A Tree by the River

by James Dunn

  Before we had crossed the meadow and started up the hill the sound of a conch horn announced our arrival. A feeling of homesickness overcame me as the faces of monks began to appear, each one waiving to us. We entered through a small wooden door near the back of the large rock.

  Monks began to appear everywhere. There were many more here than I could recall having seen in Viet Nam. There was even a cluster of nuns, drawn by the commotion.

  We were tired and hungry by the time we had climbed the hill, but all that went away with the news that the Abbot was eager to see us.

  The old doctor who attended to my wounds when I was bedridden greeted us warmly. " Brother Truong and Brother Toby, please follow me. We have a meal being prepared, and you may wish to see the Beloved Abbot right after dinner."

  We bathed and ate quickly, and soon enough we were led to the chamber where the Abbot lay. I was shocked to see how tiny he was. He must have lost a lot of weight with his illness. But although his body was wasted, his eyes were as bright as ever. He tried to sit up to greet us, but the old doctor firmly pushed him back.

  I bowed deeply, as did Truong. He held his arms out and we approached him from each side. He looked like he had aged fifty years since I had last seen him. It was sort of like he had held time at arm’s length for a long time, and when he turned away for a moment it had rushed him and captured him.

  He smiled. "Brother Toby, you surely recall the words from your small black book?"

  I was numb with shock, and trying to hold back the tears. I shook my head. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  He giggled, and in the dim lit room I recognized that cosmic giggle that had been with me since I had left the monastery.

  "My younger brother returns," he said. "And he has forgotten what he taught this old man."

  I looked at Truong, hoping he knew what the Abbot was talking about. He shrugged.

  "Didn't you read to me from your book once? Didn't you say that the great teacher of the westerners taught that we were to "judge not by appearances?"

  "Brothers Truong and Toby, don't be so glum! You are sad because you think I am leaving. Where could I go?" His voice seemed like it was stronger now.

  Truong wiped a tear from his eye and said, "You don't have to go. You could just stay for a while longer."

  The old man squeezed my hand and Truong's. "Come here" he said. We both leaned closer. His breath was light and stale, and his face was white.

  "I watched you both grow and blossom like tender lotus flowers. You have blessed this old man with your humor, and your curiosity, and..." he turned to me, "your profound questions."

  I was trying to calm myself, "What will happen to us? To the temple? Who will lead us when you...when you are not here?"

  A huge smile lit up his face, and a sense of peacefulness seemed to fill him with color and beauty. He chuckled again, "You already know the answer to that question, Brother Toby. You have a companion within you, and you are learning to call on Him. What need have you of an outside teacher when you have apprehended your inner one?"

  "You were so patient with me," I croaked, trying not to break down completely. "Didn't you ever get tired of those foolish questions?"

  He let go my hand, and waived it as if he were dismissing me. "There are no foolish questions," he said. "Each encounter is fated; carefully chosen by your higher self. You sought me as I sought you."

  "Please don't go," I sobbed.

  "You know the drill, Brother Toby. Just close your eyes and I'll be there." He closed his eyes then, and took a deep breath, like he used to do when I had asked a vexing question.

  Soon enough he opened his eyes. "Come still closer, both of you."

  We leaned in, almost bumping our heads to be closer. He raised both hands, and rapped both of us on the forehead with two fingers crossed.

  A jolt of power surged through me, and I gasped. My mind flooded with brilliant rainbow colors, which raced up and down my spine. It was as if an internal cyclone had struck. It was all I could do to simply try to breathe and stay on my feet, so intense was the feeling.

  Just for a second I glanced at Truong, and he was having as hard a time with it as I was. We actually bumped together, and bounced apart. Surges of power coursed through me. Muscles twitched and jumped. I began to hear strange music, sort of like a chorus of hums and horns and flutes.

  I began to laugh, and noticed that Truong was laughing too. We laughed and laughed and the Abbot sat up in bed and laughed with us. And the laughter turned to tears, and then we three cried out of pure joy. And soon enough it faded and all was quiet. The Abbot folded his hands in a silent blessing. "And now," he whispered, "my work is finished.”

  His eyes fluttered shut and once again he became old and tired and pale. He inhaled sharply, and let it out. And I felt his spirit leave the room. Truong's eyes met mine. He shook his head and shrugged. I was totally exhausted and totally at peace.

  "What are we supposed to do now?" Truong asked.

  I felt my mouth opening, and I felt myself saying words that I had not thought. It was as if I was being lived by someone else. The voice I recognized as belonging to Brother Toby said. "We are to follow the path, of course."

  We left the room and walked in silence through the darkened hallway. The old doctor bowed as we passed. I was no longer sad, nor tired, nor happy. Just empty.

  Preparations for the funeral kept all of us busy for four days. Monks and nuns began to arrive from all over Southeast Asia. The Abbot's body lay on a white marble slab. Although he was not given any embalming fluid his body did not seem to disintegrate. Many of the monks came by to visit with me, laugh, and talk to me about my great "escape." The Abbot had told them that I was preparing, and suggested to each of them what they might offer as a gift. They all had so much fun with it, and had all hid in a nearby room and watched me as I made my way out the side door. They thought it was great fun.

