by CW Ullman
My Ling sat down next to her and whispered,. “Huyen, I promise we’ll call your mother as soon as we can,” My Ling was chilled when Huyen, still rocking, slowly turned her head toward My Ling and without breaking cadence, repeated “I want my mother.” Then she turned away from My Ling and looked off in the distance.
Of the many things that had befallen My Ling, the disconnection with Huyen bothered her the most. She had worked herself into a position that felt worse with each lie. While she wanted to tell the girls the truth, she also wanted to protect them. With every affirmation that their mothers were alive, she also wanted to protect herself from the eventual anguish and betrayal the girls would feel when they discovered the truth. They would realize My Ling had perpetrated the lie the entire time. While doing what she thought was best, My Ling also knew she would destroy their trust in her.
She looked upon Di.u wrapped in Dao’s arms, Huyen rocking by herself, and then up at the men in the wheelhouse. My Ling felt alone as she peered over the boat’s railing at the passing river. She longed for her father’s help. She had wanted him to get on the helicopter with her when she flew from the military base weeks ago. She needed someone to do the things she did not know how to do. She glanced at the small boats holding more people than looked safe. Her emotions were welling up when she noticed the river traffic.
The traffic had previously consisted of a few boats going up the river and few boats going down the river. Now, their boat alone was heading upstream while a flotilla of overloaded vessels passed them going in the opposite direction. She watched a very animated exchange between Mr. Pok and the boatman. Mr. Pok came down to My Ling, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her behind the van tied to the boat’s deck.
“This is not good and if we’re going to get to my farm you have to keep the girls quiet,” Mr. Pock urged as he waved his hand at the river. “You see all those boats headed downstream, they’re all escaping; leaving Cambodia. The boatman is nervous and wants to go back. When the girls were crying for their mothers, it made him more nervous and he almost cancelled the trip. This is the safest way of getting back to my farm. If he puts us off the boat, it is not good. Do you remember what happened?” Mr. Pok asked.
My Ling nodded, remembering the people who beat up Pok and tried to steal the van, forcing her to fire the gun.
“I guarantee if this man puts us on land you’ll never see your family again,” Mr. Pok threatened. He grabbed and twisted her shirt, pulling her close to his face, “You need to keep them quiet.” He pushed her away and stalked back to the wheelhouse.
My Ling straightened her shirt and came out from behind the van. The girls stared at her while Huyen looked through narrowed eyes. My Ling had to look away and then sat alone.
The drone of the motor carried them upstream into an empty river. The boatman was talking and My Ling could hear Mr. Pok tell him the center of the river was safer than attempting to navigate through foliage on the river bank. She also heard Mr. Pok mention the potential to make more money on the return trip by bringing people out of Cambodia. The sun set, making the river dark, and it became still darker when the boatman turned off the boat’s running lights. There was eeriness to the river devoid of any boats but their own. My Ling felt the cloak of darkness, and while affording them some protection, also held the overwhelming threat of a feral, primal danger. She could not be sure, but she thought she could see shadowy shapes moving on the banks, which looked to be moving trucks or large animals. She wanted to sleep like the girls, but an inchoate fear held her awake.
She heard the boatman tell Mr. Pok he was too exhausted to go any further and needed to rest. Mr. Pok pointed to a grove of trees on the bank and the boatman steered to it. They tied off to some low hanging branches and turned off the engine. The boatman lay down on a cot in the wheelhouse while Mr. Pok reclined on the floor. It was a relief not to hear the engine, but My Ling watched the shapes moving on the bank in the darkness and could not relax. It was not her imagination.
She picked out a hat, then a torso and then a bag. It was a group of people, maybe thirty, moving in the darkness. There seemed to be a few adults, but mostly children carrying their belongings. She watched it from the edge of the boat. One of the men saw her and waved her to come ashore. Instinctively she knew what to do. She stood up and pointed at them to keep moving; warning them to not even try to come on the boat. She feared more for her own survival than rescuing these refugees. She stuck her arm straight out, pointed down stream, and whispered one of the only Khmer words she knew, “Go!”
