The news that Mrs. Hung's son had been released from a North Vietnamese concentration camp where he had been held for eight long years reverberated throughout the small Mekong Delta community known locally as Lotus Pond. The nearby neighbors came on foot while those on the opposite bank of the canal made their way by boat to visit the former teacher and share in her moment of joy. The sounds of laughter and celebration could be heard everywhere in this tiny village that for too long had known only silence and emptiness.

Lotus Pond is located on both sides of a canal that bears the same name. It empties into the Mang Thit River and connects two of its tributaries. Its residents are largely farmers who have lived there for years but Mrs. Hung was a relative newcomer who had moved there from Vinh Long Province after the country was lost in 1975.

Mrs. Hung had been a well-known and respected elementary school teacher in Vinh Long for years. When the communists confiscated her government housing in 1975 she moved to Lotus Pond to live on the few acres that her husband's parents had bequeathed to him while he was still alive. Mrs. Hung eked out a living there by tending the fields but her main purpose in life was to wait for the day that Tho, her only son, would be released from the reeducation camp which was located somewhere in the northern part of the country. She hoped that he could return and make a living with her on the land because if he was not gainfully employed then surely he would be forced into a life of hard labor and drudgery like so many others who had been sent to the new economic zones out in the hinterlands. Each night Mrs. Hung lit a joss stick as an offering to her God and beseeched Him to take care of her precious son and bring him home safe and sound to be reunited with his mother.

After returning from the fields one afternoon, Mrs. Hung received a letter that was hand-carried by her niece. It informed her that Tho had already been released and was living with her relatives in Vinh Long where he would remain until his final papers were completed. Grasping the letter tightly in her hand, Mrs. Hung felt as if she were dreaming and her fervent wish had come true. Sedate and stoical by nature, Mrs. Hung did not understand the raw emotion that had overcome her. As she hurriedly thanked her friends and neighbors, tears of joy streamed down her cheeks.

Mrs. Hung had not forgotten the day that Tho had come into the world in the midst of the war in 1945 and clearly remembered clutching the newborn in her arms as she made her way to safety with her husband, Phan, who worked in the local branch of the government treasury office. He led the way as they fearfully fled from the mayhem in the province capital. The sound of gunfire between the Japanese and the French echoed over their heads and the pitiful screams of those who lay dying along the evacuation route were scenes that were seared into her memory and were always there every time she thought about her only son who had entered this life in that horrible season of conflict and war.

After seeing that his wife and child were safe in Lotus Pond, Phan bid goodbye to his dear ones and enlisted in the Vanguard Youth movement which was engaged at that time in resisting against the reimposition of French colonial rule. Upon returning to the city two years later, Mrs. Hung discovered that her loving husband had fallen in one of the battles at Can Long. From that day forward Mrs. Hung devoted herself to raising her child in order to keep faith with the heroic sacrifice of her husband.

Tho and his father were like two peas in a pod. Both were light complexioned and had naturally wavy hair. However the similarity ended there as Tho's bushy eyebrows were evidence, at least to Mrs. Hung, of her son's resolute and stubborn disposition which was quite different than that of his father.

On the day that Tho passed his second baccalaureate examination his mother allowed him to choose a college major. In her heart she wanted him to attend the Faculty of Pedagogy so that he would enter her chosen field and she could thus remain close to her only precious son. Having correctly guessed his mom's secret desire, Tho passed the entrance exam for the Faculty of Pedagogy, which was located in one of the Delta's principal cities, Can Tho, and decided to major in history and geography, two subjects that were his favorites while in high school.

After only two years in college, the Tet Offensive of 1968 took place throughout South Vietnam and Tho had the dubious distinction of bearing first-hand witness to the destruction visited on numerous populated areas by the communists during a time of truce and on the single most important holiday of the year. He saw the streets littered with the corpses of the victims, houses that were flattened and buildings that were transformed by fire into blackened hulks. War, with its scenes of communist atrocities, was no longer an abstraction to be found in press reports. Tho was sick at heart as he witnessed with his own eyes the awful inhumanity. Like many of his fellow college students, Tho had unintentionally stumbled into the real world of communist aggression in South Vietnam.

