The Cascading, Book II: Fellow Girl

by CW Ullman

  My Ling, captured again and wanting a gun, not to kill anyone, but to end her own life. A future of servitude, beatings, sex, pain, and hopelessness was too much for her to bear. When they brought her food she fed it to the pup with which she shared the cage. Exposed to the rain and cold, she shivered without any protection from the elements. When the sun shone, the heat was relentless. She had no idea how or if this incarceration would end. For a girl of eleven ripped from a privileged existence, this was too much to endure.

  Huyen had betrayed her to Mr. Pok. How could Huyen have been so devious? She could not really believe My Ling had killed Ha and Binh, My Ling wondered? Did Huyen hate her because she could play the violin? Was it jealousy? My Ling needed an adult to explain this. Why would someone treat others meanly? It happened too often and she could not make sense of it. “We’re girls,” she thought, “We’re for each other, aren’t we?”

  She repeated Bi’ch’s words to herself, “’I can’t keep this up.’” She wondered who these people were and what was wrong with them? She begged God for her parents, “Please, I need help.”

  Her only distraction was her pen mate, the dog. It was a funny looking mutt, part black Labrador, part basset hound. Her name was Long (Dragon) and to My Ling she looked like a big dachshund. The difference was Long had enormous paws and large floppy ears that shot straight out and flapped in the breeze when she ran. The sight reminded her of a cartoon movie about a baby elephant named “Dumbo.”

  Mr. Pok’s business was selling anything and everything. He was a broker of animals, drugs, weapons, and humans. Poor parents would bring their children to the compound and Mr. Pok would agree to take care of them and “give them an education.” The “education” the children received had nothing to do with school. They learned how to muck stalls and pens, carry seed, clean Mr. Pok’s house, and have sex with anyone ready to pay for it. Some of the children being offered up were as young as six. When the parents came back to visit their children, they were told they had been “sent off to boarding schools” to further their education. In fact, they had been sold to men who enslaved them for their own purposes.

  While My Ling had to service the men who desired her, Mr. Pok would not sell her for fear she would kill somebody and he would get arrested for it. Besides, she was too valuable to sell because she was his most desired prostitute. She tried to starve herself to death, but Mr. Pok made her eat by holding a gun to Di.u’s head and threaten to kill her. She was prevented from doing anything, whether it be suicide or escape with the prevailing threat that Di.u would pay for it.

  Periodically, My Ling held the identification metals of Russell William Armstrong and cursed him for what he had caused. It was the thought of seeking revenge that fueled her darkest moments. The dog’s company and the anger provided just enough motivation to help her endure.

  After three months of confinement, Mr. Pok came into the pen with a blanket and put it in her lap. The blanket held a day old tiger cub.

  “You’re going to take care of this cub; the mother rejected it. If he dies, so does Di.u,” Mr. Pok said with a fist full of My Ling’s hair, pulling her head side-to-side to make his point. “Tigers are big money for me.”

  After he left, My Ling slowly unwrapped the blanket to discover a small tiger cub that was the size of her two hands. With her finger, she gently stroked the cub which was curled up with closed eyes. The cub suckled her finger and she realized it was looking for his mother’s nipple. She searched around for something to feed it and found a pan of milk, but could not figure how to get the milk into the cub. She spilled some of the milk on her shirt near the cub and the cub sucked on the shirt giving My Ling an idea. She dipped the tail of her shirt into the milk and fed it to the cub who sucked it dry. She repeated this process for as long as it took to satiate the cub. Soon, the cub would grow large enough to lap from the pan directly.

  After five days, the cub was taken from her by Mr. Pok; a few days later he brought it back.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it will only eat with you. You’re in charge of it ‘til it gets older,” he ordered.

  He pushed the cub at her and she waited for him to leave. My Ling had discovered a few secrets about the cub. If she drew her finger on his chest, the cat would eat whatever she put in front of it. When no one was around she killed cockroaches, lizards, and whatever small animals happened into her cage. She crushed the animals with rocks, mixed in the milk and fed the mush to the cub. She also enlisted Dao, who surreptitiously delivered food to the cage.