One of the people in a clearing, visible in the cast of moonlight gave a look that tore at her. It was a small girl, carrying a little sleeping boy on her back. They exchanged a look, My Ling staring sternly and the girl looking back. But even in the pale moonlight she could see a slight smile come to the girl’s face and she produced a small hand wave at My Ling. The girl was native Cambodian, a Cham, and in her struggle to carry her little brother in the darkness, she could still manage a smile for a fellow girl. It surprised and touched My Ling, yet she held back a wave. She felt a kinship with this girl and her struggle. This was life, this was the struggle, this is what people do to survive.
The little girl turned to the task of walking in the shadows and My Ling wanted to know her, where she was from, where was she going.
Before she went back to the other side of the boat, she looked into the hedgerow on the bank and in the foliage, and saw more people, hiding. They were twenty yards away and would have been swept down stream if they swam to the boat. It still unnerved her, so she awoke Mr. Pok. He came out and looked at the bank.
“Here’s what we’ll do. You stand watch for an hour, then wake up Dao, then she’ll watch. When she has done her turn, she’ll wake me and I’ll watch,” Mr. Pok said. He again grabbed and twisted her shirt. “If I wake up and either one of you are asleep, I’ll cut your throats.”
He gave My Ling his watch and went back to sleep. She watched the people stare her way and she was afraid. She wanted them to leave and join the people walking on the ground just above them. She wondered what they were doing and what they wanted. A month ago she would have asked her father to assist them now she did not trust them.
An hour passed and she awoke Dao and told her what to do. Dao saw the people hiding and begged My Ling to stay awake with her. My Ling told her she needed to sleep, but Dao implored her to stay awake. Unable to convince her she could handle the job of lookout on her own, My Ling sat next to her as Dao fell asleep.
It came time for Mr. Pok to hold watch so My Ling awakened him. He left for the deck and as she was turning to leave, she noticed in the corner, standing on its lower bout, a violin case. The sight brought tears to her eyes. She wondered if it held a violin and if the boatman was a violinist. She hoped he would let her play if there was a violin in the case.
My Ling had been taking violin lessons since she was five. All the children in her family were musically trained. Her sister, Trieu, played the cello and Quang had been learning the piano. At the age of five, My Ling had been given a fractional violin, sized one half, making it easier for a child to handle. But when she turned nine, she was given a 4/4 violin, full size, and she was gifted in making it sing. She had won musical awards in her school and her district in competitions. She had hand strength, yet a delicate touch which few people could master, especially at her age. Her father told her the hand strength came from working at planting rice. The essential elements that made her so good on the instrument were her love of the sound it made and her desire to sound as good as the phonographs she had heard of violin sonatas and concertos.
When the sun rose, Mr. Pok awakened the boatman and suggested they head up river. After a long discussion with the boatman, Mr. Pok explained the gist of the conversation to My Ling.
“He’s hesitant to go up the river because almost all the traffic is headed south and he thinks it’s crazy to continue north. I’ve convinced him to keep going because I need to ship
things downstream and I’ll pay him for it, but you need to keep everything under control with the girls. Understand?” Mr. Pok said.
My Ling nodded and exclaimed, “I will. Did you know he has a violin on board?”
Mr. Pok looked at her as though she were delusional, “So what?”
“I can play. I’m very good,” she relayed.
“And we’ll sell tickets to your concert, but until that happens you need to keep the girls quiet,” Mr. Pok derided.
Mr. Pok turned to the girls, “Do you know how to fish?”
They nodded.
“Throw these drag lines with hooks off the back; bait is in this pot. You each need to catch ten fish,” he ordered.
Mr. Pok distributed the fishing gear to the girls who sat on the back of the boat with their drag-hooks in the water. The distraction was good for Dao and Di.u, but Huyen was disinterested in the catch. She was becoming more melancholy, more withdrawn with each passing day. For Huyen, the absence of her mother made everything meaningless.
