by Julia Legian
In spite of the long, dreadful walk, I decided it was worth it and I kept going although I still whined every step of the way. About one kilometre out to sea, two sparse mangrove trees snaked their roots around each other; their tentacles digging into the sandy soil to gain their foothold. A patch of grass clung to the sand, holding together as best as it could, before the restless ocean washed over it and swallowed it up in the rising tide.
The two majestic mangrove trees that had seemed quite small from a distance turned out to be huge up close. They were laden with fruit just right for eating. We were excited out of our heads.
The clean, sandy white beach looked like it hadn’t been touched by humans and the warm water lapped around our legs like a luxurious bath. “I really love this place,” I said. I dug a hole, scooped up the fine white sand and buried my body in it. I closed my eyes, dreaming of all the money I would get from selling the fruit and what kind of castle I would build for Grandma with it. Nguyet cut my daydreams short by kicking me in the head. “Loan, hurry up. There is not much time left and we need to head back before the high tide. Do you want to pick trai bang or not?”
I scrambled to my feet and clambered onto Nguyet’s shoulders and, like a monkey, climbed up to the top of the tree. I shook the branches and the fruit dropped to the ground, landing with soft thuds onto the sand. Nguyet and Uc stacked them into a pile on the ground.
When we decided we had enough fruit I made my way back down to join the others in their search for pipis. We combed the sand, running our fingers through it until we had a handful of pipis each.
“Come,” said Nguyet, “the water’s starting to rise. There is so much fruit and so many pipis - how are we going to carry it all back?”
“How about in our shirts?” I suggested. The three of us walked half naked back using our shirts as carry bags. Back in the village I was devastated to find nobody would buy our fruit because it was extremely sour and unpleasant to eat. My dreams of striking it rich were squashed, but at least I had some food for my family. To me the fruit was delicious, especially when dipped in fish sauce and sugar.
Thus began a pattern of trips to ‘our beach’. Sometimes we’d linger too long and had to rush back. On a few occasions we were caught by the tide and had to leave our treasure behind and swim for our lives. At other times a fishing boat would pass and we would grab onto its sides, hitching a ride back to land. Sometimes we were caught in storms and nearly drowned. Of course Grandma didn’t know any of this, otherwise she would not have let me go out there any more.
One beautiful sunny morning on the way to the beach I accidentally stepped on a rusty, egg-shaped metal object buried in the mud. “Look what I’ve found,” I called to the others.
“What is it?” asked Nguyet.
“I don’t know. It’s really weird and it looks like it has something inside, but I don’t know how to open it,” I replied.
“Bring it over here,” Nguyet said.
I took it to her and the three of us examined the object closely. We hit it a few times with a small stick we found close by, trying to crack it open, but it wouldn’t budge.
“This is no fun, c’mon let’s go Nguyet.” I dropped it back in the mud. Nguyet and I headed toward ‘our’ beach. Uc was fascinated with the weird thing. He picked it up and wouldn’t move.
“Hey Nguyet, Uc is too busy, let’s move as fast as we can and leave Uc behind.” Nguyet gave me a cheeky smile and we both took off, moving as fast as we could in the water. We looked back and saw Uc still glued to the object. He seemed to be unaware we had left and were quite far away from him.
A few minutes later Uc shouted at the top of his lungs, “Hey guys, I think I know how to open it. Let the man show you how it’s done.”
We stopped and turned to watch him from afar. He steadied the thing on a raised area of mud and raised the stick above his head. He brought the stick down with as much force as he could muster.
A deafening boom followed and we dived for cover as the loud explosion sprayed water and mud metres into the air. When things settled, Uc lay in the muddy, shallow water, screaming in pain.
“Help me! Help me! Somebody please help me,” he sobbed.
Nguyet and I splashed back through the sea toward him. I arrived before Nguyet. I felt myself turn white and I started to shake like a leaf. I felt sick and wanted to throw up as I saw him lying in the salty water with blood pumping out of a large hole that had been blown in his leg. His limb had been almost severed below the knee. I screamed. “Oh my God! Uc, what have you done? Nguyet, come quickly, help him.”
