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| Thy Le Trang |
DAYS IN MEMORY
By Thy Le Trang
After moving to Bien Hoa, Dad's first thing was to send me to school. It was about two kilometers from my house to Tan Thanh Elementary School. Dad walked me to school so I could remember the way home alone. At that time, houses were sparse - from one place to another was a long distance. There were still a few cottages with thatched roofs and earthen walls. On both sides of the road were beds of young rice plant seedlings stretching like lovely blue carpets. The air was so peaceful and fresh. Dad liked the landscape and the weather very much and planned to stay here until the end of his life.
Principal Huynh Van Rao met my father and me at the Second Grade classroom during the lesson - because he was both a Principal and a teacher. So Dad asked him to enroll me in Second Grade.
Because his business failed, Dad had to sell his house in Saigon and move his family to Vinh Long at the invitation of a friend. But after only a few months of considering it inappropriate, he took the whole family back to Saigon. After that, Dad listened to my uncle's advice and went back to Bien Hoa. Moved so many times that my study was interrupted. I hadn't finished First Grade yet. However, I could read and solve math problems very well, thanks to homeschooling. Dad explained to the Principal and boasted about me: "She still memorized the poems by Ms. Huyen Thanh Quan (the first lady of Thanh Quan district leader)." The teacher looked at me and smiled. Strangely, I didn't feel shy but bolder than usual. I read a passage very clearly and solved some math problems at the teacher's request. "Very good." The teacher accepted me as a new student in Second Grade. Dad waited for me to sit down and made sure I didn't cry, then he left.
Before I returned to Bien Hoa, my sister, whose father was my uncle, was the owner of a hair salon on Gia Long Street in Saigon, dressed my hair in a style that she considered the latest fashion: curly hair. I often played in the sun, so my skin got dark. Mom often called me “Little Javanese.” Here, girls my age liked long hair with clips and bob hairstyles. At break time, I stood in front of the classroom and watched my friends have fun with each other. A classmate as big as a Western mixed-race girl with gorgeous eyes came near with good intention to make friends with me. Before I could reply to her, two other kids pushed her away and loudly teased her: “Hey, do you intend to go to Tay Ninh with a dot under it?”
Ever since the early days of my childhood, I just lived with my mother and my siblings. We got along very well and never spoke harshly to each other, so I didn't understand malicious and offensive language. I later understood that “Ninh” with a dot under it meant “flattering.” Not everyone in the class was bad to me, only a few, but because they were "as fierce as hell," the other students didn't dare to disagree. Every time they passed by me, they made a "teasing" sign at me: "A Northern baby, put it in the can, squeal squeal, put it in the ass, squeak squeak." “Curling hair like a poodle with a purse without a cent to spend.” I didn't know how to respond, so I just kept quiet.
Without friends, I was more focused on my studies. I listened to the teacher's lectures attentively and often volunteered to answer his questions. The teacher was very pleased.
In the first week, my father escorted me home - then he felt reassured, so he let me go home alone. But, unfortunately, the devilish kids were on the same road as me. I didn't expect them to have a plan to beat me up to satisfy their hatred.
At a place not far from my home, five of them pretended to push each other to bump into me. A kid named Ut Tam pointed at me and roared: “Hey guys, a few days ago, I heard this kid say “buồn cười” (funny); if someone is “buồn” (sad), how can they “cười” (laugh)? It is very “tức cười” (ridiculous), haha.” Immediately, I burst out my mouth to attack her: "And how can you “tức” (get angry) and “cười” (laugh) at the same time?” The girl named Lam, who seemed to be the group leader, ordered another one: "Dive in and beat her, Phuong. Are you afraid of her? We are ready to help you if needed." The girl named Phuong, taller than me, with long hair tied in a ponytail, rushed to me, tried to hug and knock me down. Cleverly, I grabbed the end of her hair and squeezed it. Although I was weak, I caught hold of her hair and turned it around to make her dizzy. The other kids threw their bags and tried to jump in. Fortunately, a farmer walked by: "Hey guys, you bad children don’t go home after school, and what's more, setting up a fight. Which class do you belong in so I can inform Mr. Rao?" Hearing the man shouting, Lam's group ran away. I got home safely. I did not tell my parents because I knew that my father loved me so much that he easily became hot-tempered if he knew this, so he would inform teachers and their parents. I didn't want them to call me "a pampered Tonkin girl".
