I closed the notebook. For sure she was recording something else the other night, something she wanted to hide from me. On another notebook, smaller than this.

I was tired of not knowing. Perhaps my mother had met my father on the battlefield and something terrible had happened between them.

Pressing my stomach onto the floor, I looked under the beds. Dust had gathered into a thin layer. Sneezing, I stood up. Putting aside my mother’s pillow, I peeled her straw mat away, searching among the bamboo slats that made up the bed’s frame. Nothing.

I eyed the pillow. It looked a little crooked. I picked it up, squeezing it. My heart dipped as my hands made out something hard. Here it was, the smaller notebook, hidden inside the soft cotton. It was rather new, bound with a rubber string. I opened the first page. My mother’s handwriting. As tottering as I’d seen on the other notebook.

16/5/1975

My son,

Would you ever forgive me? There’ve been countless nights when I dreamed about you. I dreamed about your blue face. The blue face that is now buried under the earth. Oh my baby, please forgive me. Forgive me. . . .

The diary left my hand, falling onto the bed. My mother had a son. With whom? I stood up, pacing back and forth. I wanted to continue reading, but feared that what I learned would tear my family apart. My mother had started writing down her thoughts recently, after she’d moved to Auntie Duyên’s home.

I almost laughed at myself. Here I was, thinking that I’d found the key to my mother’s secret, yet once I opened her door, I wanted to lock it and throw the key away. Sometimes something is so terrible that you need to pretend it doesn’t exist.

The wall clock struck five times. My mother, Grandma, and Uncle ??t could be home anytime. I eyed the diary’s cover. I had caught a glimpse of my mother’s sorrow, I had to see what type of a monster it was. Besides, my world had already been shattered, ignorance couldn’t save it now.

I turned to the second page.

18/5/1975

Hoàng, my darling husband, where are you? Now the war has ended, many soldiers are returning home. Why haven’t we heard from you?

Oh my darling, I used to believe that my love for you would be strong enough to help me overcome the bombs and bullets, so that I could find you, to tell you how sorry I am. I’m so sorry. I was a coward for pushing you to go to war. Only when you left did I learn you were my life. The jungles I passed, the rivers I crossed, did you ever set foot there? I desperately hunted for news about you. Oh my love, don’t stay away from me. Please come home. Please forgive me. I beg you to forgive me. Last night in my dream, you looked at me sternly. Your eyes told me I’m no longer worthy to be your wife. I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry.

21/5/1975

Last night Duyên shook me awake. The night was cool, but my whole body was soaked with sweat. My throat burned. Duyên told me that I’d been screaming. I nodded, saying that it was only a nightmare. When she fell asleep again, I sat there, curled against darkness. I feared sleep. I feared darkness. Whenever sleep or darkness approached, they rushed at me. They pinned me to the jungle floor, their hands choking my throat. Other pairs of hands pressed me against the earth, against rocks and tree roots. Their mouths were red as fire as they laughed. Pain, hot as burning coals, pierced my body. I was being torn into a million pieces. Where are they now, those monsters? I hope that they rot in jungles and valleys, that their souls will never be able to come home.

I read the entry again. What was that all about? Who were they?

30/5/1975

I shouldn’t have ventured out, but Duyên said a walk would do me good, fresh air from the river would make me feel better. We hadn’t gone far from Duyên’s house when a hut came into view. Unlike other homes, its roof was covered with leaves and twigs, just like our medical stations in the jungle. Without thinking, I crouched down low. Next to me was no longer Duyên, nor Hà N?i, nor the peaceful Red River. I was back inside my hut in Tr??ng S?n, a young soldier, his head white with bandages, moaning under my hands. Distant sounds of gunfire, sounds of hand grenades exploding. Nurse Hòa ran in. “Sister, the enemy is coming!” she said. Hòa and I hurried to carry the soldiers out of the hut’s back entrance, into the jungle, and down into the secret shelter. Those who could walk helped us. We ran, panted, and ran. Explosions drew closer, forcing us to cover our tracks. I returned to the hut to see injured soldiers still stuck on the bamboo slats that served as their beds.

“Into fighting position,” I screamed at Hòa, then ran to a corner of the hut, picking up my rifle. An explosion shook the ground. Hollers from the hut next door. Shouts in the Southern Vietnamese dialect.

A man darted past our open door, throwing something inside. I don’t remember pulling the trigger, just the butt of my AK slamming repeatedly against my shoulder. The man stopped running. He clutched his chest, sank to his knees, collapsing to the ground. The hand grenade he’d thrown was rolling on the dirt floor. I ducked. A powerful blast. My world became blank.

Duyên’s voice called me. I blinked to see myself on the Red River’s bank, surrounded by men, women, children. They were staring at me, whispering. I wanted to disappear, crawl into a crack of dirt. In people’s eyes, I’ve become mad, possessed by ghosts. One of the women was telling Duyên she should seek a shaman and make an offering, to chase away the dead spirits who’d stolen my soul.