Chapter 4 Life Hanging by a Thread “Wake up! Wake up!� I felt someone shaking me. The sun blinded me as I slowly opened my eyes. I blocked the glare with my hands and saw Mom and Dad in front of me. Dad extended his hands and pulled me up. The morning, as usual, was fresh and breezy. Again, we were one of the first families to rise this early. Mom and Dad always wanted to be first for everything. This made sense, considering the size of our extended family. We needed much more room than the others did if we were to stay together. We wanted to assemble before space was assigned, to avoid conflict. After rinsing our mouths, we helped our parents fold the mosquito tent, and then we grabbed our luggage. We ended up having more baggage than when we had first landed on the island. The extra pots, pans, and food were heavy. Mom and Dad decided to take only what was absolutely necessary, which mostly consisted of the canned food, and to discard the rest. We threw all the things we did not want into one big pile before heading in the direction of the buses. We were delighted to be the first family there. After setting our luggage down, we waited for the captain’s directions. The area was soon packed with people and became raucous. Since there were not many buses Jo Vinh urged us to leave any unnecessary belongings behind. Although we had already left a lot of stuff, we were forced to abandon even more. Mom and Dad left pots, pans and most of the canned goods. The other families did likewise; the pile of discarded junk grew into a small mountain. When it was time to board the bus, we were at the front of the line. Being first in line, we walked on without pushing or shoving. With the nineteen of us on board, our family took up half the bus. Jo Vinh asked us to wait patiently while the others finished boarding their buses. I sat calmly and looked out the window. Our campground was a mess. Clothes, pots, pans, cans, firewood, and pails were scattered everywhere. The more I stared, the more depressed I became. I had really enjoyed the two months we had spent on the island. Even though every day was routine, it was the first time we had shared such closeness and warmth. I despaired of ever finding such paradise again. I closed my eyes in nostalgic reverie. By the time I opened them, our campsite was no longer in sight. This was the time when we usually had our breakfast, so I was getting hungry. Mom handed us some cookies, and I bolted mine down while I watched the beautiful green forest outside the window. The landscape teemed with animal life. Colorful birds flitted among the trees while monkeys swung below them. There were deer, cows, and horses grazing on the grass. My sadness evaporated like mist before bright sunlight. But soon the forest and the wild animals vanished and were replaced by rocks and mountains.
Weary of the monotonous vista, I dozed. I awoke when someone tapped my shoulder. I emerged from my slumber to discover the bus had come to a complete halt. We had arrived at our destination. It was another camp, surrounded by mountains and trees, without a beach in sight. Where the ocean met the shore, there was a pier with big rusted steel ships and small rotten wooden boats. The wooden boats were even smaller and more decrepit looking than our 217. The condition of the camp was horrendous. There were tents and refugees everywhere, packed densely together. Rags and cans littered the ground. The staring faces of the refugees frightened me. They were emaciated, unkempt, and unwashed. They stared at us with wide, glassy eyes. They carried luggage in their hands, and when the babies cried, I felt even more uncomfortable. The guards were far more sinister looking than the ones at our former campsite. They aimed machine guns at the bus. All this brought back unpleasant memories of the very first day we arrived at the island and the armed police forbade us to board the pier. We were commanded to exit the bus. I bent down, gathered my load, and followed Mom and Dad. When we stepped off the bus, the guards ordered us to sit. Jammed together on the ground, we waited patiently for further instruction. The refugees that were already there began to whisper. I could hear them but could not understand them. I wasn’t sure if they were Thai, Cambodian, or North Vietnamese. Their evident worry and their nervous appearance had us concerned. They continued to whisper, point, and gawk at us. When our last bus pulled up, the passengers were instructed to sit together. It was disconcerting to observe the last people’s optimism fade when they saw the other refugees and the conditions of the camp. Since there were so many of us, the guards told the people already there to sit down and be quiet. We waited for over an hour. We felt like dogs, waiting attentively for our master’s command. Should we bark, walk, or play dead? At first, our representative, Jo Vinh talked in a polite, deferential manner with the Head of Police. It did not take long before the veins on Jo Vinh’s neck swelled. His voice became loud and angry. We knew at that point that something had gone very wrong. We must have