Vietnam Rejuvenated

By Salah Ramaha

Vietnam Rejuvenated tells the story of many heroes and personal suffering of fighters during the Vietnam War. Narouk is a young man born and raised in France, son of a Vietnamese couple that migrated in 1940. While studying at the University of Sorbonne, Narouk joins a French committee opposing the Vietnamese war, which leads him back to his roots, where he finds himself forced to join the Viet Cong. Destiny brings together Narouk and Martin, who is an American pilot who is shot down and consequently imprisoned as a POW.

Vietnam Rejuvenated is a moral and ethical reminder of our core humanity, which brings to life discussions and humane events that halter feelings of hatred. These same events attribute to a symbolic bond between proud personalities, during times of human bloodshed and ideological warfare.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496980403

Salah Ramaha

Salah Rammaha, is a Danish author of Palestinian origin, born in 1945 in Salameh of Jaffa. He is married with three children and has written several books; this being the first to be published.

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© 2014 SALAH RAMAHA. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  07/17/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8039-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-8040-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

- Acknowledgement

- A Look at Paradise

- Differentiation

- The Talented Musician

- Flying New Horizons

- Atonement and Healing

- Senator Maxwell Murphy

- Major Steve Rogers

- The US Air Force Base in Da Nang: Steve and the Rescue of Shavalo

- Martin, Song, and the Escape

- Lee Choy, The Buddhist Priest

- Bitter Tears and Sweet Grapes

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I am deeply grateful to my dear friends Dr. Ibrahim Qafaiety and Dr. Arif Qaraeen for translating the book in to English.

I dedicate this book to my lovely wife Salwa and our three children, for their support and smiles.

My thanks also go to AuthorHouse, for their valuable assistance.

V IETNAM REJUVENATED IS A novel of many exciting stories about many warriors who fought in foreign places they never seen before. In fact, many had hard times fighting there, as they even never heard of it, never knew its geography, and never spoke its language. Therefore, to many warriors, hating its native people was not an issue. However, in that war, they were sworn to fight until the end. There could have been a diplomatic solution, but America was committed to taking its young, who were good citizens who loved life and art and music, to the war. Many of them were devout Christians. The flame of love in their hearts was supposed to be extinguished by black fire. That love was translated into hatred and the lust to kill, for some.

This novel is a story about a Vietnamese-French teacher who was graduated and taught political Science at the Sorbonne University. This young man was born in 1941. His family migrated from Vietnam to France during WWII. He grew up in Paris and represented France in the Olympics. During the Vietnam War, he returned to Vietnam where he became a high-ranking officer because of his intelligent military ideas. In the combat zone against the American forces, his battalion shot down an American fighter, whose pilot was held captive by the Viet Cong. Narouk severely tortured the American captive pilot who attempted to commit suicide a couple of times because he could not stand the pain and the suffering. Ironically, the pilot saved the life of Vietnamese-French officer. In time, he began to sympathize with the pilot. As a result, the American pilot’s feelings also began to ease up for the Vietnamese. When he became sick with Malaria, a Vietnamese widow, whose husband was killed by Americans, took care of him until he was cured; they even fell in love with each other. Moreover, he began to teach English to the Vietnamese children and to anyone wished to learn.

The American pilot lived in a small village with his Phan Thi’s son Song. An American B52 bomber destroyed this village under heavy and intensive bombardment. In that raid, he lost Phan Thi and thought that she was dead under the falling debris, leaving her only son as an orphan. Some time after the vigorous bombings, the American pilot managed to escape. He decided to return to the US; however, he did not return alone. He took his Song with him to New York where he adopted him. Miraculously, his Phan Thi survived the severe bombing and pursued to find him. She was finally able to locate him and they met in Bangkok. There was another surprise. On his way to Bangkok, he stopped in Paris, where he coincidentally met Narouk. As they were good friends in Vietnam, the American pilot was able to persuade him to go to the US with him. It was also a great surprise for his Vietnamese girlfriend. She saw her beloved pilot, her son, and the Vietnamese-French officer.

