A Tree by the River

by James Dunn

  Rumors flew like crazy, and after a while I decided to just be in the moment and see what came up. Soon enough, I was able to find a quiet center in my mind and rest in my meditation.

  The night came, and soon enough the day. I stood up stiffly after sitting for the entire night, and Pham came running over.

  "Brother Toby, come at once! We were waiting for the wrong truck. The one we want is leaving right away!"

  I grabbed my pack and followed him across a field. A truck was backing up to get onto the road, and Binh waived and pounded on the roof of the truck until it stopped.

  We clamored aboard, and it jerked and bumped off towards the south. I realized that I had been more concerned than I had let on. My neck and shoulders were stiff and sore. I consciously focused my mind to focus on the muscles around my shoulders and neck, and soon was so relaxed I nearly fell asleep.

  We drove all that morning, and at the mid-day break I was invited to bless the meal and the soldiers. I was glad to do so, and felt like I was at least contributing something to earn my ride.

  My companions were now fifteen young men and a gruff old sergeant type who took it upon himself to keep things right and tight. Apparently he would be the squad leader of this exuberant bunch once it reached the outskirts of Saigon.

  His name turned out to be Mr. Dai. He objected to being called "old man" and chastised the youngsters for not showing their elders proper respect. Mr. Dai had been a soldier for over thirty years, and despite his gruffness, seemed to care a lot about these young men.

  But he didn't care for me. He showed his displeasure when I was invited to bless the meals, or bless the photographs. Maybe he didn't like Buddhists, or maybe he was a Catholic, or maybe he recognized me as an American and had seen too many comrades die at the hands of Americans.

  He pointedly refused to acknowledge me, and I quickly gave up trying to engage him in any conversation. But then, he was not the greatest conversationalist in the truck by a long shot. So I mostly rode in silence. Often I would meditate, or just doze. The young men amused themselves by singing.

  Songs in Viet Nam don't need to rhyme, or have a certain cadence. They are usually stories or legends sung in a sing-songy voice that rises and falls in no apparent pattern. Usually one person would start the song, and get to a key idea, and repeat it sort of like the bridge of a song. Then someone else would join in, singing the bridge part and then adding their own part, telling something significant in their lives or recalling some great deed.

  It wasn't unusual for one song to go on for several hours. It was sort of fun, and it helped the miles go by.

  When the scenery shifted from lowlands to higher plateaus, I had the uncanny feeling that I had been here before and something awful was about to happen. I was startled to realize that I knew in advance that there would be a disabled truck, and a rice paddy with two women...and... and...

  Suddenly I stood up and hollered, "Stop this truck!" I began to bang on the roof of the cab! "Stop here! There is a woman in great danger!"

  Mr. Dai jumped up and chambered a round in his AK-47 and aimed it at my head. "Shut up and sit down now!" he ordered.

  I turned to him. "You must get this truck to stop. There is a woman who is about to drown . And if she drowns, she will lose her first-born son ! Stop this truck!"

  "Sit down now!" he screamed.

  "Stop the truck! If this woman dies, it will be your karma for life!" That got to him. He banged on the truck with me, and it jerked to a stop. The driver got out and wanted to know what was going on.

  "A woman is about to die. We can save her," I shouted. "She is just over there!" I pointed off past a low hill.

  Just then an old man appeared, waiving and shouting in the distance. Just as I knew he would, but I don't know how I knew it.

  I jumped out of the bed of the truck and landed on my bad leg, collapsing in a heap in the dust. Pham jumped out too.

  He pulled me to my feet. "Where?" he asked. "Which way?"

  I ran as best as I could over the low hill and into a flooded rice paddy. Pham outran me and found a woman lying face down in the water. He was pulling on her arm when I slogged over and grabbed her around the waist and pulled her out of the water.

  She was very pregnant, with a very large bulge in the belly. And she was not breathing.

  Mr. Dai waived his weapon at me. Do something, monk! Or I will pull this trigger. Save her now!"