been lied to. Why else would Jo Vinh argue with the Head of Police? Guns had to be drawn to shut him up. Everyone was shaken and sad, as stifled muttering and weeping spread through the crowd. There was nothing we could do but wait for a translation. After the Head of Police departed, Jo Vinh addressed us. “The refugees who are staring at us,” he said matter-of-factly, “They’ll be shipped out in an hour, and after their departure we’re to take over their tents.” And in a trembling voice, he added, “We, too, will be leaving the island in a couple of days.” There were no details to follow. People protested angrily while the old folks cried and the piercing squalls of restless children followed. It was like the night we were on the My-tho dock, saying farewell to our loved ones. But this time, it was worse. We were not prepared for such a
trip. We were lacking dry food, water, and medicine. And it was made obvious the police would not provide for us, nor did they care if we survived the sea or reached dry land, whatever that land might be. The only concern they had was that we get off their land. Fearing we would perish, people began to curse. Some prayed and begged God for mercy. Jo Vinh stared silently ahead. He had lost his power. We were forced to leave the island after all. He was useless and no one paid attention to him. Finally, the other refugees departed. Their group was smaller than ours, and in much worse shape. Some were so skinny they looked like walking skeletons. In tears, a few refused to leave. Guards went over and beat them on their backs, young and old alike. Suffering this brutality, they wept as they shambled toward the pier. The guards shouted, pushed, and prodded mercilessly to make them walk faster. Our eyes followed the refugees as they were forced aboard a dilapidated wooden boat less than half the size of the 217. It did not look up to the task of riding the high seas. Those who refused to board were shoved along and hit with machine-gun butts and muskets. Realizing that they would be shot to death right on the spot if they did not depart, they summoned their courage and stepped onto the boat. The vessel was packed far beyond capacity. The police grabbed the passengers’ luggage and tossed it into the sea to make room. The people were squeezed together on the deck. To assure their departure, the little scow was hitched to a huge rusty ship, which towed them out to sea. As the big freighter accelerated, the tiny boat rocked precariously and the ocean water washed over the deck, drenching the passengers. My heart beat wildly. I grabbed onto Fong and Kuang’s hands and watched in horror. The freighter did not stop. It steamed ahead with even greater speed. The noise diminished and the boats slowly disappeared into the distance. We were shocked and speechless. Our stupefied silence was broken when Jo Vinh shouted into the loudspeaker, instructing us to go and find a home. Though dazed at first, soon we were scrambling for a tent. Once in the tent, we inherited everything that was left behind: a portable fuel oven, lanterns, pots, bowls, pans, comforters, noodles and cans of food. The race to claim the best lodgings reflected the values we were learning at a young age. We pushed and screamed as we fought off the other campers. We had learned to be viciously competitive. Our experience had taught us that only a fiercely aggressive attitude could assure survival. Managing to find two big tents side by side, we put our food and luggage down to claim our territory. After we unloaded, we gathered pail after pail of water, while Mom and Aunty Tam stayed behind to guard our belongings and take care of the youngsters. It was nice to have fresh water coming from a pipe. Not only did it taste pure, it was easy to reach. We were among the first to arrive, so there was no wait. Since there were so many people in our family, we only had to line up once. We then went into our tent and organized our bags and food. We stacked up everything and then went to bathe. Mom reminded us, “Remember to use as
little water as possible.” She did not need to do so, as we all had learned we must save for tomorrow. Kuang and I were shirtless with only our boxers on, though our sisters were fully clothed. We wet our bodies by pouring a few tin cups of water over our heads and scrubbed. Shortly afterwards, all the adults joined us. Mom, Aunty Tam, Grandma Ho and Uncle Chu’s fiancée, Ah Kieng only washed their faces, feet, hands, and underarms. The males in the family were shirtless. They drenched their tiny face cloths once and cleaned their entire bodies. As we changed in our tent, the women began cleaning the pots and pans to prepare dinner. My stomach was rumbling, but I did not complain. We were all hungry. I was not the only one who had nothing but cookies for breakfast and lunch. The aroma of the noodles made my stomach roar. Mom looked up and smiled — she must have heard. Before long, the entire family had gathered around the stove. We sat on the ground while Mom, Aunty Tam, and Grandma Ho passed us the food. The noodles were fresh and tasted incredible with the few