Thephong by Thephong:; the writer, the work & the life - autobiography / thephong -3

Thephong by Thephong...- autobiography 
dai nam van hien books, saigon 1972    

                                                            Thephong by Thephong :
                       the writer, the work & the life
                                             autobiography by The phong

                                                       CHAPTER TWO

    I had a  short stay with my aunt at Bà -rịa.  Once back in Saigon I was forced to live at the expense of Captain Triều lương Chế in his house.  I knew Chế well, though we are not old acquaintances.   Chế liked me; he never refused to land me money during my hard times at xóm Chùa- Tân định.  Six years older than me, Chế was also a writer and a noble- minded men.  He knew Ngô đình Nhu even before he wrote for Social Studies Weekly * with Đỗ la Lam.  But now, he did not seek any favour from Mr Nhu.  This upright man won my whole trust.   Having sold many thousand copies of a propaganda book commissioned by the government, Chế owned a car.
----
*   tuần báo Xã hội.    

  Between 1955 to 1957 I had a friend whose merit as a writer was still very poor.  He was the author of the book The Vietnamese Soldier in the Republican Era  *.  He asked Minister of  Defense Trần trung Dung, a member of the powerful Cần Lao Party to write the foreword.  He afterwards earned five hundred thousand piasters.  Of course, he had to spend part of this sum for bribery.  After the 1963 coup d'état, he simply broke  away from his old clan to become a Buddhist under the name Tuệ Giác.  He always associated himself with VIP's of the country.  In the Ngô đình Diệm era, he spread the new that I was  a government secret agent while I was being hunted.  Mr Chánh Bân, father of a lieutenant colonel , told Mr Huyến this during a visit to him.  He denied all when he met him in the  street.  I even thanked him or what he had done for me.  He was so kind to pay a reasonable sum for my article on the The Revolt of Writers in North Vietnam published in Country Magazine ** - the thing many publishing failed to perform.  While I stayed at Chế house I still wrote for him.   It was not long before I felt uneasy because many of the visitors asked who I was - this made me ashamed; so, I told Chế that I planned to have a  rest in Bà- rịa.  In fact, I came to live with Uyên Thao who have  rented a house at Đoàn thị Điểm St.  We managed to survive together.  But after a short time, haunted by women, I wanted to go away again.  Đặng thị Ngọc Oanh had become a graduate nurse; she wanted to know whether I would get married to her.  I simply could not think of marriage while I still had no means to support myself.  Oanh was angry with me and got married to another man.  I felt very frustated.  In that time, my neighbour was a woman about forty.  She lived in a four-room house, the first was unused.  She sympathized with my sorrows and we chatted most of the time.  She recalled her days in a hamlet of Champagne St.  I talked of my acquaintances there - Major Th.  I told  this for nothing but she revealed she was Mrs Th ' s protégé.  We became friends.  She was the wife of the warrant officer class two, she told the landlady.  Every time she failed to pay the rent duly she found the excuse by  saying her husband was not home.  The landlady found out she was only a prostitute turned concubine.  I was terribly sad, witnessing such paintful incidents.  Besides living from hand to mouth, I also felt unhappy at the sight of my suitcase full of unused manuscripts.  So I went downtown.  I had only four piasters; fortunately, I could still afford to have a black coffee at Kim Sơn Café.  While  sitting there,  I met a writer, Lt Văn Quang. He liked me very much in those days as he was but an apprentice writer who had  much to learn.  The whole truth was that he appreciated my literary gift.   Van Quang invited me to live with him.  I thought I could stay in the  library in the morning, but I wondered where I could have lunch.  So  I decided to come to Van Quang' s house.  He wanted me to direct his writing; in exchange, he would support me.

----
*    Người quân nhân Cộng hòa  / Tuấn Giang,  Saigon 1957.
**  Hương Quê đặc san 


     When  I came home  Uyên Thao and Thắng were still talking with a friend.  It was raining that night.  I was soaked to the skin.  After changing clothes, I slid into the mosquito-net.  Unintentionally, I took  the book Whoever Happened to Cross the Brigde * author Nguyễn đức Quỳnh gave me in the afternoon.   But I could not read a word.  I switched off the reading lamp and tried to sleep.   Uyên Thao anh Thắng went to bed too.  Suddenly, a voice was heard from the next-door house, ' Have you been
 home ?'.  I would have an amorous adventure tonight.  Although we were new acquaintances, I was sure our encounter would put a balm on my sad soul.  After my two friends slept soundly I managed to pass over partition.   A small lamp was lighted on the sleeping table.  The sight of an well-equipped bed with blanket, mosquito-net, and pillow filled with strong desire.  More than that, there were falling and wind blowing outside.  As soon as I was in her room, I put off the lamp.  Awakened, she asked who I was.  I hushed her.  She added, ' A you a burglar ? '. I answered no.  Another silly question.' So what do you want ?'. I said that the story was rather long  and we had better speak more sofly.  She resisted when I tried to kiss her.  She was like Mrs Năm Hưởng in her haughty manner of loving.  I kissed her lips and my body was upon her. 
 I promised to let her cook for us, because we did not want to go to shops and from motives of economy.  This was a deadly trick because I recalled her request to cook for us in the afternoon when we made friends with each other.  She was in need of money and we three men could pay a reasonable sum in advance.   I told her I would let her know everything the landlady said to me about her.   Without resorting to Dale
 Carnegie ' s practical psychology, I won her heart : She remained silent as if to hear me attentively.  Then she asked me how much I earned every month. I ventured to say,
 ' Three thousand piasters '.  She put her arms around me and we made love.  That night I had a very  nice dream.  The woman awoke me, but she waited until daybreak to wake me and tell me to go home right away.
----
* Ai có qua cầu ,ký bút danh Hoài đồng Vọng. 

