ABOUT MY LOST FRIEND NHIEN TAT NGUYEN - Thy Le Trang

ABOUT MY LOST FRIEND 

NHIEN TAT NGUYEN

Thy Le Trang

 

My heart always feels regretful whenever I think about the memories of my student days or when I hear someone mention the names of my close friends who have passed away.

 

    I know that Nhien Tat Nguyen (Nguyễn Tất Nhiên) passed away a long time ago. I planned to write about him many times, but I kept hesitating... hesitating ... then I couldn't do it, partly because of busywork, partly because I was reluctant to hold the pen again. I often complain to my friend Little Hong that my literature can be as dry as my age because I haven't written for a long time.

 

Although Hai Hoang Nguyen (Hai Hoang Nguyen is Nhien Tat Nguyen's actual name) and I attended the same Ngo Quyen High School, we often met at another place: Huynh Hiep bookstore. At that time, we both were in the Sixth Grade. I liked to write poetry during my childhood and wished to become a poet. I tried hard to write for teen magazines such as Tuoi Xanh, Tuoi Tre, Tuoi Hoa, La Xanh... under different pseudonyms. Therefore, every afternoon, I often went to Huynh Hiep bookstore to buy magazines from Saigon.  So did Nguyen.  We quickly paid for the magazines and eagerly opened them to read, wondering whether our articles were published or still in the waiting section. As usual, some were published, others were not answered, but we all were happy anyway because school-age children cherished as many dreams and hopes as ever.

 

Studying while writing poetry and hanging out were my High School days. Many people amazedly wondered how I could keep my poetic and romantic spirit while hanging out with my boisterous friends known as “Ngu Quy” (Five Devils, a nickname). Nguyen often asked that question. Many times when he met me at school. As soon as Nguyen was about to boast of a newly written poem or a short story, Little Ba pulled me away and glared at him menacingly.  He chuckled, then clasped his hands to bow a few times and left.

 

 The Fourth Grade (Freshman in the USA) school year was the most memorable time for me. Even though I was busy completing a spring magazine for the Fourth Grade 3, I also participated in submitting articles for the Spring Magazine of Ngo Quyen School. I was pleased and proud when my writing was awarded the first prize in literature by the teacher council, equal to an article written by a student from the First Grade (Senior). I don't remember his name, only remember his flowery sentence: "My kite began to grow thorns in my soul, flying with sorrow soaked with tears in a dream." Because during that time of the year, the bead tree flowers were blooming, but his father still did not return. The prizes for my article: a book of poems by Thien Cong Pham and a Chinese fountain pen.

 

At the end of the year, the atmosphere of Ngo Quyen School was exhilarating.  My 4th Grade class was famous for many very studious students, but they were also as enthusiastic as anyone outside of school hours.  To prepare for the school's performance, Nguyen went to each class to find a female role to play with him in a comedy he wrote and directed. When he came to my class, he was acutely embarrassed by my classmates at the first table. He got rid of the tough questions, frowning and complaining, and went down to the last table where I was sitting. He said, “Too bad, too bad, I can't find anyone suitable for a role in my play. Please help me.”  I asked, “What kind of role is it too difficult to find an actor to play?” “The role of a bad-tempered woman who often bullies her husband,” Nguyen answered. Sitting next to me, Little Ba opened her mouth and asked, “Am I bad-tempered enough to play the role?” “Oh, very well.” He was overjoyed with a smile on his face.

 

Ba and Luu forced him to accept one condition: After each play, he had to give each of us a cup of iced green beans and cakes and a ticket from Bien Hung Cinema. For the play to be a success, he nodded in agreement. It was a kind of Phi Thoan’s comedy about a city dweller whose wife was as fierce as a Ha Dong lion. He was afraid of his wife but didn’t want to lose face in front of his brother. Once his brother from the countryside came for a visit, he begged his wife to pretend to play the role of an obedient wife. The wife initially agreed. But the husband's request was so ridiculous that the wife could not accept it. In the end, the wife gave her husband a good beating.

 

Of course, Nguyen played the husband, Little Ba played the wife, and a boy classmate from Nguyen's class played the brother. I was assigned the task of a prompter. The first week went smoothly; all went well. Nguyen happily gave each of us a bowl of green beans and a cinema ticket. At that time, Bien Hung Theater showed films in the morning, and a Cai Luong musical theater troupe performed at noon.  Luu had a strong passion for performing arts, and the private lives of artists and actors, so she knew them by heart. With her inquisitive nature, Luu lured us all into the backstage to see the artists' faces. At first, Nguyen refused, but then he also joined us for fun.

 

We chatted with the actors My Chau and Minh Phung and even asked them for their photos and signatures. I noticed that Nguyen had a bit of a talent for drama and a sense of humor. During the rehearsal, he used to tell jokes to make us laugh. Forty years have passed - but I still remember the image of him and Little Ba chasing each other and running around in the classroom where we practiced our drama, or the scene where he held his stomach while laughing and shaking his head when making Little Luu swear.

 

 Near the day of the performance, Nguyen’s friend gave up, making him lament and sigh with his distorted face. Little Ba also lost her interest because she was afraid of not having the opportunity to perform in front of an audience such as her teachers and her friends. I was so embarrassed that I had to make sacrifices: “Let me play the role,” I said. My hoarse voice was good enough to play a man, but what about my long hair? That could be resolved immediately. Because I played the role of a man from the countryside who went to the town, I had to wear traditional costumes with a long dress and a turban, so my hair was curled up and hidden inside them. Playing this role was not difficult because I was a prompter, so I already knew the play by heart. I didn’t know what Nguyen and Ba’s feelings were, but I was so nervous that my legs were shaking. As soon as I stepped on the stage, I heard the audience roar with laughter, perhaps because of the beard Mr. Hai drew on my face. Fortunately, thanks to my grandfather's glasses, I couldn't see anything below the stage. Thanks to that, I regained my spirit and acted very naturally.

