by CW Ullman
A flatbed truck belonging to one of Cin’s friends, outfitted with speakers and a microphone, had been parked at the top of the hill. Trieu suggested to My Ling that she speak to the crowd. My Ling looked upon the massive throng and did not know what to say. She turned to Tuyen and asked her to speak to the assembly. She demurred until My Ling gave her a melancholy look, revealing her inability to say anything.
Tuyen Mam was helped onto the truck and given the microphone. She scanned the congregation that had grown past one hundred thousand, but did not know where to start either. She let her hand fall to her side, unable to summon words that could match the momentous grief. Two girls from the orphanage came into her view. They were Cambodian and Vietnamese.
She began, “Tonight we are not Vietnamese…we are not Cambodian…we are not Laotian, Thai, Jarai, Bahnar, M’Nong, Rhade or Cham. Tonight…we are all sons of the mountain (Degar).” She did not know what to say next, but was saved from having to say anything because someone in the crowd started to clap, then another and another, until the entire crowd applauded and cheered for ten minutes. It would subside, almost end, and then a ripple of clapping turned into waves of applause. When they finally stopped, she was able to continue.
“Tonight we are burying the most courageous person I have ever known. Tonight we mourn the loss of a man who was not of this world…but was of this land. While his passing breaks our hearts, his memory will live with us and our children and our grandchildren. His body may have died, but Colonel Cin will never pass,” she said haltingly. She looked at the audience and again had nothing more to give.
Then from deep in the throng someone called out, “Tiger Girl, please speak.”
Like the applause that started with one person clapping, the chant for Tiger Girl took on a life of its own. It would not stop until Tuyen handed the microphone to My Ling.
While she stood looking at the crowd, wanting to give them something, Di.u ran off and came back with My Ling’s bow and violin. She handed them up to Trieu standing next to My Ling, who gave them to My Ling, who looked down at the instrument and then out to the crowd.
“I am not a speaker. Colonel Cin had a favorite song I played to calm our tiger who was killed with him,” she announced.
She put the sling holding My Ling to the other shoulder and tucked the instrument under her chin adjusting the fine tuners. Slowly she bowed the opening note of Adoration*.
This initial note enveloped the throng and in seconds, the few who had heard or had hummed it were vanquished by its melody. Moments later, one could hear women and men openly crying. Half way through, the majority had tears rolling down their cheeks. They came to honor their fallen saint, and now they were overwhelmed with the melancholy of this lullaby. The devotees of a man they had not met could now share his love for the song they were hearing. The music My Ling played made the distant and mythic figure of Colonel Cin instantly personal to the entire assembly.
She finished and held the instrument to her side, listening to the crying. There was no applause or cheering, just the echo of people’s haltering sobs. This wake, this emotional union that transcended differences, had bonded strangers into one family. It’s mother was now ready to speak to them.
“If he were alive tonight, I know he would have told you he loved you…He would have said that you were his heroes…He used to say we are either parents or children. As children, we look to adults for help no matter who they are, and as parents we help children in need no matter who they belong to…We should act as family…We owe him that.”
My Ling handed the microphone to the truck’s owner and moved between Tuyen Mam and Trieu. Tuyen looked at My Ling with newfound admiration and had a thought similar to one Cin once had, Who are you? Who was this girl who survived the worst of abuses, but was endowed with such grace and elegance? Tuyen did not know who she was, only that My Ling was the most remarkable person she had ever met, and her sister, Trieu, felt the same.
While they stood on the truck, My Ling spotted a lone figure walking through the center of the crowd toward them. She recognized the gait of Cin’s brother, Thanh. He came to the truck and hugged My Ling and Tuyen for a long time, and kissed them both on the forehead. His eyes were red-rimmed and his shoulders sagged under the weight of his grief. Tuyen Mam urged him, as Cin’s brother, to say something. He was handed the microphone, took a minute to compose himself, and then talked of his older brother.
