The Mountains Sing Read online

  “They’ve poisoned your minds,” yelled someone else.

  “At other villages around us, terrible crimes by landowners have been revealed. Exploitation, beating, even rape,” barked the yellow-toothed man. “Think hard. Did they rape you, beat you up, starve you?” He raised his stick higher and brought it down onto Minh’s head, knocking him to the ground.

  I wriggled toward my son, but somebody kicked me and pulled me back.

  The official paced back and forth. “These landowners are born evil. At your neighboring Vĩnh Tiến village, a woman has denounced her own father. She said he’d raped her one hundred and fifty-nine times. One hundred and fifty-nine times! His own daughter.”

  The man paused, looking at us. “That evil landlord was executed, shot in the head. His daughter received a large share of his land to compensate for her suffering.” He turned to Mrs. Tú and the workers, grinding each word between his teeth. “Now, don’t be afraid. These Trần people, they can’t get rich out of thin air. Look at their big house, big garden, fields, cattle. They must have been earning from someone’s blood and sweat.”

  “I know how hard they work,” Mrs. Tú wailed. Beside her, Mr. Lộc, the eldest worker, had wet his pants. “My husband and sons died in a fire,” said Mrs. Tú. “The Trầns took care of me. They saved my life. They’re my family now.”

  “Take her away. She’s useless.” The official shook his head. Mrs. Tú was pulled up and pushed away. She ran toward the children.

  Next, the official turned to the seven men who sat on the chairs. “Make your choice now, Brothers. Keep sitting here like idiots or condemn them and get a share of their properties. We are here to help, don’t you get it? We’re here to undo the injustice they brought upon you.”

  One of our younger workers, Thông, lifted his head and scanned our faces. He grimaced. “They exploited us!” He shot to his feet. “We’re poor and they’re rich.”

  The crowd cheered and punched their fists.

  “They made us work long hours. They didn’t pay us enough. They made sure we remained poor so that we continued to serve them,” Thông shouted.

  The crowd roared.

  “All of this wealth belongs to us, Brothers.” Thông looked at the remaining men. “It’s our right to take back the results of our labor.”

  “No, it’s not true!” Mr. Thanh stood up. “The Trầns gave my family food during the Great Hunger. They helped so many when everyone was starving.” He turned to the crowd. “You, and you, and you.” He pointed at the faces in front of him. “I saw you here receiving their rice. I heard you tell Madam Trần you’d be grateful for the rest of your lives.” His voice turned into a yell. “Anyone here, speak up if this family didn’t try to save you during the Great Hunger.”

  The crowd grew silent. Even my children stopped crying.

  Mr. Thanh turned to Thông. “Đừng ăn cháo đái bát.” Don’t eat porridge then piss into the bowl.

  “Enough!” the official shouted into Mr. Thanh’s face. “They’ve brainwashed you more than anyone.”

  “To hell with wicked landowners.” The shouts and the drumrolls were weaker this time.

  “Rich landowners, how cunning they are.” The official coughed and spat onto the yard. “Well, they can’t get away with this. We’re going to hold an open tribunal against them.”

  The drums rolled louder.

  “We’re going to divide their properties. Landless farmers will get a share!” the official roared and the crowd roared with him.

  “Please, take everything you want,” cried Công. “Denounce me if you must, but let my sister and her son go. Please let them go. I beg you. Let them go.”

  Another man, also fair-skinned, whispered to the official, who nodded.

  “Take these two away.” He pointed at Công and Minh. “Keep an eye on this evil woman.” He gestured toward me. “We’ll come back for her. Don’t let her escape.”

  “No!” Công hollered. “Minh is just a kid. He knows nothing.”

  “Please, I beg you. Don’t take my brother and my son away, please.” I bowed to the crowd.

  The official flicked his hand. Several men reached down, pulling Công and Minh up. My brother turned to look at me, tears and blood trickling down his face. “Don’t worry, Sister, we’ll come back soon. We did nothing wrong. Just take care of yourself and the kids . . .”

  “Mama!” Minh struggled to free himself.

  I tried to get up and run after them, but strong hands held me back. In the blink of an eye, my son and brother disappeared behind the yard’s fence.

