Quite by chance. Completely out of the blue. The moment the idea came to me in a flash and was translated into words and transmitted over the radio system. It is truly “A word spoken is hard to catch up with by four horses”. But, until now, 8 years have passed, I have no regrets, I am even satisfied with my decision…
No. 19 Le Thanh Tong, Hanoi - the "cathedral" of the country's science. The first time I set foot here was in September 1969 when I presented myself with my admission notice. And the second time I stood in the auditorium on this campus as a former student was after... 48 years.
In November 2017, the year of the Russian October Revolution, I happened to sing “Chieu Hai Cang” with four veteran artists of the national music scene, then stayed in Hanoi with my old classmates from the 18th class of the Faculty of Literature to celebrate the 40th anniversary of graduation with a pilgrimage to the Pleiku plateau. The cathedral was chosen as a ceremony to honor the teachers who were still alive and was the starting point for the trip. Solemn and polite with fresh flowers, costumes, sound system and faces that marked the time through many ups and downs of “rain and lightning” for both teachers and students. Unexpectedly, I was invited to speak on behalf of the alumni. It took me about ten seconds to stand up and move and then… grumble to the former class monitor To Ha, asking why every time the class had something to do, they always made me go up to the forum and at least announce it a few dozen minutes in advance before my feet had set foot on the steps to step onto the podium. A few seconds of silence, then, of course, as usual,… ladies and gentlemen…! An impromptu speech, first of all, ladies and gentlemen of the front row. There were no representatives from all levels as usual, only teachers from the past who are now nearly ninety. And, oh my, why are only male lecturers given the noble title of TEACHER? So the ones who taught us were… women? My aunt, the only TEACHER of the fairer sex sitting there, elegant and noble like a monument, must be the first person I call out:
Dear… TEACHER Le Hong Sam!
There seemed to be a small disturbance in the audience. But it was too late, the nature of a “former student, former soldier” like me immediately got carried away, that there was going to be a new regulation on the title for all “female literature teachers” to be called Teacher as well as the prospect of the title of Hanoi University being “returned to me”. There was another disturbance (seemingly bigger) among the rows of seats, but, at that time, I ignored it and continued to respectfully greet teachers Nguyen Kim Dinh, Dinh Xuan Dung, Le Huy Tieu, Nguyen Tuong Lich… I remember, 21 years ago, in 1996, the class also respectfully greeted teachers Le Van Tu, Thay Do Duc Hieu… and sadly thought about the fact that everyone must go through life and death….
Yes, after I had respectfully called Professor Le Hong Sam "Teacher" in capital letters, all the words after that were completely comfortable, because, after all, this was not a congress that was so rigid.
People's Teacher Le Hong Sam. Photo: Thanh Long
Teacher Le Hong Sam! The first two years, I studied the Language major class 14 in the Faculty of Literature, and did not or did not have the opportunity to study French Literature that he was in charge of. Occasionally, I saw his figure appear in the hall, beautiful and noble like a Western aristocrat, and secretly wished, how long would it be before I could study her subject?! But then it was quite a long time later, five or six years, or even never had the opportunity... On September 6, 1971, nearly 400 students of the University joined the army. Six months later, March 30, 1972, most of them (in the infantry division or other branches) crossed Ben Hai to attack and liberate Quang Tri and fought with the enemy for the longest campaign in the history of the Indochina war: 10 months, until January 28, 1973, when the Paris Agreement came into effect. Nearly half of the troops at that time never returned. At the end of 1975, North and South were unified, the surviving alumni gradually returned to school to continue their studies. Like Pham Hai Trieu, Nguyen Duc Dieu, Phung Huy Thinh… who had made some contributions to the revolution, and were given special privileges to leave Language and “jump” to Literature, I continued my third year of study, not in the Language class but in Literature K18, which was called “Literature Foundation 10”. And, fate really smiled on the wounded soldier who had lost 61% of his health and had 6 pieces of bullets still embedded in his skull and scattered all over his body: The third year French Literature specialist class was none other than teacher Le Hong Sam….