spices we had to give them. We slurped hungrily, making a lot of noise. In no time, we went for seconds and thirds. After eating rice for months, it was wonderful to have something different. As I stuffed myself yet again, I realized that I was developing a phobia. I was becoming fearful that we would not have something to eat the next day. Since landing on the island, I had been gorging myself at every opportunity, almost to the point of wanting to vomit. And once at the previous camp, Uncle Dony had eaten a pack of cookies that I had been saving for days. I screamed at him furiously for eating what was mine. For being disrespectful, I received a beating from Mom. “How dare you disrespect your uncle and talk to him in this matter?,” Mom asked as she pointed two fingers at my face. In tears, I shouted, “He ate my cookies, they’re mine!” This made Mom even angrier and she smacked me harder. “Who taught you to speak to an adult like this? You better shut that mouth of yours right now!” Mom just did not understand what those cookies meant to my hungry stomach. Then again, maybe she did understand, since she gave me the twins’ cookies afterwards and with a maternal air she asked, “Are you still hurt from my beating?” She smiled, a warm smile. “You know, a good child doesn’t disrespect adults… and a good child shouldn’t be selfish with his family.” Since that day, I was overcome with guilt. I wanted to apologize to Uncle Dony, but never did. However, I did learn not to be selfish and to share with others what I received. After dinner, Phuong, Cong, Fong, Kuang, and I asked Mom and Dad for permission to walk around the pier. They told us, “Don’t wander off far. The police won’t like that.” It was a cool evening with a pleasant ocean breeze. This place smelled a lot fishier than the other campsite. It was a starry night and the moon was bright. We were the only ones at the edge of the pier. The tide was high, and heavy waves smashed loudly against the wall. As we stood and
listened to the music the waves made, I kept thinking about the refugees who had left that morning. With the choppy seas, they could not possibly make it all the way to America. We saw two small boats tied up to two gigantic rusted ships. Knowing that we were going to be on those boats in a couple of days, we stared in silence. The condition of the vessels was deplorable. I wondered how we were supposed to survive the next leg of our journey. We usually talked a lot around bedtime, but that night we did not open our mouths much at all. “The moon’s so beautiful,” Fong commented, as though she just wanted to say something to break the silence. “Yeah, and the stars, they’re so bright,” Kuang said dully. We slept on the ground, and counted the stars. The gentle breeze relaxed us somewhat. Dad was right when he said that dwelling on the negative would only lead to further fear. There’s a Chinese saying that goes, “Today have wine and we get drunk; tomorrow without wood, it shall be tomorrow’s worry.” We were to live for today. And Dad lived his life according to this idea, while Mom was the opposite. It was nice to have a balance. Dad taught us to have a carefree attitude. He let us act like children, while Mom gave us discipline, warmth, love, and patience, nurturing us for the future. We got very tired and decided to go home to get some sleep. When we got there, we said goodnight to our cousins. They went into their tent while we went into ours. When we stepped into the tent, I was amazed at how nicely organized things were. Mom had done a great job straightening up the room. There was a lot of space, even more than in our home at the first campsite. We did not have a mosquito tent this time; we had a real tent made out of plastic. We were so tired we each found an empty space and lay down. The ground was covered with little rocks that pierced through the plastic. “Bang, bang!” We jumped up from the ground. The three youngsters, Anh, Kim and Ngan cried loudly. Mom and Dad snatched them up and we all rushed out of the tent. “There, there… princesses… hush baby hush. Mommy and Daddy are here. There’s no need to have fear,” Mom comforted the youngsters as she rocked them. “Babies don’t look pretty when they cry, you know… so no more crying, okay,” Mom kissed them and held on to them tighter. Anh pleaded tearfully for Mom to carry her instead of Dad and Mom had to give one of the twins to Dad. She carried Anh to stop her from crying. Outside, in front of their tents, most families stood with crying, restless small children in their arms. They, too, were trying to calm their children. The guards were shooting at wild monkeys, cackling and drinking all the while. Not only were they loud and obnoxious, they were also bad shots. The monkeys scrambled everywhere. Left, right, up and down they ran. While the monkeys were not actually harmed, I’m sure they were terrified. The desperate looks and the horrified sounds they made told us they were in pain. These coldhearted guards shook with laughter as they shot again and again. Sometimes they were not even aiming at the monkeys; they pointed at the sky and shot.
