编辑文：
offee village household registration

In the afternoon, I went back to coffee village and asked cousin Ni to show my moving permit and send it to the commune and then to the county police station. Now that I have my Hukou as a formal identity, I can walk around in public and sleep at night. Happily nibbling away a part of his front room with a bamboo mat provided me with a single bamboo bed.
I told nee I was almost killed by a red cap bomb. Perhaps accustomed to hearing things like this, he said without surprise, "lucky, lucky." Beijiang province was bombed several times before. Once, Ni took me to visit the former chairman of the commune who helped me to get a permit to move. The chairman's house is also a shabby hut with a compacted earth wall and thatched roof. When discussing the American plane explosion, he walked into the room and carefully took out a small barrel shaped warhead to show us, saying that he and other villagers had taken the bomb and dismantled it. He's going to ask someone to open it later because the dynamite is worth some money. I was shocked to learn that he hid the warhead under the bed. Didn't he worry about the accidental explosion smashing him on the spot? Watching him carry the bullet back to his bedroom, I still shiver! Despite my new "official" status, the villagers still think that I am a cross-border Chinese who privately wants to know how I got the move permit. But they're happy that I have status. Now there is a doctor in the village, which is convenient to see a doctor. Soon, the commune held An'an

原文：
Registered Residence at Coffee Village

I returned to Coffee Village in the afternoon and asked Cousin Nee to present my moving permit
to the commune and then forward it to the County Police Station. Now that I had a registered residence
and an official identity, I could move around openly and sleep peacefully at night. Nee happily
partitioned a portion of his front room with bamboo mats and provided a single bamboo bed for me.
I told Nee that I was almost killed by the bombing in Hong Gai. Perhaps used to hearing such
things, he showed no surprise and just said, "Lucky, lucky.” Bac Giang Province also had been bombed
several times before. Once Nee took me to visit the ex-chairman of the commune who had helped me
receive the moving permit.
The chairman's house was also a shabby hut with compacted earth walls and thatched roof.
Discussing the U.S. aircraft bombing, he entered the room inside and brought out with great care a
small bucket-like warhead to show us, saying that it was obtained when he and other villagers
dismantled an unexploded bomb. He planned to ask someone to open it later because the dynamite was
worth some money. I was flabbergasted to learn that he kept the warhead under his bed. Did he not
worry about an accidental detonation smashing him to pieces on the spot? Watching him carry the
warhead back to his bedroom, I still quivered!
Despite my new "official" identity, the villagers still regarded me as a border-crossed Chinese and
privately wondered how I obtained the moving permit. But they were happy that I had an identity. After
all, now there was a doctor in the village, making it more convenient to get medical attention.
Soon the commune held its annual election. I also was eligible to vote. Many days before the
election, banners with "Go to vote!" were seen everywhere, and the radio broadcast also called people
to vote. On Election Day voters stood in line to circle candidates on their ballots, place them in the
ballot box, and wait for the authority to announce the winners.
The ethnic Chinese chairman then appeared, greeting everyone and trying to appear cheerful, and
announced: "This is my last day as chairman."
The new chairman was a Vietnamese.
Radio
On our way back, cousin Da had taken me to the home of one of his relatives. The host was more
than 40 years old, of medium height with short hair and a small round face, and very clever eyes. He
had heard of me before and welcomed us warmly. He told his wife, "Go to cook the rice porridge to
treat the guests," then asked their children to pick and bring back ears of tender corn. We helped strip
off the grains for cooking.
The couple’s two children were adopted, a boy twelve and another seven. However, the younger
boy was higher in order of clan seniority than the older one, so the twelve-year-old was required to
serve the tea and rice to all including his seven-year-old “uncle”. This demonstrated that the family still
observed seriously Chinese traditional Confucianism regarding order of seniority.
At lunch we had fried peanuts and corn. I had never eaten such delicious tender corn, probably
because it was freshly picked. To my surprise we also were served white dry rice rather than "rice
porridge". I recognized this as a form of modesty that had been popular among Chinese folks in the
past, such as saying "simple dinner" for banquet, and referring one’s own child as a "puppy", and so on.
