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RECOLLECTIONS: Between Two Fires

By Chu Thao

'RESUSCITATION OF THE DEAD EARTH'

(The following story, "Resuscitation of the Dead Earth" by Chu Thao comes from a collection of stories called Between Two Fires. Originally the winning stories in a newspaper contest, they were censored both by the Theiu government in Saigon and by the Viet Cong because the stories represent those who wanted simply that the war should end so they could return to a "normal" and peaceful life.)

"You see? What luck!" The crippled farmer put down his crutches and sat to observe better. On the surface of the humid soil he saw the traces of earthworms.

He uttered a low cry: "They are alive! Alive! This earth is not to be abandoned."

It turned out that the source of hope of the inhabitants of Binh Hoa village was none other than earthworms.

"Friends, relative, the earthworms can survive!"

The inhabitants of the small village greet the news with great joy. But how did it come about that they paid such great attention to the earthworms that they considered them important to their own survival? The war had made it so.

After the atom bomb had exploded at Hiroshima, people there believed that the earth was dead under the effect of the terrible weapon—until seven years later, when a pea plant was able to grow. The Japanese farmers had stood silently to watch this small plant, and they were so moved they shed tears.

The state of mind of the Japanese then was the same as that of these Vietnamese farmers of Binh Hoa village as they stood looking at earthworms surviving from the dead earth.

Binh Hoa was a small village beside Highway 1. It had become well known for its prosperity. A few years after the resistance against the French ended, its inhabitants became prosperous. All the houses in the village had red tiled roofs, and at night they were lighted by gas-mantle lamps. Binh Hoa displayed it prosperity to the tourists who passed on Highway 1. All this prosperity had come from the earth. And the earth there was well known for its fertility.

But the war had come and Binh Hoa had met the same fate as untold numbers of other Vietnamese villages.

One day, the American soldiers opened an operation in the village. A Viet Cong soldier had fired a B-40 rocket, destroying an American armored car. It took the American GI's only a few seconds to react. The inhabitants of Binh Hoa village had the opportunity to observe at first hand the strength of Great Power.

A rain of bombs and rockets fell from the sky and transformed the village into a sea of fire. There was no joking about the scorched-earth strategy.

This was not the end, however. American strategists probably reasoned that the VC are only good at hiding themselves in the thick bushes in order to lay ambushes; thus, if the Americans could destroy the bushes, they could destroy the VC.

They did destroy the bushes. Tree leaves began to wither. The first victims were the vegetables. Then the papayas, mangos, jackfruit, and others met the same fate. Finally came the turn of the water palms. This kind of tree can survive any natural catastrophe and can grow in sweet water or salt water, but now it withered miserably. The science of death had made great progress.

The inhabitants of Binh Hoa had been evacuated during the fighting and had gone back after the fire storm was over. They looked with pain at the results of the sweat and tears of a lifetime reduced to ashes.

But they were more terrified when they realized that they were standing on a dead earth.

Along the two sides of a railroad track and the highway, not a blade of grass survived. The surface of the ground was flat, like the forehead of a bald man. Here and there, the trunks of toppled coconut trees protruded along the edges of ditches, leafless bamboo stems stood pointing up at the sky. Dull yellow and ash gray covered the scene and stretched like a mourning shawl toward the horizon.

There were no barking dogs, no birds' songs, not even the familiar chirping of insects. The sail was dead.

The farmers of Binh Hoa silently started to rebuild their lives. But when they cultivated their lands again, their terror rose to a peak. Not a single species of plant would grow in the soil. Corn seeds would not come up. Pumpkin leaves withered. Even coconut shoots could not develop.

The authorities showed somehow that they paid attention to the welfare of the inhabitants. They imported "miracle rice" seeds from Taiwan, soybean seeds from the Philippines. But they were of no use to the people of Binh Hoa, because their soil was dead.

A number of people lost faith. They gave up farming entirely and went to make a living washing clothes for the American. But the majority still clung patiently to the soil, hoping it would revive one day.

The old farmers had concluded that cultivation could resume if earthworms could live. So, they began raising the worms that became their hope. They journeyed to Tan Thanh village, several dozen kilometers away, to dig for worms and bring them back to Binh Hoa.

Their first attempt had ended in failure: all the earthworms had died. On the second try, the same thing happened. This was the third try at "importing" earthworms.

"Friends and relative, the earthworms can live! They can really live! The earth is resuscitated!"

The old crippled farmer Tu Lau went around on his crutches to spread the good news to the villagers.

Arriving at a place once called Kapok hamlet—all that remained now was a group of charred foundations—Tu Lau saw a very old man busying himself with digging. The man's white hair contrasted sharply with his gray skin.

"Uncle Bay, the earthworms can live."

The old man stopped working. His face beamed a happy smile upon hearing the news, like our faces when we feel a gentle breeze during a summer noon.

"What are you planting, Uncle Bay?" Tu Lau asked.

"I'm growing tranh grass."

"Dear me, why are you growing that?"

The old man explained: "this soil still contains poison. The other day, we failed in our attempt to grow coconut trees. Now I am planting this kind of grass so that it will absorb the poison. Then I will plow it under and grow other plants."

The old man continued: "We can also use this for our thatched roofs. The water palm trees have all died."

The man then returned to his work. After each hoe stroke he paused and breathed heavily. Reconstruction was not as easy as destruction....