SALAH RAMAHA

A LOOK AT PARADISE

J ULY THE 2 ND 1940, the secured Vietnamese village of KeGo that lies south of Vietnam looked like a

small isle in the midst of an ocean of extended, green plains. There, in that serene, early spot of time and place, the peasants and their animals were scattered throughout the fields. The peasants were toiling the land with bent backs, planting with their muscular, slender fingers tresses of rice in the dark, rich earth. Not a space of a foot was spared but was planted with green—florets of orange, lemon, and guava, which revealed beautiful, geometrical designs and infused a natural cool zephyr with a divine natural aroma or of an ancient tabernacles’ frankincense. The scene was a painting of inspired landscape spectacle with rich colors that twinkled back to the sun, whose crystal warm rays were reflected in the ocean of the rice fields. The infinite blue skies colored the chirping birds with lyrics and librettos so exquisite as such no Beethoven can enunciate. The splendor and the magical beauty of the scene was perfected with the gift of divine beauty that God endowed upon—God the almighty and his benevolence blessed this fertile and magnificent spot.

NeGwen was twenty-three years old, still a very young man. He woke up upon a dream that stole through his mind for the third time. In this dream, he saw himself descending upon what he thought to be the Great Utopian City that he used to talk about—the city whose power is derived from the power of a nation endowed with freedom, justice, knowledge, and enough bread for everybody. He felt an unusual exuberance while walking through a large street with luxurious, white houses. He enjoyed various fruitful trees and many colored flowers and roses. There was also a multitude of people gathering closely: they were white, black, and yellow races. They approached him with much of love and enthusiasm—with gracious smiles, and then they carried him on their shoulders through the street while enchanting for freedom and for the people’s resistance. They cheered his name forcefully and fervently; and each few steps, more masses appearing form all sides joined shouting, ‘Long live the Gentile NeGwen, hero of Liberty who parted our city long enough. Your blood, NeGwen, will blossom with freedom and with illumination that will shine in our city’. During the march, NeGwen felt the hands that were holding his body high began to grow weaker and that he began slowly to ascend higher and higher until he pierced through the remote clouds. When he looked down, he saw the Great Utopian City so small as a thumbnail; however, he was still hearing the cheering of the masses, ‘‘Long live the Gentile NeGwen, hero of Liberty’. Then he rolled over swimming into the phantasmal space that seemed as snow-white perpetuity where seven white birds received him with consecrated aroma, and mystically enchanting the lyrics of the masses underneath. The white birds lowered their heads respectfully, and then they drew their wings close enough to carry him into the immemorial, limitless universe. NeGwen woke up exasperated, and he whispered, ‘What does it suppose to mean? What is this recurrent dream! Is it expressions of real feelings deep in my super ego, or is it merely reflections of bleak thoughts? Does it have any allusion to the fate of this country or mine—something my eyes never witnessed or foreseen? Is it inflated and exaggerated figments of my imagination that resided in my bosom and became so strong to emerge in repetitious pattern?’ He looked at his watch; it was still 05:00 morning. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep until it was 08:00. He washed and had breakfast, preparing himself for a fresh day. That beautiful, early morning, the young man left his house, rode his bike, and left to his workshop that was filled with so many bikes he had to fix, paint, and resell to people. NeGwen loved the long street leading to his shop. He felt powerful emotions coming over him and he started whistling and singing loudly. He was looking left and right with smiling lips. His sight suddenly caught the sight of an attractive, young lass sitting in a cart led by a mule, showing behind four large boxes filled with fresh fish just caught by the fishers’ nets from the small river at a distance almost half an hour—measured according to a running mule’s speed. Their eyes met; NeGwen felt his heart filled with passion and he realized he loved her. He actually talked to his heart, ‘This is the one I have been dreaming of and waiting for a long, long time’. The girl whispered to herself, ‘A handsome youth indeed’, though she did not look behind. NeGwen, however, moved his bike to her right side and kept looking at her—smiling but silent. This for sure not only caught her attention but also forced her to speak, What’s with you, young man? Need something from me?

He laughed and said, Not at all. I only liked the smell of the fresh fish. Fish from sea and ocean smells rancid: all of it, except for this catch. Actually, somehow this catch which your soft hands touched has a nice smell—it smells like Jasmine.

