I’ll never forget what I saw in the Laughing Woods. Witnessing death was easier than seeing the scene in that forest, and hearing that sound—the wild, cruel laughter of war. It’s terrible when women are involved in war. I would have died twice so none of them had to be in that situation.
I shiver now as I think of my fiancée and my sister, laughing like those women, lost deep in an endless forest.…
The political instructor reported these lines immediately, and the military officials concluded that Hien, as it turned out, must have lacked true determination. This was typical, they said, of the petty bourgeoisie, the class from which Hien, who had been a student before the war, came. Hien’s heroism, they said, must have only been a momentary impulse. “He’s lucky we don’t issue an official reprimand,” the political instructor said.
So it goes.
Two years later Thao became a freshman in the Literature Department at Hanoi University. She was a different person than when she’d left for the depot in the Laughing Woods. Her eyes were like those of someone lost in a long dream, and her skin was pale because of the fevers she’d suffered when she was in the forest. Her hair, which had once been so luscious and beautiful and admired by the other women in the Laughing Woods, was now thin and falling out. When she smiled her face would finally show some spark of life. But she rarely smiled. In conversations she seemed distant and absentminded, and at night, alone in her bunk bed, she slouched over a notebook, writing entries in her diary, her thin frame weak and crumpled in on itself.
Thao often had two kinds of dreams. One was about her childhood, scenes in which she was a little girl again, wandering the streets of Hanoi finding treasures on the ground—a lost hairpin, an unclaimed boiled duck egg. In the other kind of dream she was back at the depot in the Laughing Woods; she saw clumps of her hair falling onto Tham’s chest where the bayonet had left a scarlet wound. In the middle of this second dream she would often wake up screaming and clutching at the cold bed frame.
One night, unable to fall asleep, Thao looked around the room at her eleven roommates sleeping in their bunks. She guessed that they must be dreaming—their faces seemed happy and flushed with color. They looked so lovely. Their dreams must be far different from her own, Thao thought. She sighed, knowing that she could never really be part of this group.
Thao’s boyfriend, Thanh—her loyal prince whom the women in the Laughing Woods had almost considered their own boyfriend—was in his last year at the same university. They went out on dates on Saturday nights and walked the moonlit streets lined with date palm trees. Thanh kept his word; he looked after Thao, but they didn’t have much to talk about. They were often both silent, counting their steps as they walked, listening to the haunting sound of night birds flapping their wings as they returned to their nests. By nine o’clock, Thanh would dutifully bring Thao back to her dorm.
They acted reserved around each other, as if they both felt guilty about something. Thao looked forward to these Saturday dates with Thanh, but she also felt anxious. It was clear, she felt, that he saw her differently now.
She often thought back to the first time they’d seen each other when she returned from the Laughing Woods. Thanh was waiting for her at the station as Thao got off the train, a rucksack slung over her back. He looked astonished as he stood there looking at her again for the first time after so many years. He was speechless. Thao felt his eyes glance over her skinny body in the old military uniform, her pale lips and thinning hair. She started to cry out of self-pity. But Thanh realized he’d made a mistake and tried to comfort her and be extra affectionate. But this only saddened Thao more. She looked deep into his eyes and said,
“You never thought I would end up like this, did you?”
“I don’t care how you look,” Thanh said. “The most important thing is that you’re back.”
“Today maybe you feel happy because I’m back, but tomorrow you’ll realize that loving a person like me will be a great sacrifice on your part.”
“Please don’t say that. I’ve been waiting for you for years!”
Thao paused. She adjusted the rucksack on her back and then once again looked deeply into Thanh’s eyes.
“Let me free you from the burden of your commitment to me,” she said finally, speaking very slowly.
“Don’t talk like that,” Thanh said, cutting her off. He took Thao’s hands in his own and smiled. “Back together again after all these years, and already we’re fighting.”
Thao suddenly felt much better.
“Maybe I’ve become stubborn and aggressive after a few years in the war,” she conceded.
Half a year had passed since then, and they still met every Saturday evening. One weekday, Thao went to find Thanh outside of his class to ask him something. While they were talking in the hallway, Thao noticed Thanh’s face turn pale, then blush as he suddenly became quiet. Turning around, Thao saw a female student walking toward them. She had full, luscious lips and youthful rosy skin. She stared directly at Thanh as she passed by into the classroom. Once she was gone, Thanh tried to continue talking to Thao, but his hands trembled now as he held the balcony railing.
Thao understood what was going on. She hurriedly ended the conversation and left. Obviously Thanh and the girl were in love, although they had probably never admitted it to each other. They were classmates and spent plenty of time together. Everyone must have noticed that they made a beautiful couple.
She had become an obstacle to Thanh’s happiness, Thao realized. He was only with her because of a platonic feeling of love and duty. There was no
