The Mountains Sing(97)

The war intensified. Fighting took place on the outskirts of our city, but sometimes artillery exploded in our neighborhood. We lived in fear because anyone could be a disguised Vi?t C?ng, hiding a hand grenade inside their pants or shirt.

The American government had sent their troops to help, and I was convinced we were going to defeat Hà N?i. Once that happened, the first thing I’d do is to return to our village and find you.

I wanted the Communists to fall, but still, when the draft notice arrived, I was stunned. I looked up at Jesus and prayed to him. I wanted to safeguard the freedom we had in the South, but if I went to the battlefield, I would face death and Linh could be left alone with my children. If I went to the battlefield, I would risk fighting against my brothers and sisters.

My father-in-law came to see me. He said it’d be difficult for me to escape the draft, but he was ready to bribe. Or he would bribe to get me an office job with the government. Our Southern regime, unfortunately, was so corrupt that you could almost buy anything with money. I despised such corruption and didn’t want to support it.

That night, as I tried to make up my mind, I remembered how white the funeral bands were on our heads as we wailed in front of my father’s coffin, how wicked the laughter of those who’d killed Uncle C?ng, and how bitter the hatred I’d tasted on my lips. And I remembered my vow of revenge.

So, in 1971, I joined the Army of the Republic of Vi?t Nam, the ARVN.

Oh, my brothers and sisters, I had to be the man who stands up for his beliefs, but I knew then that I could be facing you in the battlefield. Sixteen years had passed, but your faces were imprinted in my mind. If we were to meet each other, would you shoot at me? I wouldn’t. But what if one of my comrades had his gun pointed at your forehead? Would I kill my brother in arms to save my brother in blood?

Those questions were alive in my mind during my four years in the Army. I slipped through the fingers of death many times. And though I never saw you, I often found myself by the side of the dead enemy. As I looked at their faces and inspected their belongings, I feared the worst.

I thought I’d find satisfaction seeing my enemy dead, but the sight only made me empty and sad. I realized that blood that is shed can’t make blood flow again in other people’s veins.

I had expected us to win the war, but the Americans withdrew their troops one year after my oath to fight alongside them. They swallowed their promise to help protect the South from Communist invasion. And our ARVN had been weakened by the weevil of corruption. When the Northern Army and the Southern Vi?t C?ng won battle after battle, my commander fled with a helicopter. Some of my comrades committed suicide. The rest deserted their posts or surrendered.

The day my hometown, Nha Trang, was taken over, I wept. By then, I’d abandoned my weapons and come home. We dug a shelter at the back of my house for me to hide, but after several weeks living underground as an animal, I crawled out. The radio was telling us that the new government was working toward reconciliation. They asked all former ARVN soldiers to turn ourselves in. They promised not to punish anyone. They sent people who were former ARVN soldiers to our home to talk to my wife and children. Those soldiers said that they’d been treated well; Northerners or Southerners, we were all brothers and sisters now.

Linh and my father-in-law accompanied me when I first turned myself in. We worried I’d be arrested, but the officers who spoke to me were friendly. They asked me to write a report about things I’d done during the war. Afterward, they told me to go home and report back every week for the next three months, and that this was only for administrative purposes. That night, we celebrated. I decided that as soon as my three-month time was up, I would try to find you.

But nothing is certain in life. When I reported to the authorities the next week, I was immediately ushered into a crowded truck, which took me to a reeducation camp many hours away from Nha Trang, high up in the mountains. I didn’t even have the chance to say good-bye to my loved ones.

The camp was a harsh labor prison. We had to clear away bushes and hoe rocky land to turn it into rice paddies. Without medical care and enough food, many people died. Malaria nearly killed me several times. What made me more miserable, though, was the fact that I didn’t know what had happened to Linh and my kids—or to any of you.

The two years at the camp felt like centuries. Upon release, I came home to see my wife and children struggling. Linh couldn’t find a job and had had to sell her jewelry, clothes, and our furniture to be able to keep Thi?n and Nhan at school. They were labeled Ng?y—“the Illegitimate”—and suffered extreme discrimination. For the next two years, I wasn’t entitled to my rights as a citizen. I couldn’t work. I didn’t have an ID card. I wasn’t able to vote. Every week for the next many months, I had to report to the authorities.

My father-in-law had built himself a business empire in Nha Trang but lost nearly everything after the war. While I was in prison, his houses, assets, and business were nationalized. He and his wife had to spend one year in the Lam ??ng New Economic Zone. The mountainous conditions there were harsh, and every night they had to gather and sing songs that praised the new government. One night, my father-in-law grabbed his wife and sneaked out of their hut. They escaped, went home, and dug up the gold ingots they’d buried in their garden. They bought a boat and within the next many months, secretly prepared to cross the sea to America.

It’d be a dangerous journey. “But I’d rather die than live the life of the unwanted,” my father-in-law told me. My wife and children decided to get on the boat. They begged me to come, and I wanted to, but my mind turned to the North. I’d lost you once. I couldn’t do it twice. I had to go back for you first.