The following day, I went to school as usual. In my mind, I planned that I would tell my teacher all about it at break time. Lam and Tam stealthily looked at me. Suddenly, the teacher called me to the board. Was it possible that the teacher knew all about it? But no, the teacher's face was smiling happily. What would happen? I went up to the wooden platform with my nervous heart. The teacher handed me a red piece of paper, and I glanced at it – a Certificate of Merit with my name written really big and beautiful. My eyes welled up with tears. The teacher patted my head: "You are very deserving of this commendation." After that, the teacher held up the exercises I did for my classmates to see - all of the papers got good marks. The whole class looked at me admiringly.
Since then, many of my classmates made friends with me as they were no longer afraid of Lam and Tam’s group. A few days later, Lam and Tam invited me to join in their games. Children my age were innocent and carefree. Girls’ games brought us closer together. I took part in any games: chopsticks, jumping rope, hopscotch, hide and seek… My Second Grade school year passed slowly and smoothly.
In Third Grade, the principal was still the teacher in charge of my class. The students were the same familiar faces from Second Grade. We sat at two rows of tables, one for boys and one for girls, the same as before. Nevertheless, we were older. I had a new friend Chau Thi Tran. Chau lived in my neighborhood. Every morning we often met on the way to school. She was about my size but a bit rounder. She has a happy smile and big eyes. I paid attention to Chau because her school bag was the same as mine. My school bag was just a leather case for a Japanese transistor radio. I thought it was pretty, so I used it to hold books.
The first days of winter were cold. On the way to school, I liked the smell of burning straw and dry leaves from the houses on the roadside. The scent of rising smoke was warm and pleasant. The road was long enough for us to nibble a sweet potato or a corn. At village schools, girls often did better and had more adorable names than boys. Girls were usually named after flowers or precious stones, whereas boys were typically named after the birth order in their families: Hai, Tu, Nam, Muoi... or commonly as Soai, Thoi... Tan Thanh was an area where most of the population lived by farming and stone crushing. A few Chinese people were shopkeepers.
Therefore, they did not have much time to study. Teacher Rao was very strict. If they didn't memorize their lessons, he would hit their hands with a ruler hard. His eyes were "crossed," so he often wore sunglasses. His students were terrified of him because they did not know whom the teacher was looking at. When pleased, the teacher laughed happily. When he chuckled in his throat, beware, a naughty student would be punished! I had never seen a teacher with beautiful handwriting like Mr. Rao. His writing style was both bold and light, very artful and fanciful. He always wrote carefully and beautifully not only on Certificates of Merit and Honor Boards but also on the blackboard,
The memory that I remember most in this school year was the festival days with Hat Boi – a classic opera - at Long An pagoda. The neighborhood was bustling before the festival. Cars with loudspeakers ran around to announce the event. Looking out from the classroom, I could see the busy scene on the streets with more traffic and more people passing by. Everyone was eagerly waiting for the happy days to come.
Long An Pagoda was very familiar to me. I often followed my mother there on full moon days. While my mother and elders knelt in the main hall, I followed my friends down to the kitchen. There was a big wooden plank here, often used as a dining table for a big ceremony. Around the walls, some pictures depicted the law of cause and effect. The vivid drawings of the punishment of the nine hells made me both scared and excited. The liar would have his tongue cut off; the adulterer would have her body amputated and put into cooking oil, the crime of trading fraud... the crime of murder... any crime will be punished. We kid not only looked at the pictures above, but we also liked to gather in the kitchen for a simple reason: to eat. After arranging sticky rice on Buddha's table, the dinner ladies distributed the rest to us. Whether it was burnt sweet soup or burnt sticky rice, it was always delicious and tasteful.