    But  the following morning the news leaked.  The teller was a woman who flew to Laos in the same day.  I feared the story would be spread extensively, with more details once she was back.  So I decided to come to see Lt Văn Quang.  A new lodging for me ...

     
    In this period I met an acquaintance, a fellow merchant of my mother in Nghĩa lộ. In those days I liked gambling very much I spent all my mother 's profits in it .Consequently, many painful incidents happened the prodigal son that I was then.  When I liked something I found it irrepressible.  When I stopped, my heart was immediately set at rest.  Now I could while away an hour very agreable at the cardtable, but I was indifferent whether I played or not.  It was not so in the old days; when I had no money to play with, I felt so miserable that I could not help sitting near the cardtable smoking.  I once  stole the money of a niece of mine, I would one day sell my wife 's clothes, the landlady prophesied.

    I met the old acquaintance in front of the Bắc Hà  Catholic Church. He said my mother died immediately after Việt Minh forces occupied Nghĩa lộ in  November, 1952. I felt very sad to learn this only after five years.   When a little children the farm in Làng bữu, every time I saw a funeral procession followed by mourning people I always asked mother the reason they cried, 'You ' re an ungrateful son, my boy ! ' , my mother would answer.  Shortly after that, my father was reported kidnapped by the Việt Minh in Thái nguyên.  They suspected my father was pro-French and a member of the Vietnamese national Party *  around 1930.  He was  detained and transferred to the highland.  Alas, I could not bid my father a last farawell and it was the same with my mother. I was really an prodigal son.  Hearing this, Lt Văn Quang did  his best to soothe me.  He and I went to the movies and then, he brought me to his home in Sư Vạn Hạnh St. . Văn Quang still lived with his old mother .  As his father got another wife, his mother often wept and drank gin without the knowledge of Văn Quang.  Every day, Văn Quang rode to work on his old Vespa while I stayed home to type my thousand-page literary criticism book.  Or I came to the library.  In the evening when Văn Quang came back he usually asked me if there was any letter from  the girl in Quảng ngãi Province.  As for me, I expected Linh Bảo' s letter from Hong Kong. Literature and letters were all my joys in life then.  Diệu Viên wrote swell letters, being a highly talented woman writer six years older than me, from Huế.  Her eyes and her whole personality radiated a kind of flame capable of kindling my heart.  Diệu Viên had a  husband in Hong Kong and she worked for the Vietnamese Consulate there.   I had some excerpts of her letters printed in my first autobiography ' Looking Back at Midway of Life ' **.  One of my friends, journalist Nguyễn Ngu Í, wanted to see these letters out of curiosity and suspicious were aroused even among literary circles in so-called modern Vietnam.   They simply did not appreciate novelty, being too traditionalist.  Here is an example.  To criticise Nguyễn Du  poet is ]tabu . I think they were deaf to new voices in literature.  They just did not understand criticism had nothing in common with flattery or calumny.  Poor Nguyễn Du ! He would have lived to our own days and would have punished those who are the most-un Nguyễn Du in the world - the Nguyễn Du worshippers.  He was more in need of our understanding than our reverence.   When my book Myself for Hire *** was publihed , many journalists wondered why I could write so boldly.  One of the poems was entitled ' Nguyễn Du for Hire '. It created a stir.  It was talked about.  Could my country ' s prestige be hurt because Nguyễn Du 's  achievement was questioned ?   Did they not see that Nguyễn Du did not  express, reflect, represent, or depict anything in this nuclear age.  According to them the realists, surrealists, and avand-garde writers  in post-war Vietnam are nothing.  Is our presence unwanted  because we already have Nguyễn Du ?  So, Rousseau is enough for France; and Li Po, Do Phu are the only giants of Chinese literature.  So, why such writers as Lo Hsun, Ba Kim, Mao Tun, Quach Mat Nhuoc ?   I appreciate the genuis of Nguyễn Du, but this does not mean I have no right to criticise him.  I hold that Nguyễn Du is no longer the most significent writer of Vietnam.  Here some  lines of this violent poem :
-----
*    Việtnam quốc dân đảng
**  Nửa đường đi xuống
*** Cho thuê bản thân

                        ... Those who are healthy, weathy and wise
                              Are very keen to talk about Nguyễn Du and his
                                                                       oft-invoked quotation : 
                              ' And three hundred years after I die,
                               Who  will remember and weep over Tố Như, the poet ? '

                                                                    *
                              Yes, I admit nobody weep over him except unsucessful 
                                                                                                            writers.
                              As for me, I really do not  envy the poet of yore,
                                                dressed in brocaded clothes, enjoying
                                                    singing parties admist beautiful maidens
                              I no longer enjoy reading Kim vân Kiều,
                              I am angry with myself for having joined those praising
                                                                     the post with clothes sentences

                                                                  *
                       ...  Well, Nguyễn Du is but a poet among others
                             I reject the idea he is everything in Vietnamese literature.

      It is precisely the idiocies of the Nguyễn Du critic that have me so bitter. I think he never imagined that such a thing would happen to him. So I held it is our duty to look backwards only to build  up better things for the future .

