Sometimes We May Not Know That of Which We Speak

My hometown library recently hosted a reading and book signing by a regional author. The work was described as a collection of short stories chosen from this author’s collections of short stories published earlier. The short story chosen to be the “read” for the evening struck me as more of a memoir than a short story. It was not strictly fiction; it recounted a somewhat brief classroom incident when the author as a college professor in his mid-40’s taught a class titled “English as a Second Language.” This was also the title of the piece. The author acknowledged that no details were altered, not even the names of the students. The students included: a Vietnamese woman, two Japanese men, a man from Hong Kong, and a Laotian man. The author’s classroom interaction with the Vietnamese woman formed the central focus of the “story” with frequent references by way of triggered memories back to the author’s Vietnam experience as a U.S. Marine some 25 years previous.

I was confused by the short story descriptor and its memoir flavor. I’ll leave it to the literature folks to sort out that matter. What I found troubling was the disparity between the autobiographical message which I heard in the reading of the story and the author’s denial that this underlying message applied to him. If not to him, then to whom? Or was the message that I heard hidden from the author? Was I projecting my own experience into the story? I think not.

In setting the story up, the author described his voluntary enlistment in the Marine Corps at 19 years of age in early 1964 before the Gulf of Tonkin incident and before the massive build-up of the U.S. presence in Vietnam which followed. The author recounted his intention behind his enlistment as a desire “to see the world,” among others. He also somewhat casually noted, but with a certain edge to his words, that his Vietnam experience had not affected him “physically, but. . .” And he did not finish that statement and simply moved on after chuckling under his breath. The author also flat out stated: “We lost that war.” There is no nuance, no equivocation. It is unclear if he is referring to: (1) the common soldier and marine stationed in Vietnam, (2) the U.S. military brass, (3) the U.S. political leadership, or (4) some combination of these. I found such a blanket statement unusual for a veteran.

In his story the author was looking over the student’s shoulder as he read a piece of writing that he had given as an in-class assignment. As he read the student’s first few paragraphs, he would make specific suggestions with respect to missing words, stilted use of English, and so forth. At this same time, the author’s choice of words to describe the woman’s clothing and appearance are drawn from his Vietnam experience. The color and patterns in her clothing recall for the author the colors and patterns he observed in the jungle environment during his tour in Vietnam. Her long hair hanging loosely and hiding his view of her face is described as very similar to the dark and heavy foliage of the jungle capable of shielding an enemy soldier.

Interspersed with the author’s description of his instructions to the student as to the changes or corrections to be made in her prose, the author described his experiences as a teenage Marine in Vietnam and, more specifically, his interaction with an alleged Vietcong prisoner. The author/marine was tasked with moving prisoners brought to the Marine base by helicopter from the landing zone to the motor pool. The prisoners were bound and blindfolded. One particular prisoner was calling out or shouting (“raising a ruckus,” I think was the author’s exact words.). In order to quiet the prisoner, the author, as a young marine, “kicked him in the ear and stuck a rag in his mouth.” It was not stated how the prisoner ended up in such a position that the author was able to kick him in the side of his head. As the story proceeded in the present, the author realized that his attempts to get the student to edit her writing were futile; he eventually gave up and directed his attention to the other students in the classroom.

The assignment given by the author/professor was to write about the best thing that ever happened to you. The Vietnamese woman had written about her mother and all that she had done for her daughter. The student was sobbing silently and during much of the incident unbeknown to the author, since he was not able to see her face. It is not known if the student’s mother was alive or dead, in the U.S. or Vietnam. Clearly, she was distraught at this time. We never learn why. The author/professor gave up on any attempt to communicate with the student on either a verbal or an emotional level and moved on. The author then elicited the participation of the other students, and they exchanged the various words for mother, mom, and ma in their respective languages. The story concluded with a reflective comment on motherhood. In making a leap from the particular to the universal, the author facilitated his escape from a troubling emotional engagement either present or past; the latter might well be described as a “memory-as-present,” that is, a flashback. Any emotional distress experienced by the author could now be self-identified with the loss of his own mother during the time the author was stationed in Vietnam—a much more understandable and tolerable emotional state.

The Vietnamese woman is the only woman in the class. The other students, all men, are from Hong Kong, Laos, and Japan. The author commented that he was able to understand these students more easily than the woman and at the same time attributing that “ease” to having spent time in other Asian countries during his Marine Corps enlistment. If he has spent the standard 13-month Marine Corps tour of duty in Vietnam, how is that he didn’t pick up a comparable ability with respect to a Vietnamese person?

The juxtaposition of the interaction with this student and the interaction, including mistreatment, with the prisoner creates an eerie paradox. The student chose not to speak or was unable to speak to the author/professor in response to his questions and suggestions; the author/marine refused or was unable to communicate with a pleading prisoner. The author acknowledged that the prisoner could well be an innocent farmer as much as a Vietcong soldier. It is also likely that some prisoners were women and the mothers of daughters now the age of this Vietnamese student. The author is clearly frustrated in the present as he was in the past, which may be the core linkage between the memory and the contemporary experience.

A couple of times during the story, the author indicated that he would look out the window of his classroom and observe construction taking place on campus. He notes it was as if the entire campus was a construction zone. Military bases and outposts in Vietnam looked very much like perennial construction sites: dust or mud depending upon the season, earth berms, buildings clad in raw lumber, mounds of construction materials and waste, and crappers (military) or port-a-potties (civilian). Military hardware and equipment are not so unlike their civilian counterparts. There may even be much the same machines and vehicles, just a different color. Olive drab to reduce visibility; safety orange to increase visibility. The former in a place where being seen poses the greater risk to one’s safety; the latter in a place where not being seen poses the greater risk to one’s safety. The view from an upper floor of a building out onto a campus under construction appears not unlike the view of a military outpost from a guard tower.

My take-a-way from this evening: I don’t know how this author was able to draft a “story” such as this and, at the same time, suggest that the war had no effect upon him. Self-awareness in such matters is twofold: (1) an awareness that such an experience may or may not have had an effect, and (2) the specific operative impact of such an experience.  One’s awareness of the former does not include or preclude the awareness of the latter. This observation may be summarized by the statement: “I know I have been affected by such an experience; it is just that I am not aware of the impact that it has had on my day-to-day life or even its ability to creep into my day-to-day life without warning and, at times, with an ability to be present in such a way that I am not able to see any evidence of that presence.” One may know the why and the how or just the why or the how. This knowledge can be full or partial, accurate or in error.

I read with the expectation that a writer knows that of which he or she speaks and then knowingly shares that with the reader. I came away from the evening program ill at ease. I did not ask this author to address my befuddlement during the time allotted for questions.