陳白菊 《 Chị Tư (Sister Four) 》 美國

        My Chị Tư was a cheerful, fun-loving, and playful sister.I was told she was a cute and happy baby.  Before Dad had a boy, he dressed my Chị Tư as a boy. She had a boy haircut, boy chemise shirt and pants. We even called her  Brother Four—all of this was to fulfill Dad’s longing for a son.  We  lived  near a foreign military  base.  The  French soldiers  adored  her.   Many  of  them  had  children  in  their  home  country  and  she reminded them of their own.  They  would  often ask my mom to let them  borrow  Chị Tư  so  they  could  play  together  at  the  nearby  creek.  It  probably  helped  ease  the soldiers’  longing  for their own  children,  who  were  thousands  of  miles  away.  As a teenager,  Chị  Tư  earned  money by trading U.S.  dollars with American  soldiers  and prostitutes  and  then exchanging them on the black market for a  profit.  They  liked  to trade with her because they trusted teenagers and she was funny and friendly.  On good days, she  brought  home  stolen  army  goods  that  were  sold  on  the  black  market. I remember it clearly. Our eyes lit up as we gathered around her. We “oohed” and “ahhed” in unison each time she pulled out  American-made items like a can of peanut butter,  a pack of Spearmint chewing gum, a red apple, and my favorite, pound cake. She was like a Santa Claus bringing gifts to little poor children. We ate while she blurted a few words she learned at the army base. “Ô Kê Sa Lem, Sam Sam Cà Rem,  Number One”.  We all would burst out laughing at her silly phrases.  Dad  disapproved  of  her hanging around the army base and worried for her safety. However, my sister was a free spirit; she loved life and took whatever came her way  with  open  arms.  Even  though  there  was  a war going on, Chị Tư was independent and unafraid, always seeking the next adventure. One time she and her friend went to see a snake with three heads.  They  drove  to a place an hour from home to find there was no such thing!  Dad punished her when she got home, but that did not stop her from going out again the following week to see a crying  Virgin Mary statue. She was the most fearless person I knew.

        One  day  in  1969,  tragedy struck. Relatives and neighbors came in and out of our house. Everyone looked distressed. I was only four years old, too young to comprehend what was going on.  Chị  Tư was no longer with us and I didn’t know what happened to her. It took many years later for me to find out that she died from a motorcycle accident. A friend was riding with her and they were struck by a truck from behind. She was only seventeen years old.  Life  had only just begun for her.  She had yet to experience things like dressing like a girl, applying red lipstick, putting on sweet perfume or kissing a boy. I often wondered why bad things happened to all the nice people. Life can be so unfair.

陳白菊 (Laura Tran)