                                                                    ***

     Lt  Văn Quang  had started a novel intitled Days of Wine and Roses *.  He asked me to read and comment on every paragraph he had just finished.  Like Thanh Nam  he wrote adult bedtime stories that women today found very interesting. I told Văn Quang something like this.  I emphasized, ' Nothing can induce me to praise  my father if he writes porly '.  He agreed with me only once in a short story in Bách khoa Magazine.  Unwillingly, I entrusted the publication of the novel to  a friend of mine, assistant  editor of Văn nghệ tiền phong Weekly.  I tried to direct him but somehow he always ended up writing the old way.  Văn Quang wanted to be well-known to woman readers. All I could do as to introduce him to Thanh Nam, Thái Thủy in a dinner at his house.  One night while I was sleeping, Văn Quang came back and wept pofusely.  He awakened me to confide his troubles to me : a love affair that did not end the way he liked.  He had two sweethearts : one was working in the treasury in Quảng ngãi province; the other, a girl student in Trưng Vương High School.  

      In a  visit to Quảng ngãi, he found Mừng  disappointing in spite  of her father's many buses.  When he was back he brought the girl student to the Cây Mai BOQ *  and  ruined her life.   He asked me whether he would marry her or not. I always held it is guilty to sleep with virgin girls though I did so twice.  [ I could not marry any of them, because I was then too poor ] .  I was glad he had  married the girl he slept with .  I still recollect insisting he had to marry her even when he felt no love for her.  All the other things he had done I had somehow managed to understand - but that he despised his mother appalled  me.  When he was assigned to Pleiku, I was left alone but I found solace in the thought at last I was away from a friend who had no for love his mother .
----
*     Những ngày hoa mộng,  ký bút danh Hoài giang Ngọc.
 **  Bachelor Officer Quarters .

    Some time later he refferred to me in the army' s journal as a man living in the clouds, meeting only disappointments.  From then on rarely met Văn Quang. He had  changed a lot ! Văn Quang' s  books  are now riding high on most best-sellr lists, earning him more and more wives.  I was pleased he had become a celebrity.  One morning  in the prime of this year I dropped in Kim Anh bookshop at Lê Lợi St. While I as talking to my former publishing Thuận, a client about my age looking like a philosopher fathead asked Miss Kim Anh for a calendar.  She invited him to buy a new novel by Văn Quang.  He angrily
 said, ' I don't like him. He is a plagiarist of French letters '.   Mr Thuận  whispered,
 ' Your friend is blamed ' .  Head down  I gave this defense, ' It is injust to describe my friend as a plagiarist.  He neither read nor understood French '. Upon those  words I took lave of them  and hurried to the other side of the street.

   I want to repeat the man and the author should be in complete accord.  As a former member o the ' Creation Literary Group ' * Lữ Hồ respected Thanh Tâm Tuyền, but now he called him a coward.  A censor office working in the same team with Captain Văn Quang, he dared not talk to Lữ Hồ publicity, fearing he might be suspected.  Lữ Hồ was then in charge of Buddhist weekly Thiện Mỹ in the time Trần văn Hương' s  government had to cope with difficulties due to Vietnamese United Buddhist Church . As for 
me, I haven' t talked to Tuyền after Quách Thoại' s death.  I don' t like him for many things, especially his way of writing verse - he first  translated French authors Eluard, Aragon, then tore the translations, and started writing poetry of his own in the same vein.  Could such poms be branded genuinely existentialist' s like Vũ khắc Khoan of the so-called patriotic intellectuals of the Wiev Point Literary Group ** who claimed they were reprensentatives of the Beat Generation in Vietnamese literary world.  They hand their full salaries to their wives and play ' hụi '  to earn  some extra money every month ! 
They are just corrupt, vain, stupid and ineffectual citizens ! 

     They love the fatherland on conditioin they are well - paid and  well-fed .  Vũ khắc Khoan once praised Nguyễn đức Quỳnh highly, but he soon changed his opinion.  I despite him for using Nguyễn Hoạt as his mouthpiece instead of having the guts to come right out and say rotten things about Quỳnh.  I don' t pretend to be an existentialist writer, but I am true to myself.  I slept with prostitutes without saving money to cure veneral diseases !

     O Sartre, your followers are misintepreting your ethics  !  I agreed to Lữ Hồ comments on them.  Thanh tâm Tuyền' s writing are products of revolt, but they are lamentably unconvincing due to lack of grasp at ' lifestuff '.   The day he published I am no longer Alone ***, he was so flattered by Mr Nguyễn đức Quỳnh  he write dedications in almost all the poems as a token of his warmest regards for his literary friends.  Not long after that he wrote an essay titled The Sadness in Poetry  Today ****, to define his changed view. 
-----
*    Sáng tạo   **  Quan điểm  ***  Tô không còn cô độc   ****  Nỗi buồn trong thơ hôm nay 

 Lữ Hồ did not know much about army life. He held the view that the betters were  all powerful.   Lt Nguyễn văn Cừ, a pilot, and Tô thùy Yên, a poet, have given us marvelous examples of integrity.   As a  non-combat officer Thanh tâm Tuyền wrote about the present war in Vietnam.  He was not successful, being only a young puppy.  To  write the outstanding chronicle of men and modern warfare, ' The Naked and the Dead ' one should have the experiences of a Norman Mailer.  To be Jean Lartéguy that of a soldier engaged in the first Indochinese war.   One can be neither as good as a saint nor so bad as a  devil.  If  we have a coward heart, let us admit that and correct ourselves.  Let us have a look at the private life of Saint Thomas before and after he was thirty.  As a young man he raped girls in the fields, but when he felt nauses about it, he became a monk more virtuous than any saint you can think of. 