Huyen thought of her mother as fragile and needing her help. She reflected on the days when her mother would sit at home, alone in the darkness, and rock. Many times when her father was fishing, Huyen stayed home to keep her mother company, causing her to miss several days of school. Her father became so concerned about the school absences that he decided to bring his wife onboard the fishing boat just so Huyen could attend class. Huyen’s mother disliked going to sea because she was afraid of the water.
Huyen’s father arranged the initial trips with Huyen onboard to comfort his wife. He figured once she became used to the ocean she would come alone, allowing Huyen to go back to school. However, on the first day of the first outing the boat was seized by Thai pirates and her father was slain in front of them. Eight-year-old Huyen was saddled with enormous guilt, because it was she who convinced her mother that she would be safe at sea.
She was becoming angry with My Ling who she felt she was not doing enough to get her to her mother. She seemed to be working with Mr. Pok. My Ling kept telling them not to complain, not to ask questions and to leave the men alone. But, when was Huyen going to see her mother? How would Ha even find them?
My Ling told Huyen to come with her to the back of the boat. Huyen would not budge. When My Ling lifted her arm, Huyen pulled it away.
“I don’t want to fish. I want my mother,” she said defiantly.
“There’s nothing we can do to get your mother right now,” My Ling said projecting a smile to Mr. Pok who was watching their discussion.
“You keep saying we’re going to see our mothers; when is that going to happen?” Huyen challenged.
“Soon,” My Ling said nervously, while eyeing Mr. Pok. “You need to come to the back of the boat so you can fish. Remember, what Mr. Pok said?”
“I don’t care,” Huyen said turning her back to My Ling.
My Ling was stuck and did not know what to do. Should she now tell Huyen that her mother had been killed? Intuitively, My Ling thought that was a bad idea. She did not trust Mr. Pok to look out for the girls, and she noticed that both men became more nervous the further the boat went up river. She did not want to leave Vietnam in the first place, much less go back into a country from which they had just barely escaped with their lives. If she could figure a way to tell the girls the truth about their mothers she would do it, but she did not know how they would react. If they became defiant, she feared they would be shot or drowned in the river.
She did not know how much longer she could keep lying to them and was longing for her own parents to handle this situation.
“Huyen, you have to get up or we’re all going to get in trouble. Please.” My Ling implored.
“I don’t care. I want my mother,” Huyen demanded.
Mr. Pok was watching from the wheelhouse. He burst out of the door and rushed over to My Ling and Huyen. He pulled My Ling back and slapped her repeatedly in the face. He grabbed Huyen by the hair and dragged her to the side of the boat. He wrapped her long hair around his fist and then threw her overboard, holding her under water while the boat motored upstream. My Ling ran at him and begged for him to let Huyen up.
“She can’t breathe,” My Ling yelled.
He backhanded her to the floor and then pulled Huyen up from the water, choking and coughing, and yelled at her, “You going to fish now?”
Before she could answer, he forced her back under water. She struggled to push her head up, while grabbing at his hand. He would not let her up and yelled at the water, “Do you want to fish now?”
My Ling crawled to him and grabbed his leg pleading to bring Huyen up. My Ling pressed her face against his leg, pleading, while Mr. Pok beat on her face with the back of his fist.
“Please, Mr. Pok, bring her up. I’ll make her fish. Please! It was my fault. Please, let her up.”
With My Ling clutching onto his leg, Mr. Pok dragged Huyen onboard and slapped her face repeatedly, while yelling at her to fish. He unwound her hair from his hand and pushed her at Dao and Di.u.
But he saved his most savage rage for My Ling whom he beat with both fists until he ran out of energy. The only way My Ling could deflect the blows was to ball up and let him rain down punches on her back, head, legs and arms. He stopped and stood over her for a minute and she slowly came out of the ball. She looked up at him and he punched her in the face.
“If there are anymore problems, I will throw all of you off this boat?” Mr. Pok hissed.
She held her hand up to deflect more blows and replied weakly, “There will be no more problems, I promise.”