The tragic and sorrowful vision of the old man who had been a guard at city hall and who, along with his wife and six children had been gunned down in a hail of AK 47 bullets, formed a painful scar in the hearts of the students who had never known revenge or violence. These events moved Tho to volunteer for military service in response to the President's mobilization order without a moment's hesitation even though as a full time student he would have been entitled to a deferment.

Later, Tho coaxed his mother to attend his graduation ceremony when he would receive his commission at the large military complex near Saigon. He wanted his mother to witness the important and solemn induction ceremony. As the cadets lined up on the parade ground to begin their military careers, the entire area was lighted by the glow of hundreds of torches that illuminated the wreaths and incense offerings that had been carefully laid under the national memorial that was emblazoned with the words: The Fatherland Thanks You. All those in attendance were caught up in the emotional appeal of the moment as they heard the call of their forefathers and the voices of the ancestral spirits that dwelled in the rivers and mountains of the homeland. The cadets also listened carefully to their brother officers who had gone before them to selflessly lay down their lives for the ideals of freedom. It seemed now to Mrs. Hung that the souls of those heroes had returned, hopefully to protect and assist the younger generation who were now being mobilized to follow on the heels of their elder brothers who had given their lives to protect the territory of the hallowed fatherland. This thought frightened her.

Three beats of the gong and drum echoed through the stillness and an abrupt order came over the intercom:

- Cadets kneel!

The ranks of candidate officers knelt simul-taneously and each person placed his helmet on his right knee. Between the rows of cadets were former graduates who stepped forward for the pinning ceremony. Each cadet was adorned with his unit insignia on his arm and his rank was displayed on his shirt collar. All of the cadets were now officers in the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam.

The commanding officer's voice issued another order which ended the ceremony:

- Attention all candidate officers! At ease!

Sitting in the stands reserved for relatives, Mrs. Hung could not avoid feeling a combination of both pride and uneasiness. In the ranks of the young men participating in this ritual this evening was her dear son who had now formally taken upon himself, like his father before him, the task of defending the country. It was apparent to Mrs. Hung that the ardent and strong demeanor of Tho was the same as that of his father who had sacrificed his life so many years before. Except for the difference in insignia and rank, they both would do their duty to protect the beloved fatherland. From her personal perspective, it seemed like an awful price to pay. Where would she find the strength to go on if she lost her only beloved son?

On the day of his graduation, Tho, the somewhat pale geography and history student of the Faculty of Pedagogy, chose to serve with the 43rd Special Forces Battalion which was deployed in Vinh Long and he did so with an air of self assurance and rugged dependability, especially after completing an advanced course with flying colors at the jungle warfare school..

Watching her son's proper military bearing in his brown helmet and battle dress uniform, Mrs. Hung realized that her darling son had really grown up. When asked by one of his mother's friends why he had chosen to serve with the Special Forces, Tho replied without a moment's hesitation: "I have seen the communist crimes with my own eyes. I witnessed the heroic courage and sacrifice of the soldiers of the 43rd Special Forces Group as they fought door to door in my home province. I myself want to be a respected member of that force here in the area where I was born and brought up."

From the position of assistant platoon leader that he occupied when he left officer candidate school, Tho soon became the deputy battalion commander and by 1975 his grand exploits were no longer confined to his home province of Vinh Long. ThoỖs operations now took him to the farthest reaches of the fourth military tactical corps area that included most of the Mekong Delta... His mother remembered every detail that impacted in any way on her beloved son.

The days and months in prison and the times she went to visit and nurture her son stretched on. There were executions of the "lackey" officers on the province soccer field and many hamlet and village officials were beaten with clubs as they stood before the so-called peoples courts... These things would never fade from her memory.

After Mrs. Hung thanked the last of her neighbors who had come to visit she began to make preparations for tomorrow - the last day before Tet when she would travel to the province capital to be reunited with her dear son after eight long years. Even without meeting her son face to face, Mrs. Hung could still imagine what he looked like on his day of release. Eight years of yams and manioc or salt and a few vegetables would have taken its toll as would the hard labor and severe climate of the jungles where he was incarcerated in North Vietnam... She knew only too well what her boy would look like. As she reflected on the terrible treatment he received from his captors, the tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed in great streams. Yet she had withstood the long months and years of awful despair. She would try to put these things out of her mind.

