around a hearty red pepper plant. I turned the dirt in my hands, mourning my garden and our fields. The fruits of my labor that I would abandon. Like orphaned children.
Neith er Pao nor I slept that night. We lay in each other’s arms, a string of fear binding us together. Before the first rooster’s crow I built up the fire and put on a pot of water. I made chicken soup and rice for breakfast. The children wakened as if sensing our alarm. Pao took the boys to look for eggs in the hen cage that we could boil and pack with the leftover rice for a meal later in the day.
I went outside to take a few ears of corn from the bamboo bin near the house where we stored them. Nou toddled behind me. Dawn turned the sky a pale blue gray. A rustling sound emerged through the trees and caught my ear. Before I could call out, a dozen Pathet Lao soldiers, like evil spirits, descended on the village. I grabbed Nou and turned to find Pao, standing perfectly still. The boys were behind him. My body shook so badly I could hardly hold onto Nou. She began to cry as Uncle Boua and other family members gathered around.
The Hmong soldier who had made the speech the day before scanned the half dozen families gathered around and smiled. “Comrades, we are here to ask a few questions of former soldiers and to collect your guns. We know you fought against the revolution. You must make amends and learn to reform your thoughts.”
Uncle Boua steppe d forward. “You are mistaken. We are only farmers.”
The soldier scowled and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Where is Ly Pao?”
No one moved. How was it possible they knew my husband’s name? They could not take him from me. Not now. The soldier’s eyes flashed. Nou pulled on my hair and screeched. Then I saw the red nail marks where I had squeezed her tiny arm.
“And what about Ly Tong and Ly Boua?” the soldier continued. Silence. The soldier slowly strolled over to Pao and stared into his eyes, then turned to Fong. “And what is your father’s name?” he asked.
“I won’t tell you,” Fong said, his voice strong and clear.
The soldier grabbed Fong’s arm. “We’ll see about that.”
Pao raised his hands up. “Stop! Leave the boy alone. I am Ly Pao.” A small cry escaped from my lips.
Tong, Uncle Boua , and the other men stepped forward to protect their families. The soldiers searched our houses and tore apart the baskets we had packed for the trip. They lined up Pao and the other men and tied their hands together with a rope. They led them away down the path in the pale morning light. Pao vanished around a corner and into the trees like the evening sun disappearing over the mountain.
Chapter 3
PAO
The spirits of the Mekong River raged that night, angered by the violent assault of mortars and gunfire and blood that sullied its waters and disrupted the natural balance of its flow. Awakened, it raged with all its power and might at the evil of men, punishing unlucky souls, and swallowing them whole.
I had no time to think. Everything happened too fast. I could only grasp my wife and child as we hurtled downriver. The water roared in my ears and flooded over my face until I was gasping for air. I don’t know how much time passed until an eddy, created by a dead trunk that rose up out of the bottom, sent us reeling toward the Thai shore. The waters slowed as we grew closer. I grabbed a branch and pulled with all my remaining strength. By some grace two men appeared in the shallows to help us. One held the raft steady as I handed Nou to the other. Yer and I struggled onto the shore, and the current carried the raft into the night. We collapsed on the ground shivering violently, as the skies thundered and rain poured down.
I was too stunned at first to understand everything that had happened. The faint crackle of gunfire echoed in the distance, and I threw myself around Nou. But the men said the bullets could not reach us. The river was too wide. Still, I clung to
Neith er Pao nor I slept that night. We lay in each other’s arms, a string of fear binding us together. Before the first rooster’s crow I built up the fire and put on a pot of water. I made chicken soup and rice for breakfast. The children wakened as if sensing our alarm. Pao took the boys to look for eggs in the hen cage that we could boil and pack with the leftover rice for a meal later in the day.
I went outside to take a few ears of corn from the bamboo bin near the house where we stored them. Nou toddled behind me. Dawn turned the sky a pale blue gray. A rustling sound emerged through the trees and caught my ear. Before I could call out, a dozen Pathet Lao soldiers, like evil spirits, descended on the village. I grabbed Nou and turned to find Pao, standing perfectly still. The boys were behind him. My body shook so badly I could hardly hold onto Nou. She began to cry as Uncle Boua and other family members gathered around.
The Hmong soldier who had made the speech the day before scanned the half dozen families gathered around and smiled. “Comrades, we are here to ask a few questions of former soldiers and to collect your guns. We know you fought against the revolution. You must make amends and learn to reform your thoughts.”
Uncle Boua steppe d forward. “You are mistaken. We are only farmers.”
The soldier scowled and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Where is Ly Pao?”
No one moved. How was it possible they knew my husband’s name? They could not take him from me. Not now. The soldier’s eyes flashed. Nou pulled on my hair and screeched. Then I saw the red nail marks where I had squeezed her tiny arm.
“And what about Ly Tong and Ly Boua?” the soldier continued. Silence. The soldier slowly strolled over to Pao and stared into his eyes, then turned to Fong. “And what is your father’s name?” he asked.
“I won’t tell you,” Fong said, his voice strong and clear.
The soldier grabbed Fong’s arm. “We’ll see about that.”
Pao raised his hands up. “Stop! Leave the boy alone. I am Ly Pao.” A small cry escaped from my lips.
Tong, Uncle Boua , and the other men stepped forward to protect their families. The soldiers searched our houses and tore apart the baskets we had packed for the trip. They lined up Pao and the other men and tied their hands together with a rope. They led them away down the path in the pale morning light. Pao vanished around a corner and into the trees like the evening sun disappearing over the mountain.
Chapter 3
PAO
The spirits of the Mekong River raged that night, angered by the violent assault of mortars and gunfire and blood that sullied its waters and disrupted the natural balance of its flow. Awakened, it raged with all its power and might at the evil of men, punishing unlucky souls, and swallowing them whole.
I had no time to think. Everything happened too fast. I could only grasp my wife and child as we hurtled downriver. The water roared in my ears and flooded over my face until I was gasping for air. I don’t know how much time passed until an eddy, created by a dead trunk that rose up out of the bottom, sent us reeling toward the Thai shore. The waters slowed as we grew closer. I grabbed a branch and pulled with all my remaining strength. By some grace two men appeared in the shallows to help us. One held the raft steady as I handed Nou to the other. Yer and I struggled onto the shore, and the current carried the raft into the night. We collapsed on the ground shivering violently, as the skies thundered and rain poured down.
I was too stunned at first to understand everything that had happened. The faint crackle of gunfire echoed in the distance, and I threw myself around Nou. But the men said the bullets could not reach us. The river was too wide. Still, I clung to
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