A husband and his wife were walking barefoot on the dirt road in the direction of An Lỗ village. They wore old black áo dài (long dresses) that were soon wet from the extreme heat of summer in Huế's regional area. They each carried 10-kilo bags of rice on their shoulders. The husband's thin body bent under the weight of his two bags. His wife, shoulders also bent, had blackened her face with charcoal in an effort to escape the notice of any soldiers they might encounter.

From time to time, they slowed down to wait for their six year-old son who struggled manfully to keep up with them, a small two-kilo bag of rice across his narrow back. Nguyên also wore an áo dài, but his only reached to his knees. His face reddened by heat and wet with sweat, he was exhausted but kept running nonetheless, keeping up with his parents' longer strides so that they could arrive at La Chữ village before sunset.

La Chữ village was located about 11 kilometers northwest of Huế City, on the edge of Trường Sơn Mountain, west of Highway 1 to Quảng TrịProvince. His father had heard rumors about French soldiers killing young men and raping women when they were captured. He was understandably frightened for his family and decided to take them to the countryside, away from Huế City until the situation become safer. His father's old friend had moved to La Chữ and lived there for years. His father had asked his permission to stay at his house during the attack of French troops in Huế City.

His father looked back and stopped to see if Nguyên was alright, taking a sesame sugar candy from his pocket. Once the boy caught up, he kissed Nguyên's flushed cheek, gave him the candy and ruffled his hair. They continued on their way to the unknown village.

It was after midnight when Nguyên finally lay on a straw mattress that had been placed on the floor in kitchen of his friend's house. He lay awake, not because he was afraid of the dark--his parents were on either side of him--but because the monk, a relative of his father's friend , or rather, his voice, kept Nguyên from sleeping. When they'd arrived at the house of his father's friend earlier that night, the monk had asked his father about the movement of French troops in Huª City. His father said that he did not know anything because they left before the French soldiers came from Thuận An harbor, southeast of Huế City.

The Buddhist monk had seemed very curious and asked Nguyên's father many questions about news in Huế City, such as how people reacted to the French Legionnaires , etc. After dinner, when the moon could just be seen above the tops of the betel trees that graced the front yard, the monk left on an errand. Nguyên's father saw him hurry away, carrying something under his brown robe. The monk did not come back until late that night and started his Buddhist chanting once again, as usual.

Nguyên's parents seemed very tired from the journey and fell asleep before the candle began to burn the last of its wax. Nguyên heard the low, even breathing of his mom, whose arms tightened their hold on his body while she slept. It was almost as if she were afraid of losing him, who she called "the most valuable thing in her life", to the cruel war that had already lasted most of her lifetime. And then Nguyên also felt his eyes closing, shutting out the strange shadows dancing on the walls. He began to dream as the monk's steady "hmmm" faded from his awareness.

The family was in La Chữ village for about two weeks and every day Nguyên's mom brought their old clothes to sell in the market to buy food. There were his father's suits and shirts and his mother's silk áo dài, which her husband had bought for her when they were rich, that she'd had since the day she became his wife. That was before he lost his business due to an unfortunate investment plan and now they only had a little money left for daily living expenses. Nguyên's mother was sad that she had to sell their belongings but they needed money to buy food, so she made the sacrifice. Her husband was always at her side at the market until it closed. In the meantime, Nguyên was allowed to play with the neighbor's kids and their water buffalo.

The boys were very good at handling the water buffalo; despite the fact that it was that was so big compared to them, the huge animal readily followed their orders. She stopped on command and walked when the boys said "go." They used a small bamboo branch to threaten the water buffalo but Nguyên rarely saw them use it on her.

One older boy, who was about thirteen years old, allowed Nguyên to ride on the back of his buffalo. Nguyên was frozen with pleasure during the unusual ride. The big animal walked slowly but Nguyên was still afraid of falling off, so he leaned on the other boy's arm while holding the hair on the water buffalo's neck to keep his balance. These boys called him "City kid" because Nguyên had come from Huế City.