Tomorrow, Mrs. Hung would be able to hug her child. Tomorrow she will run her fingers through his unruly hair. She will plant numerous kisses on the face of her loving son that she has missed so much for so long. In the end her baby will be just four or five again and she will cradle and comfort him in her arms.

She will have to worry about her son's meals and make sure he gets enough sleep. He will never be far away from his mother again. He will always be near and forever be a source of continual happi-ness to his mother in her twilight years. His mother will work in the fields to grow rice for him to eat. She will plant vegetables and catch shrimp and fish for him to eat... It seemed to Mrs. Hung that true happiness had finally arrived. They would live frugally but contentedly in her home after an absolutely wonderful reunion!

Thinking of food for her son, Mrs. Hung just remembered that she had set several traps to catch some shrimp in the Lotus Pond Canal in order to prepare something special for the Tet holiday, which is the Lunar New Year and an important feast day throughout Asia. So, she rushed to the canal to retrieve her catch and the heavens did not disappoint her. Each of her traps contained a few large, freshwater shrimp that were hanging on by their pincers. The catch totaled almost twenty prawn and would really be a splendid and precious gift to mark the occasion of Tet and her reunion with her son after eight long years.

Mrs. Hung knew her son well. He preferred shrimp to any other food. When he was still a cadet and came home on leave she always made a special shrimp dish for him to eat. It was rich and delicious. Later when Tho was on a distant operation, she never neglected to rely on his battalion to pass on to him her special dish, even though he may be on an operation in a remote area.

Thinking about Tho's favorite foods brought streams of tears to her cheeks. Such was her deep and unconditional love for her son. But, tomorrow her only son would have prawns to eat. And not only tomorrow but forever until she was 100 years old there would be prawns for her son to eat. That would make up for all the days of deprivation and craving.

Looking at the nearly twenty large prawn that she had caught, Mrs. Hung chose five of the largest which she peeled and steeped for her special dish. She carefully placed the remainder in a deep pot full of water in order that they stay fresh and placed that pan in a rattan basket. Her plan was to roast them tomorrow for her son to eat to his heart's content.

She did not forget to cook up a pot of sticky rice for her son to eat with her special dish.

Mrs. Hung spent almost half the night getting everything ready. After lighting incense at the altars of Buddha and her husband, she crawled into bed to wait impatiently for the dawn. The images of her son and her husband were bouncing around in her head. God in heaven had been good to her and her husband, Phan, had given her this wonderful turn of events...

At daybreak Mrs. Hung got everything ready to go. She planned to take the ferry at Lotus Pond and go to an intermediate point where she would board the bus for Vinh Long. She placed her special dish in a small aluminum pot and wrapped the hot pan of sticky rice in green banana leaves and tied it to keep it warm as she would a traditional Tet cake. The uncooked prawns were moving around vigorously and she placed them in a basket under a few banana leaves. She then placed her special dish, the covered pot of sticky rice and some clothing in a bag that she could easily carry along with her. Finally, she changed from her simple and informal black garb to a traditional gray Vietnamese dress with a striped woolen shawl that she wore over her shoulders for warmth. At last she stood on the banks of the Lotus Pond Canal to wait for the ferry to take her to Tan An Luong. She was ecstatic!

Although it was still early, her relatives lined both banks of the canal to bid her bon voyage as if she were truly taking a long trip:

--Return to your home province in good health and send our regards to young Tho.

--It is such a pity that he had to spend eight or nine years in prison. Surely your young son will be terribly emaciated!

--Listen Mrs. Hung! Tell young Tho to come home with you and stay, I will send my youngest over to take care of him!

The sound of laughter and the uproarious banter of those who had come to see Mrs. Hung off as she returned to Vinh Long to meet her son punctuated the holiday spirit and reverberated throughout the village of Lotus Pond on the last day of the old year.

From a curve in the canal the ferry emerged in the morning mist. It moved slowly along the surface of the water but the sound of its creaking oars as it bobbed along gave it away before it came into sight. It was on schedule to pick up any passengers bound for the village market at Tan An Luong.

With a basket in one hand containing her special dish and another basket full of fresh prawns and some clothing, Mrs Hung, boarded the ferry as quickly as possible. Sitting quietly on a bench in the small ferry she waved to her lady friends on the landing to thank them for coming to see her off.

