MADE IN USA                

From out by the highway junction, the sign of fresh combat ebbed down this side lane to the little creek at its dead end. Before the day of the Tết down this same dirt road you would only have seen  two rows  of houses  with here and there's a little store busy with the preholiday trade. Now, after the fight, the houses were mostly ashes; the occasional surviving stucco wall disfugured by bullet pocks. Sooty tin roofing sheets contorted over the rubble. A few skeletons of bicycles. Everything burnt black. Now you  could see  as far  as the coconut trees bordering the creek but even some  of them had burnt, and through the breaches  loomed naked fields  beyond the city's outskirts.

            Near  the foot  of this  lane still  stood a few fortunate homes  that had escaped the torch, though  their walls were pocked  and  peforated by the torrent of small-arms fire. Riddled sign-boards shivered on their brackets as if resolved not to fall despite the wind. Little Thục lived in  that  remnant  of a neighborhood. Gripping a  nail, Thục had  scratched and scraped  at a small crater in the wall of her home. All her attention focused on the bullet slug deep inside for more than an hour she had worked away steadily, but still all  she could see was a tiny glint of metal. Sweat jerked down her cheek  as she knelt to resume her digging. Suddenly tired, Thục  stopped to sharpen the  nail on  a tile  and then  shook her  arms to ease their cramp; after a short rest she knelt to the wall once more. Abruptly, Thục rose and flung the nail out into the yard. Her eyes turned  past the soldier's as she  followed the nail ringing across the red clay tiles, then she looked to him. He smiled. Thục smiled back, rubbing the sweat from her forehead with both grimy hands. Thục  pointed to  the crater.
"I'm trying  to dig out the bullet, to remember."
            "You mean you like souvenirs too?"
            Thục nodded.
"I need a bullet to keep, to play with. My mother's got one like that--she keeps it in her purse."
            "Kid, I've got some ammunition here and if you want, I'll yank out a new slug and give it to you."
            Thục shook her  head.
"I want the bullet  in there, in the wall. I don't want one of your new bullets. That one was shot at my house. Do you know where my mother's bullet came from?"
            When the soldier shook his head, Thục  boassted:
"My mother's bullet was taken from my dad's chest!"
            The soldier was startled.
"Your dad's  chest? Where is he now kid?"
            Thuc  sat down  on the  tiles.
"My  dad's dead.  He was a captain with three gold roses on his collar, he was the chief of the whole district.  How many roses do you have?"
            "I'm just a private," he grimaced.
            "A plain soldier?"
            The soldier nodded,  and smiled   again.  Thục  sat thoughtfully a  moment before continuing.
"My dad had  to go out to fight, and he was shot in the chest; they brought him back to the hospital but he died. The hospital people sent my mother the bullet they found in his chest. She always carries it in her purse, she says its 'her souvenir'."
            "I get you,  kid. And now you want to  dig out that slug in the wall for...a souvenir?"
            Thuc's  head bobbed.
"I don't  have a husband yet, so my husband can't be  dead. I'll take the bullet they shot at my house and I'll keep it as my souvenir. Have you shot a lot of people?"
            The soldier stared at Thục, his arms lifted in a helpless reflex that failed to stop fell; almost to herself she mused:
         "Then I guess lots of people have bullets for a souvenir, and not just my mother."
            The soldier hunched over to roll up his pants leg, and he pointed to a scar. Thục pressed her forehead against the picket fence to see better.
 "You were shot too?"
            The soldier held up two fingers.
            "Two times?"
            He nodded.
            "Where?"
            The soldier opened a shirt button and pulled the collar to one side, to show the child the scar on his shoulder. Thục's tongue flicked out as she gulped in  surprise.
"My dad was only  hit by one bullet and he is dead.  You were shot two times, so how come you're not dead too?"

            "I couldn't tell you, kid."

            Thục sat, elbows on knees and her chin cupped in one grimy palm. After a silence, "Where's your souvenir bullet?"

            "I didn't want to keep it, I threw it away."

            "You threw it away! Why? Don't you want a souvenir?"

            "Kid, I do not. Anyhow the slug was all dirty and bloody, what would I do with it?"

            Thục silently scrutinized the soldier from  head to heel, making him smile again. 

"Who shot you?"

            "The guy I was trying to shoot."

            After pondering this, Thục asked:

"You must mean the enemy forces, I guess."

            "You  guessed right,  kid. Say  look, you suppose I could come in, sit down a bit and talk with you?"

            Thục rose and opened the gate.

"Sure, Anybody can come in my house. The day they fought here two of their bộ đội came into my house to. They opened the gate and walked  right in, and they  told my mother to fix them something to eat. They never asked me at all, so why do you have to ask me?"

            "Maybe because I like you, kid."

            Thuc pouted:

"That's not why. Only my mother likes me. You must  be polite,  I guess. In school  my teacher  taught me that."

            " I guess you're right. What grade are you in ?"

            Thục held up two fingers.

            " Second grade ?"

            Thục nodded. 

"But what grade  are you ?  Did your teacher tell you to ask first, when you want to go in somebody else's house ?"