Their peaceful and uncertain evacuation lasted about three weeks, and everyday his father met business people who had been making trips up and down to Huế City to buy merchandise. He asked them about the activities of French troops and life in Huế. One night, Nguyên's father come home to tell them that the French Army occupied Tòa Khâm Post and Fort Mang Cá.

Their Navy boats patrolled the Perfume River from Thuận An and they had built piers for their boats at Ðập Ðá by Trường Tiền Bridge. They had also begun to send troops for operations south to the Hương Thủy district, and north to An Hòa village, only three kilometers to the east of La Chữ village on Highway 1.

When he discovered that the French had begun to search for young Vietnamese in the An Hòa areas, Nguyên's father was frightened. He went to the backyard, to the dry creek behind the vegetable garden which surrounded by a dense bamboo range. He made a hidden reserve with trenches and then he covered the top of this hiding place with dry bamboo leaves; even if there were anyone standing close to it, he or she still would not realize that there were people hiding under the leaves.

During the three weeks, the Buddhist monk continued to go out every day until nightfall. Nobody knew where he went or what was he doing, but Nguyên's father usually saw him hiding something under his brown robe. Nguyên became accustomed to the Buddhist's constant praying, his voice rising and falling. Every evening, Nguyên sat on his mother's lap and imitated the monk's voice and gestures to make his mother laugh and squeeze him in her arms.

Nguyên loved his mother so much. He liked to hold onto his mom's sweet-smelling neck and to kiss her pink and white cheeks. He also loved to see a smile on her pretty oval face. His mom spoke very softly and musically, like a bird singing in the tree branches. Her voice had a Huế accent, but her hometown was Phước Tường village, near Hải Vân Pass in Quảng Nam Province, where they were known for producing beautiful girls. The land was also beautiful--the warm climate was comfortable, with a good breeze from Ðà nẳng Bay and the white clouds hanging on the top of Hải Vân Mountain.

That morning, when the sun had risen, everybody heard the sound of an airplane flying low over their houses. Nguyên's father was in a hurry because from his experience, he knew that this was a Cessna-type aircraft that was used in reconnaissance missions. The artillery units usually bombarded the area with shells before they sent troops to search out the enemy. He got a fresh water canteen, some rice cakes and yelled for his friend to go into his hidden spot in the house which he had built for him. Then he grabbed Nguyên in his arms and guided his wife to the hiding place in the dry creek, approximately 300 meters behind the house.

His father put him and his mother into the hiding place and then covered them with thick dry bamboo leaves and stood back and checked his work. Due to his handy building skills, nobody would know that there were people hiding under the dry creek.

After he took care of his family, he hurriedly built a hiding place for himself not far from his loved ones so he could observe the landscape from down there. As soon as he finished his job, he could hear the sound of artillery shells falling in the marketplaces and in the areas of the people pagoda. By the time the sun had risen above the top of the bamboo ranges, one could hear the shells coming closer. Nguyên felt his mother quivering and knew that she was very scared. He kissed her cheek and they held onto each other for comfort. His father kept an eye on the village's main gate through the hole in the hidden reserve.

Over two hours after they had rushed to their hiding places, dogs started barking loudly and continuously. Then they heard shooting from rifles and automatic weapons all around the village; it was a sunny morning in the village 13 kilometers northwest of Huế City.

Nguyên's father knew that the French Legionnaires had come and he pulled more leaves to cover his body. He waited quietly. Nguyên felt his heart beating rapidly when they heard the neighbor's barking dog running past their hiding places...then a "tach...tach...tach", the sound of an automatic rifle and the dog was crying painfully. The crying stopped.

Suddenly Nguyên recalled the prayer that the monk often chanted, one requesting the blessing and protection of Buddha "Nam Mô Cứu Khổ Cứu Nạn Quán Thế Âm Bồ Tát" and he heard his mother was whispering the same prayer.

Nguyên's father guessed that the French Legionnaires were searching the houses and he hoped that his friend was still hiding inside his secret hiding place. As for the monk, they had seen him running toward the dense jungle and did not know what had become of him.

