Duong Huong - The Zenith

The actresses do not have time to respond, for the cooks are already coming in with their clanging pots and pans. They feel lucky, as if they have found some gold, for they are privileged to see the girls first, when the latter have not yet even put on their cosmetics. Needless to say, they feel at home, for if they were strangers to one another they would have to be entertained in the sitting room; only close friends or relatives could have the right to go into the kitchen:

“Today we specially prepared banana flower salad mixed with chicken and we made mung bean pudding to give you a treat. We hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you, friends. With this pudding we will be so much more graceful in our dancing.”

The girls gather to have dinner while the three cooks sit around. Finally, the assistant looks at his watch then asks:

“It’s five twenty already. How long do you need to do makeup and change into your costumes?”

“Twenty-five minutes, not more.”

“Bravo, I will let the guys know.”

He leaves. In a blink one can hear loud clapping of hands and shouts coming from the soldiers.

The deputy troupe leader smiles. “They are fine, the guys in this division.”

Another girl rejoins, “They are all northerners.”

“Right.”

A second girl joins in: “They have been waiting for us partly because they want to see a fine performance but also because they wish to see people coming from their native provinces. I heard that the last troupe to visit them a few years back was a folksong group from Interzone Five.”

“Where’s Interzone Five?”

“What an ignorant girl! You have been serving in the army for the last five or six years and yet you can’t even tell the differences between the military zones.”

“Whoever asks doesn’t know. We just go where we’re told. Everywhere we go, all we see are springs and woods…Woods and springs, then springs and woods. After a Van Kieu village, we would go to a lowland Lao village, then to an upland one. Everywhere we go all we do is follow the walking stick of the guide between two locations.”

“Same here, I have no idea what an interzone is. Everywhere we go, all we do is to look at the backside of whoever is in front.”

“You’d be lucky to be able to see the behind of the guy in front. Do you remember the time we went up Monkey Piss Mountain? The slopes were like cliffs, the sole of the guy in front touched the head of the person who followed. No chance then to watch the guy’s behind or ass.”

“Yah, that was terrible, that time. Clouds wrapped all around us, and we had to climb as if we were blind. It was good karma inherited from our ancestors that kept us all from falling down into an abyss.”

The girls have yet to finish changing when the assistant to the division commander can be heard clearing his voice outside. The deputy troupe leader announces: “Exactly another seven minutes.” Then she turns to her companions: “Come on, gals, quicker. The guys out there are causing a riot. This division must have been stuck in this deep jungle for much too long. These soldiers are not as patient as the last ones we entertained.”

“I guess. Last time, they did not yell in confusion like today.”

“Well, as I have said, they have been imprisoned here too long.”

“But here is where?”

“Who knows? I heard from the commander that we are in Laos. And far into the Laos jungle at that.”

“Is that so? It’s all mountains and forests everywhere you look. If one gets lost here, one’s bones will have a new home. There is no finding a way back.”

“That’s for sure. But we each have our fate when it comes to dying or living, so why worry? Only when all the soldiers die will we run into a sad fate. We performers are the spice of their lives, true gold in war. No one will let us get lost.”

After making up and changing into stage dresses, the girls file out of the trenches. The soldiers crowding on the two sides of the tunnel’s leading to the performing stage clap their hands and shout vociferously:

“Hey, pretty fairies, why don’t you say something so we can hear your northern accent?”

The deputy troupe leader smiles right and left and asks, “What can we say?”

That is enough for the soldiers to begin talking all at once:

“Say anything…Or you can even give a shout.”

“Darling, we are from Hai Hung. All you have to do is to call out ‘Oh, Hai Hung!’ That would be enough to soothe us.”

“What do you mean, calling out just Hai Hung? How about Hanoi, Ha Tay, Ha Bac, Vinh Phu: our home provinces? Are these provinces just for dogs? How selfish!!”

“And how about Hai Phong? If you forget the city of the red flame tree, American bombs will get you all.”

“Stop complaining! Ladies, you can just cuss them all and their fathers, too.”

Then arms stretch out to touch the girls’ shoulders and dresses, or caress their hair. As they walk, a crowd of soldiers follows in their wake. From a distance, the division command staff smile and watch the procession with undisguised envy. However, in their position as leaders, they have to restrain themselves, whether they like it or not. In traditional fashion, the girls split into groups of two or three to chat with the soldiers before going onstage to perform. But this time that way of engaging will not do, because the division has just been reinforced, so there are too many of them. More than a thousand soldiers jam the place, in serried ranks. The deputy troupe leader orders:

“With so many of you we cannot possibly entertain you all. I suggest the girls split into teams by province, to sing and entertain you outside of the main program. The musicians also should split likewise.”

With that, the leaders of provincial groups call out in confusion:

“Hai Hung, where are you? Follow me to the left of the stage, right next to the speaker here.”

“Hanoi, where are you? Those from the capital, go to the back of the performance stage. Be orderly, will you.”

“How about Ha Tay, land of silk? Let’s gather next to the Hanoi bunch, on the right side of the stage.”

The soldiers assemble according to their province of origin, shouting to one another, even louder than a market fair breaking up at the end of day. The deputy troupe leader is seen gesticulating to the musicians, apparently negotiating in view of some tense assignments. Thereafter, some can be seen taking their organs, others their guitars or mandolins, others yet their flutes and bamboo flutes, and going to different groups. This brings a strange sense of animation to the whole forest clearing, which normally would hear only the wind rustling the leaves, or rain pattering on the fronds, soldiers talking or arguing among themselves, or bombs exploding.

Company Commander An stands there, absentmindedly looking at the joyous crowd. Suddenly someone taps his shoulder:

“You couldn’t find your Lang Son group?”

His battalion commander is right behind him, smiling behind a pair of thick glasses.

“I report to you, Commander. I am the only one here.”

“Aren’t there a couple of ethnic Tay in Battalion 2?”

“Sir, they are Tay from Cao Bang, on the border with China. I have never set foot in their territory and they have never been to Lang Son, to visit Dong Mo, my native place.”

“Is that so? So you are all Tay, yet you live in different territories and your customs also differ. Me, I am an ethnic Vietnamese and I can’t tell who is Tay from Lang Son and who is Tay from Can Bang. They all look alike.”

“I report to you, sir, we are not all that different. But since the troupe told us to gather by province, there’s no reason for us to form a Tay group from two different battalions.”