All right then. Tell you what, why don’t you stick your head in them boxes and rub your face with the fish free of charge. I am sure you will smell nicer and look more attractive—a real thrill for the people around.

This kind of sarcasm made NeGwen laugh loudly, You are really beautiful and the splendor of your spirit charmed and captivated me.

"Do you want to buy fish or play and bother me only?"

I would that I buy the whole catch; unfortunately, I am not a fish-lover.

Then, what do you want from me!

Frankly and honestly, I admire you. I feel my heart clenched with yours and that makes it hard for me to leave or loose you.

Obviously, you are a bum without—your head is roaring so blank. Please, leave; I have no time for you.

NeGwen felt her anger and talked to her in a serious manner, Suppose I buy a whole box, would you give me a special discount?

No, never. I would not sell you any even if you pay the double.

He smiled again and said, It is obvious I got through to you. The mule brays all of a sudden, which induced NeGwen to remark, "See, even this kind mule sympathizes with me—he pities me."

She snapped at him, It is obvious that you two have mutual understanding.

Off course there is. There is also a feeling of love, young lady. I am telling you frankly that I fell for you the moment my eyes fell on you; truly, you touched my heart. My intention is to marry you. Please agree, and I will visit your respectful parents to ask their approval. What do you say?

His words made her think while feeling both shy and approving, though hesitant with shaking voice said, But I don’t know you, man!

My name is NeGwen. I have workshop to fix bikes, not far from here. I am happy that you consent and I will be happier to know your name.

My name is Mai. I live by the fishermen’s quarters. Everybody there knows my residence.

This is the happiest day of my life. Today at five o’clock, my parents and I will visit your parents.

Finally, she smiled pleasantly, sweetly nod her head politely indicating approval, and said, You are welcome.

The wedding was smooth, and the wedding party was elegant. The bride and the bridegroom were accompanied by family and friends into the little home that looked like a wooden cottage, though built by stones except for a small portion made of dry wood. The parlor was small at the lower level next to the garden, with narrow stairs that permits only one person to pass from the bottom to the top of the house, where there was one bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. That night, fire was blazing in the mid of the garden, and a fat veal whose meat was well barbecued for the celebrants. A lot of red wine had its effect that all seemed stoned—the singing and dancing was loud in that Paradise’ Look. The dawn was penetrating the night, and then the celebrants began to withdraw from the joyous garden. However, the fire was still enraging and the grass got warmer and warmer until it caught fire. The blaze rippled through the garden, consumed the bottom floor, ascended the stairs, and spouted its black haze into the bedroom where the newly wedded couples were dozing heavily. NeGwen woke feeling giddy inhaling so much smoke and found it difficult to stand on his feet. His taciturn voice was noiselessly shrieking for help whilst his neighbors seemed dozing in other worlds. His bride was slowly snoozing into lethargic death. NeGwen was strong enough not to surrender to death. He exerted extreme efforts to open the windows and save his wife.

Meanwhile, a passer-by, carrying a bag on his back and who actually had nowhere to go, saw at distance the flames creeping up the cottage and noticed the frenzy motion of waving hands to attract the attention for help. He spontaneously dropped his personal luggage, ignoring the whole neighborhood, and rushed into the cottage confronting the conflagrant stairs. He found them both unconscious. He quickly picked the quilt, immersed it from the water barrel in the kitchen, and threw it over them. Instantly, he dropped water on the inflamed stairs, which helped cooling the blaze. Then he returned to the cottage and carried the couple on his shoulders finding his way at a safe distance from the fire. The situation was so confusing that he thought someone else was inside, so he rushed again to help. There was none, but he had himself burnt in many places. However, he managed using the garden hose to put off the fire before collapsing. When he regained conscience, he sat down watching the couple until the cool dawn broke stealthily. The couple woke up to see the people surrounding them and the stranger smiling politely at them. He was also responding with a shy smile and humble features for the people who were regarding him with gratitude. NeGwen and Mai jumped to thank him, but mainly to treat his burnt spots. The passer-by was moving his head and smiling for everybody, and he tried to communicate with the crowd, Please, gentlemen, I don’t comprehend the Vietnamese language. I can speak French because I am not Vietnamese; I am from Thailand.