From time to time they heard the sounds of shooting and people crying, running in all directions. Suddenly they heard French voices on a PRC communicator come closer and there were footsteps walking toward their hidden reserves.

Nguyên didn't hear his mother praying anymore and he started to ask why she had stopped, but she put her hand over his mouth and signaled for him to be quiet. Suddenly Nguyên realized that there was actually a person coming towards the small creek. He heard the sound of dry leaves cracking and breaking under this Legionnaire's feet.

All of them held their breaths in fear. Nguyên's mom began to sweat and she trembled even more violently. Nguyên did not move a muscle. Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of the hated soldier urinating over the top of their hiding place. The ammonia smell made Nguyên very uncomfortable, but he was afraid that the Legionnaire might hear if he reacted or sneezed. Therefore, he just held his nose until the soldier finished emptying out his big bladder. Perhaps the soldier had drunk a lot of beer before this mission because it took what seemed to be an eternity. Finally the soldier exhaled happily and the hidden family heard his steps slowly receding from their hiding places.

Nguyên's mom began to breathe again and seemed to relax a bit. His father waited a moment and then pushed the bamboo leaves away to peer out. He whispered to his family to stay in put in case the French soldiers returned. The barking of dogs was now only heard from time to time and only from a distance. Everything was quiet. He crouched as he ran along the creek and climbed onto a mango tree behind the house to see if the French soldiers had left the village. He saw that two houses near the village temple were on fire, the black smoke billowing in the cloudless autumn sky.

People started crawling from their hiding places, whispering to one another while pointing to the village's main gate. From experience, Nguyên's father knew that the Legionnaires had gone to search for young Vietnamese men in the neighboring hamlets. Somebody might be shot and killed before soldiers left.

He climbed down from the mango tree and came to the hiding place to help his wife and Nguyên out. It was noon. He carried Nguyên so he could reach the house more quickly and as he strode across the yard, he felt his arms getting wet. He stopped and looked at his wife and smiled sadly. His beloved son had wet his pants in fear of being found by that French soldier. Until now, Nguyên did not realize that he had had an accident.

They met his friend in the living room, who had been lucky to escape. He had only heard the soldiers searching the house for a short time, but they had destroyed tables, chairs and plates, smashing them on the floor. Nguyên's father said that this time they were lucky to escape capture but he was not sure that they would be so lucky next time.

After eating some rice cakes, he told his wife that he would go to the marketplace to see what was happening over there. Nguyên asked to go along with him. After he reminded everybody to stay in the house, he helped Nguyên change into a clean pair of pants and they left together. Along the road they saw many thatch houses still burning, their owners trying to extinguish the fires with water from the nearby wells. Some old men were describing the French Legionnaires' cruel acts, such as killing innocent villagers and destroying their property.

His father put Nguyên down when they reached a group of people in the middle of the marketplace. Four women were sobbing loudly. In front of them were four bodies of young men, covered with straw mattresses. Surrounding the corpses were their relatives, also crying and trying to comfort each other.

Nguyên and his father were also brokenhearted at the sad scene, horrible proof that the war had reached this small village. Although Nguyên was still young, he too felt sadness when he saw innocent people killed in front of his eyes. He emotionally wiped away the tears coursing down his cheeks. People told one another that French Legionnaires had cruelly raped the young girls in the village, taking turns until the girls were unconscious. The soldiers also captured many young men and had taken them away for later interrogation. The soldiers had accused these men of being Việt Minh and brutally beaten them.

When evening finally came, the cranes were flying towards Trường Sơn Mountain, their cries echoing in the wind. It was as if they were sharing the sorrows of the widows who had suffered much in the cruel war that had destroyed this poor Vietnamese village. When Nguyên and his father returned to the house, it was late in the evening and wild mountain bats were flying in groups, searching for mosquitoes in a blood-red sky as the sun set behind Trường Sơn Mountain.

" It will rain tomorrow," Nguyên's mother predicted when she saw the sky with its red flares, "and it would be windy if the sky becomes yellow in color," she continued.