Sickened by what we saw, we went back into our tent. Fortunately, the gunshots and the noise died down and Mom was able to quiet the youngsters. It was not easy to fall asleep after this disturbance. That whole night we tossed and turned. As soon as I closed my eyes, there would be a gunshot, then laughter. I was so afraid that I slid one of my feet over to Kuang’s side. When my foot touched his, I felt safe and protected. My heartbeat slowly decelerated to normal, and finally I was able to close my eyes. I don’t know if Kuang knew I deliberately moved my foot over to touch his, but I’m sure the touch gave him more peace also. To admit this, however, would not be in keeping with the brave sons that Mom and Dad were raising us to be. Kuang never showed any sign of weakness to others. I could cry whenever I needed attention, yet for him it was impossible. Shedding tears was only for weaklings. Although our sleep had been interrupted, we managed to wake up early the next morning. Without being told to do so, Fong, Kuang and I grabbed our buckets, joined the adults, and went to line up for water. We were a little disappointed when we got there because there was already a long line. People cursed the guards, wishing that God would punish them for the cruelty they had displayed the night before. They prayed for the guards to return as monkeys in their next life, so the tables would be turned. The humidity and lack of sleep was taking its toll. Some people in the long line were getting irritated and began shoving, yelling and swearing. The guards lifted up their guns, pointing at the troublemakers. In the mornings, we usually had crab rice porridge. Since there was not a beach in sight, Mom and Aunty Tam prepared beef and vegetable rice porridge from canned goods. It did not seem to matter what they made, they always managed to prepare the best possible meal despite our situation. We all helped with the cleanup after our meals. After we were done, we were soaked with sweat. It was very humid, and the rising sun intensified the heat. We went into the tent to rest but it was too stuffy, so we sat outside and covered our heads with clothes or cardboard to prevent sunburn. Sweat dripped down our foreheads until soon a puddle had formed beside us. Thankfully, the weather improved in the late afternoon, when there was a slight ocean breeze. I closed my eyes to feel the wind blowing against my skin. Feeling more relaxed and comfortable, we sat while the adults planned what we should bring aboard the little boat. It was then that we saw the monkeys, walking one by one out of the forest. At first, there were only a few. Soon it became a veritable army of monkeys. We stood and gawked at them. They stood at the edge of the forest, jumping up and down and making an unbearable din. They were back for revenge, leapfrogging over one another in a frenzy. The guards had their guns trained on the monkeys, ready to fire. Several monkeys became particularly aggressive and ran toward the camp. The guards opened fire. The monkeys were so terrified that they started running back into the forest. There were so many of them that they bumped into each other in
their rush to escape. It was hilarious, we laughed out loud as we saw the monkeys collide with one another. The comic interlude relieved the tension, and one by one, the monkeys disappeared into the jungle. When the show was over, Jo Vinh stopped by our tent. He told Dad that we would be departing the next day. Since the wooden boat was so small, the crew and passengers would be divided into two smaller groups, with about a hundred people in each. My family would be traveling in the second boat, where he and the captain’s younger brother would be in command. Since the captain could speak some English, he would be in charge of the first boat. Mom was dubious about the captain’s younger brother’s ability to command the vessel. She worried that he would not be able to perform as well as the captain. Dad attempted to reassure her. “The younger captain has already performed admirably,” Dad said, “The only reason he was not given more credit for our landing was because the captain owned a larger share of the boat.” Hearing that, we felt much better. There was no choice anyway. We put our trust in Dad's optimism. We packed only our clothes, tents, blankets, and dried crackers. We left everything else there, including our new fuel oven and the canned food. The boat would never have carried the extra weight. Mom and Aunty Tam cooked another large meal, using almost all of the canned food, noodles, and rice. I suppose they feared that this might be our last meal, so they cooked everything. With such a profusion of dishes, we went right to it with hungry abandon, dining on the floor. We laughed and chatted as if we had not a worry in the world. What was the point of worrying? Regardless of how we felt, we would still have to leave. Because the adults hid their fear well, we kids learned to be brave. We stuffed ourselves until we could not take another bite. We did not bother to wash the dishes. We took our last bath and used all the water we wanted. We splashed water at each other, running and laughing joyfully. I was frustrated, scared, restless, and unable to sleep that night. I had no one to talk to. Mom and Dad were too busy with the youngsters, and my older siblings would make fun of me if I appeared to be weak. I tossed and turned. Every tiny noise made my heart skip faster. Finally, Kuang was asleep, or at least he seemed to be asleep… so I slid my foot over to touch his to ease my pounding heart. Early the next morning, I opened my eyes to find that Mom and Dad were doing their last bit of packing. It was very noisy outside. I rushed out to rinse my mouth and wash my face. The first group was already boarding the boat with the captain. Admirably, there were no tears or cries. The group boarded as they were told. It was clear they had given up hope. Their heads were down and their eyes were dull and spiritless. There was no struggling or arguing with the guards, which surprised me. But then again, the guards had guns, while we had nothing. If we resisted, we would be killed. When everyone had boarded the boat, a big ship towed them out to sea. Just as with the previous departure, the boat rocked and the waves washed over it. People had their mouths wide open in despair, but we could not
