Muon nhan duoc sach tang xin gui dia chi ve Email nayGiao Chi San Jose. giaochi12@gmail.com (408) 316 8393
From an article 20 years ago, Giao Chỉ, San Jose
Dear Sir, on April 30, 1975, I went to collect the body of my husband at the military cemetery in Bien Hoa.
Sir, for many years, you have repeatedly mentioned April 30th. You said that everyone has their own April 30th. You always asked, "Where were you at that time?"
Sir, on April 30, 1975, I went to collect the body of my husband at the military cemetery in Bien Hoa. Let me tell you the full story:
My beloved, my soon-to-be husband, was Nguyen Dong Thanh, a captain in the Special Forces. His unit was stationed in Chan Thanh in 1975. After graduating from Thu Duc, he served as a platoon leader and later became a company commander. He was wounded four times. One time, he was seriously wounded and had to stay in the hospital for two months. The other times, his injuries were lighter. I met him when I was a student, visiting soldiers at the Republic of Vietnam Armed Forces General Hospital. We became close, and after that, we sometimes even wished for him to be slightly injured so we could meet in Saigon. One time, he sprained his ankle while jumping from a helicopter, which allowed him to rest for nearly a month. That was the happiest "injury" for us.
Our families met after we informed our parents. Early in 1975, we got engaged, and we were planning to marry in early May 1975. My uncle, a lieutenant colonel in Saigon, knew many people, so we hoped he could help my fiancé, Dong Thanh, transfer to a different unit or to the Ministry of Defense. During Tết 1975, we visited my uncle to ask him for help. He took a look at Dong Thanh and praised him, saying that although he was young, he was handsome and had an honorable appearance. Dong Thanh was 22 years old, and I was 19 in 1975. I was fairly tall, but Dong Thanh was even taller than me. He was athletic, participating in both horizontal bars and parallel bars, so he looked very fit. All my friends from Gia Long School liked my fiancé.
However, when we asked about his unit, my uncle seemed hesitant. He said that the previous year, he had requested to transfer a friend from a garrison unit to the province, but that soldier was killed after a week, and his mother had gone to the hospital to report corruption. Therefore, my uncle said we should wait for a while, as the unit would eventually be pulled back to the rear, and the transfer could happen later.
Dong Thanh was very proud, so he didn’t bring up the transfer issue again. After we left my uncle's house, I was very upset with him and often wished he would go to battle and die. A man who was just over 20 years old, and yet already wanted to be a hero. His family only had one son, and he could have postponed his service, but he chose to join the Special Forces, always on the move, sometimes with orders to shave his head for added intimidation. Yet, no matter what, Dong Thanh, whether with long or short hair, always looked like a handsome French actor, Alain Delon.
I was very proud to walk with him on Nguyen Hue street, but we didn’t have many chances to go out together. In March 1975, news spread that the enemy was threatening Chan Thanh, and both our families, as well as I, were worried day and night. Then came the news from headquarters that the Special Forces in Chan Thanh had received orders to withdraw. The army was pulling back. I had never been so happy to hear that our forces were retreating. As a student under 20, I just wanted my fiancé to come back safely. I didn’t care where the army retreated to. But then came the painful news, just as I had feared. The unit sent someone to inform my family to come collect Dong Thanh's body on April 25, 1975. The soldier from his unit spoke about how valiantly Dong Thanh had fought and how he died, but I couldn’t listen to that. How could so many others still be alive in Saigon, but he died heroically?
Dong Thanh was so kind, and he never harmed anyone. Why did he have to die in vain? When I heard the news, I went mad and followed my family to the military cemetery to collect his body. Even though we weren’t married yet, I declared him my husband. The officials tried to question our marriage, thinking I wanted to claim his death benefits, but I was determined to take his body, regardless of whether there was a marriage certificate. What was there left to claim from a country that no longer existed?
Dong Thanh lay there, looking as though he was sleeping. A bullet had pierced his chest, heart, and abdomen, but his face remained intact. He looked as beautiful as an angel. He was brought back by helicopter on a stretcher, just like in the song, just like in the novels. Beside him were many fallen comrades, but they had been there too long, and the stench was unbearable. Many families came to collect their loved ones' bodies, with women and children crying loudly. I joined in their cries. We buried him on April 27, 1975, and then my family left, but I stayed behind. I hid in the Heroes' Memorial area, while my family thought I was going back to Saigon with friends.
During the last days of April, I wept freely at the cemetery, where all the families of the fallen soldiers were. No one paid attention to me. Some families brought radios to listen to news of the ongoing battle. Refugees from all over the country arrived, setting up tents next to the graves. There were hundreds, even thousands of graves. In the beginning, many bodies were brought by helicopter, but later, they came by military trucks. Eventually, all sorts of vehicles brought the bodies for burial. The cold storage facility was supposed to preserve the bodies, but without electricity, the stench was overwhelming. Many bodies were left on the ground under the sun, emitting foul odors that forced nearby families to move their tents further away.
By April 30th, with the order to surrender, no one was in charge anymore. Communist soldiers began to gather people and soldiers who were fleeing, forcing them to dig mass graves. An engineer from our side used a bulldozer to dig large holes, and all the bodies of the South Vietnamese soldiers were buried together. Some families tried to retrieve their loved ones' bodies, digging their own individual graves. I saw one family, a young wife with a few children about 8 or 9 years old, digging to bury her husband. I grabbed a hoe and helped, and in that moment, I felt less crazy. Seeing those two children, with tears in their eyes, helping their mother dig their father’s grave, I realized how pointless the war was. And that my own suffering was not unique. I will never forget that scene.
After that, on May 2, 1975, I hitched a ride back to Saigon. In 1980, I married a man from Thu Duc, who had spent two years in reeducation camps. We fled the country and went to the United States. My second husband understood my first love, Dong Thanh, and respected my memories of him. Since 1993, every few years, we visit Saigon, and we always go to the Bien Hoa cemetery. I follow the program for visiting graves. Each time, I pray for Dong Thanh to bless the work of the association. I hired someone to make a gravestone for him, the same size as the others, because I didn’t want to build a large one. Dong Thanh had wanted to die like his comrades, so I made sure his grave resembled theirs.
I both love and resent him. My first love, Dong Thanh, is the embodiment of the Vietnam War. I both hate and love him. It’s been 30 years, yet my feelings haven’t changed.
You asked, where was I on April 30th? Yes, on April 30, 1975, I went to bury my husband at the Bien Hoa Military Cemetery.
So, where were you, Sir, on April 30th?
Tieu Quyen,