After eating a simple dinner, Nguyên's father told his wife that in a couple of days, he wanted to make a trip back to Huế City to see if the situation had improved. At first, she did not like the idea because she was fearful that he might be caught and held by the French. When her husband insisted that he would be able to handle everything, she asked him if he could wait until he had spoken to people who had recently gone back and forth to Huế City on business.

Just then, the Buddhist monk returned and he told everyone that he had decided to leave La Chữ village in two or three days. According to him, the Legionnaires would soon be back because the village was located so close to Huế City. It was also on the connection route from Mỹ Chánh village in the east and A Lưới, a Việt Minh secret zone, in the west. Therefore, he believed that in the future this village would be a battlefield between the Việt Minh regular forces and the French Legionnaire units.

Nguyên's dad thought that the monk might know more about Communist activities but he did not share his thoughts with the others. He looked at his wife and she nodded her head, agreeing with his decision, although her worried eyes were wet with tears.

As soon as the dark cloak of night covered the remote country, people heard the sound of the temple bell ringing and echoing from the direction of the marketplace. Surprised, everybody rushed out to see over 50 peasants, young and old, walking behind a young boy beating a big steel plate. He yelled his invitation for everyone to come to an urgent meeting at the public grounds in front of the temple, which brightened the sky even from a distance.

Dad's friend locked up the front door and accompanied the others to the public ground to find out what was happening. Dad carried Nguyên on his left arm and held his wife's hand with his right, imagining as he walked what might happen to them. Nguyên was tired from the strains of the day; he closed his eyes and felt asleep on his father's shoulder. When they reached the public ground, there was a large crowd circling the yard.

A rectangular oak table had been place in front of the temple, next to the brick steps. Next to it was a medium-sized flag, which was red with one yellow star in the middle, and the flagpole was tied to the leg of the table. Seated behind the oak table were five young men between the ages of 25 and 30, dressed black pajamas with red scarves around their necks. They looked very seriously at people in the circle.

Standing at the corners of the yard were young cadres, red scarves around their necks, also. Their left hands were holding rifles or big swords and in their right hands they held burning torches. In the middle of the ground a bonfire brightened the starry sky. Two plywood coffins were lying on two pairs of long wooden supports next to the fire. Shadows were dancing on the walls of the temple like ghosts.

A middle-aged officer, who was sitting in the center, looked around and seemed happy with the great number of people attending the "meeting." He stood up and, using an aluminum hand-operated loudspeaker, explained the purpose for the gathering. He recounted the cruel actions of the French soldiers who killed innocent peasants and then congratulated the Revolution for their efforts in saving the country. He said that the meeting was to plan punishment for the traitors who had cooperated with the enemy and had spied for them. That morning, those traitors helped the French Legionnaires identify members of the Revolution, who were then captured and killed.

Suddenly they heard crying from the crowd and two women ran to the coffins, sobbing as they told how their husbands had been cruelly killed. Everybody in the crowd was emotional and tears were running down their faces.

The Communist cadre continued to fan the anger of the peasants. Then he ordered his comrades to take two young peasants who had been accused as traitors and to tie their hands behind their backs. These poor infiltrators were pushed toward the so-called " Tòa án Nhân dân," or People's Court.

Nguyên's father recognized the young man who frequently went to Huế City for business but he did not know the second man. The officer, holding a pistol in one hand, pushed the barrel into the backs of the two peasants. They leaned forward in pain, having been beaten all day by the Communist cadres. The applaused from the crowd was so loud that Nguyên awoke. He covered his eyes from the brightness of the fire with his hand. Nguyên's father put him down and signaled for him to be quiet. He held Nguyên's hand so tightly, as if he were afraid of losing his son.

The two criminals were harshly pushed to the ground in front of the long table, suffering under the cadres' repeated kicks and blows, which were again accompanied by noisy applause from the village people. After the older officer read the accusations and pledged to punish the traitors, the crowd started to protest. Suddenly, everybody heard from the direction of Communist officers, "Kill them! Giết chúng nó đi, kill the traitors!" And people started yelling, "Kill them, kill the Việt traitors! Giết những tên Việt gian đi".