hear a sound, they were already too far away. I did see people on their knees, probably in prayer. Men and women, holding their children tightly, moved from side to side in the hope of balancing the unstable craft. The boat tilted to the left, the passengers quickly moved to the right. The boat tilted to the right, the passengers quickly moved to the left. They hit the deck. Mom and Dad knew we were frightened from watching the horrible sight, so they told us, “Go on… go inside and help us finish packing.” As I was folding my army blanket, I could not help but think about the people whom we had lived with for months at the camp. Will they survive? Will they find land? Jo Vinh lifted up the entrance flap of our tent to tell us it was our turn. Like prisoners of war, we lined up and followed our new captain, with armed men escorting us. We walked in eerie silence. The guards forced us to board the boat. The condition of the vessel was even worse than we had expected. There was limited space and the timbers looked old and fragile… and they were damp emitting the odor of rotting wood. The boat rocked precariously even before the ship began pulling us. We walked with extreme caution, afraid that with a single heavy step we would break through the floorboards of the deck. Once on board, the arguments began. There was no room to sit; we assembled around the deck. In the middle was the little pilothouse. Unlike the 217, there was no cabin for shelter. The jostling for space and the shouting caused some kids on the boat to cry. The new captain stepped out of his office and told us in a stern voice to silence the squabbles. The nineteen of us squeezed together, holding hands. As the ship that was towing us accelerated, our boat rocked. When an enormous volume of water flooded over us, the screams became deafening. The boat tipped to the left and we scrambled to the right. The boat tipped to the right and we scrambled to the left. We didn’t give up. We continued to beg for mercy even though we knew the police would choose not to hear us, those heartless people on the freighter would not stop. People asked God for mercy. With tears pouring down her face, Mom, too, promised God, “If you get the family to America safely, I’ll be a vegetarian for at least a year. I won’t put my foot on a single living organism.” But God too had deaf ears. The boat was bobbing down so low that we could touch the surface of the ocean. We were drenched from head to toe. I thought that was it, we were going to die. The boat would surely flip over. The captain staggered out of his office with an ax in his hand. He stepped on people and ran directly to the prow of the boat where the rope was tied to the ship. He chopped and chopped until the big brown rope snapped. The rope, recoiled, hit his head, and knocked him out. He fell on the deck. The boat came to a halt. We saw him whisper something to one of the crew members. That man ran into the office and brought back some iodine. There were some cuts on the captain’s head. The captain grabbed the iodine from his mate and poured the whole bottle onto his forehead. The red iodine made it look like he was covered in blood.
The tow ship cruised back to see what happened. They spoke with Jo Vinh. Crewmen from the freighter climbed down to our boat and retied the rope. I thought they were going to take us back out again. Thankfully, they gently pulled us back to the pier. Within minutes, an ambulance had come, and the captain was carried away. Jo Vinh told us not to panic and instructed us to sit down. We sat, again like good dogs that we were, and waited for the instructions, but there were none. The guards kept their guns trained on us. After an hour or so had passed, Jo Vinh said, “You’re allowed to return to your tents now.” At those words, we rushed back to our tents, dropped our baggage, and searched other empty tents for food. We would need more rations if we were to stay on this island until the captain recovered. We pushed and yelled at the other campers, fighting for everything. Mom and Aunty Tam began to cook. And some time after we had eaten, the same buses we rode before arrived at the camp. We did not know why they had come, but we hoped it would mean good news. Jo Vinh gave us the news. “The buses are here to take you to another camp. The camp will have foreign representatives who can find us sponsors.” We were skeptical. These were the same lines he recited a couple of days ago that had brought us all here. And now half of the people of the 217 had been fed to the hungry sea. But there was nothing to lose at this point. We packed again. Mom told us, “We’re keeping everything this time.” Mom wanted to take the tent too, but we did not have the time to take it down. We grabbed our luggage and ran out to board the bus. The events of the day had drained all my energy. I rested my head on Kuang’s shoulder and closed my eyes. I felt the bus move but was too tired to open my eyes and say my last goodbye.
About the Author The third of seven children, at seven years old, Langelo and his extended family fled communist Vietnam. He arrived in Boston, Massachusetts in the summer of 1980 after surviving a year living in Malaysia’s refugee camps. Langelo achieved his American dream in 1996 — a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering from Northeastern University. He soon discovered that pursuing his artistic dreams brought a deeper meaning and happiness to his life. He began to paint, to write, to dance, after losing his brother in a motorcycle accident. He performs and dances in theaters, exhibits his oil paintings, and is seeking the right representation for his three books, Learning to Breathe: A Memoir, A Blind Step Forward: A Memoir, and a murder mystery Hell: A Place on Earth. He is working on two new books. On January 9, 2007, Langelo opened an art gallery café named Flamepoeira, inspired by his training in flamenco and the Brazilian martial art capoeira. Aside from exhibiting his own work at Flamepoeira, he offers a haven where people can build relationships and exhibit their work. "The sun will shine only if you allow it — dreams die because you let them. Happiness is a gift you have to be brave enough to give yourself.”