      I like Tô thùy Yên btter than Thanh tâm Tuyền.  Upon graduate of the officer' s school, Yên was assigned to Psywar Department.  Only days later I heard that he asked to be sent to a radio station on Ba xuyên province, a distant part of South Vietnam. Knowing the whole affair, I felt most pleaes to say his writings deserved our highest esteem in spite of the fact they might be not aesthetically apt.   We should be true to ourselves  first.  I don' t like this common saying, ' Fais ce que dis mais ce que je fais * .
-----
*  In French in the text [TR]

  After reading my autobiography ' Looking Back at Midway of Life ' , Hoàng văn Giang asked me how I would manage to deal with base people when I did not hide anything about myself.  I thanked him for his interesting question, and told him my heart would stop beating the very minute I was not may old self any longer.  The student was much pleased promised to keep an eye or everything I did afterwards.  Flying officer Trần như Huỳnh came to  see me before the November Revolution of 1963.  We went to a Christmas coffee shop dowtown to talk  lest we might be suspected. Huỳnh asked me the reason I did not take more positive measures to fight against Ngô đình Diệm' s government.   He added Tiếng dân Daily had run  a news telling I was arrested and brought to Center for Personalism in Vĩnh long for brainwashing.   Broadcast and newspapers from Hanoi also mentioned it; Cù huy Cận read a report in Cairo in February 1962, repeating it.  I told Huỳnh what I wrote since 1959 were pure cries against injustice and repression.  I never wrote anything without a purpose; my writing reflected what I fought for .

    What about writers and poets who were government secret agents ?  I admit they had every right to do so.  But what they wrote in that time should be rejected.  Thanh Nam  and  composer Ngọc Bích, author of the song ' God Save The President ' * were  not only ones in the world.  Lissaueur, a renowned port of Germany prior to the First  World War, was the author of ' Le Chant de haine à  L' Angleterre  **.  This came into  song seventy million Germans had to learn by heart.  After the defeat of Germany, Lissaueur was despised by writers, poets, journalists alike ... We here in Vietnam are indulgent to the utmost limit.  The proof of this is that I never refuse to shake hands with the ' spy' writers .
-----
*  Suy tôn Ngô [đình Diệm] tổng thống  ** In French in the text. [TR] 

                                                            ***

     Since Văn Quang's departure to Pleiku I had been not all certain that I could have a roof over my head.  At last I could only afford to  rent half of a hut.  I still had to eran some  hundred piasters each month.  News  from Linh Bảo came  almost every day.  The only comfort [and it was enormous] I had then  was a letter form Diệu Viên along with a meal.  A short time later, Diệu Viên informed me she was about to join her larger family in Vietnam.  Diệu Viên had been living in Hong Kong ten full years and she missed her country terribly.   More than that, her chance of recovery from asthma was to stay in a warm climate and among those who loved her.  I was both happy and troubled.  This meant she would leave the husband who had made her suffer all her life - as revealed in her autobiographical novel ' The North Wind ' *.  Her  photographs she sent me were fine, especially the one taken at  Kai Tak Air Port, with a net in the background.   It was a love net, I thought.  I spent the whole day admiring photographs, having nice dreams.  But what I could  do to earn our daily bread once she was back here in Vietnam ?  I had thought of joining the army, but the attempt failed.  Much disheartened, I went to Bà-rịa and came back to Saigon  shortly before Tết. I brought with me a letter from Diệu Viên dated November, 1957 : 
----
* Gió bấc

    ' I have received your letter and knew that you have moved elsewhere and your book is going to be published.  Why did you not choose  a nice house and make it your permanent residence ?  I have sent you a  pocket handkerchief along qith a letter to your former  address in Sư Vạn Hạnh St.  I haven' t  got my visa so far.  Anyhow, I will manage to fly home before January.  Do try to find for me a house about sixty or seventy thousand piasters. It should have a garden, running water, and electricty. 
 I would  like very much to have a home first so as I will have to earn my daily bread only .
    My heart sinks when I write these words.  Things here do not look so well just now
 I am sad, busy, and sick.  I find no time to type my manuscript.  Of course, I can dream of nice things but I  don' t.   I don' t want any of my last hopes destroyed ...'

                                                                                                  DIỆU VIÊN

    I myself had no illusions about my condition.  Then I recollect writing to tell my love for her in a letter dated September 30 which lost in the street.  I was a bad omen, I told myself.  Fortunately, an unknown person had picked and put it in the mailbox for me.  And of course it  reached Diệu Viên .  Now the sea was rolling under my eyes and I held a letter from her.  She loved me as I loved her.  But I was in need of money to have the happiness which was in a way within my reach.   I could then risk my life for money.  But I could not bring myself  to seek an opportunity. 

    It was in January 1958. That Diệu Viên was about to come home troubled me a lot.  In these days I came to the sea every morning.  In the afternoon I came to  aunt' s in Bà-rịa. The sight of her family gathering there made me think of the day Diệu Viên would be my wife.   Too exasperated, I came to Saigon to sip coffee at a La Pagode. Composer Phạm Duy informed me that she had flown to Saigon, and was looking for me.  I was grateful to him and, queerly enough, a little angry.  I had always liked him, not very much of course, as I found  composer Đoàn Chuẩn a much more consumate artist.  I never approved his way of being ' romantic ' - he was  so ruthless in his amorous adventures.   I don' t know why I have always been bitter to pimps, but after some thinking, I am beginning to believe we need them in some way and will never be able to get rid of them  altogether, just as we need secret agents to do dirty jobs.  Nguyễn  Đức Quỳnh once confessed he could know whether he was cynical or nor by observing Phạm Duy every time the latter visited him.  He said, ' A man of his type has the courage to court even Diệu Viên ''. So, I hated him and intended to forget her.  Some time later, I came to the address Pham Duy gave me, realising the senselessness of my jealousy.