The officer who was sitting in the center stood up and raised both hands over his head. He signaled for everybody to be quiet and then read the prepared "verdict." He said that in the name of the Revolution, he would carry out the will of people by executing the traitors. The two peasants were tied to wooden poles and shot by Communist officers in front of everybody's eyes.

The execution showed the people's hatred of their own relatives, who were accused of crimes that they were not permitted to defend. There was no defense attorney for the so-called traitors. More blood had been spilled. Two corpses were left sprawling on ground and their spouses did not dare to bring them home to bury them.

In the darkness of the night, the crescent moon was pasted to the western sky over the black shapes of Trường Sơn Mountain. The laws of the powers were always at the cost of helpless people. They were the tools the Communists used to carry out their verdicts against Party opposition.

Nguyên's mother had been right--the next morning it started raining very hard and lasted all day. The backyard was flooded up above Nguyên's ankle. Nguyên's father told his old friend that they planned to leave early the next day to return to Huế City. He had made his decision based on what they had seen the previous night at the temple ground. He could not predict what might happen to "Người trên dinh," or-People from the City- like him and his family. He also did not know when the French soldiers might come back and it would be too dangerous, and impossible, to hide from them forever. Therefore, he would take a chance and return to Huế City and let destiny see to the rest.

Nguyên requested his parents' permission to go and say good-bye to his friend from next door neighbor who had allowed him to ride his water buffalo. He gave the boy a wooden sailboat that his father had made by hand in his spare time. Nguyên stayed with his friend until evening, after he had seen the water buffalo in the stable behind the yard. When he got back, he showed his parents a bamboo flute that his friend had given him as a souvenir.

Nguyên's father was packing his clothes in two bags and his mother was building a fire to cook sweet rice for the journey home. The smoke that come from the fire built with wet tree branches made tears drip down her red face, and dust covered their heads when Nguyên tried to help his mother keeping the fire burning. They hugged each other and laughed merrily, their shadows danced on the dirt walls. Outside it was still raining cats and dogs. From time to time a cold gusty wind blew open the thatch door to remind everyone that the autumn was fast approaching.

That night when the Buddhist monk came home, he said good-bye to Nguyên's parents and wished them good luck before he began his nightly praying. He then touched Nguyên's head, ruffled his hair and told his parents that Nguyên was a good boy. The monk also told them that he believed that Nguyên would be very skilled and would become a very special person when he grew up.

Everybody went to sleep early tonight because Nguyên's father wanted to leave when dawn broke so that they might be able to arrive in Huế City before dark. Nguyên fell asleep to the voice of the Buddhist monk that before had always kept him awake. He wondered about the monk's secrets, he who always hid something under his brown robe. Nguyên would remember this evacuation with his parents to the remote La Chữ village, in the summer of the year nineteen hundred and forty-four, for the rest of his life. Outside the rain stopped and only the wind was heard from time to time, blowing over the betel trees behind the garden. Nguyên sank into his dream as the monk finished his last hymn.

That morning, when the roosters started crowing joyfully and the first light of the day began to break through the pink clouds in the horizon, Nguyên and his parents left the friend's house and headed for Highway 1, about 3 kilometers east of La Chữ village. They had already said good-bye and Nguyên's mom had very kindly left behind all of the food, rice and cooking utensils that she had bought while they stayed in the house, along with a thank you note for his hospitality.

Nguyên's father had discovered a shortcut along the dry creek, a dirt road that might cut their travel time by one third. They also wore rubber shoes made from old tires that he had bought in the market, so unlike their last journey, Nguyên and his mother did not suffer any pain.

The raindrops were still hanging on the leaves and dripping on the tall green grass. Far away to the east, the sun began shining with its multicolored beams and over the horizon, pink clouds were drifting in the blue sky and a pair of long-necked cranes were flying over the ripe rice paddies that had not yet been harvested. Nguyên loved feeling one with nature and inhaled the clean unspoiled air. It was a beautiful morning. He chased the colorful cardinals along the edge of a rice paddy until his father called him back. He then ran in front of his parents and felt fine because he did not have to carry a bag of rice like last time.