  Many were worried about my trip to Saigon, and offered advice and contacts for me to seek out. I heard each one, and tried to remember, but was not willing to take the chance and write down any names. I figured that if I were caught, then any contact I had would be endangered.

  As the funeral date got closer, my mood darkened. I had been so sure of myself while I knew he was alive. I was sure I was destined to be a Buddhist monk. I thought I knew that I was destined to lecture and learn and practice the path of loving-kindness.

  But now the sureness was gone. I had always thought he would be around to talk to, ask questions of. Now he was gone.

  My mood got darker and blacker, and I finally told Truong that I could not go to the funeral. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to miss it. I nodded, and he left.

  I stayed in my room for a week. I hardly ate at all, and never went to lecture or service. I had no visitors. I could hear the gong of the prayer call, and the chanting of the monks. But I couldn't will myself to move. For the first time in my life, I thought of suicide.

  In my unit, lots of guys thought of suicide. One guy actually did it. He just walked outside of camp, far enough away so that he wouldn't hurt anyone else. He sat down near an outcropping of rocks and pulled the pin on a grenade.

  All of us thought the camp was under attack, but one of his squad mates came and told me that he capped himself. "He was tired of it all," was all he said.

  There had been a lot of guys that had those kinds of feelings, and I had done my best to talk to them. I had been so sure that I could never even think like that.

  Everyone could tell when someone had given up. He would give all of his things to his buddies, and maybe even write letters and ask friends to make sure they got delivered. Sometimes they didn't actually kill themselves, they just stopped being careful. They would just do something stupid and die. I would shake my head and say I could never do that. And here I was, not sure if I should live or die.

  Wasn't I supposed to have died in the jungle? Now the war was over, or nearly over, and I could hitch rides
with the North Vietnamese Army, and not even worry. And yet I couldn't think of even one reason why I should live another day.

  A sound at the door let me know that someone was bringing me food. I waited until I was sure they were gone, and opened the door. There was a bowl of rice soup and a cup of tea.

  I looked at the food. I had absolutely no sense of hunger, no desire to eat or drink anything. I finally got into bed and pulled the cover over my head and closed my eyes. A cloud of darkness enveloped my mind and I shivered and curled up into a ball.

  I must have finally drifted off to sleep, because I came awake in the pitch dark with an urgent need to drain my bladder. I swung my feet to the floor and kicked the soup, sending it splattering out in front of me. "Shit!" I muttered.

  I had to take small steps to keep from slipping in the rice soup, but managed to get the door open. The rain had come with a vengeance, and I muttered a curse and stepped to go out, but tripped over something in the doorway and lurched into a wall. Someone grabbed me and I swung wildly with my right fist. I connected against someone or something and heard a muffled cry and "So sorry!"

  Now lights began to appear, and shadows moved in the courtyard. The roar of the rain was so intense that my brain could not seem to form even a single thought. I stood there in the doorway with my arms up in a boxer's pose.

  The lights came closer, and I was able to make out a crumpled form at my feet. I knelt down and saw that it was Truong. A growing pool of black liquid came into focus, spreading out and away from his forehead.

  I scooped him up in my arms like a child, and swung around back into my room. I found the bed and placed him on it. "Please bring a lantern!" I called.

  My hand went to Truong's forehead, trying to stop the flow of blood, A monk appeared with a rag, and gently removed my hand and placed the rag of the wound.

  I had hit him squarely in the forehead, above the eyes and below where the hairline would have been if he didn't shave his head. Right above the eyes was a deep gash, about an inch and a half long.

  Someone else entered the room and removed the cloth and placed a large green leaf on the wound. I grabbed the rag and used it to clean up the pool of blood in the doorway.

  Another monk with another rag appeared, and I took it and handed the blood soaked one. I opened my mouth to start to explain what happened, but no words came out. There just didn't seem any thinking going on in my brain tonight.

  The roar of the rain was too loud to explain anything anyway. So I just closed my mouth and sat down and started to shiver. I closed my eyes to shut out the awful scene.

  After a moment, I heard the Abbot's voice. It was from a lecture back at the other monastery. "When the mind is too agitated to meditate, simply listen to the breath. Notice breath going in, notice the hold, and then notice breath going out."

  I sat all night on the floor, using my pillow as a meditation cushion. Dark and ominous shadows crept near me, bringing a fear to my throat that I could taste. Strange screams sounded in my head, and the doors rattled and shook like demons were trying to break down the door. I kept refocusing my mind as the Abbot had instructed, breathe in, hold, and breathe out.

  Just before dawn, a small point of light appeared to my inner vision. It looked at first like a distant star in the blackest sky. But it moved closer, and grew in brilliance until it flooded the room. I was so sure I was dreaming that I opened my eyes, and was startled to see the entire room and the entire outside was flooded with a brilliant light.

  All the fear and all the anger and frustration and hopelessness was lifted out of me by that light. And with each inward breath I could feel the light filling me with loving-kindness and compassion and trust. Beloved Abbot’s voice spoke to my mind, and told me that I had gone through the darkness and out the other side. "Never again will you need to worry. Just trust the path, Master Toby."

