In Vietnam, as a witness, I view war at close range. The first thing I see in the crowded street is an AK-47, stuck into a wall by its bayonet. There are angry words written on its stock, but I cannot remember them. All around, Vietnamese men are frantically fighting, shooting back over a wall or barrier. I am lying on the top of a bunk bed, sorting through the belongings of someone. This person, apparently dead, had collected stamps. Paging through a small album, I see many American air mail stamps I recall from my youth. Suddenly a man nearby is shot and falls. I see the bullets kick and sting the dirt near him. Two nurses, wearing red and white striped dresses, come to his aid. They are completely vulnerable, turning their backs to the enemy. I am amazed at their bravery or foolishness. One nurse in particular attends to the man, who is mortally wounded. Recollection ends here.