NeGwen knew French well and said to the passer-by, You are my guest as long as you are on the Vietnamese soil.

The crowd voiced the same hospitality, though they insisted on knowing his name.

"My name is Narouk. It is an ancient and noble Thai’s name—my grandparents gave me that name thirty years ago. My business is trading with elephant’s tusks. I came to Vietnam because tusks here are plenty and its prices are considerably low. I am very interested to strike deals here."

NeGwen felt that he owes the man, therefore he said, "Have no worry—I will help you to reach the merchant who sells it."

What do you do, NeGwen?

I am a mechanic fixing bikes.

Someone intruded, Guys, you are confabulating while you look miserable. Come inside to clean up and have breakfast.

Sooner, the Thai began buying all the tusks he needed.

After two months of hospitality, Narouk approached NeGwen, My friend, is your income enough to live a bit above the normal level?

NeGwen burst laughing, A bit above the normal! No way. It is hardly enough to live below the normal.

"I will leave to Paris to sell the tusks. How about immigrating, you and your wife, to France? It is beautiful in Paris—lots of money and lots of jobs. Life in the city is prosperous and the people are elites. The French has long tradition and heritage and you will learn a lot of its culture. I believe that traveling has many benefits. A human being can never develop unless he takes risks in such a challenging, tortuous life. Come with me and see for yourself another world. Give up this poor land—all that you can see are thick, bushy trees and few peasants living at distance. Are you satisfied with your economic status in Vietnam! You fix old bikes; but if you come to Paris, you might work in Peugeot or Citroen factory. In less than a year, you will be able to build a whole new Citroen yourself. You have another choice to work in trade with me; I make excellent income. It is an advice, NeGwen, to look for profitable alternatives in your life."

NeGwen turned to his wife who was listening attentively to Narouk, and said, You heard it all, Mai.

You mentioned positive matters, Narouk. However, my husband and I have no money, and she paused feeling anxiety that showed on her face though she stuttered, I deem it proper to make a realistic evaluation before approving to leave to France. I believe it is necessary to discuss this matter with my husband very carefully and seriously.

Absolutely. It is right that you should discuss it thoroughly.

Mai looked at her husband; his eyes were showing more than an approval—rather, it was commending it. She conceded to his mute consent and said, "OK. Then, let us sell our belongings. I have one thing to ask though—please do not sell this house, NeGwen. This cottage is my last stronghold and I will never renounce it; for, it is my address and my proof of my identity in Vietnam." A tear popped and sadness painted her dark face as she felt that the moment of her being extracted from the soils of Vietnam for ever is very close. She wanted to hang to the dear image of the little cottage and lodge it eternally in her imagination while she will soon reside in foreign lands. The cottage was her real huge fortitude left to her and her utopian kingdom that will shield her from the cold, winter nights of Paris.

NeGwen felt her soft, tender emotion and love for the land and people. His silence lasted for a while, then he said with a shaken voice that echoed his assault at her feelings, her natural right in the cottage with all its symbolism, Honey, how can we manage the money to pay the costs of travel?

Feeling torn apart, unable to say more than short, sad answer, In that case, do what you will NeGwen.

Narouk felt a sea of sorrow pouring into her heart and that all the shaken words out of her mouth were cool, sour waves rising from the foam of a raging sea inside her bosom. He understood and said, No, no. Your house will not be sold; it will be yours like your shadow here in Vietnam. Whenever you return to Vietnam, you will come back to it. Furthermore, I will give you the money you need to leave to France. When you make money later, you can pay it back with small installments.

NeGwen and his wife took a deep breath, for Narouk actually put them at ease and made them happy, We do accept your generous offer, but what about the war in Europe?

Narouk smiled and said, "The war is a business opportunity and we are not in danger at all.

None will attack since we are not Europeans; we are only foreign labor and guests in France."