Nguyet was scared and angry. She swore at Uc. “You stupid boy, look what you’ve done. We told you to leave the thing alone and you wouldn’t listen. We’re all going to get into trouble now!” she shouted.
“Nguyet, you stay here with him. I’m going for help.” I raced back to the village. I asked the first adult that I ran into to go and help Uc. Then I went home rather than go back. I was only nine years old at the time and all I could think of was that his parents would beat me to death once they found out about his accident.
I came home shaking with fear and told Grandma what had happened. She banned me from going to the beach ever again. I didn’t complain as I was too afraid I might stumble upon what I came to know as a hand grenade, or another unexploded remnant of war, and not make it back alive the third time.
Uc lived but he lost his leg from the knee down. I felt guilty because I was the one that had found the grenade. I avoided going to see him. In fact I never saw him or Nguyet again.
Since I couldn’t go to my favourite beach any more, to keep my restless mind entertained I came up with what I thought was a genius plan to open a food stall and sell imaginary food to rich kids. I built a small stand out of bamboo sticks that I tied together with coconut leaves. This was the only real thing about the stall. The rest was all pretend. On the first two days I offered any kid willing to join in my game my super delicious vermicelli soup for free. I also threw in a few free imaginary favourite chocolate cigarettes to keep my little customers happy. They played along, pretending to eat the food, while I was pretending to cook, serve and wash the dishes, just like I saw the adults do. Word travelled fast, and the next thing I knew there were a dozen wealthy kids who came to eat at my store.
Some paid in real money and some paid in rubber bands and I thought that was even better because I could now play choi thung (the rubber bands game) with the other kids, or tie the bands into a long rope and play nhay thung (jumping rope) with my sisters. In choi thung you grab all the rubber bands with one hand in one go, hold them up in the air and let them fall to the ground in a pile. The aim is to find overlapped pairs and separate them from the rest of the pile, two bands at the time, using only your thumb and without moving the other bands.
I was a champion at this game but of course the other kids had no idea of my talent. I pretended to play badly at first and let them win the first few games, then I would wipe them out.
My virtual food stall was booming but about a week later I was bored with winning and playing the same make-believe game every night. I also had two big bagfuls of rubber bands. The kids stopped playing choi thung with me as they were sick of losing.
I needed a new project so I decided to build my own cubby house out of bamboo and mangrove sticks. Unlike my imaginary food, this house was real, although really tiny, and we could hardly squeeze three kids in at a time. I turned my toy house into a hotel, charging the kids real money, one dong for a five minute stay.
The hotel business took off like a rocket. Kids were fighting to get in so I had to reduce the visit time to one minute, while charging the same fee. Everyone had to pay to stay in my hotel except for family members. Unfortunately Hanh, my spooky sister, kept overstaying her visit. I warned her several times not to abuse my generosity but she didn’t listen so I banned her from coming to my hotel again.
I found a few lengths of rusty barbed wire buried in the bay and used them as a fence. One
evening Hanh tried to sneak in and the sharp wire cut her stomach. The cut was so deep that blood and fat spilled out of her. She started screaming her head off and all the other kids took off, as we all knew trouble was coming.
Dad raced out of the shack and saw what my fence had done to Hanh. “What the hell did you do to your sister?” Dad demanded.
“I didn’t do anything,” I replied, my heart thundering with fear that Dad would beat the daylights out of me. Dad was furious and started tearing my pride and joy down. I took the opportunity and sped off before he had a chance to turn on me. I ran to the pier and I sat there and cried until Grandma found me and took me home.
Chapter 8
In 1979 a young soldier named Chinh came to live with our neighbours. He was one of many soldiers who swamped our village. Although I don’t remember much about the political climate in this period, I’ve learned since that the authorities must have sent these soldiers to our village for military training in preparation for war with the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia and with the Chinese.
The army barracks were too small to accommodate all the soldiers so villagers had to house the soldiers. Our small place was too packed with eight of us under one tiny roof, so we were spared from having to take a soldier in.