The last punch had caught her square on the eye and My Ling could not see from it when Mr. Pok walked away. She steadied herself against the van and walked back to the two sisters who were crying. Di.u hugged her and My Ling lamely said she was all right. My Ling had to feel around for a fishing line, and because she was crying and could not see out of either eye Dao gave her and Huyen lines and helped them pull in any fish they caught.
Huyen was crying while holding her line in the water. She was traumatized into briefly forgetting her mother. She just did not want to be shoved under the water again. The four girls huddled together, cried, fished and shook with fear. My Ling shushed them because she remembered what Binh, the mother of Dao and Di.u said on the pirate ship, that if they kept crying it would only get worse.
“We have to be brave little fellow girls,” she insisted. “We must do what we are told and not ask questions.” She hesitated and added, “Because if we want to see our mothers…” She did not know what to say next.
They watched the river and periodically pulled in small carp and catfish.
“I have been up this river before with my father,” Dao said. “There are some very big fish. If we catch one, call one of us, but if it’s really big, cut it loose or it you’ll cut your hands”
My Ling patted her on the back for getting everyone’s mind off Mr. Pok and his rage. She turned around to see what the men were doing and could barely make out Mr. Pok coming their way.
“I want you girls to get under the van. We are coming into ferry traffic and I don’t know what to expect,” he ordered.
The girls pulled in the fishing lines and wrapped them around pegs. They crawled under the van, relieved not to fish anymore. Mr. Pok went back to the wheelhouse, and from under the van, My Ling hazily watched as they approached the distant ferry.
The ferry left the dock slowly and crossed in front of the boat. It appeared as though the ferry was loaded with families, but My Ling noticed the absence of any parcels, cases, or belongings. She was startled when she heard gunfire and pushed the girls’ heads down to avoid being hit. It was not automatic weapons fire but single gun shots. When she realized they were not shooting at them, she looked up and saw people falling into the water one at a time, coinciding with the gun shots. Onboard the ferry were rifleman shooting the passengers one at a time and letting their bodies fall into the Mekong. The children on the ferry were spared, bu
t could be heard shrieking as they watched their parents being killed. Because the gunmen were busy with their brutal task they did not notice My Ling’s craft slowly motor past them.
The girls were told by My Ling to say their prayers as her eye swelled shut. She had never been struck in the face before and realized she would need to assume a wary nature. The entire experience, from the chaotic helicopter flight until now, was one long lesson of volatility without reason. Before, her life had been mannered and scheduled; people’s responses to questions were generous and thoughtful, and personalities were not angry or fearful, but dutiful, fun, or responsible. My Ling was not prepared for this violent, coarse life and the realization reminded her of a strict music teacher who scolded her for not being prepared; not reading the music ahead of the notes she was playing.
The teacher instructed, “Always be prepared for anything. The orchestral performance will sometimes carry the conductor to new heights or orchestra members to distraction. Do not get comfortable. Be ahead in reading the music: think ahead.”
From now on she would think ahead, keep the girls busy, and watch Mr. Pok to assess his mood. She already knew that he reacted badly when he had too much to deal with at once. She had seen her mother deal with her father when the same situation developed with him. Her mother would quiet the children or send them out to play and keep the house calm. My Ling could keep things relatively calm and the girls distracted.
After they passed the ferry, they entered the outskirts of the capitol of Cambodia, Phnom Penh. The city’s population was over two million and was comprised of varied groups that were a reflection of the entire country. In 1975, the largest group in the city were refugees seeking relief from skirmishes between South Vietnam, North Vietnam, the national army of Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge. Phnom Penh had been shelled for a year by the Khmer Rouge. After they took the city, they forced marched the entire population into the countryside. Now, in May 1975, the city was eerily quiet. Mr. Pok was waiting for some boat to pull up and board them, but the recent chaos that befell Phnom Penh had given their vessel a small window to free passage. They had arrived just as the Khmer Rouge was intent on forcing people out of the city, but had not yet started patrols on the Mekong.