    I felt so happy meeting her.  I had a long walk with Diệu Viên and her two chidren through the Zoological Gardens .  In the Têt Festival she visited her mother in Huế, the capital city of Central Vietnam.  I wrote the poem  ' Walking Alone, The Spring Coat ' in dedication to her in the book of poems ' If you were my wife '  * .  Diệu Viên brought her mother to Saigon who died before long.  I was pleased as this would delay our marriage in sight.   I would set out to earn money.  I would never forget the times she showed me her manuscript and the day we  came together to see the movies ' Niagara ' at the Đại Nam Theater .  Marilyn Monroe acted so well!  In  March that year I began to teach at Rạch giá province, half exasperated with her, half unwilling to break up what had started so promisingly.  I then wrote to Cao Mỵ Nhân and Huỳnh  thị Xuân.  My affair with Xuân also broke and we become hostile to each other.  I want to express here my apologies for failing to mention this with details in the first autobiography.  I remember my first encounter with Cao Mỵ Nhân, only some  months Nguyễn ái Lữ, Thế Viên, Diên Nghị, Huy Sơn and I had dinner at An Đông Officer' s Mess one evening at the end of the year.  Diên Nghị asked if  I really  know a girl named  Cao Mỵ Nhân who said she was one of my acquaintances.  I answered, ' Yes, but not very well ' . But he didn' t believe me. When Hoàng ngọc Liên invited me to accompany  him to visit her I consented immediately.  We set around eight in the evening.  Hoàng ngọc Liên stood thirty meters  off the hedge and said, ' Go to ring the bell, I'm afraid  as I ' ve only written to her .  Come sonny, I'm more afraid than when I have to jump out of the plane '.  [ Liên was a paratrooper] . He who greeted me was her father.  I told him I wanted some poems by Cao tam Nương * for a journal. He and I talked about politics and what was happening in Vietnam, while Liên held  her little brother in his arms, coaxing him most tenderly into smiling.   We left late in the night.  I had not talked to  Cao Mỵ Nhân but could look at her .
----
* The alias of Cao Mỵ Nhân .

     The situation betwen myself and Diệu Viên seemed to have become worse since I left for Rạch giá and it continued to deteriorate after I returned to Saigon.   It seemed impossible for me to get married when I had no money.  The truth was as simple as that.  In our last encounter she gave me a shirt which was now torn, but its memory can be found in the poems ' The Spring Coat '  *.  One day, wearing this, I went with her in a taxi and she confided as follow,

 ' I think you' re right.  Most of my friends only deceived me, as a group of business- minded writers.  They didn' t pay for my rights [she alluded to Mặc Thu, editor ' Người Việt tự do Weekly].  Some others wanted to ' monopolize ' me. Nguyễn thị Vinh asked me to keep haughty manners, be discriminating in choosing friends and  stop submitting articles to ' unrefined ' magazines lest it shoud be detrimental to my prestige.  I absotutely don' t care what she said.  But I want to know  what  you think about it all '.
----
*  Chiếc áo xuân

    I didn' t mention the names of poeple concerned in ' Looking Back at Midway of Life ' .  Now I want to say the whole truth.  Editor Mặc Thu didn' t pay her simply because he  was poor.  He was really not so bad as she thought.

    Some time later Diệu Viên flew to Hong Kong, returned to Saigon and then straight to Paris, without seeing me again.  I sent her the book of poem ' If you were my wife ' to her address at 49 Daguerre St Paris 14 e. To tease me she wrote this  sentence, ' Your sister will punish you naughty boy '.  Diệu Viên also come to London and was currently in the U.S. with her Hong Kong husband.  I have no relation whatever to her.   But I don' t forget her and our beautiful love story.  I am wandering whether she is feeling the
 same .

