The Mountains Sing(96)

“You have to leave, Minh. . . run far away. Stay here and they’ll kill you,” whispered Mr. H?i.

“How about my mother, my family? Shouldn’t I wait for them?” I asked.

“I’ll tell them that you’ve escaped, and they, too, should flee. Go now, else they’ll catch you.” Mr. H?i’s hands trembled on my face. “Good luck, Minh. They have a quota of how many people to execute. My son will take you to the national highway. I’m going to your mother.” His footsteps disappeared into the night.

At the national highway, his son’s urgent words buzzed in my ears, telling me to try hitchhiking, to run fast.

After he’d hugged me good-bye, I stumbled along the road. Shouts and drumbeats from afar sent tremors from my head to my toes. I told myself I had to survive. I was nearly eighteen. I could take care of myself. I had to, but a part of me begged to go back home, to look for you, my dear Mama, to look for you, my beloved brothers and sisters.

As I wandered on the national highway, I ran into a Catholic family who were fleeing—Mr. C??ng, his wife, and their two daughters. They’d managed to secure travel passes for the national highway and were waiting for their buffalo cart. Looking at my bleeding wounds, cut by the rope, they felt sorry for me. They shared with me their medicine, food, and water. They asked what had happened and offered to hide me inside the cart. They knew it’d be dangerous but decided that God had arranged for them to meet me, and that it was their duty to help.

Turning back to our village and seeing only fear and death, I let those kind people cover me with straw. They surrounded me with bags of belongings and fixed a wooden board above me. As I was pulled away from my birthplace, I felt my limbs were being ripped apart from my body.

After days of traveling, Mr. C??ng’s family drew back the board. I emerged into the light to find myself in H?i Phòng, a city Mr. C??ng said was around 120 kilometers east of Hà N?i. I looked back at the road we’d just traveled. It was filled with black coal dust. I saw no future for me there.

Mr. C??ng told me he planned to cross the border by sea and head south, and I decided to go along. The South meant freedom from the Communists. Once I got settled, I would send news to you and perhaps help you escape. The thought cheered me up.

Mr. C??ng was an influential trader who knew quite a few people in H?i Phòng. One of them took us into his home. When night fell, he led us to a deserted part of a river, where a fisherman and his boat were waiting. We got into the boat, flattening ourselves onto the wet floor, and the fisherman covered us with nets and rowed us away.

It was well into the next day when the fisherman removed the net. On immense water stood a gigantic ship, with tiny fishing boats bobbing around it. The ship was packed with people and was about to head south. Mr. C??ng’s family had arranged tickets for themselves.

Mr. C??ng told me to wait as he went aboard. A short while later, he appeared on the tall deck together with a man in white uniform. He convinced the man that I’d be a strong, good worker.

On the ship, I shoveled coal into burning furnaces. I worked furiously, trying to exhaust myself so I could fall asleep during breaks. There was no turning back, no land in sight, just the wind, the water, the sun.

It took more than a week for us to reach Nha Trang. I left the ship, black with coal dust, but bright with new joy in my heart. I’d found friendship in Linh, Mr. C??ng’s eldest daughter. Together we grieved for our lost homes, but at the same time we were excited about the future ahead of us—a future free of terror, we thought.

The Southern government was trying to encourage people to flee the North. They provided free accommodation and means of support to newly arrived Northerners. I stayed with a group of young men in the same neighborhood as Mr. C??ng’s family. During the day, I worked as a laborer for a construction project. In the evenings, I attended classes. I wanted to get a good job, earn money, to be able to bring you to the South, my dear Mama, Ng?c, ??t, Thu?n, H?nh, and Sáng.

I often found myself wandering around Nha Trang port, staring at the streams of people pouring out of ships and boats. I hoped you had been able to go south like me. I wrote many letters, but found no way of sending them. There was no longer a North–South postal service. No one I knew would risk their lives by going back to the North. Still, the hope for our reunion burned inside of me and gave light to my dark days.

I finished high school, with Linh by my side. I went to church with her and found peace in listening to God’s words. I found new strength in my faith. I was baptized and vowed to be a good Catholic.

But being a good Catholic isn’t easy. God asks me to forgive those who harmed me. But how could I ever forgive those who murdered my father and my uncle and tore our family apart?

I studied hard, got into university, and graduated with a law degree. I specialized in criminal law, determined to help undo injustice. On my graduation day, while my friends laughed, I cried because you were not there to celebrate with me. On the first day that I worked as a practicing lawyer, I didn’t cry, though. I smiled because I knew you would be proud of me.

My job paid well and I was able to borrow from the bank to buy a small house. My first house, can you imagine?

I wish you could have been there at my wedding. Linh looked just like an angel. Our son, Thi?n, was born one year later, followed by our daughter, Nhan. You would have loved to meet your grandchildren, Mama. They know you well because I told them stories about you every day. I didn’t ever want them to forget their roots.