When they reached Highway 1, there were people all over the road heading toward Huế City, which made them feel a more at ease. All along the road, wagons full of household goods were pulled by skinny cows or old horses--they were loaded with whole families returning from their short evacuation. Now they were returning to Huế City with the hope that the French government, who now controlled everything, would not capture them and put them in jail. What Nguyên's father had heard so far was very encouraging and he felt that his decision to return to Huế City was the right one and it made him very happy and more relaxed.

The French government supposedly wanted to ease the fears of the native of the old Capital, so they had allowed them to continue their routine daily activities. Children were going to school again. Ðông Ba supermarket had reopened for business, but the poor merchants had to pay high taxes to the French government and its administration, run by a handful of people who could speak French and consisting of clerks, policemen and profiteering Việt Nam politicians. Life in Huế City seemed to have returned to normal. In order to show his goodwill, the French Governor had ordered the prosecution of all French Legionnaires who reportedly or allegedly raped Vietnamese women while they were on their missions.

Nguyên's father seemed very happy with his decision and he thanked the Buddha for allowing him to have the opportunity to witness the sad events at the village temple the night before and coming up with the idea to return to Huế City as a result. If not, he and his family would have stayed forever at La Chữ village under the danger of being caught and possibly prosecuted by either Việt Cọng cadres or French soldiers.

When they arrived at An Hòa village, located right to the east of Highway 1, they all felt very tired and hungry, so Nguyên's father decided to stop for lunch. Nguyên's mother prepared some sweet rice and salty sesame seeds from a bamboo basket and Nguyên's father gave him a handful of coconut candies. They ate the delicious, traditional meal and watched the refugees carrying their personal belongings on the way back to their homes in Huế City. While his parent drank tea after lunch, Nguyên was allowed to walk around. He was watching a pair of pigeons in a cage when suddenly he heard a young girl next to him pleading, "Release the pigeons, please release them, please... please."

Nguyên looked at the good-looking black-haired girl who was begging the salesman and he nodded his head in agreement. "The birds must be free to fly, not caged," he whispered to himself, just loud enough for the girl to hear. They started talking, about pigeons, water buffalo, rabbits... and then after their parents began to talk about each family's home town, Nguyên shared the coconut candies his father had given him, with Huyền, the black-haired girl.

The two families were about to continue their journey, when a third family, composed of a middle-aged couple and an effeminate young boy, came and joined the group. While the parents were sharing their experiences from the evacuation and the lessons that they had learned as town-born refugees, the kids were also exchanging stories. Trung, the boy, began to speak up and he chattered like a bird--he was no longer shy. They played with each to the other like long-time friends.

Nguyên told his new friends about the neighbor's water buffalo, the French Legionnaire who urinated over his hiding place, about almost everything except the accident when he wet his pants from fear. Huyền's parents had evacuated to her grandparents' in Mỹ Chánh, a village located by Highway 1 between An Lỗ and Quảng Trị City. The French soldiers had not sent troops to search this village, so Huyền and her parents had not experienced any military action.

In contrast, Trung's mother, who was a school teacher, had quit teaching about three months ago and evacuated with her family to An Hòa village. Like Nguyên's family, her husband escaped when the French searched for young people in the village and had witnessed, hiding with his family, the cruelty of the French Legionnaires. They had seen the French soldiers killing young peasants and beating old people who refused to point out their hidden reserves. Trung was very upset when he saw those acts and had pledged that when he grew up he would join the Việt resistance to kill their country's enemies. Trung's father did not want anyone to hear that pledge and he threatened to smack Trung if he did not stop saying that.

The mothers seemed to get along fine and they promised one another that they would maintain their relationships and let the children continue their newfound friendships.

When they were about to reach Huế City, the sun had almost set behind the Trường Sơn Great Mountain. The kids were sad because they had to go their separate ways. But when their parents promised that they would let them see one another soon, they became happier and said good-bye.

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