ABOUT MY LOST FRIEND NGUYEN TAT NHIEN - Memoir by Thy Le Trang - English Translation by Nguyen Khac Phuoc

 

Thy Le Trang

ABOUT MY LOST FRIEND NGUYEN TAT NHIEN

Memoir by Thy Le Trang

English Translation by Nguyen Khac Phuoc

Whenever I remember my time as a student or hear someone mention one of my close friends who has passed away, my heart is filled with regret.

Nhien Tat Nguyen passed away a long time ago as far as we know. Despite my repeated plans to write about him, I could not get around to it due to a combination of busy work schedules and my reluctance to pick up a pen. I often gripe to my friend Little Hong that my writing has been stale for a while and that my age is reflected in it.

Despite going to the same Ngo Quyen High School, Hai Hoang Nguyen (whose real name is Nhien Tat Nguyen) and I frequently got together at the Huynh Hiep bookstore.

At that time, we were both in the Sixth Grade. I enjoyed writing poetry as a child and wanted to be a poet. Under various pseudonyms, I attempted to write for teen magazines like La Xanh, Tuoi Tre, Tuoi Hoa, and Tuoi Xanh, etc. Therefore, I would often visit Huynh Hiep's bookstore in the afternoons to purchase 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 answered, and some published, but we were all pleased because school-age children still had a lot of hopes and dreams.

Studying while writing poetry and hanging out were my high school days. A lot of people were astonished to learn how I managed to maintain my romantic and poetic spirit while hanging out with my rowdy friends, who went by the nickname "Ngu Quy" (Five Devils).

Nguyen often asked me that question when he met me at school.

Little Ba drew me away and gave him a menacing glare just as he was about to brag about a recently composed poem or short story. He merely laughed, clasped his hands, and made a few bows before walking away. He just chuckled, then clasped his hands to bow a few times and left.

The school year of the fourth grade (Freshman in the USA) was the most memorable time for me.

Even though I was busy completing a spring magazine for the fourth grade, I also participated in submitting articles for the spring magazine of Ngo Quyen School.

I was really happy and proud when my article 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; I only remember his flowery sentence: "My kite began to grow thorns in my soul, flying with sorrow soaked with tears in a dream." Because his father had still not returned at that time of year when the bead tree flowers were in full bloom.

The prizes for my article were a book of poems by Thien Cong Pham and a Chinese fountain pen.

At the end of the year, Ngo Quyen School had an extremely exciting atmosphere. Nguyen went to every class to find a female role to play alongside him in a comedy he wrote and directed in order to prepare for the school performance. When he arrived at my class, my classmates at the first table greatly embarrassed him.

Although many of the students in my fourth-grade class were known for being extremely studious, they were also known for being as lively as anyone after school.

He frowned and complained, got rid of the hard questions, and walked down to the last table where I was seated. "Too bad, too bad," he uttered, "I can not find anyone deserving of a role in my play. Please help me.” “What kind of role is it that is too hard to find an actor to play?” I enquired. "The role of a resentful wife who frequently mistreats her husband," Nguyen replied.

"Am I bad-tempered enough to play the role?" Little Ba, who was seated next to me, asked. "Oh, that is great." He had a smile on his face and appeared extremely happy.

He was forced to accept one condition by Ba and Luu:

After each play, he had to give each of us a cup of iced green beans and cake, as well as a ticket to Bien Hung Cinema. He nodded in agreement that the play needed to succeed.

The story, which took place in a city and featured a wife as fierce as a Ha Dong lion, was a sort of Phi Thoan's comedy. Although he was terrified of his wife, the husband also did not want to look foolish in front of his brother. Upon his brother's visit from the country, he pleaded with his spouse to act like a submissive wife.

The wife initially agreed. But the wife could not accept the husband's request because it was so absurd. Ultimately, the woman delivered a severe beating to her husband. Naturally, Little Ba played the wife, Nguyen played the husband, and a boy from Nguyen's class played the brother. The role of a prompter was given to me.

Everything went well during the first week. Nguyen happily handed each of us a bowl of green beans and a movie ticket. Movies would be screened in the mornings at Bien Hung Theater back then, and then a cai luong musical theater group would perform.