  I dragged the lifeless woman to an area of high ground and rolled her over onto her belly. Then I grabbed her from the back and lifted her torso and squeezed with both arms. Her mouth opened and water streamed out. I squeezed again and she coughed and spewed more water and then screamed.

  From somewhere behind me an old woman appeared. "Get away! Don't touch her!" she screamed. She grabbed the back of my robe and pulled me off my feet, dumping me butt first into the flooded field. I still had hold of the pregnant woman, who landed on top of me, still screaming.

  The old woman managed to kick at me as I landed, still yelling for me to leave. Pham and Mr. Dai quickly made themselves scarce.

  I managed to get to my feet, thoroughly soaked, and she turned on me again. "Go away! Just leave! Don't look at her!"

  I avoided her flailing arms and beat a hasty retreat, catching up with Pham and Mr. Dai. We walked in silence back to the truck. Just as we were getting back into the bed of the truck we heard the squalling cries of a newborn baby.

  Mr. Dai looked as white as a ghost. "How could you know?" he asked. I shrugged. I didn't know how I knew.

  That infuriated Mr. Dai. He stood up in the moving truck, trying to level his weapon at me. Many hands reached out to try to stabilize him, and some pulled the gun down. "How could you know! How could you know!"

  I opened my mouth but no words came. I shrugged again, and now he raised his voice even louder. The other young men in the truck gently grabbed him, afraid a sudden turn might throw him clear out. He reluctantly took his seat and lowered his weapon. To himself he muttered something I couldn't hear.

  No one spoke for the rest of the ride that afternoon. When we stopped for evening meal, he avoided me, and was not even present when I blessed the meal.

  Later he came and sat beside me. His face was tired and somehow older. He shook his head back and forth. Finally he spoke. "You can speak to ghosts, can't you?" All eyes in the camp were on me. I had no idea how to respond to that question, so I went quietly within. I was sure that the Abbot must have an answer. So I waited, and waited, and waited some more.

  I could hear the ragged breathing of Mr. Dai. I could see the flickering fire as it danced and licked at the logs. I could actually hear the blood coursing through the veins and arteries in my head.

  It got very still. I waited, but maybe the old Abbot was out to lunch, or maybe he was sleeping, or meditating or playing a harp in heaven. He sure was somewhere else.

  I shook my head, "No. I am sorry I cannot explain what happened. I knew because I may have dreamed about it, or seen it in a meditation. I really don't know how I knew."

  He looked at me with no expression whatsoever. "I only know that I knew." I repeated.

  The old soldier nodded, like he understood. I started again. "I had dreamed earlier of that entire scene. I knew the turns in the road, the shape of the trees, and that low hill. I knew an old man would come running." He nodded.

  "And I knew that if we didn't save her, she and her child would have died."

  We finished our meal in silence, and almost immediately the soldiers were preparing to bed down. There was no singing, no bragging and no talk at all. I sat in the lotus position and let my eyes close.

  I thought of the woman, and the anger of Mr. Dai. I remembered the black mood that overtook me at the time of the Abbot's passing, and I recalled that I had asked why I should go on living. Now I knew. And then just when I didn't need it, the old Abbot's soft voice appeared in my mind. It was from a question I had asked long ago. "Each of us comes to this life with a mi
ssion. Many of us spend years not knowing our purpose. Yet our mission is always the same; to serve all of our brothers and sisters, and all living beings. When we accept that mission we live under the light of harmony. Everything that we try to do seems to work. Not for our own desires, but for the good of all."

  So I sat there, not tired, not needing sleep. I sat there and went to that place in the mind where thinking slowed. I watched as thoughts flitted up and into my awareness; thoughts that I noted without attachment. They lingered for an instant, and then they faded, only to be replaced by another.

  Soon the thoughts didn't even bother to arise. What was left? What was left was a sense of indescribable joy; a joy so intense my eyes couldn't contain the tears of gratitude, and so they cascaded down my face and into my lap.

  A hand softly touched me on the shoulder. "Gentle monk, the truck is about to leave. Are you riding further with us?"

