Toi Nguyen was a soft-spoken, round-faced 40-year-old Kit Carson Scout who had turned down a high commission with the ARVN Army to work in the field with our platoon. He had been educated at the University of Saigon and spoke both English and French fluently. He also had some kind of advanced degree in banking and he and his family had been very well off in the Vietnam of the 1950’s and early 1960’s. He’d given up a lot to become an ordinary soldier and all of us really appreciated his quiet courage and uncanny ability to disarm booby traps and get captured Vietcong to spill their guts.
Toi’s love of country, family and freedom consumed his every thought, and unlike me and most every other American in-country, he was fighting to win. To him, the war was a life and death struggle. There were no R & R’s and guaranteed rotation after one year for Toi and his loved ones, and his insights into the war and what was really going on in Vietnam never failed to hold my interest.
Of my many conversations with Toi, the one I remember most clearly took place after a card game in his hootch. Toi was the best five card stud poker player on the base, and his reputation for never leaving the table a loser was well-earned, as was mine for never walking away a winner.
Late that night, after everyone had cashed in and left, our conversation turned to his brother Quang, who was serving in the North Vietnamese Army.
“I received a letter from him a few weeks ago,” Toi explained. “It made me very happy to hear from him. It is usually by word of mouth that I know if he is alive or dead.”
“Has he seen the light yet?” I asked Toi.
“No, I’m afraid not. Actually, he is much worse now. He is really under their spell. Their propaganda is very good. His letter was full of their slogans.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“The North is sure that you will soon tire of your commitment. I know better, but Quang doesn’t. America is an honorable country. Unlike Quang, I have read much of your history. You have always helped those wishing to be free, and you have never lost a war.” He looked away for a moment, lost in a thought, and then added, “A man is not a man if he is not free. We Vietnamese are new to being free, but we are getting better at it every day. Our leaders are not very good at it yet, but they will improve, too. Quang has made a horrible mistake, but I love him very much.”
Trying to change the subject, I pointed to the beautifully framed photographs of his wife and four daughters which were proudly displayed on the same wall which served as the background for a miniature Buddhist shrine he had erected in his hootch.
Toi was a devout Buddhist, and he was always on the lookout for potential converts. He had explained the ten major sins to me on numerous occasions and told me how hard it was for one to get into Nirvana. Things like knowledge, unselfishness, perfect self-control, enlightenment, and a kindly attitude were all required, and although he wasn’t yet there, it sure seemed to me that Toi was already well on his way.
He cheered up immediately when I asked, “How are Mai and the kids?”
“They are all well, thank you. I am a lucky man indeed. Mai of course wishes I was closer to home, and it is not good that the two little ones are growing up without a father, but like you and your friends, I am doing what I must.”
“Your girls are all so pretty,” I said.
“Thank you,” he said, proudly looking back at their pictures. “I had hoped for boys, but now I am very grateful they were girls. I will not someday have to give them to the war.” He suddenly looked very tired, took a deep breath and sighed. “You know, my friend, some days I believe it will never end. Thirty years now. So many, many dead. And I fear that being raised with war has made us as a people, well, I can’t explain it. But it is wrong to grow up as I have, as my parents did, and now as my children are. I can only hope it will be different for my children’s children.”
“It will, Toi. I’m sure of it.”
“So am I,” he said. “With your wonderful country’s help.”