An amused glint came into the soldier's eyes, still

 fixed on  Thục. The child patted the soldier's carbine.

"But you have a gun, so you don't have to ask anybody !"

"My teacher never taught me that", said the soldier as he gave Thụca reassuring  hug. She  responded with  a wide smile. The soldier took out his bayonet.

"Look,  kid, if you want I could dig out that slug for you in no time."

            Thục folded her arms and shook her head empatically.

"No. Don't  tease  me. The  day  they  fought  here  two of their bộ đội  with guns came into my house to eat. I asked them to take out the bullet for me but  they got mad, they told me to stay in the corner and shut up."

            "Were those two guys here long?"

            Thục held up three fingers.

            "Three days?"

            She shook her head. 

"No, they ate three times."

            "At night, did they sleep in your house?"

            "Nope, they only came in to eat. They stayed out here all the time, they sat right where you're sitting now."

            The soldier looked down, as if seeking some confirming trace still there. After a pause, he asked the child:

"Those two guys with guns, did they ask you anything ?"

            "Yes."

            "What ?"

            "They asked me where my father was."

            "And what did you tell them ?"

            "I told them  my dad was dead. He went to fight the enemy forces  and was  wounded, and  then he died. My  dad was a Captain. He was chief of the whole district."

            "When  you  said  that,  did  the  two  guys  with guns do anything to you ?"

            "Nope, they didn't do anything to me but they jumped up. They went in and searched all over the house. They  made my mother open all the closets, all the drawers so they could look. They even looked up under  the roof but they dind't see anything at all."

            "And then what ?"

            "Then they came back to sit right where you are now."

            The soldier carved the mud off the soles of his boots with his bayonet while Thục continued:

"When it got dark out, they came in the house and  told my mother to give them  dad's flashlight."

           The soldier rapped the bayonet on his heel, to knock off the mud. Thục watched the steel flash in his hand.

"Have you ever stabbed anybody yet ?"

            "No."

            "What's it for, then ?"

            "It is for stabbing, but so far I've never had to use it on anybody. Right  now I want to use it to dig out that slug for you. OK ?"

            "I'd have to ask my mother - she told me not to talk with anybody who carries a gun or  a knife. The day they fought in this road, two of their bộ đội came into  my house with guns  and wanted to eat. I asked them please take out  the bullet for me, but they made me sit in  the corner and  told me to shut up. After that, my mother told me not to talk to anybody who carries a gun or a knife."

            The soldier patted Thục's shoulder. 

"No, kid, don't  ask your mother; don't bother her any  more. She's probably busy in the kitchen. I want to dig out that slug for you because once my teacher told me  I should help old folks  and little children."

            "But my mother did tell me that! And you, you do carry a gun and a knife too, don't you !"

            The soldier pulled Thục closer to  his side.

 "I cary a gun just like your daddy used to. I'm just like your  daddy, no different. Do you remember him ?"

            In her mind's eye Thục saw the small district town far away. She and her mother had visited the place where daddy worked, and lived there for awhile. Thục remembered  the single  main street,  and the  town cafe  where each  morning mother  and  child came  in  daddy's  jeep to breakfast on steaming noodle soup. Thục remembered that  each morning the cafe owner would  bow to the wife of  the District Chief. She remembered the  flag pole in the square where the provincial highway  ran  through the town,  and the thick barbed wire around the big  house where her father lived  and worked. She remembered afternoons standing on the front porch and looking across the wire at the children, many no bigger than herself, streaming from the town schoolhouse. Horse-carts clopping by the big  house. The driver always  had to jump down  and walk along, leading the horse across that part of  the road. Thục remembered she had asked her  father's driver why they had to get down like  that and walk past the big  house, and the soldier had  replied "So the VC  can't jump us." She had not understood, but kept silent. Thục  remembered that her father had carried a gun, and each time he left on an operation he would kiss her mother, hug Thục and drink a shot of rire brandy before boarding his jeep with a final smile, to  race out of town  in a cloud of dust. Occasionally thục and her mother  would visit that town to spend a few  days with dad, but they  always returned to this house. After her father had  been District Chief for a while, he was able to rebuild this house. It had been just a wooden shack before, but he tore it down and built this one of brick and stucco it even had a second floor. Thục now slept  in a real bed, with  a mattress.  She could  watch television and listen to stereo music. She knew  how to turn on  the TV set and the hi-fi all by herself. Thục turned to the soldier:

            "Do you like music ?

My dad liked country music, just like my mother. I hate it, I only like popular music. The day they fought here  in this street, two of their bộ-đội came in my house  and wanted to eat;  I asked them to scratch out the bullet  for me, but they shouted I  should shut  up and sit quiet in  her corner. I turned on the music but one of them told me to  shut it off, but the other asked me to put  on a country record."

            "So did you turn it off or put on a country record?"

            "I just left on the song I liked, but my mother got mad. She shut  it off and pulled me into the other room. I cried and my mother said she was sorry; she picked me up and hugged me, then she made me stay under the  bed where it  was safe from the bullets."

            Sheathing his bayonet. the soldier asked:

"When they were fighting here, did you get scared?"