*On YouTube listen to the first 2 minutes, 39 seconds of Adoration by John Walsh
He told a story of when they were children and Thanh had stumbled into a litter of tiger cubs whose mother had left them alone to hunt. When the tigress returned, if not for Cin swinging a large stick at the raging cat, she would have killed them both. He said though Cin was more afraid of tigers than Thanh, he was compelled to defend his little brother.
“What we laughed about when we finally got away from the tigress was that during the fight with the big cat, my brother crapped himself. When we got older and were in tough situations, we always used that day with the tigress to grade how bad the situation was. We’d ask, ‘Was it Tiger shit bad?’” The throng laughed.
He scanned the crowd for a long time before he concluded, “I’m really going to miss him.”
The next day’s sunrise found the meadow deserted as the people had gone back to their villages and homes. A residual of about thirty of Cin’s men stayed at the compound for the actual internment of the colonel. They had buried Elvis two days earlier at the edge of the meadow under the shade of his favorite tree. The girls from the orphanage created a rock mound to mark his grave, spelled out in English “ELVIS” in rocks, and began a daily ritual of placing wild flowers on the site.
The Degar had become Christian converts generations before the French colonization of Southeast Asia. Cin’s burial ceremony was partially Christian but mostly military. After they fired a seven-gun, three-volley salute, the Degar flag was lifted from his coffin, folded in the ceremonial triangle and presented to My Ling by a tearful Thanh. Years before, Colonel Cin had given Thanh instructions, that when he died, he wanted the American military custom of playing “Taps.” A bugler lad of twelve was found in the local village to blow the somber refrain. Cin’s soldiers solemnly carried his coffin deep into the cave where his body had rested before the memorial service. After they exited, My Ling asked if she could say a private farewell. She walked into the cave with her baby and stood over the coffin.
She was cried out by this time and just wanted to be alone with him for the last time. She ran her hands along part of the casket realizing what she would miss the most would be watching him hold My Ling. There had never been anything in her life that had insinuated itself so deeply and completely in her heart as the sight of Cin with their daughter. She placed My Ling’s little hand on the coffin.
“This is your father. He was a great man and respected by many. When you are old enough to understand, I will tell you all about him. His nickname for you was Tiger Cub.”
My Ling was about to turn and leave, but the baby fussed when her mother wanted to lift her hand. She left the baby’s hand on the coffin and little My Ling surprised her mother by leaning her cheek against the wood. My Ling let her daughter rest a while against the box that held her father. Little My Ling fussed again, but this time her mother insisted they leave and the girl cried as they walked out of the tomb.
“You’re going to need to stand at least one hundred yards back, because we’re going to C4 the opening of the cave to seal it,” Thanh cautioned.
When the entire funeral party had moved across the field, one of the soldiers signaled that everyone was at a safe distance. Another soldier yelled, “Fire in the hole,” then turned a knob, detonating a huge explosion, completely sealing the tomb.
Following the blast, debris fell over a large area; My Ling watched it flutter to the ground with a sense that the explosion ended her old way of looking at life. Now she was responsible for her child, Cin’s daughte
r. The enormity of the crowd affirmed Colonel Cin’s status and reinforced in My Ling that she needed to be more protective of his offspring. My Ling would no longer be naïve about people or life. When she thought about the dire straits she had survived during the last six years, each time she had a hope and belief the next situation would be better than the last. However, that had not usual been the case. She had taken too many people at their word and it had cost her dearly. With the loss of her man and the sealing of his tomb, she decided to trust her instincts; plan for the worst and stop hoping, wishing, and believing in a reality that did not exists. In My Ling’s fatalistic outlook there remained room for people with good intentions, but now she knew to listen harder for hidden agendas. She would now harbor her intentions and practice what Cin used to call, “holding your cards close to your vest.” Something she would keep close to her vest was to find Huyen and kill her.