  Fireflies hovered. They looked like burning eyes of devils who’d taken over our world. I blinked, but the darkness was too deep for me to see. I wriggled, but the ropes that tied my hands and legs were too strong. I sobbed but was dried of tears.

  How many hours ago did the crowd come back, frightening me with their shouts? But they ignored me, the helpless woman who was roped against the thick trunk of the na tree. They charged into the cattle stalls, taking away our cows, buffaloes, pigs, and chickens. They mobbed the house, carrying away the sofa, chairs, beds, and cabinets. My brother and I had bought those with the sweat of our labor. I studied the mob’s faces. I knew them all: the farmers of my village. Out of our seven workers, only Thông—the person who denounced us—came back. He avoided my eyes.

  How many hours ago was a fire lit in our front yard? The mob had cheered, carrying our books outside, tearing them up, feeding them to the blazing flames. Remnants of the feudal system, they’d called my literary treasures. Our village pagoda was burned down, too, columns of smoke twisting up to the sky. Gone was our sacred place of worship.

  How many hours ago did I last hear my children’s cries? They were huddled inside the house like animals. Mrs. Tú was with them. Would she abandon us like everyone else?

  All afternoon and evening, I remained bound to the tree trunk. To make sure that the children and I couldn’t escape, an armed guard had been stationed at our gate and another at our front door. At first, I’d seen them smoking and heard their curses. But now things had gone quiet. Perhaps they’d fallen asleep.

  “Mẹ ơi, cha ơi, anh Hùng ơi, chị Trinh ơi.” I silently prayed for the spirits of my mother, father, husband, and sister-in-law to come back and help rescue Công and Minh.

  I was fearful but also very angry with myself. If I hadn’t been so naïve, perhaps we would have had time to escape. If I hadn’t been so involved with the new planting season, perhaps I would’ve learned a thing or two about the secretive plan to punish us.

  A cracking sound. I strained my ears. The crunch of dry leaves being crushed underfoot. My heart thumped.

  “Diệu Lan.” The soft voice of Mrs. Tú.

  “Auntie, I’m here.”

  I felt my savior creeping toward me in the dark, then her breath warm against my ear. “Take your children. Leave now.” Tender hands reached for mine. Cold metal brushed against my skin. A pair of scissors released me from the grip of the ropes.

  Mrs. Tú pulled me into her. We trembled in each other’s arms.

  “Auntie, I can’t leave. Minh and Brother Công . . .”

  “Diệu Lan . . .” Hot tears rolled from her eyes onto my face. “Mr. Hải sent us a message. They killed Công. You must leave now. They’ll come for you.”

  “No!”

  Mrs. Tú’s hand cupped my mouth. I shook my head. My brother couldn’t be dead. Just this morning, he was right next to me, talking and laughing. He’d never hurt anyone. No one should hurt him.

  “Diệu Lan, run away before they find out about Minh. He escaped.”

  I gasped. Even in the midst of my grief, I felt a moment of elation.

  Mrs. Tú pulled my arm. We crawled over fallen leaves, damp earth, and dew-soaked vegetables. I bumped against low tree branches but kept going.

  “Mama’s coming.” “Mama, is that you?” I rejoiced at the sounds of these whispers. My hand felt a half-open door. I eased myself into
the kitchen, and, fumbling in darkness, touched the teary faces of Ngọc, Đạt, Thuận, and Hạnh. I embraced them, willing them to melt into my body, so that we’d never be apart again.

  “Baby Sáng, where’s he?”

  “Here. He’s sleeping, Mama,” Ngọc said, and I reached out for the warmth of my son.

  “You have to go,” said Mrs. Tú.

  “Auntie, but Minh might come back to look for us,” I said.

  “He’s run far away, Diệu Lan,” Mrs. Tú whispered into my ear. “Stay here and you’ll die. I beg you.” She turned away from me. “Children, remember what we agreed? Crawl in single file. Hold the ankle of the person in front.”

  “Yes, Grandma.”

  “The guards are outside. Don’t speak out there.” Mrs. Tú’s hands reached for me. She tied Sáng to my chest with her carrying cloth. “Diệu Lan, lead the children through the secret hole in the back fence to get to my plot of land. Run away from there.”

  “Won’t you come with us, Auntie?” My throat tightened.