  Over time and unnoticed by the others, the tiger grew. Mr. Pok had been gone for months, so My Ling was left alone with her charge. At the age of three months the cub’s rambunctiousness caused My Ling to discover another thing about the animal: its nose. If she held her palm flat on the cub’s nose and grabbed an ear to get its attention, she could control it. This is when she fashioned wire into a hook and pierced the cat’s nose to get more control. But, she had one problem: Long.

  Long tormented the cub frequently. If the cub came over to play with Long, she would growl at him, snap, and then bite him. The cub ran back to My Ling, and she whispered words of encouragement. Humming the opening movement of “Adoration” directly into its ear soothed the cat. He purred loudly because My Ling’s humming tickled the hairs inside his ears

  “Don’t worry. One day you’ll be able to swat that little mutt and then she’ll be nicer to you,” My Ling said while stroking the tiger’s chest.

  Every night the cat slept in her lap and purred so loudly it was sometimes hard for My Ling to sleep. When the cat rolled around on top of her, My Ling would wake, catching a panicked breath, because one of the cat’s-ever-larger paws was resting on My Ling’s face, smothering her.

  In her first week of nurturing the cat, she heard a radio in the house playing a song she recognized because her father frequently played it at the plantation. When her father was attached to the American airborne unit, they introduced him to rock and roll. He heard a singer that he was very enthusiastic about and brought the record home to play for his family. His wife looked at him like he was crazy, especially when he imitated the moves the Americans showed him of the rocker’s performance. Her father’s favorite song was “Jailhouse Rock” by Elvis Presley. She decided to name the cub Elvis.

  As Elvis grew, he became more aware of My Ling’s moods. He would duck his head and roll it into her neck and chest until she rubbed under his chin and down his chest. When her desperate situation got the better of My Ling, Elvis seemed to believe he was at fault so he curried her touch to affirm it was not. He would sometimes roll his two hundred pound body at or on her and she would lie on top of him clawing his underbelly. While he was three times heavier than My Ling, it was her approval that he sought. He once tried to dig his canines into her and she gave him a sharp smack on his nose. Elvis pulled his head back not understanding, so she conveyed her skin sensitivity by repeatedly pinching his eyelid. He understood and from that point on only muzzled her clothing.

  She tied a rope around his torso and placed on his back a small carriage that she fashioned out of a milk pan and box. When Long finally figured out that a large cat could shred a thirty-pound dog, he stopped taunting Elvis and allowed My Ling to put him atop the tiger and ride around. When Elvis understood what My Ling wanted, he would stretch out his forelimbs, and let Long run up his legs, onto his back, and sit in the carriage.

  Both animals jealously competed with one another for My Ling’s attention and affections. Even though Elvis was obviously bigger than Long, he was still intimidated by the dog’s growl which stopped him in his tracks. When they played, Elvis kept his claws retracted so as not to hurt the dog. My Ling did not know how long this behavior could last and it worried her.

  Elvis and Long made life for My Ling bearable. The only humor for her was the animal’s follies and the only warmth was when they were near her or lick her. She was spared sex with men, because she smelled like the animals and men
stopped wanting to be with her.

  Once in the middle of the night, she awoke to find the gate to the pen open and Elvis gone. She panicked and ran outside to find him. She thought he had been sold to a private owner or taken off for slaughter to sell his bones for good luck charms. It was neither. He had bumped the rusty gate hinge while trying to corner a rodent and the door had fallen open. While My Ling was standing in the middle of the yard, Elvis trotted up with the rat in his jaws. He dropped it at her feet, thinking she would want to eat it. She picked up the eviscerated body and acted as though she was eating then threw the carcass into the cage, prompting Elvis to re-enter. Once Elvis was inside she fixed the gate and standing outside of her prison for the first time in a year, realized this was the opportunity to make her escape.

  She ran down the road, then paused trying to decide which way to go. She heard Elvis roaring loudly into the night calling for My Ling, and alongside the now three hundred pound cat was the thirty pound Long howling. She was sure they would wake the household, preventing her escape. Her shoulders slumped, not knowing which way to run and recognizing she could not abandon the sisters or leave the animals alone.