CHAPTER VIII
My Ling met privately with Thanh and asked him for a forty-five caliber hand gun. When he inquired as to its use, she explained that she wanted it for protection now that Cin was gone. He gave her two and a box of rounds. He asked if she was still going to America. She wanted time to think about it, because of the recent loss of Cin and Elvis and its impact on the girls at the orphanage.
“Don’t wait too long,” he cautioned. “A hundred thousand people showing up on a hill is going to get back to the government. They don’t want the Degar organizing, and Cin’s funeral could be the catalyst for that to happen.”
On occasion, Cin had mentioned the altar on which people had placed him. He reminded her of what often usually happened to historical figures that are elevated to that status. When she heard the crowd calling “Tiger Girl” she felt firsthand what idol worship looked like. None of them knew her name was My Ling; none of them knew of what she was capable.
My Ling went to Tuyen Mam and asked if she would watch Little My Ling because she wanted to go down to the village and thank some of the people for their help. She left her baby with Tuyen, went back to her hut, put the .45 in her tote, and walked down the hill in search of Huyen.
My Ling knew exactly where she would be hiding: near a creek a half mile past the meadow that Dao, Di.u, and Huyen imagined was their hideout. When she came upon it, Huyen was not there, so she hid herself from view and waited.
A few hours passed before she heard the rustle of bushes yards away. She had decided to wait until Huyen came and sat down. Then she would confront her, shoot her, and dump her body in the creek. She waited for Huyen to appear out of the brush and when she did, My Ling was about to stand when Dao walked into the opening behind Huyen. My Ling sat still, stunned that Dao was with her.
“They’re coming and they’re going to arrest Tiger Girl,” Huyen said exaggerating “Tiger Girl.”
“Why are they going to arrest My Ling?” Dao asked.
“Because she killed our mothers and she’s a horrible person. They’re going to take her baby and kill her, too.” Huyen hissed.
“But, she’s only a baby. Why would they kill her?” Dao meekly asked.
“Because,” Huyen paused for effect, “she will grow up to be horrible like her mother.”
My Ling, angry and panicked, sat behind the brush and did not know what to do.
“I talked to the police and they’re going to wait two days until all the people are gone and then arrest everybody at the Lotus Blossom,” Huyen announced. “They’re probably going to kill Tuyen, too.”
My Ling did not know how much of Huyen’s story was idle threats meant to scare and impress Dao and how much of it was true.
“But Tuyen Mam is good, she never hurt anybody,” Dao protested. “I don’t want her to die, or anybody else and I don’t want to be arrested.”
“I’ll be in charge and I won’t let them arrest you and Di.u,” Huyen assured.
“How are you going to be in charge? You’re fourteen,” Dao stated. “Huyen, this is going to ruin everything. The night you ran away and told me not to tell anybody; you were going to talk to men who would help Colonel Cin, but instead they killed him and Elvis. You lied”
“What are you going to do? Because, if you tell anybody they’ll kill you and Di.u.”
“I’m…I’m. You’re crazy, Huyen, you’re crazy,” Dao yelled in frustration.
She got up to run away, but the bigger Huyen grabbed her, threw her on the ground, sat on her, and started beating her with her fists. Dao tried to deflect the punches, but Huyen kept hitting her in the face, until My Ling sprang from the bushes, grabbed Huyen by her hair and pulled her off Dao. She slammed Huyen to the ground and punched her in the back of the head.
“Are you all right,” My Ling asked Dao.
Dao nodded, stunned by the beating and My Ling’s presence.
My Ling stood over Huyen, so angry she could not say anything. She stared at Huyen with such venom, Huyen curled up and started crying. My Ling slapped her and told her to shut up.
My Ling walked back and forth trying to calm down. Huyen watched her, eyeing the gun tucked into My Ling’s belt.
My Ling stopped, looked at Huyen for a long time and rhetorically asked, “What is wrong with you? Why are you so evil?” My Ling knew there was no explanation for the hateful person that Huyen had become.
Dao said, “I’m sorry, My Ling. I am really, really sorry.”
My Ling turned to Dao, “Dao, it’s not your fault -.”