                                                                ***

    After the days at Bắc hà Refugees' Hamlet I was a tramp, and hungry.  I had to live the expense of writer Thanh Thương Hoàng in  Trương minh Giảng St.   I met and loved  Huỳnh thị Xuân and she was the inspiration  of many moving paragraphs in my ' Looking Back at Midway of Life ' .  Hoàng was also destitute; so, he and his wife Thúy often beat one another.  When he ran away from home out of too much exasperation, his wife would come to her own parents' leaving me alone in the house beside the railroad at station 6 in Trương minh Giàng St.  It was quite a Herculean task for us to pay the monthly rent amounting to no fewer than $ 600 .  Thúy was often entrusted to persuade the young landlord to grant us more time.. She was the charming girl of a Director of Cabinet Lê khải Trạch .   But after some times this stopped to work.  Looking at the suitcase full of manuscripts brought from as far as Rạch giá, I sadly sighed as I could do nothing with them.  ' The Sunday Short Story Magazine 'of Hoàng  was banned after it was already printed, more than that, he had no money to pay the cost of printing; later we found copies being slod at reduced rates at the bus station area.  There were days when we had only enough rice to prepare soup.  We were badly in need of fifty cents for salt; being stone broke, we had to eat tasteless soup.  Looking at me, Hoàng said he had never been so miserable, even during the stormy years of resistance.  I reminded him that in the ' free' world we also enjoyed the freedom to starve and many poor people just could not afford to have coffins upon their death.   Then my friend and his wife quarelled with each other because of an incident in the printing house the day before.  While Hoàng collected articles and raised money for the journal, I was the proofreader.  On my coming to the printing house the director told me a young woman had sought me and he added in an ironical voice, ' She seemed to be your girl friend of old. Now that she had been married she still couldn' t forget you.  She was so sad-looking I can assure you'.  I neither replied nor dared to smile.  I only found his works very amusing, sounding like a sad tune from  the South.  I knw the whole story the night before.  Hoàng reprimanded his wife severely  for having come to ask me for money at the printing house .  As we still kept phony manners, nobody knew of our trouble.  I bitterly recalled I had spent about one thousand I earned at Rạch  giá for a walk with Diệu Viên, and I had not returned to the boarding house in Bắc hà since then.  I came directly to Hoàng' s.  He said,' You see, what a mess in my family after only some days of financial strain.  My wife had told the director she was your relative.  Dear me, how could she be so cruel !  All around me look down on me merely because I am broke now !  In my changed and fallen state, how could I submit myself to the eyes of others ?'  Upon these words I took the bicycle and set out in search of food.  I had not eaten anything for two days and my eyes could not see any more.  I met Huy Sơn in Lê Lợi St.. He once worked in the Minister of Information' s Office with me and was serving in the ranks.  He invited me to the shop nearby for coffee.  Of course, he knew what I liked.  He said, ' Why do you order a big  cup of coffee and milk ?'

    Even the water was surprised as I did not drink coffee and milk a  single time in many years.  I cam to Kim Sơn shop.   Huy Sơn looked at me in silence. I did not want him to know of my situation.  I tried to evade his silent questioning, ' I have become thin from drinking too muh black  coffee, don't you see ?'

    He nodded. Taking leave of him, I headed for the port.  After some pondering, I came to see Mai thỊ Điểu . Meeting her, my heart leapt up.   She asked, ' What do you worry about, my dear ?' .' My aunt  had died ', I said  giving a deep sigh.  She was very surprised, saying, ' It' s too bad !. What ailment  did she have '? . In fact, I had just imagined a sad story - my aunt was still in life.  I stammerad, ' I received a telegram form my uncle telling his wife had died .'

    ' Did you attend the funeral ?' She said

   ' No. It took place without me ', I replied .

    Head down, I tried  to look sad.  She then invited me for a walk with her.  I followed her without uttering a word.

    We rode on her car.  The street lamps had been lit.  She brought me to the Majestic Theater, saying, ' We are going to see ' Tonight or Never '. 

   I nooded, unwillingly.  She chatted with me joyfully, intending to bring solace to a friend in mourning.  She continued, ' Jean Simmons is a very good actor !'

   ' Yes',  said I

   I was so hungry and became all the more painfuf swalloved sweets and smoked 555 cigarettes.  But I prentended to be careless fellow.  How could anyone believe I had been on an empty stomach for two days. She asked me about life in Rạch giá, the birth-place of her mother, which she had left for quite a long time.  Suddenly I said,' Good Heavens ! When the sad news reached me I was in thew house of a friend.  I have left my wallet there '.

   Mai thị Điểu could not conceal her fear, ' I would like to bring you there to recuperate your papers.'

    ' Please don' t waste your  time.  Some ten piasters and my card are already in my pocket.  Fortunately I haven' t got my salary  ' I said.  This moved her deeply.  She said,
 ' How old are you ?'

    ' Twenty six '  I answered.

    ' Do you believe me, my dear.  You really need a wife' added she.

    I remained silent.  I had acted in presence of an actor and a singer and a composer of tradiotanl music who used to move her audience to tears.  What did she think of my own performance ? It was 8:00 when  we got out of the theater.  We came to Bảy Hổ  Restaurant.  We ordered steak and bread.  I still remembered the flavour ot meat which kept running with drops of butter and lemon oil.

    She said, ' Come to see me when you' re still in Saigon.  Let bygones be bygones. It s useless to worry.  Get a wife. I' ll give you money .'

    I could only say yes, looking sad all the time.  She walked me to the door.  And suddenly, irrepressibly, I laughed.  I found this meal the most memorable in my life.

    Some time later Hoàng moved elswhere. I was alone.  He was angry with me for some unknown reason.  I went to the librarey and was still reluctant to return to the Refugees' Hamlet although my bed, mosquito- net, blanket, mat and books were there.   I had only brought with me the inseparable suitcase full of manuscripts.  At noon I had lunch at Mrs Mai thị Điểu' s.  At night I slept at Trần thanh Đạm's .  My friend was an opium-smoker over fifty I knew since Xóm Chùa- Tân định  days  It was he who gave me one hundred piasters for a packet of Philip cigarettes but instead I bought a Hepatrol for Mrs Hưởng.
His residence is only one hundred meters from Hoàng' s rented house .  I asked to sleep in his kitchen,  In day time I would be in the library or elsewhere.  Surely I bothered  him a lot.  I also had another trouble.  The husband of Mrs Mai thị  Điểu  was only a driver.  I feared he would be hostile to me.   Any time I came for a walk with her we looked like an ideal couple though she was some years older than me.  I wanted to live undisturbed; so, I took great care not to cause any suspicion on the part of her husband.  These days I came to the library to work  on the French version of Looking Back at Midway of Life .  I planned to ask a friend in France to revise the pre-publication draft.   I also wrote may poems out of my love for Cao Mỵ Nhân - some of them in French which I handed to Mr Nguyễn đức Quỳnh to read.