The overseas Chinese still retained this courteous and modest custom. However, after many years of
“class struggle” in China, all these niceties were thrown away beyond the highest heavens.
During lunch our host said he was going to Dongxing to buy a "station" - a transistor radio. The
Vietnamese called the radio a "station" because radio programs came from the broadcasting station. He
also said he knew someone in the County Police Station who would register it for him. In Vietnam it
was required that a radio purchase be registered with the police.
Radio was one of the advanced goods in Vietnam. Together with a bicycle and a wristwatch, the
three were regarded as a symbol of wealth and status. There was a popular tune, saying:
I don't love the first-class soldier,
I don't love the second-class soldier,
(because) he has only five dong a month,
a month only five bucks.
…... …...
Looking, looking, I found a lieutenant,
The lieutenant is old,
but he has a lot of money.
See, a “station” hung on the shoulder,
and a watch worn on the left hand.
Therefore, a "station" hung on the shoulder was very chic. A lot of people liked to sing this song
with great affection.
So our host went to Dongxing and bought a "station". a Panda transistor radio. He was so happy
that he carried it around day and night, showing it to everyone. For some reason, it never was registered
with the police, but I didn’t know why.
Coffee Village Stories
It was very hot for a couple of days following a broadcasted warning that a heat wave was passing
over. The head of the Coffee Village production team was a loud-mouthed ethnic Chinese. He declared,
spraying saliva: “Humph! They said that the U.S. aircraft found the heat wave, and chased and drove it
to Hanoi. No wonder Hanoi was so hot in these two days that people called for help.” He further
complained: "The Yankee has advanced science, even the weather is subject to his command!"
I found that although the political atmosphere of the whole country was anti-American, the mood
of admiring America was sometimes evidenced among the folks.
The former head of Coffee Village was a man known throughout the area for reading many
"Tang" or classic Chinese books. Three years previously, he suffered an epileptic seizure. After that he
resigned and began working in finance. He was gentle and was very friendly to me.
During a chat with him, I learned that the locals had a habit of eating raw pork and beef. I
immediately thought that his epilepsy might be due to brain cysticercosis caused by pig tapeworm.
After further questioning, he said that someone had expelled a sort of "long tape" in his stool during a
bowel movement. I explained it was tapeworm, and urged no further consumption of raw pork or beef,
especially "rice pork" (pork with something like grains of white rice embedding on it). I also told him
that the seeds of pumpkin produced locally could be taken to expel the tapeworm. He was very
interested and said that if he had had known it before, he might not have gotten sick.
Someone from a neighboring commune came to see me for his stomachache. He was tall and thin,
with two prominent canine teeth and flickering eyes. He claimed to be the head of the production team,
and described his ailment: "I don't know why, but almost everyone on the leadership has this disease."
It seemed that he was very proud of being "the leader".
I gave him medication and made an appointment for him to return after two days. Before leaving,
he said he would pay later. But after four visits, he thought he was healed, no longer came, and ignored
the debt. Two weeks later, he came back saying that it hurt again. So I gave him medication again and
asked him to pay, but he said he forgot to bring money with him. I told him that he had to complete a
course of six treatments. However, after five visits he again stopped coming.
Later a Coffee villager passing by his house reported that he had said: "Humph! That Chinese
guy, I didn't call police to catch him is good enough, how could he dare to ask me to pay?" I dismissed
it with a laugh. However, the villagers saw this was unfair and urged me to ignore him afterwards. I
remembered in the past I had encountered a similar situation in Dong Hoa. "The same rice feeds
hundreds of different people". Anyway, such cases were rare.
A person from a commune visited Cousin Nee. I noticed that the man had no earlobes. After he
left, when I asked Nee why, he laughed and said, "He is the former Party secretary of a commune. They
have an unwritten rule: Anyone who is caught in adultery should have his ears cut off. Would the Feng
Shui be unfavorable? Three consecutive Party secretaries have had ears cut off. This man tried to rape a
female high school student. The girl pretended to submit, but suddenly grabbed his ‘spring bag’
(scrotum) before proceeding, pinching and pulling. The man cried in pain and was totally immobilized.