As she was talking to Dao, Huyen jumped My Ling hitting her in the face with a rock. As My Ling staggered backwards, the gun fell out of her belt, and Huyen lunged for the weapon. My Ling kicked it away, grabbed Huyen’s leg, but was seeing double from the blow to her head. She tried to stand up, but was dizzy and held onto Huyen as she fell down with her. My Ling tried to right herself, but Huyen had scrambled on top of her and started punching her.
Huyen had grown into a young teenager who had become every bit the equal in strength of My Ling. My Ling tried to roll out from under Huyen, but could not move. She tried to shield her face, but Huyen’s punches came so quickly, My Ling had no defense. Huyen had dazed her to the point that when My Ling reached for Huyen’s wrist, she grabbed only thin air.
Huyen wanted to believe My Ling was responsible for her mother’s death because she hated her. She resented everything about her, that people liked and respected her, her talent with the violin, Colonel Cin’s attention, Elvis, everything. Huyen was finally in the position she always wanted to be, My Ling’s executioner. She looked to where My Ling had kicked the gun so she could kill her, except it had already been claimed by Dao, who without a word fired a shot into the middle of Huyen’s torso.
The .45 caliber round passed through Huyen’s heart, killing her before she slumped to the ground. Dao was leaning against a tree, bleeding from her forehead. She was unprepared for the .45’s kick that hit her face when she pulled the trigger. My Ling, still dizzy, tore cloth from her shirt and put it on Dao’s forehead. She placed Dao’s hand on the cloth and woozily sat down next to her. They both were staring at Huyen when Dao started to cry. My Ling hugged her, tucking Dao’s head under her chin.
Hours passed, Dao had cried herself to sleep, and My Ling’s head finally stopped spinning. While looking at Huyen, she thought of the sailor. For the first time since she had been thrown from the U.S. military ship, she did not feel anger for the sailor. She still carried the identification metals on her at all times and whenever she touched them, it would cause a welling of anger. But the body of Huyen and the circumstances of her death caused her to reflect differently on her overboarding. She had come to kill Huyen and ended up saving Dao. She was almost killed herself, but was rescued by Dao who shot Huyen. The cascading of events put My Ling in a reflective mood that was interrupted when Dao stirred from her sleep, saw Huyen, and again began to cry.
“Dao, you saved my life. If Huyen had gotten the gun first, we’d both be dead.” My Ling continued, “Huyen was a troubled girl and was determined to hurt us. She has
put the orphanage in danger and we now must flee this place.
“Remember what it was like when we left Mr. Pok’s, ran through the jungle, hid in the caves, and finally stopped here?”
Dao nodded.
“We’re going to have to do that again, but with twenty-five girls, ten of who are younger than five. We have our work cut out for us. Can you be a fellow-girl?” My Ling asked.
Dao hugged her hard and nodded, because My Ling had not called her ‘fellow-girl’ in a long time.
“What about Huyen?” Dao asked as they stood up.
“I’ll handle it. We’ll bury her tonight and then have an orphanage meeting,” My Ling instructed.
They went back to the mission and met with Tuyen to explain what had transpired. Colonel Cin’s men dug a grave for Huyen. Later that night Tuyen Mam called everyone together and announced they were leaving Lotus Blossom for Cambodia and would find a place to establish a new orphanage.
After the meeting ended, Thanh said one of his former comrades owned a few buses and they could use one of them instead of trying to negotiate a three hundred mile journey through triple canopy jungle with, “a bunch of kindergarteners.”
My Ling and Thanh hit upon the same idea almost simultaneously: go to Pok’s old compound. It had been years since the Khmer Rouge had been driven from power and the political scene had calmed in most of Southeast Asia. Pok’s compound was isolated enough that it was probably still empty and it would be the right size for the orphanage.
The next day two buses showed up. One bus was used to transport the children and the other bus hauled food, clothing and supplies. Under the cloak of darkness the buses left for the northeast corner of Cambodia.