  It was Mr. Dai. I looked around and saw that the camp had been cleared. Only Mr. Dai and Pham and Binh were still on the ground. The others were sitting in their places on the truck bed.

  I tried to stand, but my legs were numb. Mr. Dai and Pham grabbed me just before I fell on my face. With one man on each side, they actually lifted me and set me on the rolled up canvass that had become my seat of preference.

  Binh was the last one aboard, and he latched the tailgate and we roared off to the south.

  My bowl, filled with hot tea, miraculously appeared in my hand, passed by one of the young men. Only a small amount had been spilled, and that tea tasted as good as any I can recall.

  For the next ten hours we journeyed south, part of a huge convoy of trucks and men and equipment. From time to time someone would hand me a photograph, and ask me to bless it. Many times it was of parents, or children or siblings left behind, but occasionally I would see one that showed a young man or woman of military age.

  "Is my cousin still amongst us?" they would ask.

  I would look at the face in the photograph, and I would know. Sometimes I could tell them yes, they are fine. Other times I would shake my head and offer a silent prayer that their soul would be at peace.

  The young men in the truck would nod, and cast their eyes down for a moment, and thank me. I have no way of knowing if I was correct, but got used to the sense of clarity that I would feel when I looked at a picture. Mr. Dai, who sat beside me, would say, "He doesn't know how he knows, but he knows he knows." And the young men would nod and put away the pictures.

  At dusk the next day, we came to another huge clearing. It was filled with vehicles of all sorts. I saw armored personnel carriers made in America, I saw Soviet light tanks, Chinese jeeps with 50 caliber machine guns mounted on the front and rear. But mostly I saw troop trucks like the one I had ridden. There were hundreds and hundreds of them, almost too many to count.

  I thought of the ARVN troops, if there were any of them still capable of resisting the NVA. Silently, I prayed for a peaceful end to the killings.

  Pham and Binh approached and offered me gifts, brown cloth sacks of food. "Brother Toby," Pham said. "My brother and I thank you for your blessings and your gifts of friendship. We are leaving for our battle assignments, and wished for one more blessing." Both bowed deeply and I placed my hands on their heads, just as the Abbot had done to me. They turned to leave, but Binh came back.

  "Brother Toby, be careful. We are at the place where Cambodia and Viet Nam intersect. If you wander into Cambodia by mistake, you will be killed. We are hearing of thousands of monks and nuns being slaughtered." His brother added, "May you be abundantly blessed in your journey. "

  I watched them walk away. I remembered the lecture of the old Abbot about rising above wanting and not wanting. He taught me a prayer, and laughed as he explained it to me. "When you pray this prayer, "he said, "it is always instantly granted. Here is the prayer. Let all things be exactly as they are!"

  After he told me that prayer, he giggled and clapped his hands. "If you can remember that prayer, you shall never know unhappiness." I remembered looking at him like he must be crazy.

  “Think about it, Brother Toby. All suffering comes from wanting and not wanting, so if you can let all things be the way they are, you have transcended suffering."

  I thanked them both for their kind advice and asked them to point the path that I should take to get over the hill to the village of Quan Loi. My map showed it to be the quickest way to Saigon. They warned me again about not getting lost and ending up in Cambodia. One more blessing and they were gone.

  I thought about that prayer as I watched the two brothers walk away. At some level, I knew neither one would survive their first battle. Again, I heard my Abbot's voice, "Let all things be exactly as they are, Brother Toby." Easy to say, hard to do, I thought.

  Chapter 11

  The trail was flat for about an hour, and then inclined upward. I tried to keep a good pace, but found myself slowing down as the hills seemed to get higher. For most of the morning, I climbed. The foliage got thicker and the trees seemed taller. I found myself in the shade most of the time.

  Tall trees and huge meadows of elephant grass filled the landscape. The path became much steeper, and the constant climbing slowed my progress. The path also became less defined, and often I would wander down what I thought was the main trail, to find that it rejoined a larger trail. The canopy of trees was so thick that I couldn't see the sun, and could not verify what direction I was moving.