  She knew Long would eventually get over My Ling’s absence, but Elvis would not. She was all he had ever known and whenever he was sad, he would not eat. If he did not eat, he would be killed for his parts. She cursed the situation and returned to be discovered by Bi’ch. She grabbed My Ling and berated her, slapping her to the ground. While My Ling was down Bi’ch found a whip and started flogging her. Elvis and Long voiced their disapproval and Elvis finally burst out of the cage.

  When Bi’ch saw the uncaged cat, she froze in terror. He sauntered up to My Ling, licked her face and stood over her while he roared at Bi’ch who pissed herself. Elvis worked his muzzle into My Ling’s shirt and dragged her off to the cage where he placed her directly under his belly and stood tall over her with his head lowered, peering at Bi’ch. He remained in this protective stance until Bi’ch went into the house. Elvis nuzzled My Ling until she reached up and rubbed his massive chest. He walked around her in a circle and then lay down, wrapping his body around her’s, with his head cocked listening for any enemy. It would be the last time anyone would raise a hand to My Ling and My Ling recognized it probably meant Elvis’s days were numbered.

  My Ling figured Elvis was safe until Mr. Pok came back. Then Bi’ch would relay the story of My Ling outside the cage and Mr. Pok would kill the big cat. She decided that night that she, Elvis and Long would escape into the jungle. Her plan was scotched when word swept through the compound that Colonel Cin was in the area.

  The activity level in the compound picked up considerably as everyone loaded carts and wagons. They took the cats from all the cages and Bi’ch came to My Ling’s cage with a gun.

  “We’re killing this one,” Bi’ch menaced.

  My Ling stepped in front of the cat.

  “Suite yourself,” Bi’ch casually replied, but was interrupted when a shout came from the other side of the compound.

  “Bi’ch, they’re at the bottom of the road coming this way,” Huyen exclaimed. “Come. Hurry!”

  In a panic Bi’ch turned and ran for the van and was driven off with Huyen in the opposite direction of the advancing army of Colonel Cin. The compound had been completely vacated, save for My Ling, Long, and Elvis.

  My Ling pulled the animals to the back of the cage where they hid in shadows. She grabbed Long by her snout and pushed down on the back of Elvis who sat in a regal pose looking like the Sphinx. My Ling reached to his head and pushed it down.

  “We keep very quiet,” she whispered to her animal mates.

  She saw two men jumping from behind one tree to another as they entered the camp. They walked into the clearing and peered into the huts and vacant pens. They looked at My Lings pen and thought it was vacant as well. One man entered the house and came back out and whistled to the other, signaling all clear. He picked up a walkie-talkie and in Vietnamese said, “It’s clear.”

  From the woods over a hundred men slowly emerged. They were carrying M16s, Ak47s, sixty-millimeter mortar tubes and base plates, M60 machine guns, grenade launchers, and side arms. Each soldier had belts of M60 ammunition strapped from shoulder to waist. They discussed the compound and surmised that the people who lived here must have just left. The men dispersed to take up guarding the circumference of the compound. Four of them walked in the direction of My Ling’s cage. My Ling had one hand gripping Long’s snout and another resting on the back of Elvis. She knew she was in trouble, because the hair along Elvis’s spine started to rise. She whispered, “Easy,” but the hair became slightly stiffer. Elvis tucked his legs, which meant only one thing, he was going to spring.

  Before she could get out, “Easy” again, Elvis sprang out of the shadows to the front of the cage with a full-throated, ear-deafening roar, scaring some men into fetal positions. The rest of the company fell to their knees and trained their weapons on the cage about to fire when they heard a girl’s voice.

  “I’m in here,” My Ling shouted.

  As the soldiers squinted into the cage’s shadows a diminutive thirteen-year old girl stepped into the light and stood next to Elvis with her hand on his neck, attempting to smooth his hackles. Elvis, baring his teeth, got a pinch on the ear and a tug on the nose ring from My Ling and he assumed the Sphinx position. She put down Long who scampered onto her perch on top of Elvis.

