no slight. I just find it hard to think that he would ever bother to think of me."
Truong looked right into my eyes. "He said to tell you
that he only speaks to you when you summon him. He said you probably saved your life by telling the official the truth. And he said that you would know what that meant."
My mouth dropped open and my mind seemed to race and screech to a halt and race again. If he could really be inside my head and talk to me, then my view of the world was seriously flawed. I was suddenly exhausted.
"I am out of energy," I finally managed to say. "You can make your bed in one of those cots. But I really have to sleep, and soon."
I stood and bowed, and so did he. I showed him where the cots were and went to my own.
That night, I dreamed of explosions and fire and loud screams. I saw the sights and heard the sounds, and yet somehow remained just outside the dream. As I slept, I found my mind remembering a vivid discussion with a blob of bright light. But I couldn't quite recall the contents of that discussion.
At breakfast Truong told me that the Abbot was insisting that the temple be moved to Laos. The ruler of Laos had assured both the Buddhists and the Catholics that they would be free to practice their beliefs without interference from the government. With the situation becoming so uncertain in Viet Nam, the Abbot wished to avoid any difficulties.
"And so, Brother Toby, the monastery where you had spent so much time has been abandoned."
Truong showed me a map, with distances to Saigon. He even marked on it safe places to camp for the nights. "You must go immediately. There is no telling how long before the South Vietnamese government falls. And when it does, the Americans will be gone."
"We must be near Laos right here. If the Abbot is not well, I will to go with you to see him."
He shook his head. "No! You must leave for Saigon! Toby, an acquaintance of mine made some discreet inquiries, and you are not considered a traitor. You are officially listed as "missing in action, presumed dead."
"I would never leave Viet Nam without saying goodbye to Beloved Abbot."
I stood up and made up a quick tote bag that contained my bowl, a small teapot with four tiny cups, and a second pair of tire-sole sandals. Truong watched me in silence as I gathered some food. "Will three days food be enough?" I asked.
He nodded, stood up and sighed. "You Americans are sure hard headed," he muttered.
The door to the temple opened and closed. Truong looked at me and I looked at him. Just then I heard the voice of Honored Sir. "Master Toby, I have returned! My grandmother was quite alive! Someone had made a big mistake when they sent word she had died."
Truong looked at me with a big smile, "You are now Master Toby!" He bowed deeply and with a lot of flourish. "I am so honored to hear of your promotion."
I opened my mouth to explain about Honored Sir, and how he showed up one day, but before I could say anything, Honored Sir was in the room. He saw Truong, and bowed deeply.
Now Troung returned the bow, and I had to do the whole introduction thing. Honored Sir was so pleased to meet Truong, and began immediately asking about the time at the temple.
Truong managed to catch my eye and rolled his as the young man continued to rapidly ask questions. I smiled and finished packing.
After about twenty minutes of non-stop talking and asking questions I felt sorry enough for Truong that I interrupted them, I could see the relief on Truong’s face.
" Honored Sir, I am so glad you are here. Brother Truong has come to tell me my honored Abbot has summoned me. I must go immediately and may be gone for a couple of weeks."
The look on his face was one of disbelief. Honored Sir was not about to tell me that I was under constant observation, and that he was the main informer. So I made it easy for him.
"Oh, and would you please get word to Mr. Quang Liem and send him my apologies for such a hasty departure. Each moment I stay may mean that my Beloved Abbot grows weaker."
I stepped past Honored Sir in the doorway, with Truong right on my tail. Outside, we both turned and bowed deeply to the flustered young monk before walking briskly out of the village and to the west.
Chapter 9
We walked westward in silence. It seemed like it was mostly downhill, which made it easier for me with my foot still giving me occasional pain. Truong's only comment was that I seemed much healthier than the last time he had seen me. I was not much in the mood for conversation, and glad that he seemed to sense that. And so the hours and the miles passed.
We made good time, and I was pleased to find my foot was stronger. It was not even sore until late in the day. We camped overnight near a Catholic church, and were back walking before the sun could be seen.
At lunch Truong told me that he had made some discreet inquiries through his brother, and found that I was listed as Missing in Action, presumed dead. "If you get to Saigon, you will be able to return to America. There will most likely not be any trouble, since your unit pulled out while you were wounded."
I began to think about going home. I was surprised to find that I had very mixed feelings about it. I didn't even know if my dad was still alive, and I had no idea where I would go or what I would do when I got back.