People came and caught him. Instead of cutting off his ears, the student’s father showed mercy and
only cut off his ear lobes with trembling hands."
I had never heard such an intriguing tale and could not help but laugh. I thought this was an
effective means of resisting rape. I also could see that in Vietnam the traditional moral code was still so
powerful that even Party officials who violated the rules had to obediently accept punishment. In
China, that would only be a fantasy.
Thanh was the work-point recorder of the production team. He was a Vietnamese, the son of a
tailor. When the villagers asked the tailor to make clothes, he would measure, cut right away, and return
any extra cloth to the customer immediately, so he had a good reputation. Despite this craft, his family
was still poor.
Thanh’s family was friendly to the two Dengs and asked them to make some furniture. The Dengs
spoke only limited Vietnamese, and Thanh's family spoke a combination of Chinese and Vietnamese.
Soon Thanh's youngest sister fell in love with Deng Wan, and they talked about marriage. I was happy
but also worried for them: Deng Wan didn’t have a legal identity, so what would happen in the future? I
didn't know how the Thanh family felt about it. Anyway, they were married.
Six months after I left Coffee Village, the problem I feared actually happened: Deng Wan was
deported back to China. But after some time he returned. This back-and-forth was repeated over and
over again for several years, including during the era of worsening Sino-Vietnamese relations. The
difficulty for this couple could only be imagined. But finally Deng Wan was able to obtain his Vietnam
ID and the lovers formed a family.
Residence Registration Revoked
My good times didn't last long. I was a person with ID for only two months before the County
Police Station notified the commune that I must obtain a "formal" moving permit. My blood suddenly
chilled: My residence registration was broken! They did not directly arrest me and gave me a way out,
probably because I had healed some patients and had a good reputation. Anyway, the Vietnamese
authorities were more humane; this was my experience from wandering in North Vietnam for many
years.
I packed up my things and headed back to Tien Yen. Before leaving, I wanted to express my
gratitude to Cousin Nee. His wife was weak and could not do heavy work, so I gave him money to buy
a used sewing machine she could use to help support the family. I also gave a little money and a set of
used clothes to Aunt and Cousin Da. In this way, I changed from being a person with ID not needing to
be alert day and night for two months, to one who had again lost everything!
Back to Dong Hoa, I found Uncle Daan happy and asking why I had been away so long. The
villagers also were concerned and asked. I told them I was in Bac Giang but didn't mention Coffee
Village. Soon there were patients to visit me.
Seeking a New Foothold
The situation in Northern Vietnam was always up and down, depending on the war in the South.
Adong was public security agent of the town community. One day he came to Dong Hoa, warned me
that police recently had been checking strangers more often, and advised that I go to town less
frequently. He also said that if I wished, he might take me inland to visit one of his relatives. There I
might find a place to settle. There were few border-crossed Chinese inland, unlike Dong Hoa where
they were objects of unwanted attention.
Of course I was willing and very grateful for his sincerity for trying once again to help me. This
time he would take me to Nam Dinh, the third metro city in North Vietnam. Riding our bikes, we
passed through Hong Gai, Haiphong, and on the third day afternoon arrived at Adong’s relative’s home
in the suburbs of Nam Dinh. This commune was mainly Vietnamese with only a dozen Chinese
households. Adong talked with his relatives about finding a foothold for me. The host said there had
never been "Chinese" there and he was not in power in the commune, so he was unable to help.
After dinner, he chatted with us about the terrible bombing at a military uniform factory nearby
last year: "Everyone in the village had to go to shoulder the corpses to bury. What was a corpse? Only a
head or a leg or just a piece of flesh with blood. You carried it on the shoulder and were stained with
the blood on your head and face and body; it was just like a vampire and really scary!"
Then he said: "It is said that there will be bombing again. Alas! I am worrying about where to
evacuate the two kids."
"Why not come to Tien Yen?" Adong suggested.
"Oh, that is difficult too!" He sighed.
We had to return without any result. On our way back through Haiphong and Hong Gai, friends
told us that they received an evacuation notice again. They were cleaning out an abandoned air-raid
shelter in the suburbs of Hon Gai. We stayed one night and hastened back to Tien Yen.
The following day, Adong came to Dong Hoa