One afternoon as I walked home from my usual wander in the forest, I saw the young soldier coming out of the neighbour’s house. I approached him.
“Hello, Mr Soldier, how are you?” I asked.
“I’m good, sweet little girl, and how about you?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I’m Loan, I live next door.”
“I’m Chinh,” he replied. “You can call me Uncle Chinh.”
“So, Uncle Chinh, what are you doing in my village?”
His smile seemed a little forced. “I’m here for training.”
“Training for what Uncle Chinh? To kill the Americans?”
“No, sweetheart. That war is over; it has been over for long time. To tell you the truth I don’t like killing people. I’m here because I don’t have a choice. It’s all very complicated and I’m afraid you’re too young to understand,” he said.
Chinh became my good friend. He was very caring and the funniest Viet Cong I’d ever met. He always whispered rude jokes and sang stupid songs about Uncle Ho. I still remember one of his songs to this day. It goes something like this:
“Long live Uncle Ho, our national hero, who constantly hides in a hole and when he sticks his head out he got scolded, therefore he would retreat back into his holy hole. Long live Uncle Ho, Long live Uncle Ho, our national hero.”
“Oh, Uncle Chinh, that was funny. I really liked it.”
“My darling Loan, please keep this as our secret. Don’t ever tell anyone or sing it out loud or we’ll both be in big trouble. You promise?”
“Okay, Uncle Chinh, I promise I will not tell.” I laughed at his mischievous face and the silly song stuck in my head from that day on.
Uncle Chinh was my real life hero because he was patient and caring - very different from Dad. He took me places, bought me candies and treats that I would not have otherwise had. In the short period he stayed in our village he made my life a joy.
Uncle Chinh loved playing with his weapons. He cleaned and polished them daily. Every day I couldn’t wait for him to start cleaning as that meant I could play with them, too.
“What do you call this, Uncle Chinh?” I asked as he took his rifle apart and reassembled it.
“This is an assault rifle. It holds up to thirty bullets. If you get shot by one of these I guarantee you will be dead,” he said, smiling.
“May I hold it, Uncle?”
“Of course you may. There are no bullets inside - you are safe.”
I lifted up the gun. “It’s very heavy.”
“That’s because you’re a baby. It’s not too heavy for a strong tough uncle like me,” he laughed.
I took a look into his carry bag and I got the fright of my life.
“Oh my God Uncle Chinh, what’s this egg-shaped looking thing doing in your bag? It looks just like the one that blew up my friend Uc’s leg, the only difference is the colour!” I was terrified and took a few steps away from his bag.
“Really? Your friend was injured by something like this and he’s still alive? He’s a very lucky boy. This is a hand grenade.” He picked it up out of his bag. “See this pin here?”
I nodded nervously.
“If Uncle pulls this pin, I’ll have to throw it far, far away quickly and we’ll have to run for cover otherwise it will blow us into a thousand pieces.”
“I don’t like that thing, Uncle Chinh. I wish I’d met you before so my friend Uc wouldn’t have lost his leg. Can you please put it away?”
“Okay, my darling.”
I followed him everywhere, especially to the army barracks that most women were afraid to walk past. There were rumours in the village that some good looking women and teenage girls were harassed by the soldiers at the barracks but the authorities didn’t take any notice.
My parents were on their best behaviour. Their fights became less frequent and less intense because we had this very important person staying next door.
One afternoon my parents and my sisters went to the market. As always, I stayed back to hang out with Uncle Chinh. He was home alone. He was going to clean his rifle and that meant I would have the chance to play with it. He made me feel special and wanted.
I sat next to him as he cleaned the gun, chattering away as usual. This time, however, he was quiet; kind of withdrawn, and sad.
“What’s wrong, Uncle Chinh? Why are you sad?”
He looked at me and tears filled his eyes. He ran his hands down my cheeks. I had to strain my ears to hear what he was saying.
“I’m afraid I have to go away for a very long time, Loan.”
“Don’t be sad, Uncle, you can always come back to visit me.”