  “Long, you stay put. Relax, Elvis,” My Ling ordered.

  One of the men could be heard, “Did she call the tiger Elvis?’ his friend nodded.

  The man with the radio asked My Ling, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  The man clicked his radio and spoke into it, “It’s safe. And you’re not going to believe what’s happening here. I got a girl – how old are you?” the man asked My Ling.

  “Thirteen.”

  He clicked the radio, “A girl who’s thirteen in a cage with a dog named Dragon and a tiger named Elvis.”

  The radio squawked something unintelligible and the man holding it said, “Yeah, the dog is Dragon and yes, it is a full grown tiger named Elvis.”

  The radio again squawked something unintelligible.

  “Yeah, she’s in the cage…with the tiger,” he replied.

  About twenty minutes later, a man astride a white horse walked slowly up the road, into the compound, across the yard to My Ling’s cage. He looked down at My Ling and asked, “You’re the tiger girl?”

  She was shaking so badly staring at the sight of Colonel Cin she could only nod. My Ling thought that Elvis was a pitch above purr and an octave below a growl.

  “It’s better if you back up from the cage. Elvis is a little nervous right now,” My Ling suggested.

  “I can back up to Thailand if it’ll make Elvis less nervous,” Colonel Cin offered making the company of men laugh. “How long have you been…in there…with Elvis?”

  “What is today?” My Ling asked.

  “July, 12…1976,” the Colonel replied.

  “Over a year; they gave me Elvis about nine or ten months ago,” she offered.

  “Who’s they?” Colonel Cin grew more serious.

  “Mr. Pok, his wife…others,” she meekly replied.

  “I told that weasel a year and a half ago to stop with the tigers…Did he make you…go…with men?” he asked softly.

  She stood trembling, staring at Cin, and fought to restrain the tears. It was the gentle way he asked the question that broke her tough exterior. His face was not the mean, angry face she saw a year ago on the river, but one of rugged kindness.

  “Do you want to come out of there? Nobody is going to do anything to you…or Elvis,” the Colonel offered.

  “I have never been away from him and he becomes very agitated if I leave the cage. It scares him,” My Ling said.

  “It scares him?” Cin responded while suppressing a smile and trying to grasp how a fully grown tiger could be afraid
of a seventy pound girl abandoning him. He scratched his chin, “You know the Khmer Rouge are roaming the area and if they come in here, what are you going to do?’

  Tears ran down her cheeks, because she did not know what to do. The fierce Colonel Cin she had expected turned out to be very gentle.

  “I need some water for the three of us and a shovel so I can muck out the pen,” she requested.

  He turned and ordered the water and the shovel. “Do you want some food?” He softly asked, “Why are you crying?”

  It took her awhile to compose herself, “Because, I thought you would be…so mean. The devil.”

  A soldier walked up next to Colonel Cin and joked, “That devil part – there’s a few girls in Pleiku who would agree with that,” which elicited a laugh from the men.

  “This is my brother, Thanh (“pleasing sound to the ear”). What’s your name?” the Colonel asked.

  “My Ling,” she replied.

  “Well, My Ling, I forget names, so do you mind if I call you Tiger Girl?” he kidded her.

  She cried more.

  “Don’t cry, I can call you by your name,” he rejoined.

  “No, it’s not that. I don’t think I can ever leave this cage. Elvis thinks he’s a cub and I’m his mother. He doesn’t know life without me,” she offered.

  “We’ll figure something out. Here’s the water and shovel.”

  As two men approached the cage Elvis lunged making them and Colonel Cin jump back.

  “We’ll leave the shovel and water here and you get it. Okay?” Cin said.

  She retrieved the water and shovel. When she finished watering the animals and mucking out the pen, she sat between Long and Elvis staring at Colonel Cin. She watched him talk and laugh with the men. The way the men responded to him fascinated her, because they did not seem afraid. He listened to them and asked questions. Periodically they would all speak in a language she found out later was a Degar dialect. As she watched, she absentmindedly hummed “Adoration” which got Elvis’s attention and made him roll his head at her. She scratched him hard between his ears, causing him to purr.