The hour of departure draw near. At 04:00 PM afternoon, they packed their luggage in old wooden, worn-out pale bags. Relatives, friends, and neighbors were waiting in the garden to tell them goodbye. The eyes were looming with sadness and as such it reflected on the pale features of NeGwen and Mai. The parting was feverish, filled with burning reluctance and eyes filled with tears. Narouk, on the other hand, was taking memorable shots that said it all. Mai excused herself and went to see the spoiled mule Juju: she put her arms round his neck, hugged him warmly, and muttered a farewell, ‘Goodbye, my old pal. I don’t suppose that our long struggle in this ruthless life came to an end’. Narouk took a shot for that scene too, because he thought that she will appreciate it. Mai asked her mother to take care of the mule and feed him with fresh clover. Narouk was still engaged in taking pictures and he did not stop until a small cargo vehicle arrived to take them to Dong Hoi Port. The driver informed them that they would be lucky if he could find them a place onboard the ship leaving to France, Travelers are numerous. His words were like morphine shots that instilled in Mai’s veins, which made her think, ‘Thanks be to God that there are other Vietnamese on the trip, it will lessen the pains of the painful journey.’

Finally, they arrived at Dong Hoi Port; it was 10:00 PM. The ship to France was supposed to leave at 12:00 midnight. Narouk tried to buy three tickets to Marseille, but the clerk apologized saying that the last twenty tickets were all sold half an hour earlier to a French group staying in Vietnam. The clerk informed him that the ship was full, and there was no place for any person on board. Narouk felt shocked, distressed, and infuriated, Shucks! What a bad luck I didn’t anticipate! When would the next ship be available?

I’m afraid you’ll have to wait two weeks, sir.

God, have mercy. What am I to do with the poor guys? He actually felt dismal and frustrated.

The clerk felt sympathetic with Narouk’s misfortune and said, If it is a matter of urgency, you may go to peer ‘5’ at 10:00 AM. A French cargo ship will be leaving to Marseille at 05:00 PM. Try to talk to the skipper, and he might understand your situation. He could have you and your friends on board.

Thank you, sir.

Narouk was thinking, ‘What a misfortune coming to those poor guys? Can the soft, kind woman travel on board a cargo ship! No—no. But, what else can I do? This is a stunning surprise facing me, and all I can do is be baffled! Anyhow, I will suggest it to them—they may accept or reject.’ NeGwen and Mai were waiting on a wooden bench waiting for him to show up. He approached them with slacking steps, feeling ashamed and embarrassed, and he told them what happened.

NeGwen reacted with confidence and persistence, Well, we are at the port. Let’s take the cargo ship to Marseille rather than returning to KeGo. What do you say, Mai?

As you wish, NeGwen.

They spent the night on the wooden bench until morning, and then they carried their luggage to peer ‘5’. There was a lot of activity. The cranes were carryings goods on board of ships and trucks loaded with exports were rushing in-and-out of the peer. The peer was jammed with goods, people, and activity; it was a hectic beehive that knew no respite. In addition, the high temperature of 35 and 70% humidity made it worse. The French ship was moored at the peer and it was filled with Vietnamese rice to Saudi Arabia. Skipper Denial Saracozi, a tall giant stature wearing the white marine uniform that stuck to his sweating body, was surveying the ship from his cabin. Seeing the red-faced hulk with long sideburns, he recognized him as the skipper of the ship. Narouk came up to him through the iron stepladder, smiled at him, and saluted him with his hand. The skipper’s response was spitting the gum from his mouth, releasing a smile, and returning a friendly greeting.

Are you the skipper of this ship, sir?

I am. Can I be of any help to you?

As a matter of fact, yes. I was supposed, along with my friend and his wife, to be on board the ship leaving to France via Marseille. However, we were unfortunate because the ship was full. We have to leave expediently to France.

The skipper came closer and whispered, Oh! You didn’t say what you want me to do.

Please, we need your assistance to sail with you, and I will pay the price you ask.

The skipper smiled abundantly, looked intently through his black glasses, brushed his right sideburn—silently. He seemed as if he was counseling himself. Then he said, "Yes, you may board the ship to Marseille—free of charge. However, all of you will have to work on the ship seven hours daily until you reach Marseille."

