The Road To Freedom
by Nguyễn Đ. Quyền
ENGLISH TRANSLATION BY TRINH DO
In December 1980, the weather was good and the sea was calm. I and a friend attempted our escape after 6 months of planning and searching for the right location. On the day of the escape, I ordered the group to pull anchor and depart. However, when we got to the rendezvous point, we ran into a Public Security (Communist Police) boat, with their guns pointed in our direction. Everyone on our boat gathered their money to bribe the public security agents and they let us go. We continued on our way to the sea. However, another big Public Security boat spotted and headed straight for us. Our luck was not with us that day. The public security agents caught everyone on our boat and took us back to shore.
They put us in a local prison. Each cell in the prison was a 20 square meter room. 50 prisoners were cramped into a cell. At night, the prisoners had to sleep on their side as there was not enough room. In a corner of the cell, a plastic bucket served as the toilet. Those unlucky enough to sleep near that corner had to endure the extreme foul odor from the accumulated urine and feces. In the day, the prisoners had to go to the field to do labor work. After work, we were allowed to wash ourselves in a small, polluted pond that was used for raising ducks, then got herded back to the prison cell. There was a Vietnamese opera singer who also imprisoned 3 cells away from our cell. At night, we asked him to sing old opera songs for us. The songs were wonderful and helped us to better endure our bitter, incarcerated fate. After a month, the Public Security agents released the women and children. My wife and children were also let out at this time.
The next day, the security agents brought the remaining male prisoners to an islet to do labor work. When the boat came near the shore, I prepared to escape by slipping overboard and swimming away. I quietly dropped my feet over the side of the boat and dived deep under the water. However, in my plan I didn’t factor in God’s plan. Two other prisoners also jumped overboard after seeing me slipped away. However, instead of diving under the water, they tried to swim on the surface and caused a lot of noise. The yellow cows (a derogatory word Vietnamese use to call the Public Security agents, as the agents wear yellow khaki uniforms) heard the noises and turned the boat around immediately. All hell broke loose as the agents shot warning shots at us while yelling for us to surrender. I swam faster and made it to shore while the security agents continued shooting at my back. Luckily, I wasn’t hit. I made it to a road and saw a few local people. Despite my plea for help, they refused to tell me where I could run to find a hiding place. I thought how bad could my luck be to run into this “two face village” (During the Vietnam War, this term is used to describe those villages where in the day, the villagers appear to support the Southern government, the Republic of Vietnam. At night, they fully support the Vietnamese Communist guerrillas.)
I ran past this village and got to a huge rice paddy. The farmers here had harvested the rice field, leaving no place that I could hide. There was a group of boys herding their buffaloes. The oldest boy was about twelve or thirteen. Seeing the boys, I realized the futility of my escape attempt since no matter where I tried to hide, the boys would still see and point me out to the pursuing security agents. I let out a long sigh, “God is not with me today”, and stopped running. I waited for the security agents to catch up and arrest me, while promising to myself that I would look for another opportunity to escape.
10 minutes later, two yellow cows came running to me. They hyperventilated then swore loudly at me. One pointed a gun at my leg, pulled the trigger while yelling “Motherfucker! You want to run? I’ll let you run with this bullet.”
I fell to the ground, with my eyes wide open and looking straight at the face of the agent who just shot me. To this day, I still couldn’t understand why he felt so proud and acted like a hero when shooting an unarmed person like me. I still could clearly remember his name, NVBT.
Ironically, the person who came to help me turned out to be the younger brother of the man who shot me. The young buffalo herder saw his own brother shot an unarmed civilian who did not resist arrest. Using his striped scarf, the boy tied a tourniquet on my leg to stop the bleeding. He then found someone to help lift me back to the boat. With the local doctor’s recommendation, I was transported to the provincial hospital. Upon arrival, I passed out for 3 nights and 4 days. Everytime I awoke, the attending doctors or nurses prodded me to sign a paper allowing them to amputate my leg. Hearing their request, I thought this was the end, and passed out again. I couldn’t even remember how many times this happened. The last time, a male nurse came and told me:
“I don’t know who you are, but I admire your courage to try to find freedom. I am ĐPT, a former doctor with the Republic of Vietnam. I was allowed to work here in this hospital. As a doctor, I can tell you that the infection in your leg has become gangrene and it is infecting your blood. Once the infection reaches your heart, it is incurable. The only option now is to amputate your leg. You will be an invalid, but the important thing is that you will live. You still have friends, relatives, and opportunities to find your freedom.”
By now, my mind had calmed down. I closed my eyes to consider the advice of the doctor. Knowing that he was right, I opened my eyes and nodded.
… The noises in the room woke me up. My first feeling was the awareness that I am still alive. It was about 2 or 3 am in the morning. There was no other patient lying near me. The noises came from the conversation of families of other people who were hurt or beaten up by the yellow cows (security agents). No one paid any attention to me. I looked down and saw a white cloth covering my body. I tried to lift my leg and felt so light on my left side. That was when I realized that my left leg was gone. This was the end. The tears streamed down my cheek as if I was an actor performing in a tragedy.
I lay still like a corpse, thinking about many things. But what good was it to think now? I vaguely remembered worrying how I would live once released. How would I be able to take care of or protect my wife and children? Even with two legs, it was already difficult. Now with only one leg.. oh God, how could I do this!
Not finding any answer, I decided to accept my fate and go with the flow. I didn’t have energy to call anyone to help me to go to the toilet. I used my arm to turn my body to the left and simply peed on the floor. I didn’t know how much time had passed but somehow I felt more relaxed now. It was as if all my pain, sufferings, worries, and frustration were flushed out together with the urine that now flooded the floor. What was done was done. I didn’t think about them any more.
After being released from the hospital, I was allowed to come home. Living with one leg, I had suffered through years of pain and hardship in Vietnam. Many times, I had thought of giving up my life. In those dark moments, I remembered the kindness of the doctors and nurses in the hospital who had saved my life, my sister and brother who helped me through the hard time, and the buffalo herding boys who were willing to help a stranger. All of them had given me a gift, a will to live and to continue to find freedom. I used their memory to strengthen my resolve to keep fighting and not giving up.
Three years later, I organized another escape and failed again. The escape landed me another 9 months in prison. When released, I came home and made my living as a potter. Despite the repeated failures, I still kept alive the hope to find freedom one day.
I wrote this story so that my children and later generation can learn about the hard truth in Vietnam and the difficult, bitter roads that their parent generations had travelled. As for me, I thought of my life as the story of the farmer who lost his horse. I had let go of my anguish with the flow of urine to the hospital floor years ago. I believed that in misfortune, there is the seed of better luck in the future and ultimately, I am responsible for my own actions. I don’t blame anyone nor my fate. With this attitude, I was able to maintain a positive outlook and found the strength to stand on one leg to rebuild my life and to reunite with my family.
In writing this story, I just want to contribute my story to the collection of the “history written by thousands of people” of the Vietnamese communities. With all humility and honesty, I want to sincerely say “Thank You” to my family, friends, and all people who helped me along the way.