  My foot started to hurt again, and I found myself pausing often. It occurred to me that this way may be the shortest distance on a map, but it certainly was not the easiest path to walk. Finally, I crested a mountaintop and paused to look down the path that stretched ahead. Was that a river?

  I took my backpack off and sat down, rummaging to find the map. I could not recall seeing a river on the map, but it sure looked like one was right below me. I wished for good pair of binoculars. Almost immediately the words of the Abbot sprang up inside my head. "Wishing is a form of rejection of what is. To wish it were different is to refuse to accept how it is." So I accepted that I didn't have a pair of binoculars. Reluctantly.

  I searched again, but couldn't find the map. And I couldn't even recall the last time I had looked at it, so I carefully removed everything from the pack. A third and thorough search showed me that the map was gone. I wondered if someone might have taken it during one of my naps on the truck. Anyway, I had no map.

  Once again that prayer popped into my mind. "Let all things be exactly as they are." The reality of the moment was that I didn't have the map. I decided my only choice was to be okay with not having it, or being upset. Knowing I had a choice made it easy to decide not to be upset about the map.

  I stood up and started off down the hill. Beloved Abbot's voice softly said, "It is much easier to choose peace when we are aware of choices, eh, Brother Toby?"

  I liked his logic, but didn't approve of his timing. I headed down the path, hoping to find a decent place to make a camp. The hour was getting late, and the rumbling in my stomach said it was nearing dinnertime. I found a small stream, and decided that it would probably be the fastest route to the river, so I left the trail and followed the stream. The only problem with my plan is that the stream quickly turned into a small river with steep banks and rapids. My plan had been to walk alongside the small stream, but as it descended, it grew, and the canyons it traversed often had steep walls.

  I found myself having to wade in the chilly water occasionally. As darkness descended, I located a sandbar at a turn in the stream that had become a river. I sat down and ate some cold rice and vegetables. I wanted some tea, but didn't want to wait for the water to boil, so I hefted my pack and continued to slosh down towards the base of the mountain.

  I rounded a bend in the stream and came upon the intersection of the stream and a wider river. Out in the middle of the watercourse was a small sandy island with some bamboo and shrubbery. I decided that it would make good sense to spend the night there, so
I waded the short distance to the island.

  I found a spot that seemed hidden behind a larger tree. Low bushes fanned out in nearly a complete circle around the tree, affording me a windbreak and a place to hide out of sight. Within minutes, I had a fire and was heating a pot of water for tea.

  The water took a long time to boil, and darkness fell quickly. By the time I could hear the soft hissing of the teapot, I couldn't see much of anything.

  I sipped the green tea in total darkness. A small package of sticky rice was wrapped in cabbage leaves, and I gratefully and slowly consumed it. I leaned back against the trunk of the tree and fell asleep.

  Something awakened me in the pitch-black night! I wasn't sure if it was a noise, or a premonition. I was sure that I was fully alert, wide awake, and certain that I had cause for concern.

  I held my breath and listened. The night was suddenly silent. No sounds of bugs, no critters scurrying in the dark. I focused my senses, listening for the slightest footfall, hoping to hear the snap of a twig.

  I waited with my heart pounding, trying in vain to peer into the darkest shadows. A flood of sensations I hadn't experienced in a long time reminded me of my life on patrol. The difference is that now I had no weapon. Not even the Kbar knife. I sat there, nearly immobilized, listening with all my might, trying to pick up some sign of danger. My breath was short and shallow. After a long silence I decided that maybe I was just getting spooky, so I forced myself to relax and breathe deep and regularly. I did try, however not to breathe noisily.

  Suddenly an arm came around my neck. Out of the dark shadows I could see the shapes of men. A knife was pressed against my neck, but it was so dull it just served to cut off my breath.

  One by one, five shadowy figures materialized around me. By their silhouettes I at first thought they were longhaired women, but their terrible body odors told me that I was encountering the soldiers of Cambodia. The grip on my neck and the knife were removed as the person behind the tree came around front. I just sat there, sure that any sudden move would be my last.