    Would I ever able to forget this night in the kitchen of Trần thanh Đạm 's house.  Never !

    [Behind the door ]

    A light from inside the house can be seen.  The sweet smellof opium is in the air.

    FIRST MAN :

      Here is my address.  But don' t let him know it.  If he comes he' ll make me unhappy. I'm afraid of him.  Don' t you know he behave exactly as boss in his previous stay.  Once, my wife and I went for a walk, bringing the key with us. He grumbled when he came back.  But he also  brought the key with him every time he got out. I once had to wait for him in front of the door of my own rented house.

    [Behind the door]

      I know that's the voice of Hoàng whom I have asked to put my own trousers in pawn.  It' s true he let me sleep in a four square meter space enough for me a mat with his mosquito-net.  I sit  stunned, following  bad conservation.  How could I and Hoàng swear out eternal togetherness? I make a step back lest Hoàng see me.

    SECOND MAN :

       Everybody is afraid of him.  I promise not to let him know your address. He is unbearable. I am fifty years old and I don' t like to be discredited.

   [Behind the door]

      I smile.  I begin to understand the poet. ' I don' t like to be discredited '. He hates me because I am superior to him in talent and behaviour. He is a coward  fellow with phony manners.  He sees himself as a venerable literary man because of his age.   Oh, I have praised him many times, in  outbursts of emotion.  Now he is doing me a bad turn, man.  What a  wretched fellow he is !  I find him horrible !.

SECOND MAN :

       Its true . More than  a year has clapped since he introduced me to Mr  Nguyễn đức Quỳnh but I never heard Mr Quỳnh criticizing him. Do you remember, in my short story ' Come Back to the Old Village '  published in  ' Shunshine Magazine ' * I hail him and Uyên Thao as dediated writers who  defy sufferings to pursue literature ?
      ----
     * tuần báo Nắng chiều, Saigon 1957.

      [Pleasant laughters, and the sounds of opium and tea-breath]

      Ah, we know the whole thing now. Mr Quỳnh doesn 't  like to be discredited              either .  This fellow is very clever.   He is more effective than a propaganda team. He once said I was an old insignificant writer who had  my utmost to have any real achievement .

      [Behind the door]

    I feel  annoyed but at the same time, I find the talk of hilarious I cannot  help laughing.  These people are like Panurge's lambs under my eyes.  As  for me I prefer being swallowed by a wolf  than being reduced to a  helpless echidna.  In moments of exasperation I often share the opinion  of a German  counseller holding praise ang criticism are publicity alike  so, don't you be afraid.   I am hurt by an apprentice writer to whom his  craft is only a lure to attract the girl of a director of cabinet.   But the so-called money marriage fails to make friends with a man of his kind!
                        
     I laugh at them all,  now that I have penetrated their pychology !  When I came to live with Hoàng the latter said, ' This poem is written solely for  you '. I seemed to like him too much, that little bastard !'

     SECOND MAN:

                  [after another laugh and opium and tea-breath]
                  
     He is really unbearable.  When he taugh at  Rạch  giá, he sought to meet the province chief, gave him two books on politics to impress him in view  him dacron trousers and Rayban glasses.  He thought he would need him  when a government minister.

    THIRD MAN :
 Is it really so ?

    SECOND MAN :

     Are you beginning to fear him now ?  He is very clear indeed !

    FIRST MAN :

  I understand now [after a Cotab-breath].  But what he told me seems authentical.  He knew politics and literature so well.

    SECOND MAN :

    No wonder as he stole books to devour.  After that, he started writing like a              sage.  A big reader he was very keen on stealing books, in fact, borrowing  without ever returning them.  He held that the owners of books just like to furnish them with full leather  binding, not to read them.

    FIRST MAN :

     That' s  true.  He only laughed when Văn insulted him. He 's an intelligent         reader at lest.

     [Behind the door]

     What Hoàng has just said is only partly true.   I have not returned Gorky's ' En gagnant mon pain ' simply it was in the suitcase left in Xom đạo Bắc hà.

     SECOND MAN:

    If he insists in staying I' ll have to lock the wardrobe.  I lost may books in  xóm Chùa - Tân định days .

     FIRST MAN :

    Well, I have to go now.  I' ll edit a great magazine and I' ll need your valuable                     co - operation.  What about him ?  Will this humiliating situation continue ?  To                 him you' re only a free-lance writer without any sgnificant achievement.   Don' t                 you see no mention is made of you in his volume of litereary history ?

      SECOND MAN :

     I have told him I would sell this house and go to Dĩ an. I' ll be hard on him.  
    Dear me, every time I get out I worry about my book and furniture.

       FIRST MAN :

   In case he refuses to go, what you' ll plan to do ?  If he says he' ll occupy only                  your kitchen at night ?

      THIRD MAN :

   Please have another smoke, Mr Đạm .

      SECOND MAN :

    Thank you.  Enough for me [ rubbing his mouth] . Do  have  one more.

       [Behind the door]

      Silence.  The second man stops saying.  The third man asks  the first
      one cigarette.

       [The door is opened]

    The talk continue.  Rain id threshing, I hide myself in the verandah.  I do some           hinking about whether I will go away or return unaware.  The voice of the third           man telling there is someone coming.   I decide not to go away.  I  come to knock   the  door in anger.
     