The festivals at Long An pagoda were not only for Tan Thanh commune but also for Bien Hoa city and surrounding areas. Hat Boi was performed in two shows: noon show and evening show. This had a negative impact on my class. Some students played truant; some were late, and some fell asleep or dozed off in class. Of course, the headmaster wasn't pleased. At this time, my father was a village official or something like that in the commune, so he was often present at the pagoda. My youngest brother and I often followed our father to watch the shows on holidays. We had heard our father tell our mother about the ancient stories almost every day, so we knew them by heart. However, this was the first time we saw the actors perform on stage. I especially liked the leading actress who could play any role excellently. When playing the role of Phan Le Hue or Than Nu Dang Ngu Linh Ky (Goddess Offering Five Sacred Flags), she looked so majestic, and her bright eyes seemed so soulful. Especially when she walked on two knees, the audience applauded loudly. When playing the roles of Han To Mai or Bang Quy Phi, she was so beautiful, beautiful from her eyes to her smile. She captivated the king and made me dazzled, too. While the old ladies and elderly aunts in front of me cursed her, wishing her to die, I wanted her not to die so that the play would prolong.
Cheerful festival days were over. Life in the commune returned to normal, and so did our class. But Teacher Rao didn't forget the students who dropped out of school because of the desire to have fun. Five kids were called to the board; their faces were pale from lack of sleep. "What show did you watch last night?" The teacher chuckled in his throat. The question was repeated twice before the kids answered in a whisper: “Ngu Long Cong Chua” (Five Dragon Princesses). The teacher changed from a smiling face to an angry face: "The Five Dragons Princesses, the Five Tigers were covered with blankets ... slept until morning... hey ...".(“Ngu” in Vietnamese means “five” and “sleep”). The teacher used a ruler to strike them on the hands. The pain was so bad that all of them were in tears, rubbing their hands on their buttocks to relieve the pain. We girls looked at each other with our heads down, our tongues sticking out...
In Second Grade, our new teacher was Ms. Lanh Thi Vo. She was so pretty and lovely. On her kind face, there was always a gentle smile. For a long time, we studied only with the Principal, who was famous for being stern and dry. Now she came and brought with her a new and lively atmosphere. There were many variations in her teaching. She was different from the other teachers, who only chose a few students to answer the questions on the board. With Ms.Lanh, we had to recite the previous lessons every day. We didn’t recite the lessons to her but to the classmate sitting next to us each. Depending on the level of our memory of the lessons, we were allowed to give a, b or c marks (grades). In the morning, the classroom was buzzing with the sound of lesson reciting ... She crossed her arms, walking around to check our activities.
The girls in my class studied better than the boys. The good and diligent students were Ngoc Thi Tran, Chau Thi Tran, Hung Nhut Dang, Hue Huu Mai...The boys studied worse, and their essays were exceedingly terrible. For example, one of them copied a dog description to describe his grandmother: "To resist thieves, I raise a grandmother at home." Therefore, Ms.Lanh paid particular attention to the boys. She encouraged and helped them. For example, she noticed that one student always wore an old, worn-out white shirt, so she bought him a new shirt. However, there were also some stubborn and naughty students. Once, she was so angry that she had to hit a guy's hand with a ruler. For Mr. Rao, it was a common thing, but for her, it was the most painful thing, so she covered her face and sobbed. In the end, he realized his wrong behaviors and apologized to her.
I liked reading and story-telling classes the most. Ms. Lanh had beautiful hardcover books with stunning pictures. Her soft voice gently brought my soul into the wonderland where there were princesses with big eyes running around chasing the ball, and there were handsome and majestic princes on the backs of white horses.
Ms. Lanh gave my class many unforgettable memories. The sightseeing trip on Buu Long mountain was exciting. My friends and I roamed outdoors for the first time, sitting on Ham Ho, Ham Rong. She showed us how to color leaves for souvenirs. She instructed me to soak Siamese custard apple leaves in the mud for about a week. After taking them out, only fragile webs of leave veins were left. They looked very beautiful after being dipped in green, purple or red ink. I liked the red veins of the leaves that sparkled stunningly in the sunlight.