  Her fingers were soft against my tears. “They’ll burn this house without anyone here. They’ll smash the family altar. I need to stay. To guard the graves of your parents.”

  “Grandma Tú, Grandma Tú.” The children started to cry.

  “Shhh, they’ll hear us.” Mrs. Tú sniffed. “Grandma will see you all again soon. Be strong and help your Mama. Come back to me when it’s safe.”

  “But Auntie, how will I find Minh?” I asked.

  My savior caressed my face. “Heaven will light the way for you to find each other, Diệu Lan. Try to bear your destiny, my child.” Her hands left me. “Đạt, you’re the eldest boy now. Take care of your siblings. Keep this food bag safe.”

  “Yes, Grandma.” Đạt sobbed.

  Darkness was our ally as we slithered across the back garden and through the fence. Darkness held us in its mouth as we ran through the rice fields, crossing several streams to get to the next hamlet.

  Terrified, we ran.

  The Journey South

  Hà Nội, 1975

  It was pitch dark when I woke up. Grandma was snoring beside me. I fumbled around, found the Sơn ca, and clutched it tightly in my hand. I lay there for a long time, thinking about the ordeals each of my family members had had to go through. If I had a wish, I would want nothing fancy, just a normal day when all of us could be together as a family; a day where we could just cook, eat, talk, and laugh. I wondered how many people around the world were having such a normal day and didn’t know how special and sacred it was.

  Knowing I could no longer sleep, I lifted the mosquito net, tiptoed toward the bedroom door, and closed it behind me. In the kitchen, a shadow startled me.

  “Uncle Đạt,” I whispered, “couldn’t you sleep?”

  “No,” a whisper came back.

  I put the bird on the table, lit an oil lamp, and got us each a glass of water. In his wheelchair, my uncle looked like a shriveled old man. Yet he was only thirty-four.

  “Want to go back to bed, Uncle? I can help you.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t sleep much these days.”

  “How come?” I sat down next to him, pushing the glass into his hand.

  “Nightmares and stuff, you know.” He took a sip. “Don’t worry about me, though. Go back to bed.”

  “I can’t sleep either. . . . Uncle Đạt . . . thanks for saving me last night.”

  The chubby guard had come. So arrogant, he’d expected me to go out with him. He didn’t have a chance since my uncle was there to face him for me.

  “I guess I scared the hell out of him, huh?” Uncle Đạt chuckled. “Bet he won’t return.”

  “I’m glad.” I smiled. “But Uncle, please be careful. Grandma said those who dare to challenge the authorities are imprisoned—”

  “That guy and the authorities? No way. He’s just a prick trying to scare people. Excuse my foul language.” My uncle shook his head. “They wouldn’t dare touch me though. We veterans with our big mouths.”

  I drank my water slowly, trying to sort out the jumble in my mind. “Uncle, after my father gave you the bird, you didn’t see him again? You didn’t hear from him at all?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Hương. The battlefields were vast, you know. I didn’t run into Thuận, Sáng, or your mother either.”

  “I’m sure Mama and Uncle Sáng will come see you tomorrow. They’ll be so happy you’re finally home.”

  “Happy? You think they’ll be happy seeing me like this?”

  “Things will get better, Uncle.”

  He laughed, his laughter one of the saddest sounds I’d ever heard. “For months, I’d been thinking . . . that I shouldn’t come home at all. That I couldn’t face my friends and family like this, that I couldn’t burden those I love.” He looked up at the window, above which a wedge of the moon was suspended in the black sky.

  “Please, Uncle.” I fought back tears. “We’ll take care of you.”

  He slumped down in his wheelchair.

  “Uncle, I was just hoping . . . that you’d tell me about your trip south and how you met up with my father.”

  “Now?” He glanced up at the clock, which showed two a.m. “It’s a long story. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

  “Uncle, please. I’ve waited so long for news about my father. I need to imagine how it was for him.”

  “I need a real drink.” Uncle Đạt eyed the cabinet. “Too bad I emptied the whole thing last night.”

  “Ha, wait a second.” I jumped up. Rummaging the cabinet, I held up the bottle, now full. “Grandma bought it last night . . . after you’d gone to bed.” I giggled. “She knew you might need it.”