Luu knew actors and artists by heart because she was passionate about performing arts and their personal lives. Luu drew us all into the backstage area to see the artists' faces because of her insatiable curiosity. At first, Nguyen refused, but then he also joined us for fun.

We had a conversation with My Chau and Minh Phung, the actors, and even got their autographs and pictures.

Nguyen, I found out, had a sense of humor and a small amount of dramatic talent. During the rehearsal, he used to tell jokes to make us laugh.

Forty years have gone by, but I can still picture him and Little Ba running around the classroom practicing our drama, or the scene where he held his stomach while laughing and shaking his head at Little Luu for making a swear.

Nguyen's friend gave up on the day of the performance, which caused him to regret and sigh with a distorted face. Little Ba also lost interest because she was worried that she would not get the chance to perform in front of her friends and teachers. I was forced to take a risk by agreeing to perform in the play after witnessing their difficulties.

“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.

As 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. My legs were shaking with nervousness, not knowing how Nguyen and Ba felt. As soon as I stepped out on the stage, I heard the audience roar with laughter, perhaps because of the beard Mr. Hai drew on my face. Luckily, my grandfather's spectacles prevented me from seeing anything beneath the stage. Thanks to that, I regained my spirit and acted very naturally. 

The performance was successful. All of my friends praised me. With a loud smile, Little Luu said, "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 his pride. Little Ba patted him on the shoulder and said, “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 school year of the Third Grade (Sophomore), 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 in daily life did not have pieces of thought to share? I was very happy to join the Mach Tho Group.

 Nguyen used to come over to my house by himself and boast about his new poems or discuss his plans for the future. He was sometimes irritable and quick to become upset, according to several people. I hadn't seen him in those situations so I didn't know. I only knew that sometimes he was silly, like a child.

During that period, Charlot's silent films were frequently aired on South Vietnamese television at noon on the weekends. He arrived at my house while we were all watching a movie and the doors were shut. He didn't call; he 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 loudly that he was thought to be suffocating. When the movie ended, he just went inside the house. My younger brother has since given him the nickname "Stop Breathing". Whenever he saw him from afar, he squealed loudly, “Stop breathing, Cuc.”

 

During the first grade (12th grade) academic year, Mr. Hai oversaw the Ngo Quyen High School press department. One night, he hurried 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 not enough. He asked me to write a short story. Luckily, I had some free time, so I was ready to help him. In his view, during that time of the year, the press criticized Ngo Quyen Spring Magazine: The literature and poetry were sentimental, not normal. However, he happily patted his thigh and laughed, saying that, compared to other spring magazines, his school one was still far ahead.

 

After graduating from school, I rarely saw him. He would stop by occasionally to tell me about his poems that had been set to music or to show me the manuscript of the short stories he had written. The last time he came, he gave me the piece of music “Em Hiền Như Ma Soeur (You Are As Gentle As Ma Soeur) with his autograph. My lovely friend Thu Thanh Pham came to mind when I was reading this song. Was it her meek appearance and soft eyes that had once aroused him too?

I had no knowledge of Nguyen or the Mach Tho Group after 1975. The regime changed, and lives changed, too.

Everyone was busy making a living in miserable and worrisome 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, there were not many Vietnamese people in the place where I lived, and there were no newspapers, so I didn't get any news. Hong lived in a big city, and there were a lot of Vietnamese people, so if she had any news, she always let me know.

Both of us were in deep sorrow for him—a multi-passionate man who ultimately used tranquilizers to end his own life.

 

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. Our plan was to see Teachers and friends again. By the way, Hong was on familiar terms with Phuong Thien Dinh, his wife, and the White Cloud Group. I also wanted to see the members of the old Mach Tho Group, so I asked Hong to contact them and invite them all to join the friendly meeting. In my heart, I wanted to see my friends in the 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. Mr. Hoang did not attend the meeting even though the information was untrue. 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, this article is 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 an incense stick in memory of the deceased. Somewhere in peace, I believe he is smiling - not a scornful, arrogant smile but an innocent, carefree smile of school age.

 

THY LE TRANG

(Massachusetts)

English Translation by Nguyen Khac Phuoc