Now, nearly half a century after graduating, I work as a journalist to earn a living and even if I write a few articles, I still can't get anything done. The knowledge of French Literature that my teacher taught me back then, to be honest, is not much left, because of the burden of making a living? because of the turmoil of life?. And yet, at that time, I dared to write a thesis on a famous work in French Literature: RED and BLACK by Standal. I myself do not understand why I chose this thesis topic when I did not take a French class but naively pursued Russian as an inherent belief, that I owed this country a "debt" for a tank to march into battle. It seems that I do not have enough strength to read related documents to cite but just write according to my personal feelings about the novel. 48 years have passed, now, I myself am also getting old and forgetful, the image of Teacher Sam on the podium is gradually fading. The times my teacher corrected my thesis are not many in my memory. There is a close-up detail that always appears throughout my life: I wrote my thesis in a state of constant stomach growling. (As a boy from Le Thuy, a rice and fish village, even though I have been away from home for 10 years, I still cannot get used to the miserable meals of students during the subsidy period). She edited my thesis word by word. She reminded me: - It should be written as "TRÌNH tự", why "TÌNH tự"? The meanings of these two words are very different. (Maybe I wrote that word when my blood sugar was at its minimum level). One time, I was dressed very sloppily, in a dark brown ao ba ba shirt and baggy army pants, wandering around the dormitory when I suddenly met her and Professor Dang Thi Hanh. I respectfully greeted her and she stopped to discuss something about my thesis. The next day, when we met again, she said: "That day, Ms. Hanh told me, why do you have such a strange student?!". A criticism, but why is her tone so full of love? It worked, I stopped acting so eccentric and debauched.
Then came the day of the thesis defense. I was so… “so tired” that I had to write the summary tonight, even though the defense was tomorrow. Fortunately or unfortunately, that night I was texted by some female students of the Wire Program of the University of Music to go out for a walk. Oh, how could a 25-year-old guy like me who was “in love with girls” pass up this good fortune?!. So the next morning, when the opening fireworks were fired in the thesis defense room, I was still struggling to finish the 8-page A4 summary. On the podium, I rambled on about the things in the summary and the ideas I had just come up with. Perhaps in the history of Literature students, I was the only one who had a graduation thesis that the Professor gave more points to (Ms. Dang Thi Hanh gave 9 points) than the Professor who guided me (8 points).
Then, after graduating, I felt psychologically lost. Then, wandering like a bird, like a lonely boat looking for a place to dock, I returned to Hue to work as a journalist to earn a living with a meager salary in the middle of a newly liberated ancient capital city that was gradually sinking into post-war famine. Getting married and having children, the Hanoi University of Letters graduate, a paid journalist, had to work hard to earn money to buy milk, rice porridge for his children. It was so tragic that almost every week I had to go catch fish, frogs and frogs in the suburbs to improve the protein content of my meals. Hue people looked at the Northern cadres with disrespect and could not hide their contempt. The teacher returned to Hue University to lecture. I visited her as if to find some warmth and did not forget to share the miserable fate of the poor Northern cadre. The teacher said: In that situation, we must live more nobly and be A WORD OF CORRECTION.
Yes, sir, since then I have always heard that teaching, a lecture not included in the Hanoi Faculty of Literature curriculum.
*
It is said that, teaching Literature, in addition to imparting knowledge, activating the love of Literature and discovering the layers in the cultural treasure of the nation, humanity and the mysteries in the human soul is very important. Activation, of course, most of our teachers in the Faculty of Literature do so. As for my teacher, Mr. Le Hong Sam, he did more than that, doubling that requirement. Having been away from him for nearly half a century, the memory still lingers every time he entered the classroom, it was as if he brought with him a gentle, pink and cool air. When he lectured, around him there seemed to be a halo of light that was also pink and gentle. Perhaps it was that feeling that made me choose the very "hard to chew" work RED and BLACK for him to guide me. Writing a thesis on French Literature, my foreign language skills were only enough to read the parts of a bicycle in pidgin French: Gác dbu, gác dbu, hubơ, foróc baga and the positions on the football field: A ri e (defender), Gôn (goalkeeper), Manh (hỏ lê manh- Giỏ tay lên)… And, it was the Teacher’s noble appearance that encouraged me to live independently, always wanting to cultivate the nature of a student graduating from the Faculty of Literature. It was the Teacher who discovered my restless personality and advised me to become a journalist after graduation. Working in journalism would satisfy my desire to roam around, when I was mature enough, I would slow down and write. I sometimes remembered and sometimes forgot his advice, but by chance I followed it exactly even though I had already realized that writing was “a career of exile”.
Years ago, my teacher knew that I wrote my thesis quite carelessly so he gave me a low score. I was not sad at all but even considered it a reminder for my life. And I am still the same, still writing spontaneously but carefully in my words, carefully in every comma, the words and commas that my grandmother corrected for me in the past.
Gratitude! During my patchwork student life, from studying at village schools, commune schools, then walking to the North amidst bombs and bullets, and to avoid discrimination based on background, class, and then the battle that cut my course in half, I was taught by many teachers. Some I met as if I were passing by. Some I considered idols. As for my teacher, one winter day in 2017, before the flight to the highlands for the class reunion, in the gratitude section for my old teacher, I thanked the former class deputy To Ha for kidnapping me to the podium so that I could once speak in the silence of the cathedral, 19 Le Thanh Tong, Hanoi, five sacred words:
Dear Teacher Le Hong Sam!