      [ A weak, fearful voice from inside.  Perhaps they' re afraif of police ]

      ' Whose there ??'
     ' It' s me '.
     ' Why do you come back so early ?'
     ' I ' ve been  waiting her for more than one hour. It rained and stormed tonight.
   Chữ is here also.  My dear Hoàng, you want to edit magazine ? '

     [The  back door opens ]

     Hoàng stands up. I greet the third man, an engraver.  He is an smart opium-                  addict about thirty who never thinks of marriage because of his poverty.  Once,
Đạm told Chữ took some of his clothes without paying.  In fact, Chữ did not steal,he wanted to get them free of charge.  He thought he was entitled to do so as  he had presented Đạm many invaluable gifts.

               I approach Hoàng.  Pointing at his face, I say :

    ' Now I  know your real self.   I should blame myself for choosing a bad friend,
 and failing to educate you.  Take these blows as serious warning .

               Hoàng tries to avoid them but it' s too late ...
               
    ' Why do you beat me ?'

   ' I refused to be called a brute. I' ve not beaten anyone for seven years and I                       have  always given men of letters treat. But you shit do not deserve to have                       the noble title of writer printed on visiting card.  You believe so badly !

      THE ANSWER :

     ' You expressed your thankfulness this way, boy '?

    ' I, not you, have the right to say this. In this month you mortgaged my own  clothes, took  my money, and more than that, I have been charged with directing
    your thinking and writing.   I deplore your speaking ill of those in absence.
    I really don ' t like to classify you with literary hooligans, prsotitutes and secret
    agents. You' re still better than they.  Be careful not to think you' re trying to                       appreciate the works properly by referring to others ' private lives.  I introduced                 you to prewar writers for fruitful discussions only, but you later boasted that                       you  had been in  position of privileged intimety with them.  Don' t fancy
    yourselves as ' great ' writer after you hear some praises.  Raymond Radiguet
    is famous for his book ' Le Diable au Corps ', not by the  warm praises of Jean                 Cocteau like  'les belles francaises'  and  'c'est un phénomène.' The quarrel
   between Auguste Comte and Saint Simon.  Nietzsche  and Richard Wagner did               much good to all of them.  I readily admit you' re somewhat gifted, but to serve                the cause of literature look at Radiguet,  Marx, Hegel, Pecquer, Kalontai,                         Merleau Ponty, Trần đức Thảo, Husserl, and the most magnificent writer of all                 times, Friedrich Nietzsche.  I know one among you has spoken ill of Nguyễn                   đức Quỳnh simply because he was refused a foreword.   I don' t want to be beat
 any of you. Only illiterate people do this.  I want to educate you instead.  As for                 me I' m  no saint.  Do keep in mind what I said, you who have the privilege of                     being men of letters.

  And to tell the truth, I am your friend;  of course, I want to support any of you
   ust activities.   I didn' t mention your names in my books as none of you has                     real achievement yet.  You need not worry as long as you continue to improve                   in your writing.

  Denounced by critics Phan lập Trai, Thập thành Thi, Nguyễn Du is still loved                   by all of us.   My praise of you now cannot but harm you, and does not prevent
future readers from rejecting you.  Don' t you know that you have much is to                     learn  even when you' re holders of doctor degrees.  Why is that ?  You still                       lack  a fine style and thoughts of your own.   Try to do better of you' ll suffer                       poverty and anonymity.

               [ Nobody bothers to disturb the silence.  The engraver resumes his smoking while  others                                remain  somber ...]

                                                                     ***

      I went  to sleep tro forget the night and the dudgeon.  Life was to be lived, so,     I spent the following day in the library.  In the afternoon I came to see Faculty of         Pedagody student and poet Phạm văn Rao  to ask him to keep my case for the                   moment.  That was about all I could do then.

     'This afternoon I am sure I' ll have to sleep under the covered verandah  After the girl student left me I felt sadder.  Will my neighbor tonight be an old Indian caretaker or someone like Maxim Gorky' s Natasha ?  But I' m  not so disturbed as last night.  I' ll lie on a raincoat.  And tomorrow I' ll wash my face at the library.

      Saigon  streets are  mine except the prohibited ones leading to  xóm Chùa- Tân định Hamlet, Bắc hà Refuggee' s  settlement and Tây nhì village .  Once, I met old Lịch of xóm Chùa - Tân định.  I first intended to say hello and promise to pay my debt to him.  But he avoided me.  He just had a big heart ,*
------
*  Looking Back at Midway of Life.

   Sometimes I came to the National Library at Gia Long St., being haunted by old memories.  Once,  I sat cross-legged on the floor of the reading room  to denounce a county chief turned librarian for reserving seats.  Readers to those who had not come yet.  This delighted all student readers present.  A report was submitted to Mr Phan vô Kỵ. 
 I thought I would be tossed into prison for it but nothing happened.  And the librarian changed.  Now that he had quit this post, I missed him.  I brought a copy of every publication of mine to the libtary.  The official charged with receiving books  once told me,
 ' We did not understand the value of your books some time ago.  Now we  must furnish them with full leather binding as so many readers have used them and the pages would soon fall apart .'

     I kept a grateful silence.

     I had meals at Mai thị Điểu' s till a trouble arose . She invited me to a coffee shop after dinner, gave me some hundred piasters, and told me to go because her husband' s
 jealousy.  She put the  blame on him but I don' t remember exactly what she said.  I wrote to inform Cao Mỵ Nhân of my change of address.  Some time later I managed to save money to return to the Catholic Refugees' Hamlet .

                                                                                [to  be continued : Chapitre three]

     the phong