Family lives on side of the mountain in the open

About 1/3rd of the way up, I heard a voice above me, and there perched by a tree was a middle aged woman with one arm. She was smiling and said the same words to me that the VC restaurateur had said, "I think you have been here before." I came to understand through repetition that these are code words for, "I think you were an American Soldier in the War." Some young VietNamese men pass us by. This is a big holiday in VietNam; something to do with the moon ? and thousands of people and 2 Americans have come to the mountain this day. A few ? a dozen or so ? have attempted the climb above the pagoda. We came across a group resting from time to time, hanging off limbs and rocks. Twice someone said to me, "You are old and fat. If you can do this so can we," and they would head off with us, often coming back to help pull me up an especially difficult rock and to offer encouragement. We came upon a little ledge, and there again was the one-armed woman. I thought we had passed her way back. "You encourage the boys because you continue to climb even thought you are old and fat," she said through Heip. I had, therefore, to keep going, at least for 10 more meters, leaving her sitting on a piece of bamboo. Just 10 more, that was to be all. About half way up, we came to a cave used by the VC. We went in to find a little Chinese style altar and a grave of a Guerrilla fighter. 10 more meters.

Banana trees cover the lower slopes, but as we climbed, 10 meters and a rest, they were replaced by bamboo. Banyan Trees graciously offered their roots as ladders of sorts here and there. The climb steepened and suddenly we came upon a little encampment on the side of the cliff. A man was in a hammock on the side of the escarpment, children played in the path, and there again was my one-armed woman. How does she do it, or, in my exhaustion, are there getting to be several of them? "An American Soldier came to climb Nui Ba Den last year," she said. "He made it up in 4 hours and down in 3. If he made it to the top, so can you." Then her 14 year old son came to me and grasped my arm with tremendous strength and began to pull me bodily up the rock face. In 10 more meters of elevation we came to a hanging rope of about 50 feet. Up we went without hesitation. He left me at the top to go on.

About this elevation, maybe only 5 meters, then we would feel free to turn around. Just 5 meters more, and that was to be it, but we had to do that 5 meters. John and Heip were very patient with me, but were beginning to worry. I, too, was worried, not about how far up I could get, but how on earth I was going to get back down. I am filthy. My legs were heavy, and my shoulders hurt all the time, but I went there to climb that mountain, and climb it we did, right to the very top. There is a large black Basalt rock there, the Black Virgin. It has given legend to this mountain which comes in several flavors. The story is of a young woman being forced to wed an old mandarin. This magical mountain was the place of weddings and the color of joy and of brides' clothing was black. Having ascended the mountain for the wedding, the legends diverge into several stories, all of which are hard on the young woman. One version is that rather than wed the old guy, she jumped off the ledge, giving name to the mountain. A second version is that she prayed to be saved from the marriage and was turned into that Basalt This version has the merit of teaching that one should be careful about that for which one asks in prayer. A third story says that she ran and was eaten by a Tiger.

Having taken the obligatory been-there-done-that photos, we started back down. The view is fantastic. One can see far into Cambodia and over most of western 3rd Corps. I had to stop looking, however, for this was the part I had worried about most. Going down is more dangerous than up. Besides, one can always turn around on the way up, but one has to go all the way down. It went all right at first, and we reached the little encampment. There was the one-armed woman, sitting in the hammock with a child in her arms. "You made it to the top," she said with a smile. (I don't know how she could have known, but I have no doubt at all that she did.) "Sit and rest," she said, and we did.

There ensued a fascinating 15 minute conversation, during which we learned that since she has only one arm and is no good in the fields, she lives with her family on this escarpment and sells drinks to VietNamese who climb this mountain. Her husband goes down the mountain to work in the rice fields each day and brings soft drinks and even Bia Tiger up the mountain each evening. She has 5 cokes there, but never suggested that we buy anything. Coke would have made me ill at that moment. We also learned that she had been 12 years of age in 1973 and lived in Chu Chi. Her arm was blown off by a mine in a rice field. She asked if I had an American dollar bill she could have for a keepsake from the fat American Soldier who had climbed the mountain and had her husband count out the correct amount of Dong, which I refused to accept.

She seemed surprised at that and made a fuss. I said that I would prefer a photograph of my guardian angel as my keepsake, and she was pleased. Her son politely arose from his meal of mountain rat to see us off, and we headed on our way down the mountain. Immediately, I began to run into trouble. My steps were not sure and I became dizzy with fatigue. John began to climb with me and guide my feet as we descended. I was forced to stop often when I didn't feel safe, and there was very far to go.