by CW Ullman
The next morning, Samre translated for the Mon, saying that they would take My Ling to the next point. After two more days of walking, they entered the last descent out of the Cardamoms, finishing next to Lake Khuan Kereethan, ten miles inside Thailand.
“You are going to take a boat across the lake to Road 3299.” Samre continued, “Find scooter drivers and tell them you want to go on a bus to Bangkok; they will take you where 3299 meets Highway 317. You will catch a bus there.”
My Ling and her fellow travelers thanked the Pear and Mon tribesman for their help. The Pear tribesman thanked My Ling for the voice of God and the Mon put beads about the travelers’ necks. My Ling’s party walked the last two hundred yards down the hill toward the lake.
They arrived at a small village at the northernmost tip of Lake Khuan Kereethan. The villagers spoke Siamese, a language Trieu knew marginally well. She asked around for a boat that could take them to the western shore near Road 3299. One of the people told her to wait by the pier and a ferry would take them across.
At the pier, they set down their belongings, ate some of the fruit given them by the Mon tribesman, and waited for the boat. As they were talking, a man approached them. Trieu, Tu, and little My Ling were a few yards away and did not notice him. When My Ling, Dao, and Di.u looked up, they froze. Standing before them was the leader of the Thai pirate ship who had killed the sisters’ parents ten years earlier.
He spoke to them in Siamese. My Ling disguising her panic, coolly shook her head.
He walked away, not recognizing them, and before either Dao or Di.u could utter a word, My Ling put her arm out to quell them.
“Keep your voice down. I know, I know,” My Ling whispered.
The pirate stopped in front of Trieu and asked the same question. She looked over at My Ling who shook her head. When Trieu thanked the man, he left.
“That’s the leader of the pirate boat. He killed our father and mother,” Di.u exclaimed. “We have to arrest him.”
“No,” Dao said. “We’re here illegally. My Ling, I want to talk with you.”
Dao and My Ling went off to the side to have a lengthy discussion.
“I want you to be sure you want to do this,” My Ling said gravely.
Dao watched the man walking around the pier area and could think only of ending his life. Dao did not say anything she just nodded.
My Ling told Trieu that she was going to have to look after little My Ling, Di.u, and Tu for awhile. My Ling and Dao had their .45s stuffed in their totes. They devised a strategy and then approached the man.
“Do you understand Khmer?” My Ling asked.
In Khmer he answered, “Yes, a little.”
She continued, “Our friends want to take the boat, but my friend and I don’t like the water and would rather go with you.”
He said fine and walked to a small van, similar to the one Pok had driven, and told them to get in the back. My Ling asked if she could sit up front due to motion sickness. He agreed and they got in and took off.
The Thai pirate followed a country road that circled the lake. Every few hundred yards, there were small turnouts from the main road. My Ling asked if they could pick up some other girls who needed a ride. They turned down a road and went a half mile into the jungle.
“You girls aren’t bandits trying to rob me are you?” he asked with a nervous chuckle.
The road coursed through a dense part of the jungle. After a few moments, My Ling pointed out his window and said, “There they are.”
While the pirate looked where she was pointing, My Ling pulled out her .45.
He turned back saying, “Where?” His cheek encountered the barrel of the gun.
“Stop the van,” My Ling ordered.
“You won’t get away with stealing this van,” the Thai pirate said as he stopped the vehicle.
“Get out of the van. Go to that tree and get on your knees,” My Ling ordered.
As he knelt, My Ling opened the back of the van to let out Dao who also held a .45.
“Do you know who we are?” My Ling asked.
“Should I?” He responded. “You girls should be careful with those guns or you’re going to hurt somebody.”
“You don’t recognize or remember us do you?” My Ling demanded.
“Do you work in Bangkok? How am I supposed to remember every whore I sleep with?” he laughed nervously, “Look, if you want some money, I have some in the van, but leave me the van-.”
“You killed my mother ten years ago,” Dao screamed at him. His nervous smile vanished. “And, before that, you shot my father and took his fishing boat.”
He was momentarily at a loss for words, then stuttered, “Are you sure it was me? I mean, I look like a lot of other guys.” He was immediately covered in flop sweat as his face blanched.
“Look at me,” My Ling hissed as she stood in front of him. “You killed innocent men on a fishing boat who had rescued me from the ocean. You called me Youn and asked a question. Remember, what it was…do you remember what you asked me when I was eleven.”
His expression froze and his eyes lost focus as he remembered the time, the place, and the question. My Ling recognized his realization.
“My name is My Ling, this is Dao. Her mother’s name was Binh and the other woman was Ha,” she stated through gritted teeth.
“My father’s name was Hien. In Vietnamese it means kind and gentle. They never hurt anyone and you killed them,” Dao cried.
“Say the question,” My Ling demanded.
“I’m not sure what you want -,” he was interrupted when My Ling shot him in the thigh.
He collapsed on his side, screaming in pain. My Ling stood over him and repeated her demand. When he professed not to know, she shot him in the leg again. She waited watching him writhe in pain. She stood over him pointing the gun at his head.
“Stop crying,” My Ling ordered.