A husband and wife team provided the paddle power for the ferry. The one in the rear steered as the craft floated on the surface of the Lotus Pond canal carrying Mrs. Hung to Tan An Luong.

Mrs. Hung was noticeably fretful today as she wondered why the ferry was moving so slowly. Well aware of her desire to see her son as soon as possible, the oarsman in the rear spoke:

- It is difficult rowing against the current today. I am sorry dear teacher.

Mrs. Hung smiled kindly to cover up her impatience:

- Let me row. I'll give you a hand.

With that she gently grabbed an extra oar that was stashed in the junk and helped the couple whom she addressed as aunt and uncle. With her able assistance the ferry picked up speed.

It was after 8:00 a.m. when they had negotiated the turns in the Mang Thit River and Mrs. Hung saw the Tan An Luong bridge which appeared in the distance and looked to her like two large hammocks strung across the river. The center span had been blown up in 1975 and the remains looked like the broken concrete teeth of a monster jutting out of the water's surface. To the right at the head of the bridge was the market at Tan An Luong where Mrs. Hung would catch a bus to Vinh Long. There were two long rows of shops that sat peacefully in the main market area, which was roofed in aluminum sheets, some of which still showed the scars of an artillery barrage that had occurred years earlier. No repairs or changes had been made. It looked a bit more run down than she had remembered it.

The ferry arrived at the landing next to the market and Mrs. Hung and the other passengers scrambled up the bank. Mrs. Hung looked around in the main market area with the idea that she might pick up a little something else for her son but she only saw high piles of a common, leafy vegetable. In another area of the market she noticed huge baskets of yams and cassava. A few vending ladies sat before some tubs of fish stirring the water to create bubbles and looking up sadly at all those who walked by. There were piles of ripe melons in the left hand corner of the market with rinds that were white and wrinkled. A few had been cut in half to show the pinkish and speckled seeds of the fresh fruit.

The shops and stalls were mostly closed but a few that were open had merchandise that was covered with dust. Mrs. Hung did not see anything that resembled the New Year market that she remembered before 1975 when the bustle of holiday activity was apparent all along the route from this village of Tan An Luong to Can Long District and on to the provincial capital of Vinh Long.

There was nothing to buy so Mrs, Hung, with the two baskets in her hand, proceeded to the highway to wait for the bus to Vinh Long. The streets were almost empty. Occasionally, a few pedicabs would pass on their way to the market.

Standing on the side of the road Mrs. Hung waited impatiently for the arrival of the bus that would take her to Vinh Long. She had made this trip before and knew the number and designation of the bus she would board.

The image of her darling boy returning after eight years in prison flashed before Mrs. Hung's eyes. She felt a tightening in her stomach whenever she thought of her son who was unfortunate enough to be born in wartime and suffer first by running to escape the violence and then by actually becoming a soldier to defend the homeland. He had never known peace, a normal environment or true happiness. When the regime collapsed and the military disbanded in 1975 he had been put in prison with its torture and hard labor...Her son and an entire people suffered the most heart rending and pitiful fate in the history of the homeland.

But now Mrs. Hung felt as if all of the suffering and deprivation had passed. Whatever was lost must be forgotten. She believed that she had finally found the highest state of real and intimate happiness because in just a few moments she would gaze, once again, upon her loving boy after so many long years of separation. She would look after her son and make sure that he had enough sleep and enough to eat just as she once did and she would never have her motherly instincts thwarted again through such an unnatural separation.

Mrs. Hung reminded herself that in the days of her old age which were coming on fast now she would have a limitless amount of comfort to make up for the lonely life of a widow and a mother who had been kept from her son for so long. In this quiet and natural moment of reflection, Mrs. Hung did not harbor one iota of malice or hate toward those who had brought disaster and death to her family and impoverished an entire nation. She felt only gratitude because they had given her back her happiness by returning her only son...

- Hey! Old lady over there, report over here!

The yell seemed to come suddenly from the direction of a small cafe at the head of the bridge and its echo seemed to wake Mrs. Hung out of her reverie. Turning in that direction to get a better look, she saw a tax cadre sitting rather pompously on the saddle of a light gray colored motor scooter in front of the cafe. He was smoking a filtered cigarette. Sitting alongside on a motorcycle was a military policeman. He was dressed in a khaki uniform and had an AK 47 assault weapon hanging on his bike in plain view. To be sure who the tax cadre was calling, Mrs. Hung looked hastily around: she was the only person on the almost deserted roadside.