            Thục's eyes opened  wide.

"You bet ! My mother grabbed me and we hid  way  at  the back of  the house. She took the cushions off  the chairs and  piled them around  the wall, to stop the bullets. We just sat there and then heard a big bang The two soldiers came in  our house, went upstairs and looked down on the road." Thic checked herself "But  where were you that day ?"

            "Me ? Well, I was on leave !"

            "You mean you went home to your wife for the New Year ?"

            "No, I  don't  have  a  wife. I  went  home to spend the holidays with my mother."

            Thục encircled the soldier's knee with her thin arms, and rested her chin there.

"Does your mother love you ?"

            "Sure, kid. Just like your mother love you."

            The mother came out looking  for Thục, and saw the soldier sitting with  the child on  the doorstep.

"Won't  you come in and sit on a proper chair? I can get you some tea, just make yourself at home. Thục, why  didn't you invite our guest into the house, instead of making him sit on the step like this ?"

            Still holding the child's hand, the soldier rose to mumble embarrassed  thanks.

"Don't mind me,  Ma'am. I  hope its all right if I  talk with  your little  girl. She cheers me up, she's such a cute kid and what a talker !"

            Again the mother invited the soldier, and he gingerly stepped inside  after kicking his boots on the step. She brought out the teapot and thermos while he eased himself into the sofa still stripped of its cushions. Over the rim of his cup he stole glances at the woman. Still young. Wisps of hair straggled down  her cheek. Such an anxious face, such a pity. And her eyes, so deep. As if something had spilled from her eyes  and changed her  whole face. The woman sat on the chair opposite and held Thục in  her lap, gazing at the empty fields beyond the window.

            As the silence  lengthenned, the  soldier began  to feel strange and so he spoke up:

"When they were fighting in these parts, Ma'am.  didn't  you  and  your  girl  try to get out somewhere else ?"

            Still holding the child, the mother replied:

"On that first day we couldn't get out in time. They  were already all over this area when hwe got up  in the morning, and then there was fighting out on the highway into the city. I wanted to take my daughter and  get away, but here there's  only the one way out and that  was blocked, so all I could do was hide in the house."

She looked down at Thục, then continued:

           "Two of their bộ đội were standing right in front of this house, but my girl kept insisting on running outside..I was so worried. We  were still stuck here, and  then the next day we saw the big fire out near the highway. She kept asking to go out and see the fire."

            Thục chimed  in:

"I did too see the fire, I saw the fire and smoke coming up from the houses out there. You know, the fire made my whole face feel so hot !"

            The soldier smiled at Thục, and the mother herself had to smile before  she could continue:

"It  wasn't until the third day that I was able to take  my girl and move in to the city, by then their troops had all gone away. I went to the home of some poeple I  know, intending to put up with them, but they had all gone  off to  another place  I guess  they felt  was safer."

            Thục broke in  again:

"You know, when my  mother picked me up and ran  into the city, we passed thet  big fire and I saw many dead  bodies on the  ground and there was even a  burnt tank all black. I even saw guns next to those  dead bodies, they had guns so how come they were killed by guns ?"

            The mother smoothed  the child's hair as if she wanted to erase that scene, and turned to the soldier.

"And so this morning I brought my girl back  here again. We were only away barely one day but I missed home so much. I told myself you can't run away from fate, and if our time had really come we would have been  killed right the first day when they fought here. And so since they had left the neighborhood I thought we might  as well come home.  But thank goodness you men are stationed here now."

            She urged more tea on the soldier, but he tossed down the last of his cup and rose to go.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind I'd like to dig that slug out  of the wall, for your little girl. She wants it for a souvenir, but she can't get it out. I told her I'd get it for her,  but she wouldn't stand for that -she said you wouldn't like it because I carry a gun and a knife. Ma'am, I hope you'll let me do this little thing for the kid, for her sake. I do carry a gun and a knife, yes, but in these times a man  just can't do otherwise. Just  like the Captain, Ma'am."

            The mother bowed her head. She gently thrust Thục toward the doorway, and the soldier  took her hand. The  mother's voice followed them  out:

 

"Now honey, go  and play with our guest  like a good girl."

            Thục followed the soldier out  to the pock-marked wall. Forcing the point of his  bayonet into the crumbling masonry, with a few sharp twists he extracted a squashed,  reddish brass slug. The bullet  finally in her  palm, Thục held  it up to  the soldier again  and asked:

"Can you tell what side shot this bullet at my house?"

            The soldier turned the slug over in his blunt fingers, inspecting it closely, and then  handed it back to the child.

         "Made in the USA. This bullet might have been fired by  my side, but its also possible it was fired by the side  of the two guys in your  house. Because both sides  have that  kind of weapon."

            In  wonder, Thục mused at  the bullet:

"But that way it really hard to figure out, isn't it."

            The soldier looked to the house.

"That's right, honey. It is hard to figure out. But  its lucky this bullet did not hit you or your mother, like the one that got your dad."                   

(Translated by Ky Lan Charles Allen, 10/1968, from Vietnamese version:"Viên Đạn Bắn Vào Nhà Thục.")