 

The performance was successful. All of my friends praised me. Little Luu loudly made a positive comment, “Oh my god, you guys acted so funny. Ms. Bich Loan Ha, who is known as a difficult teacher, also laughed to tears.”  Nguyen gave her a thumbs-up sign, raising his eyebrows to show pride. Litle Ba patted him on the shoulder, “Next time, will you please remember to invite me to take part in your play, OK?” Nguyen clasped his hands in front of his chest and bowed his head, “Oh my Buddha! I'm afraid of women.” “Why are you afraid? You have a lot of fun hanging out with us,” Ba said. “Yes, it's fun, but it's too expensive… Bye...bye...”

 

  In the Third Grade (Sophomore) school year, Nguyen and the members of White Cloud, Dinh Thien Phuong, Hoang Thy Linh, and Da Ta – The literature and poetry clubs - met at my home. I had read the journal Mach Tho many times, but I had never met the editors before. It was a handwritten journal that was passed around among literature lovers. I liked the "Debris and Quiet Days" section. The title also sounded cute. Who of us did not have pieces of thought to share in daily life?  I was pleased to join Mach Tho Group. 

 

Nguyen often came to my house alone to brag about new poems or talk about plans. Many people said that he was sometimes hot-tempered and easy to get angry. I hadn't seen him in those situations, so I didn't know; I only knew that sometimes he was silly as a child. At that time, the television in South Viet Nam often showed Charlot’s silent films at noon on weekends. He came to my house when everyone watched a movie; all the doors were closed. He didn't call, just quietly opened a window, stood hugging the mullions and watched the movie passionately. Whenever there were hilarious  scenes, he waved his hands and laughed so loud that he was thought to be suffocating. When the movie ended, he just went inside the house. Since then, my younger brother nicknamed him 'Stop Breathing'. Whenever he saw him from afar, he squealed loudly, “ “‘Stop Breathing’ is coming, Cuc.”

 

  Apparently, in the First Grade school year, Mr. Hai was the head of the press department of Ngo Quyen High School. One night he ran up to my house. “Help... help! Please help me quickly, Cuc.”

 

His story was that the school magazine was about to be printed, but the number of pages was insufficient. He asked me to write a short story. Fortunately, I had free time, so I was ready to help him. In his view, during that time of the year, the press criticized Spring Ngo Quyen Magazine: The literature and poetry were sentimental, not standard. However, he happily patted his thigh and laughed, saying that his school was still far ahead compared to other spring magazines.

 

After graduating from school, I rarely saw him.  He would stop by occasionally to tell me about his poems set to music or show me the manuscript of the short stories he had written. The last time he came to give me the piece of music “Em Hiền Như Ma Soeur (You Are As Gentle As Ma Soeur) with his autograph. Reading this song, I thought of my lovely friend Thu Thanh Pham. Did her gentle eyes and meek appearance once arouse him?

 

 After 1975, I knew nothing about Nguyen and  Mach Tho  Group. The regime changed, and lives changed, too. Everyone was busy making a living in miserable and problematic conditions. A few years later, I heard that he and his family had crossed the border and were safely settled in France. In March 1992, I went to America. A few months later, Little Hong from Georgia called me at midnight. “Hey, have you heard this bad news?  Hai Hoang Nguyen passed away.”

 

   When I just came to the US, and where I lived, there were not many Vietnamese people, there were no newspapers, so I didn't get any news. Hong lived in a big city, and there were many Vietnamese people, so if she had any information, she always let me know. We both grieved for him - a man of many passions - who ended up taking his own life with tranquilizers.

 

  In 2005, during a conversation with Ba, she asked me, “Was 'Hai Rom’ (Skinny Hai) Nhien Tat Nguyen?” It turned out that since the day she got married, Ba had little contact with her friends, so she didn't know anything about him. “Oh my God, I love Nhien Tat Nguyen’s poetry but didn't expect him to be Hai Hoang Nguyen,” said Ba. She finally let on, “I didn't expect the life of the guy who played my husband to be so short.”

 

 In November 2007, I decided to return to Vietnam after nearly sixteen years of separation. This return trip included both Hong and Sang. We planned to see Teachers and friends again. By the way, Hong was on familiar terms with Phuong Thien Dinh, his wife, and White Cloud Group; I also wanted to see the old Mach Tho Group members, so I asked Hong to contact and invite them all to join the friendly meeting. In my heart, I wanted to see my friends in Mach Tho Group again to remind me of my lost literary friends: Da Ta, Linh Thy Hoang and Nhien Tat Nguyen. A friend of mine in San Jose told me that Mr. Hoang had passed away. Although that news was false, Mr. Hoang didn’t come to the meeting. It was more regrettable that I did not have the opportunity to talk to him about the past as planned.

 

 To keep my promise to Mr. LS Dat, the president of the Bien Hoa Friendship Association, I write this article about Nhien Tat Nguyen and the memories of a time we participated in literature and theatre activities under the dear roof of Ngo Quyen Public High School. The article is as an incense stick in the memory of the deceased. I believe he is smiling somewhere in peace, not a scornful, arrogant smile but an innocent, carefree smile of school age.

 

THY LE TRANG

Translated into English by Phuoc Khac Nguyen