CHAPTER 1

Yuletide angel

Spring, 1975.

Nature was so wonderfully inspiring. Filled with glorioussunlight, the spring of the Lunar Year of the Cat began itsglowing days with so much colorful scenery. Many delightful socialevents and festivities enlivened this part of our beloved Vietnamesehomeland.

The sweet scent of wildflowers wafted through the air evokinggraceful reveries and preventing them from sinking into forgetfulness.Ribbons of white clouds wandered about the sunny blue firmament wayup high. The wind mildly breathed its first warmer breeze, signalingthe coming of a pleasurable summer.

Resplendent features of the Lunar New Year celebration permeatedthe city streets. Sweet melodies praising the coming of spring wereon the broadcast waves. The whole bustling city was animated withthe happiness of the most popular national holidays. In brilliantcostumes and stunning jewelry, devout faithful flocked to temples andchurches. Radiant city residents poured in great numbers to the localentertainment centers. Mirthful faces filled the public places and privatehomes. Everyone in the largest northern metropolis of the Republic ofVietnam enthusiastically took pleasure in new releases of humorouscolor movies featuring the country's celebrity comedians. With joyfulsmiles on beaming faces, city residents, during the gleaming time of theNew Year, rejoiced in their prosperous and peaceful lifestyle. The futureseemed bright and rosy with the promise of exciting days to come.

Da Nang had been my beloved city since I moved from mybirthplace to live there in the summer of 1964. Approximately onehundred miles north of Da Nang is Quang Tri, my hometown. I wasborn in the remote countryside of Trieu Thuan Commune, where Imade so many sweet childhood memories. I lost my dad when I wastoo young to remember. I had a sister about two years older than me.She was as weak as a reed in the wild wind. While I was growing up, mysister was the only sibling available to provide me companionship.

On our first school days, during World War II, my sister and I,together with a few kids in the hamlet, went to the private home ofa village tutor about two miles from our home to learn the alphabet.Wintertime was damp and windily bitter. The whole area was coveredin an endless cold drizzle. Too timid to show its face to the cold, thesun tightly wrapped itself in layers of cloudy blankets behind a dullcurtain of fine rain. The days were short and dreary.

The road home, soaked with rainwater and made mucky bytrampling cattle, often was too muddy for tiny kids to wade through.Running homeward, we boys would cheer as we competed againsteach other to jump over the slippery mounds of a potato field thatundulated alongside the boggy road. The race warmed us up in thewintry environment. My poor sister tried strenuously to climb overthe slick potato field, mound by mound. When I looked back fromthe end of the field, she was several hundred yards behind. Other kidskept running and cheering. Giving up the race, I went back to helpher. Carrying my sister on my shoulders, I resumed the homeboundjumps.

It was the final days of World War II. Allies' B-29 bombers keptcarrying out air raids on nearby Japanese barracks. Upon hearing thedeafening roar of the incoming bombers, my quivering sister in hershivering fear clung fast to my neck as we ran to the shallow bombshelter dug along the backyard's bamboo hedge. She was horrified bythe continuous bombings. Her health declined precipitately. As a lampgoes out for lack of oil, she passed away that summer when cicadaswere crying on the...