“It’s not possible, my darling. I’ll be gone forever but before I leave I want to tell you something, so listen carefully.”
“Okay, Uncle Chinh.”
“I want you to know that you’re an adorable girl. I could not help but fall in love with this beautiful, extraordinary forehead of yours. You are special and unlike any of the other kids I have ever seen. Do you want to know why?”
Uncle Chinh kissed me gently on my forehead.
“Why, Uncle?” I was anxious to hear why he thought my forehead was special while my Dad said it was the ugliest thing on the planet. Dad constantly made fun of my super-sized forehead, giving it all kind of names, like swollen head or calling it an airstrip. He reckoned it was so massive that he could easily land an airplane on it.
“You have a big forehead because your brain is larger than anyone I know, that’s why it makes a big lump on your forehead; your head is not big enough to hold it. That makes you the smartest, cutest and cheekiest girl in town. Don’t you ever forget that you’re special and precious, little girl, and you will go a long way in life.”
“Ha-ha you’re just being funny, Uncle Chinh.” I threw my arms around him and held him close to my heart.
Uncle Chinh squeezed me tight. I felt his warm tears drop on my shoulder. I pulled away and used my hands to wipe off the tears.
“Everything will be okay, Uncle,” I said as I sat down beside him.
Uncle Chinh put the tip of his rifle under his throat. I thought he was going to lean his chin on it for support as he usually did but then a loud deafening bang crashed around me and Uncle Chinh fell to the floor.
I screamed with fright. Red blood gushed from a large hole in what was left of his face. “Uncle, are you all right?” I crouched down beside him, my whole body trembling with fear. “Uncle, are you hurt? Please say something!”
He lay on the floor moaning but didn’t answer me.
I ran out of the neighbour’s house in distress, frantically searching for anyone to help Uncle Chinh. I saw my parents in the distance and ran, crying and screaming until I reached
them. I grabbed Dad’s hand and tried to pull him along. I struggled to get my words out. “Hurry, please hurry Daddy! It’s Uncle Chinh. We have to help him, please, Daddy.”
He tried to shake my clinging hands from his arm.
“Damn you, let go of my hand.”
I tried to control my words so that I could make Dad understand. “Uncle Chinh shot himself in the face. You have to help him, Daddy,” I stuttered.
My father dropped the bags he’d been carrying. He raced into the house with the rest of us hard on his heels. “Get the neighbours,” he ordered.
I ran out to get them; anything to get away from the horror of Uncle Chinh’s half-face.
They put Uncle Chinh’s body on a motorbike and carried him to the army barracks, not far from our house. From there he was taken to another army location and some soldiers transported him to Soc Trang, a good few hours’ drive from our village. That was the last time I saw Uncle Chinh, someone I had grown close to and truly loved.
We later found out that Uncle Chinh had tried to take his life because his girlfriend had broken up with him. Although I didn’t know it then, Uncle Chinh’s kind words about me would stay forever in my heart. The fact that although his heart was breaking, he still had time to try to help me, etched itself into my soul.
Chapter 9
My Grandma is a woman of unshakable faith, a true believer. It had been a while since Tu Do cured Hanh. Dad’s mystery illness was gone, too. Amazingly, Mum and Dad became wonderful parents. They loved and cared for us, they paid attention to our wellbeing. Dad became a great fisherman. He worked for a handful of wealthy people and earned quite a bit of money but it was never enough to feed eight hungry mouths and to support his drinking and cock fighting habits.
Grandma prayed every minute of the day. “Dear God, please save my precious grandchildren. They are growing bonier each day. Please give us some blessing.”
I prayed right along with Grandma.
“Hello, God, it’s me, Loan. I would like to ask for one pack of my favourite chocolate cigarettes. I know Grandma told me not to ask you for silly things but today is a special day. It is New Year and every kid I know gets lots of red envelopes (Li Xi) with lots of money in them, new clothes and yummy food to eat, especially pork meat. All I want is one pack of chocolate cigarettes. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. I hope you will give it to me and please don’t tell my Grandma about it. Thank you, God.”