My last letter from my mother had said that dad's health was failing, and that had been months before my last mission. Now as we walked, Truong talked more and more, and I grew quieter and quieter.
Truong did tell me that the little cook who had found my bible and kept it for me had died when he stepped on a landmine. And he told me that the Abbot's heart was failing, and there was concern that he might die during the rigorous trip to Laos. Not exactly the kind of news that would cheer someone up.
We passed the many miles almost without noticing, and before long we stood on the shore of the Mekong River, the border between Viet Nam and Laos.
The landscape had changed from mountainous to flat, and from thick forest to thicker jungle. And it had grown warmer as we descended the mountains. Now that we stood in silence looking across the river it was oppressively hot. Sweat filled my eyes and the sting of salt didn't exactly improve my mood.
I guess I was waiting for Truong to speak, and he was waiting for me. I looked around, and saw NVA troops everywhere. It felt so strange to see them and not panic or feel threatened. But why would they fear a couple of Buddhist monks with nothing but begging bowls and a backpack?
I couldn't believe how much the area had changed. I had conducted patrols in this area when I first got to Viet Nam. At that time American troops were everywhere. The villagers used to play host to Americans during the day, and the Viet Cong at night.
Now the North Vietnamese Army was everywhere. Most of the soldiers were laughing and celebrating the collapse of the ARVN forces. Soldiers in any army are alike in many ways. Most of their time is spent waiting, and to wait is to talk, to brag and to regale their fellow soldiers. And soldiers in almost every army are experts on appearing busy while wasting time. I watched them with some amusement until the voice of the Abbot appeared in my head. "We are much more alike than we are different, are we not?"
The sight of two monks hardly even caught the attention of anyone, even when Truong left me alone while he arranged passage on a ferryboat across the river. I was not even given a second glance as we crowded onto an ancient boat with an old gasoline engine that ran at about three hundred RPM. It sounded like it was about to throw a rod, and didn't have the energy or the power to make it across the river. But it did. And the ride only took about ten minutes.
There was no customs officer in Laos, and so we simply walked off the boat and out of the village. Our new temple was supposedly only four miles into Laos. After at least five or six miles I began to suspect that Truong might be lost.
"Have you been here before?" I asked while he pondered a fork in the road.
"No." He said, looking up and down the road. He looked again in both directions, apparently looking for some landmark that was not there. Finally he suggested we make a late lunch.
We were sitting beside the path sipping tea when an old farmer appeared leading a water buffalo. He approached us and bowed, so w
e stood up and bowed back. After we gave him tea and some manioc, Truong spoke, "We are on our way to a temple, but don't seem to know its direction. I was told it was right on the path, but no one mentioned a fork."
The old man nodded. His eyes studied me for a long time. "Are you American?" he asked warily.
"I was born in America. Now I am a Buddhist monk," I answered.
He digested that, and lit a cigarette, which he smoked right down to his fingers. If he was going to tell us about the temple, he was taking his sweet time. When I was sure he would burn his fingers and his mouth, he suddenly stood and tossed his cigarette stub on the ground. He ground it out with the heel of his sandal.
"Follow me," he said.
I glanced at Truong, who simply shrugged. So we followed him to untie his buffalo, and then we followed him back the way he had come.
The thought occurred to me that he might be leading us to an army unit, or a rural police station, but Truong seemed intent on just following him so I tagged along.
After nearly two hours or so of steadily climbing, he coaxed the buffalo to the side of the path and tied him to a tree. He motioned with his hand, and we followed through the forest cover.
He was totally off of any path, and we scrambled up a steep hill using our hands to steady ourselves and pull us forward. At the top of the hill he stopped.
Truong and I looked around, but saw nothing. I was about to speak when Truong said, "Pardon me, kind sir, but I don't see anything."
He pointed off in the distance at another hill. I was sure he was trying to pull a fast one.
"Aha, I see it!" Truong called. I looked again, but saw nothing.
The old farmer smiled. "The new Pathet Lao government officially does not approve of religions, so many make themselves hard to see."
He smiled at us and bowed, and then made the sign of the cross. We thanked him and waived goodbye as he left. We waited until he was out of sight before we started down the hill towards an outcropping of rocks that blended into the landscape. Only an opening in the rock that was really a window suggested the presence of humans.