- What are you still looking around at? I am calling you lady. Get over here so I can examine your bags!

With the tax cadre continuing his scolding, Mrs. Hung understood that they wanted to examine her bags because this was a customs "station".

She slowly carried her two baskets up to the motor scooter and at the same time used her shawl to wipe the perspiration from her brow.

- Sir, I am not selling anything. Gentlemen, I only have food that I am taking to my son in Vinh Long.

- Stop your mindless prattle. Who would believe old housewives? Bring the two baskets here for us to examine.

As the tax cadre spoke he jumped down from the motor scooter. In one movement he stepped on his half smoked cigarette and grabbed both baskets from Mrs. Hung and threw them down on the ground near his scooter. The policeman in the khaki uniform shouldered his AK 47 and stepped away from his bike.

Mrs. Hung stood motionless watching the tax cadre open her baskets for examination. Her black pajamas and faded work clothes were taken out and flung on the ground. The warm pot of sticky rice which was wrapped in banana leaves was forced open with a bayonet and its contents spilled helter skelter on the pavement. The small aluminum pot in the bottom of the basket was opened and when the tax cadre saw the special shrimp dish he cast a glance at the policeman and said:

- Good Lord, you dare to eat shrimp! Who gave you permission to eat shrimp? Shrimp must be left for the regime to export. Don't you know that eating shrimp is a violation of the law? I will keep these five prawns to make a report.

As he finished speaking, the tax cadre put the cover back on the pot and set it on the seat of his scooter.

The rattan basket was then opened and the layers of banana leaves strewed about on the ground. On the bottom of the basket was the container with more than a dozen lively prawn still agitated and squirming as the they bumped into each other. With a forced smile on his face, the tax cadre looked at the policeman:

-God! Here are fresh shrimp, live prawns. This is clearly a case of smuggling. Don't deny it old lady!

The khaki clad policeman agreed:

-Your number is up lady. Shrimp is a nationally prohibited product. It is a resource of the state and designated for export only. How dare you engage in smuggling shrimp which is detrimental to the party and the regime? Do you understand me?

Mrs. Hung was flabbergasted! It seemed to her that this was all a bad dream. Her face became pale and her knees were shaking.. But, as she recovered her demeanor she decided to turn toward the two officials and ask for mercy. Using a familiar and friendly term of address for the two young men, Mrs Hung pleaded:

- Please have pity on me. I did not know that shrimp was a prohibited item and that it was illegal to transport them. My son was just released from a reeducation camp in North Vietnam and I was bringing them for him to eat. I am not engaged in selling them at all. Please , you two young gentlemen, have some compassion for me and let me go.

Before she could finish her entreaty to the two officials, the policeman moved threateningly and said mockingly:

- Who would imagine that the poor are smugglers? There is no compassion for those who smuggle shrimp to the lackeys who are returning from a reeducation camp.

Turning to the tax cadre he continued:

- Go ahead. This type of lackey gang member should be shown no mercy.

- Right. Let me do some figuring.

Having said that, the tax cadre reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, removed one and placed it between his lips. He then offered the pack to the policeman who did the same. The law enforcement officer then pulled out a lighter, lit his own and then the tax cadre's cigarette in that order.

After exhaling the smoke from a few deep puffs of his cigarette, the tax cadre spoke slowly and evenly:

- Now lady, listen to what I have to say. You are transporting illegally five kilos of prawns. I repeat, five kilos of lobster. According to the law, you may either pay a fine or have the prawns confiscated. If you pay the fine, you will compensate the state for three times the sales price of the item in question. The value of every kilo of shrimp is computed according to the amount it will earn in foreign exchange which is 5,000 Piasters. Therefore, you must pay 15,000 Piasters for each kilo of shrimp you are carrying illegally. That comes to a fine of 75,000 Piasters and you can take the shrimp and go.

Taking a long drag on his cigarette, the tax cadre blew out the smoke as he continued:

- If you want to leave the shrimp to be confiscated then the fine will be only 25,000 Piasters. That is up to you.