Second Grade is very comfortable and easy. We could study and play simultaneously, without worrying about exams. On weekends, I took my younger brother to watch shows at Bien Hung Theater. I had a lot of certificates of merit. Bien Hung Theater received Certificates of Merit instead of tickets to encourage good students. The conductor just cut a small corner and returned the certificates to the students to keep as a souvenir.
I often went to Class monitor Ngoc Thi Tran's house in the summer to play. Ngoc was about two years older than me, thin and tall. I was not worse than Ngoc in terms of studying but worse than her in orderliness and carefulness. Ngoc's books and notebooks were always straight and clean. The covers and labels were decent. There were always two sheets of blotting paper available inside.
Ngoc's house was built in the old way, so the foundation was very high and solid. My garden was small, with only a few mangoes, grapefruit, Siamese custard apple, plum and ambarella trees. Still, Ngoc's garden was vast with attractive fruit trees such as rambutan, breast milk, strawberry and sapodilla… Ngoc's breast milk fruits had a thin shell and were small and sweet. Ngoc was brilliant and resourceful. Although the breast milk tree was very tall and the fruits were on the top, Ngoc could skillfully raise the cage and pick them down. I tried many times, but I couldn't do it.
There were a lot of fruits, but Ngoc's family had few people, so Ngoc often brought fruits to the Bien Hoa market to sell. Sometimes Ngoc invited me along. From Ngoc's experience, there were two best-selling locations: in front of Kim Chau gold shop and Dong Hung bicycle shop. I was a quiet person, not as quick to invite customers as Ngoc, so I only helped her calculate and collect money.
After having sold all the fruits, we went to eat together. We shared the same favorite dish - fried fish sold on a mobile stall by a Chinese uncle at the corner of Kim Chau gold shop. A small piece of fish about the size of two fingers marinated with golden frying flour dipped in a delicious chili sauce and a small bowl of fat soup. Before leaving home, my mother had given me some money, but Ngoc wouldn't let me pay. She clapped her hands on the pocket on her waist: "Don't worry, I have a lot of money." There were also slow sales a few times, but Ngoc knew how to cleverly manage small discounts and ask acquaintances to buy for her. Everyone thought that Ngoc was a predestined vendor.
At first, there was news that Ms. Lanh would continue to teach our class in First Grade, but in the end, she was ordered to move to Nguyen Du School. The day of parting was sorrowful. She and her students all cried. I only had one consolation: At Nguyen Du, she would teach my younger brother's class, so I would have opportunities to see her again. Ms. Ba Thi Do replaced Ms. Lanh. The new teacher was also kind and gentle. Her hair was shoulder-length. She sometimes wore a side braid to look more graceful.
In the new school year, there was a new classmate from Nguyen Du School: Ba Van Tran. For the first time in my class, there was a boy who studied well. Some kids whispered a false rumor: "This guy studies well because he has been in First Grade for two years." I was interested in his beautiful, skillful and strange handwriting. Out of curiosity, I observed and noticed that his bamboo nibs were very special. It turned out that he had cleverly cut the tip of the nib a bit; when he wrote, the words had bold and light strokes like the painters’ ones.
First Grade was an important school year. The teacher was more attentive, and the students were more diligent. However, on the occasion of big holidays, Ms. Ba also let my class participate in a musical and theatrical performance on stage. The most famous voice was HoaThi Nguyen – like the meaning of her name (Hoa = Peace) - very meek and gentle. Hoa sang the song “The Greeting Card at the Beginning of Spring” very beautifully. Chau and I also participated enthusiastically in the performance. At home, my sister Mai often sang, so I imitated her. “Cold Dew in the Winter Afternoon,” “Little Shadow on the Afternoon Street,” “Where Is My Lover's Hair,” and “The Day You Turned Twenty” were the songs I knew by heart. Mai also taught Chau to sing “I'm Not Sad Anymore, Sister.” The music was suitable for her voice, so her friends greatly admired her. I didn't know why I chose the song “The Day You Turned Twenty”. As soon as she heard the name of the song, Ms. Ba burst into laughter. The whole class laughed along.