He bit his hand to keep from whimpering. She asked again, and when he said nothing, she stood on his leg and asked the question again. He screamed and then yelled.
“Are you a virgin? I asked are you a virgin.”
She stepped back off his leg and emptied the .45 into his chest, stopping only when the gun was out of ammunition. She took Dao’s gun and pumped one more round into his crotch.
Dao cried, remembering her mother and reliving the sight of her father being killed. Her father, the kindest man she had ever known, tried to give the pirate the fishing boat so he would not kill anyone onboard. The fishing boat, bought with money he had been saving since he was a young boy. The pirate laughed when her father offered him the boat. He ordered her father to jump in the ocean. Once her father was in the sea, the pirate stood at the boat’s railing and said, “I didn’t want to get any blood on my new boat,” and shot him to death in the water.
Dao spit on him, then found a log, and beat him until she was drained of her rage. She leaned up against the van, dropping the log on the ground. They both cried for a time, and then My Ling spoke.
“We need to get him into the jungle.”
They found a blanket in the van and rolled him up in it. The girls dragged him into the forest and covered him with leaves and branches. They drove the van back to the village, parked it behind trees, and casually walked back to Trieu, Tu, little My Ling and Di.u.
Dao sat next to Di.u who immediately noticed Dao’s red-rimmed eyes and asked her what was wrong.
“I’ll tell you later,” Dao whispered, as she hugged her little sister.
When the water taxi arrived, My Ling, Trieu, and the children boarded along with a small group of passengers. The boat dropped them at the westernmost finger of the lake, where they caught a bus. They had Cambodian money, the riel, which was nearly worthless outside of Cambodia. Because of the Khmer Rouge reign of terror, the nation’s currency was not worth the paper on which it was printed. Fortunately, My Ling had discovered thousands of baht, the currency of Thailand, inside the pirate’s van. A woman told My Ling wh
ich bills to use once they got on the bus.
They huddled together in the back of the vehicle as it took them on the eight-hour journey to Bangkok. While it was only one hundred and fifty miles from the lake to Bangkok, the bus stopped at virtually every intersection to pick someone up or drop someone off. When they finally arrived in the Bang Kapi District of Bangkok, they stayed in a small hotel near Assumption University that Trieu had once visited with her father in 1970
A Vietnamese family ran the hotel, and when Trieu introduced herself, they remembered her father. The owners told them to be careful when they were on the street and not to talk with police. Even though it was 1985, the authorities were still rounding up potential refugees and taking them to camps or deporting them to Cambodia. Tu and little My Ling, Dao, and Di.u had never been around so many people. Now teenagers, Dao and Di.u were intrigued, but overwhelmed by all the noise and activity of the bustling city. It was the first time any of them had slept in a building since 1975, and little My Ling had only known huts
When My Ling awoke the next morning, perched on the foot of the bed was a completely dressed little My Ling.
“Can we go out there?” She pointed out the window.
“Yes, but may I take a bath first?” My Ling asked and her daughter nodded.
While My Ling bathed, little My Ling, Tu, Dao and Di.u went down to the foyer and waited. While sitting in the lobby, they talked with one of the chambermaids. My Ling came down with her sister and announced they were going to the U.S. Embassy on Wireless Road. The hotel owner said it would be easier if he drove them. My Ling had left the weapons in the hotel room, because she knew she was going through a few checkpoints in one of the largest American Embassies in the world.
Once inside the embassy, they requested political asylum in America. While they waited for someone to talk with them about their case, My Ling was summoned to an office for a phone call. It was the owner of the hotel.
“I don’t think it is a good idea for you to come back here,” he stated excitedly.
“Why, is there something wrong?” she asked.
“There are about three hundred people outside, and more are showing up by the minute. They’re asking me if Tiger Girl is staying at my hotel. Who is Tiger Girl?” He inquired.
“I’ll explain it to you when I get back. Are most of them Negrito?” she asked, referring to a term ethnic Southeast Asians call indigenous people.
“How did you know? I don’t think it’s good for you to come back here. This crowd will draw attention from the authorities. I will bring your things to the embassy. You shouldn’t leave there,” he cautioned.
My Ling went back to her sister and informed her of the call from the hotel owner.
“How do they know Tiger Girl is here? I didn’t tell anybody,” she wondered. My Ling and Trieu slowly turned to look at little My Ling who stared back bewildered.
“What?” she asked innocently.
“Did you tell anybody you were Tiger Cub?” My Ling asked.
Little My Ling was sitting on a bench swinging her legs, trying not to engage her mother’s eyes. “It was Di.u?”
“What? Don’t blame me. You’re the blabbermouth?” Di.u exclaimed.
“Honey, you can’t tell anybody who we are. You know that,” My Ling scolded.
“Yes, mother,” she answered dejectedly, while Dao and Di.u suppressed smiles.
Another hour passed before the hotel owner arrived with their totes, bags, and the violin case. After My Ling explained to the guards that there were guns in the totes, the weapons were stored in a security locker. Meanwhile, a local television station reported that a crowd of about two thousand people had gathered outside a hotel, hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity from Vietnam named “Tiger Girl.”
