These vignettes, true stories, will take you back into the rice paddies, the homes and the operating rooms of Vietnam during the '60's. There you will share experiences with those who worked, played, fought and sometimes died in that mysterious and much maligned land, which the author says 'lingers in his memory like the remnant of a beautiful and disturbing dream.' This is not 'Apocalypse Now.' It is simply a series of poetic glimpses of Vietnam as seen through a doctor's eyes during the fall of 1966. There are tales of beggars and of kings -- of hovels and mansions... some humorous, others may elicit a tear. All reflect compassion and concern for one's fellow man.
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About the Author
Carl Voyles was born in Oklahoma. He attended the College of William and Mary, then Duke University and Johns Hopkins for medical training. In 1966 he interrupted his practice in St. Petersburg, Florida to serve as a volunteer physician in Vietnam with Project Hope, then later returned to active duty in the U.S. Navy, including a second tour ashore in Vietnam.
Now 'semi-retired,' he lives with wife, Joan, miniature daschund, Tia, and Tonkinese kitten, Tonk on an island off the coast of Florida, where he sees patients in an island clinic, sails his 25 foot sloop, Eight Bells, sketches, paints in watercolor and writes.
Several chapters of this non-fiction book have been selected for publication in major magazines, including the Journal of the American Medical Association, The Retired Officer and the Cortlandt Forum.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
25 Le Loi is on the right as we walk from the old medical hospital toward the 'MAC-V' mess, where we sometimes go for a change from Co Truyen's cooking. It's about a mile from the hospital. A large green metal gate guards the front, with the numerals '25' embedded in an adjoining concrete wall. Poinciana and guava trees shade the driveway.
Le Loi is home for some of the nurses and technicians on the American medical team here in Da Nang. To make life more comfortable for its occupants, there is a rooftop deck with chairs and tables, where cool breezes find their way in from the sea. It's a convenient meeting place for an assortment of Americans, French and Vietnamese... students, soldiers, occasionally monks and, of course, we doctors from Nine Pasteur. It's a pleasant rendezvous for an evening off. One can rub elbows with almost anyone or anything on the rooftop at 25 Le Loi.
Tonight three of us sit around a coffee table on the deck -- Rachel, our chief lab tech, Jim Johnson, a Special Forces captain and I. We have been sipping coffee and bloody Marys while listening nostalgically to songs on Rachel's portable record player -- Tommy Dorsey's 'Red Sails in the Sunset,' and now, 'Marie.'... Marie, the dawn is breaking... Soft music and small talk drift from among shadowy figures standing with drinks in hand... others dancing, some girls without shoes, on the cement deck. White phosphorus flares float leisurely down, lighting mountainsides to the southwest. From beyond the treetops comes the distant rumble of kettle drums, followed by jarring thumps of artillery, with counterpoints by wailing trombones.
Marie... the dawn is breaking... Marie... T. Dorsey's soft sounds drift through the jasmine scented night air.
We have been discussing many things, but conversation always returns to the war. The captain has been discussing a novel by Robin Williams about the 'Green Berets.' He claims to know some of the characters mentioned in the book. Probably he does.
I ask, What do you do, captain? Immediately I think... stupid question to ask a Green Beret.
I kill people, he replies with a smile.
Rachel, an attractive, graying woman, takes a sip of her black coffee. So do we, sometimes, she says, returning the smile, but never intentionally. Rachel is an 'old China hand,' finishing the last of her several tours before retiring to her hillside condo overlooking Pearl Harbor. I mainly listen.
We pause to watch as more F-4 Phantom jets climb up and away from the airstrip a mile to the west. Their deep-throated roars are followed by banshee whines of afterburners kicking in, changing pitch as one, two, then a third exhaust flame moves rapidly upward, banks sharply, then roars back directly overhead. Conversation stops during the passage of these dark arrows with orange tails, which head every night up and over the 'DMZ' a few miles to the north.
Now the sound of bombs hitting earth becomes louder, with after-vibrations, as though heavy doors are being slammed throughout the house. With each thud, my thoughts go to the mountainside... at this moment... Marie... my heart is aching... a child may be losing a leg. Which leg, I wonder -- right or left? Above or below the knee?
I see a young Marine with cropped blond hair, lying still beneath a poncho. Neither he nor the half dozen Vietnamese soldiers sprawled around him will have their coffee of their bowls of rice in the morning. They lie quietly on the mountainside in a light drizzling rain.
...It tolls for thee... Marie...
How does that go? I ask.
Donne or Dorsey?
John Donne, I say.
Rachel smiles. I may be a lousy cook, but I'm hell on quotations. 'No man is an island, entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part... a part of the...'
I remember now, I say. A part of the main... and any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. Oh, yes... 'therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls... it tolls for thee.'
The wispy figure of Nhut, the maid's daughter, age 11, slides by in the dark. I whistle softly. She turns and smiles, faultless white teeth glowing in the moonlight. Bloody Mary, Bac Si?
No, but another coffee, please, Nhut. Then I'm going to hit the road.
Why you go, Bac Si? Not late... beaucoups time drink... listen music, maybe dance Miss Rachel.
I'm turning in early. I have a feeling.
What feeling, Bac Si?
That we're going to be very busy.
And so it was
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5.0 out of 5 stars
Vignettes poignantly shows us why we were in Vietnam.,
By A Customer
This review is from: Vignettes of Vietnam (Paperback)
Many of us remember the 60s and 70s of bloody newscasts and emotion-filled protest to a war halfway across the world. Many of us have friends and family who were a part of the war and have remained a part of that distant war forever. Carl Voyles' book, Vignettes of Vietnam from Nine Rue Pasteur, bridges that chasm between the horrors of an empty war and the reason why we were there. Voyles gives the reader wonderful description - artistically created word pictures of the nurses, doctors, patients, and local characters of his DaNang community during the war. You are right with him as he removes a young girl's leg or delivers a baby. The horror, the kindness, the caring, the trust . . . this was the life of the people who deserved to live their lives in democracy. I learned a great deal about the Vietnamese culture and character through Dr. Voyles' experiences. This is not a political book or another Vietnam war story. This is a book about real people and experiences. Some of those are shocking - even revolting. Some of the experiences are beautiful and touching. This is the book to read for understanding and for healing. Now I can replace those old images of war with images of a real country.
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