As she listened to the judgment of the tax cadre, Mrs Hung felt as if her world had come toppling down around her. The vision of her boy just returning from the reeducation camp flickered before her eyes and the playful prawns at the cadre's feet danced in her head at the same time.

She thought about her options but realized that she definitely did not have 75,000 Piasters to ransom the prawns and it was not possible to have them confiscated because she did not have 25,000 Piasters for the fine.

She thought that the price for the shrimp was the same as the price for gold. That was fitting. Her most precious son must eat food that was as expensive as gold itself. This shameless mob must not steal my gold, my son's gold. My son's father was a hero. My son himself is a hero. Nobody has the power to keep me from feeding my son. Not a soul has the right to keep me from feeding a hero. She thought that her basket of prawns should be returned to her. Give me back my special shrimp dish for my son. That is the blood and fibre of my being! Don't you robber barons dare touch my body and soul. This gang will never touch my son. They will never violate my boy. He is a hero and the son of a hero. Do you hear that you brazen gang of robbers? You thieving soldiers...

- Armed robbers! Armed robbers!

With red eyes peering from their sockets and voice that was raspy with rage, Mrs Hung shouted at the officials as she grabbed her baskets and ran back toward the bridge. With her hair flying in all directions in the New Year's wind, Mrs. Hung continued running and screaming at the same time:

- You damned armed robbers! Communist army thieves! Down with the communist army! Down with the army of thieves!

Faced with this unexpected development, the tax cadre stood with his mouth open as Mrs. Hung stumbled down the bank toward the bridge. The policeman seemed to keep his wits about him as he threw down his cigarette and stepped on it. He picked up his AK47, cocked it to be sure that a round was in the chamber and took careful aim at Mrs. Hung before squeezing off a single shot.

The report seemed to shatter the peaceful atmosphere of the last morning before the New Year and the body of Mrs Hung was last seen as it fell in the same spot where the bridge had been blown up so many years before. There was no railing on the bridge to prevent Mrs. Hung from falling into the bluish looking water of the Mang Thit River.

Having heard the shot ring out and having observed Mrs. Hung's body fall into the river, the people from both sides of the Tan An Luong Market rushed to the sloping river bank. They peered down into the current as it bore Mrs. Hung's body along and cried to heaven for some sort of divine intervention on her behalf. Four or five junks made their way from the bank to fish the body from the rushing water while a few young men jumped into the river after her. Their thrashing about added much foam to the azure blue waters yet a stream of pinkish red blood was clearly visible in the middle of the broad river as it made its way toward Lotus Pond.

Back at the improvised tax "station" the policeman checked the safety on his AK 47 twice before putting it back on his bike and lighting up a cigarette. He spoke through the smoke as he exhaled after a long drag:

- The old lady was still a reactionary. Who'd believe it?

Standing next to him the cadre looked down at the bridge, the overturned baskets which lay still in the cool morning air and the drops of blood that already started to congeal. Down in the current of the river the rescue boats still bobbed about as they combed unsuccessfully in the place where Mrs. Hung had fallen. The group of young men still splashed about in vain out in the middle of the stream.

Flicking away his cigarette, the tax cadre turned to the policeman:

- Enough, lets go home. Stop by while I greet my parents for New Years and then we can be on our way.

The atmosphere of panic on both sides of the Tan An Luong Market began to normalize. There only remained the few softly spoken words of the local citizenry as the troops of the village were deployed along both sides of the bridge.

The sun was high in the sky and the breeze that accompanied the arrival of a new year continued to blow and cause ripples on the Mang Thit River.

At last the serenity of the area slowly returned as the people and the current of the Mang Thit River were quelled by the very breeze that ushered in the New Year.

Uyen Son (Florida)

Translated from the Vietnamese and edited by:
Donald C. Brewster, December 1, 1999

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE:

The author advises that the foregoing is a true story. In the original, Mrs. Hung was rendered as Huong and the names of several localities in the Mekong Delta were omitted when the translator deemed them as not essential to the story line in English. Except for those minor changes, the story was excerpted in its entirety from the 1997 Year Book Directory c/o The Florida Viet Bao Newspaper, P.O. Box 277625, Miramar, FL 33027-7625, Publisher Mr. Yen Ba Chu