Since that day, my name has been attached to the name of the piece of music. (In 2005, before going to the convention of Ngo Quyen School, Hong called Chau in San Jose: "This time, Cuc will attend, too. Cuc studied with you at Tan Thanh school. Do you remember her?" Chau answered immediately: “Yes, I still remember her as When-I-Was-Twenty-Years-Old Cuc.")
Because the last year in elementary school was a time with many exams, especially the entrance exam for Seventh Grade (the first year of junior high school), I gave up many personal hobbies to study. My father bought me a book of 366 math problems and an essay writing practice book. Reading the newspaper, I saw a page advertising an exam preparation class for Seventh Grade at Khiet Tam School. I asked my father to allow me to attend the class. It was an evening class. I didn't dare to ride a bicycle, so I went to school by three-wheeled Lambro. The course was very crowded; all of the students were city dwellers. There were two teachers in charge. Mr. Ky taught Math, and Mr. Chan (?) taught Literature. I sat at the last table. The student next to me was Duyen Thi Bui - It was Duyen in the song “I’d Rather Be A Raindrop”... later on.
The atmosphere in the class was exciting - we competed in learning. Once there was a power outage, we had to use candles. I didn't know how I managed in that situation as the fire scorched a little of my hair in front; fortunately, I didn't get burned. Sometimes I had to walk home from school because there was no Lambro; I was terrified when passing by the cemetery of the Tieu Chau people. While walking, I prayed to Buddha and the Goddess of Mercy.
Unexpectedly, the exam preparation class was well organized. There was a rigorous exam and an award ceremony when the course was over. A boyfriend ranked first, I ranked second and Duyen ranked third. There was a singing performance in the award ceremony. One of the boys sang the famous Vong Co song by Ut Tra On with the verse: "Thinking the well was deep, I connected the rope to another to make it longer. It turned out that the well was dry. I regretted the rope forever.”
Many springs have passed, and many changes have happened in life. My father and my teacher Rao were at peace in eternity. I still do not forget the times when my teacher came to my house. He and my father stood by the fish pond in front of my house. Both talked about current affairs and my studies which the teacher was always interested in. If I had worked a little harder, a little less playful... as my teacher always reminded me... maybe my life would have been brighter? Sometimes I feel regret… When Ms. Lanh moved to Nguyen Du School, I used to visit her in the first year. But after that, I lost contact with her because she moved or because I was so absorbed in playing that I didn't remember??? Every time Autumn comes back, I still feel confused and regretful when I look at the red leaves. I remember the old red leaf and wish to see her again, even just once.
From Oregon, Ms. Ba called me a few months ago; her voice is still as gentle and passionate as ever. Talking about me, she still didn't forget the little girl with a white shirt with her sleeves folded and her head always "with messy hair" - the symbol of a poet ̃- she said while smiling. I visualize her fleeting smile and her lovely one-side braid. No matter how many years I have not seen her, I still think she is not old because she lives a simple life, follows a vegetarian diet and reads Buddhist scriptures.
The loss always bothers me: My friendship with Ngoc ended when I passed the entrance exam to Ngo Quyen. Ngoc stopped attending school and avoided seeing me. We were both so young, so we didn't have mature thoughts to find each other to mend our broken feelings. In recent years, when I heard that Ngoc passed away in my hometown, my heart was very regretful. I still remember the times I followed her to Bien Hoa market. I still remember the Chinese uncle's fried fish cart that we both loved… Oh, all of them now become just memories... I often dream about my childhood... about the village school... Once I saw my father taking me to school... The surroundings were still calm and peaceful... as peaceful as ever. I saw Long An Pagoda with jubilant festivals... Bang Quy Phi’s smile and eye wink once made me bewildered. (Bang Quy Phi: a female character in an old play). Subconsciously, I heard the sound of the pagoda bell and the voice of my father reciting a poem by Ho Dzenh that he used to love.
Just a feeling of missing in the soul
A little scent of innocence drifting
Footsteps counting the sounds of temple bells
I thought the old years were returning
THY LE TRANG
MASSACHUSETTS
Translated into English by Phuoc Khac Nguyen