  “My old Mama,” chuckled my uncle. “She’s someone special.”

  Uncle Đạt ignored the cup I brought him and drank straight from the bottle. He bent his head for a long while. And then he began to talk. Now, thinking back, I realize how hard it must have been for him to dredge up these memories, trying to help the niece who searched for her father in her uncle’s journey south.

  “Yes, you were just a little girl when it all began,” he said. “Back in 1968, an urgent order came for all men to enlist. Grandma tried all she could to stop us from going, but we had no choice. Sáng was just fourteen then so he didn’t have to go yet, but your father, Thuận, and I were drafted.

  “We were taken to a training camp at Ba Vì Mountain. Each of us had a knapsack to be filled with rocks. Each knapsack had to weigh at least twenty kilograms. We spent weeks climbing the mountain with the knapsack. Up and down, down and up, every single day. We practiced climbing during the night as well. Little did we know that we were preparing for the toughest walk of our lives.”

  Uncle Đạt shook his head. “We had to walk to the battlefields, more than a thousand kilometers away. Our mission was to wipe out the Americans and their ally, the South Vietnamese Army. I hadn’t known this, but other countries such as Australia, South Korea, New Zealand, and Thailand also sent troops to fight with the Americans.”

  I shuddered. “You must have been afraid, Uncle?”

  “Not really, our spirits were high. If we didn’t fight back, we’d be bombed to dust and our North taken over. Before we started our journey, your father, Thuận, and I got separated into different companies. Thuận told me that as we’d survived the Land Reform, nothing could kill us—we were invincible. Your father joked that upon our return, he’d hold a joint wedding for Thuận and me. He’d seen how much our girlfriends—Thu and Nhung—wept as they saw us off.

  “We hugged each other so tightly as we said good-bye. We weren’t told exactly where we were heading.”

  Uncle Đạt stopped speaking. I was afraid it was too difficult for him to continue, but he cleared his throat.

  “The North Vietnamese Army didn’t have many cars, trucks, or trains, you know, and enemy bombs were targeting the roads. So it was better to walk through jungles and forests, climbing over the Trường Sơn mountain
range. In fact, hundreds of thousands of Northern soldiers went south this way, forcing a network through jungles, now called the Hồ Chí Minh Trail.

  “I was told it’d take six months to walk, and we each had to carry many things—clothes for all types of weather, medicine, bandages, a hammock, a fold-up spade, sandals, cooking and eating utensils. . . . On my left shoulder I carried five kilograms of rice in my ruột tượng, a long bag made out of cloth. On my right was an AK-47, an assault rifle supplied by the Russians. Around my waist, I had two hundred rounds of ammunition and a canteen of water.”

  Uncle Đạt closed his eyes. “Winter had set in when my comrades and I started our walk. It was wet and cold. The Army had a slogan for us: ‘Đi không dấu, nấu không khói, nói không tiếng.’” Advance without a trace, cook without smoke, talk without sound.

  “Enemy planes were trying to find us, so we had to keep our movements secret. We walked at night and hid during the day. We camouflaged ourselves with green leaves and small branches so as to blend into the surroundings. Our stoves were deep holes that had to be covered and connected to long vents to dissipate the smoke.”

  “It sounds terribly dangerous, Uncle.”

  “Yes, it was. Walking in total darkness was a big challenge. It would be fatal to get lost. When a new day came, we set up camp and rested. Whenever I sat down, I found leeches clinging to my skin.”

  I shivered. I had read about those parasites, which sucked so much blood, they swelled up and became round balls.

  “Bombing raids were frequent, so whenever we stopped, we had to find or dig shelters before we could string our hammocks between trees. Each hammock had a piece of canvas to shield us in case it rained, which was often. The canvas was important, let me tell you. It’d wrap a soldier’s body after he died; it’d be our shroud.

  “In the beginning, for every five walking days, we had one to rest. Rest days were something to look forward to. If I wasn’t on duty, I could sleep, hunt, fish, or gather edible plants. On rest days, our captain would send a squad of twelve soldiers to an army camp nearby to bring back food supplies for the next five walking days. Together with the Russians, the Chinese Communists supported our fight against the Americans, so we also got food from the Chinese.”