I, myself, do agree. Let me call my companions to hear your offer.

In a minute, NeGwen and Mai were listening to the skipper, "You gentlemen will have to work downstairs at the engine area. As for the lady, she will have to work and help at the kitchen—agree?"

Sure. My wife and I consent.

I agree too, skipper.

Good. On board, you will be under my command and protection. I will provide you with food, drink, and clean rooms. Here is the journey’s program and you will have to stick to it. Get your luggage, and I wish you a safe trip to Marseille. I shall register your names in the log now.

At five o’clock, Skipper Denial Saracozi was standing behind the wheels. He charged the heavy machinery that started to move the ship with full-fledged power, pulled off the anchors, and began sliding in the water out of the marina. He directed the steel front of the ship to Jeddah Port in Saudi Arabia. On the deck, NeGwen put his hands around Mai’s shoulder, hugging her with a smile that showed serenity and happiness. They stood for quite a while, until he broke the tranquility saying, "Finally, Mai, we are sailing to Great France. Believe me, darling, I am beginning to draw in my mind the image of sleepless and charming Paris, which I never ever seen in my life not even in a magazine. Even that grand, famous street called the Champs-Elysées, I seem to visualize in the manner I heard about it. I see it as the most beautiful street in the world—I see its charm and brilliance. I wonder why I feel such adoration and that burning desire to see it as though I was created in its center. Believe me; I am not exaggerating if I tell that I feel my legs already pacing through it. I seem to see faces of the misers around me, hear their voices while carrying me on their shoulders, and enchanting my name. I have a strong, instinct feeling drawn to that majestic street.’

Mai, however, was dreaming about a different world. She was seeing Dong Hoi and everything in Vietnam getting farther and farther away, getting smaller and smaller. She would imagine her parents, her brothers and sisters, her beloved friends and neighbors, the cottage and even her mule Juju. She could see them all in her imagination and she could hear their voices strongly. As for NeGwen, she did not hear a word of his blabbering though he was talking close to her ears. She was holding to the rim of the ship, her eyes never parting Dong Hoi that was disappearing behind the mist. NeGwen felt so ashamed when he heard Mai burst into scorching tears for parting with land and people—her land and her people. He interrupted the flow of his speech and apologized, I am sorry, Mai. I am really a dork, a real stupid dork. Come, let’s get inside and have some tea with our friend Narouk. He blamed himself, wondering how alien was he to her lucent feelings—she who was very soft, tender, and, above all, sincere in her love to Vietnam. He blamed himself for being selfish and egotistic, ‘It was showing while I was boasting about me desire to see France. Yet, I do not deny it. I do not deny my desire to get out of Vietnam to know other countries and places. Hence, I will have to be careful to avoid hurting her feelings’.

In the morning, the party executed the agreement with the skipper. At 07:00 AM, they went to the kitchen for breakfast. At 08:00 AM, an employee led them to the lower levels where huge engines were loud, thrusting the ship forward. The engineer received them with a pleasant, morning smile and he explained to them how the engines run and how to make maintenance. He gave them a lot of instructions, especially what to do if fire breaks. Then he explained to them their duties—cleaning spilled oil and all that hangs on the walls, closed areas, and pipes with clothes wet with diesel. They were also to clean the bathrooms with hot water, applying powerful soap and detergents. Finally, they were to collect the trash and throw it into a container. After hearing all that, Narouk whispered to NeGwen saying, I wish we waited two weeks then left comfortably on a passenger’s ship. The roar of engines deafened my ears and the hot air coming from the engines and torpedoes will surly ruin my breast. I have allergy from machines’ odors. I wish the skipper would take money instead of us laboring here.

"You have to be patient. It’s only for few days, and we will soon reach France. In this very moment I am talking to you, my heart and my feeling are addressed to my wife who will have to go now and work in the kitchen. I don’t deny that this trip to France is a suffering, but we have no choice nor alternative—we have to be realistic and accept it, my friend."

Later, Narouk and NeGwen went, along with the sailors, to the lounge for rest and