  "I smiled and remembered Honored Sir, the guy I had renamed because I couldn't say the name Phuoc with a straight face. The night of Truong's visit, he had insisted on calling me "Master Toby."

  I stood and stretched at the first sound of the gong, and shuffled down the hall to the Temple area. The place was filling with monks and nuns. For some reason many of the monks stopped and bowed deeply when they saw me. I figured it was because I hadn't been present for the funeral, and they thought I had gone. I took a seat near the rear of the temple, in case I got bored with whoever was going to conduct the services.

  I was sitting with my eyes closed when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see the old physician. "Brother Toby, would you please come with me?"

  I stood and bowed and followed him, and he led me right up to the front of the temple, to a gold pillow exactly like the one the Abbot had used. He motioned for me to sit, and the room quieted as I did.

  The old physician announced in a booming voice, "Brother Toby will conduct the lecture and prayers today. Offer him your fullest attention."

  My mouth must have dropped, because I had no idea what this was all about. A sea of faces sat in anticipation. For a second, I panicked.

  "Ask within to have the spirit of loving-kindness speak through you, and then sit a side and listen and learn," The Abbot's voice was still in residence in my mind. I remembered thinking I must be losing my mind.

  No sooner did that thought occur than I heard the Abbot's voice again, "You cannot lose what you never had. Remember that you are not a thinker but merely a receptor. Either fear speaks through you, or loving-kindness does.

  There are no neutral thoughts."

  In the third row, I spotted the smiling face of Truong, so I stood up and motioned him to the front. If I was going to make a fool of myself, then he could surely join me.

  He came reluctantly, and I heard my voice announce that I would speak for the first part of the lecture, and then Master Truong would continue.

  He looked at me and mouthed the word "Master?" I just nodded and smiled.

  The lecture was about right seeing, and it was great. The Abbot spoke through me for at least an hour before I heard myself announcing that I was leaving this very afternoon for Saigon, and that Master Truong was the chosen monk to continue with the Beloved Abbot's teachings.

  All of the monks and all of the nuns stood and clasped their hands in a reverent bow as I left. By sunset I was back in Viet Nam, and on the road to Saigon. My step was sure and strong, and my heart was filled with peace.

  Chapter 10

  My backpack was stuffed with food of all kinds. The monks and I had calculated that it was over five hundred miles to Saigon, and they must have decided to pack enough food for that distance. The pack was so heavy that I struggled each time I put it on or took it off.

  Although the river was the shortest distance, I was told to avoid it at all costs. The last vestiges of resistance by the Southern forces were along the river, and there was a much higher possibility of a firefight or an ambush if I traveled that way. And so I set out to follow the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

  Since the withdrawal of American forces, the trail had gone public. No longer was it necessary to travel only at night, and no longer was it necessary to switch from branch to branch on the trail. Nowadays, a steady stream of trucks and artillery equipment and tanks rumbled down that trail.

  I was walking along the path leading from the Mekong River to the trail, and encountered two young soldiers going the same direction. They had been going faster than I was able to, and I hailed them as they came alongside.

  “I have too much food. Would you please honor me by joining me for a meal and helping to lighten my pack?"

  They were delighted to accept the offer, and they proved up to the task by consuming enough food to last me for a week. I kept feeding them until they finally told me they could eat no more.

  During dinner, we introduced ourselves. The older of the brothers was named Binh, and his younger brother was Pham. They were heading south to join up with their cousin, who had journeyed to Saigon to help with the
revolution.

  Binh was the more reserved of the two, and after the introductions his brother did most of the talking. They didn't seem to mind at all that I was an American, and even showed me pictures of their children.

  "Please bless these pictures," Pham said. "We are probably not going to see them until the war ends."

  So I blessed the pictures. Pham had two daughters, ten months apart. They both looked as if they had been stamped from a production mold. One seemed to be just a younger picture of the older one. When I commented on their beauty, He assured me that their mother was the most beautiful woman in the village.

  Bihn then showed me his picture. It was a black and white photo of a young boy, maybe ten months old. The face was sad and serious and enough like Pham's that I asked if this was not a picture of Pham as a young boy.

  Both men laughed and Binh said, "Everyone who saw him said exactly the same thing!"

  "Show us some pictures of your children," said Pham.

  "I have no pictures because I have no children." I explained.

  Both men tried to console me, although I tried in vain to convince them that I was not sure I was really ready for children.

  We walked together the few miles that led to a huge staging area. There must have been hundreds of trucks parked alongside of each other. Tanker trucks methodically refueled each one in turn. Soldiers in uniform milled with the irregulars of the Viet Cong. The hot topic of the day was trying to predict the fall of Saigon.

  Every once in a while an officer of the NVA would appear, and try to organize the chaos, but it never seemed to help. I was eager to be on the road, but not about to tell anyone my reasons. Binh and Pham finally located a truck that was to leave in the morning, and talked the man in charge into hauling me with them.

  Although the South Vietnamese had not surrendered, and often put up a stiff resistance, the soldiers all talked as if the war was over. I sat in the shade of a huge tree and tried to meditate, but found myself eavesdropping on the conversations all around.