An embassy employee came and told My Ling that the deputy ambassador wanted to meet with them. They were escorted into an elevator, a first for everyone but My Ling and Trieu, then led into a large paneled office on the uppermost floor.
The deputy asked My Ling if she was the girl they were talking about on television. She nodded and went on to explain the entire story. She included that her father, a colonel in the South Vietnamese Army, had been executed and her mother worked to death in one of the labor camps. She explained her relationship to Colonel Cin and introduced their child, little My Ling.
“My name is My Ling. It is my pleasure to meet you, sir,” the girl announced formally.
“Well, My Ling, do you want to go to America?” the deputy inquired.
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
“Well, let’s see what we can do,” he offered.
My Ling introduced Trieu, Tu, Dao, and Di.u and explained their situation.
“Well, from the television reporting it doesn’t look like you can leave the embassy. Let me see what housing we can provide for you here,” he finished.
A secretary walked into his office and whispered in his ear. He stood up and went to the window.
“Can you come here,” he motioned to My Ling.
She looked through the window to see a throng of a few hundred indigenous people gathered outside the embassy fence.
“They’re here for you?” he asked.
“There is quite a legend regarding Colonel Cin that has spread throughout all of Southeast Asia. My daughter and I are part of it,” she offered modestly.
The deputy ambassador opened wide the French doors and extended his hand to the balcony.
“Your people await you,” he said, stepping back.
She glanced at him for a moment, not fully understanding what to do. She looked through the doors and slowly walked out to the railing. An immense roar went up from the crowd, punctuated with calls for Tiger Girl. The office staff stood by their windows watching the crowd swell to over a thousand. The deputy picked up a phone.
“You’ve got to see this,” he said into the receiver.
His office door opened and in walked the American ambassador to Thailand. The ambassador stood back from the balcony to see My Ling wearing a non la on her head, waving to the growing crowd of cheering people. The ambassador looked at his deputy.
“Do we have anything to worry about? Do we need crowd control?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” the deputy answered.
The deputy ambassador walked out on the balcony and stood next to My Ling.
“Wave,” she suggested.
They both raised their arms and the crowd roared louder, bringing the U.S. Ambassador to the balcony to share the ovation.
In Siamese, the voices of the crowd shouted in unison. “Sua Dek
pu-ying! Sua Dek pu-ying! (Tiger Girl).”
The others walked onto the balcony and the cheering became louder as the crowd of mostly Mani looked upon the widow and child of their legendary hero, Colonel Cin. He was their Robin Hood, fighting the injustices they had endured for generations. He was from their mountains, their villages, their jungles, and their blood. He struck back at powerful enemies and lore was created about his wit and wile. He was their warrior, who fought the armies of two nations with a much smaller cadre of spirited family members. He was the master of the jungle who rode a horse against machines, married a woman named Tiger Girl and commanded monkeys to fly from trees to defeat his enemies. As the tale of his death was repeated, the legend grew. Cin had died when ambushed by hundreds of men, scores of which he killed, armed only with a gun and his faithful tiger by his side; the tiger that had nurtured his wife in the wilds of Cambodia.
This balcony reception would come to be celebrated annually as Colonel Cin Day and birth certificates of thousands of boys would bear the name “Cin” and an equal number of girls would be christened “Tiger.”
<>
The definition of the word “refoul” exists in no dictionary, but is part of the United States asylum lexicon. It means that the U.S. will consider repatriating the asylum-seeker to their country of origin. When My Ling, Trieu, Dao, and Di.u heard this term used during
the formal protocol hearings conducted as part of the sanctuary process, they immediately panicked and yelled at the embassy official.
“If you let me finish,” the exasperated embassy official stated, “I was about to read ‘if it can be safely done.’ We’re not sending you back to Vietnam. There is a special statute regarding Vietnamese called the Orderly Departure Program which applies to you. But I have to read the entire section to you so you understand your rights. We’ll be here until monsoon season if you keep stopping me.”
“We don’t want to be here that long. Sorry,” My Ling laughed, realizing all of them were afraid they would be denied asylum or worse, sent back to Vietnam. “We’re all a little...nervous.”
The embassy official, who was Vietnamese, looked over her glasses at the group, “Apparently.”
It could have taken as long as fourteen years to procure asylum in the United States, but in the case of My Ling’s group, they were given an expedited status of one month. They asked to be sent to North Carolina where there was a large resettlement of Degar and some of Cin’s cousins had relocated.
A week before they were to depart, a story surfaced about a fisherman murdered on the banks of Lake Khuan Kereethan near the Cambodian border. Dao saw the story on television and took My Ling aside.
“Have you talked to anyone else about this?” My Ling asked with some urgency. Dao shook her head.
“Does anyone know about this?” My Ling asked.
Dao hesitated, but eventually nodded.
My Ling’s heart sank because she knew who that person was, Di.u.
“Where is she?” My Ling inquired.
“She’s in the residence next to the embassy. Do you want me to get her?” Dao volunteered.
“No, I’ll go down there. Do not speak to anyone about this,” My Ling ordered.
