Brother Francois and I were driven to the police station of the county at
about 7:00 P.M. At the waiting room, we were separated one from another sitting
each one at the opposite corners. Before leaving, a policeman said, “Sit down
there and do not attempt to talk to each other!” We looked at each other,
shaking heads, anxious and confused. The event about the Gestetner printing
machine suddenly came to my mind. I made a sign by drawing circles on the air to
Brother Francois who nodded his head as he got what I meant. I made again the
sign of denying “that there is NO such printing machine in the La Salle Mossard
Community.” He again nodded his head, indicating “OK! I will declare exactly the
same!”
A young policeman who seemed sympathetic to us but didn’t dare to concretely
show it, brought two rations for dinner, and said, “Brothers, maybe you are
already hungry. Please try to eat something. You’ll need it!” He then left us
alone. We looked at each other, shaking heads and breathing deeply, sad and
fretful because of worry for the community. Neither of us had a mind to eat
anything.
The chief police called Brother Francois to his office for investigation. I
still was in the parlor. Because the office was not too far away from the
parlor, I could hear, although not clearly, some questions and answers about the
investigation. I so prepared myself to be in harmony with Brother Francois in
regard of general questions and answers.
My turn to be interrogated was around 10:00 P.M. Almost the same questions were
asked of me as for Brother Francois, except some personal questions, e.g. “Where
were you in December? What did you do during the week following Christmas? With
whom do you have contact? What did you talk about or discuss with them?” etc.
For overnight, we had to sleep between two policemen right on the floor. I
couldn’t sleep a wink all night, but Brother Francois did sleep well, I guessed,
because of his snoring. Maybe he was too tired and stressed. In addition, he had
been sick for a week before. The two policemen slept as though nothing serious
happened.
***
“OK! Wake up!” the investigator shouted, “Let’s go back to Mossard for work.”
On a single Honda motorcycle, he drove Brother Francois and me back home. It was
about 8:00 A.M. of January 4, 1975. I was surprised to see 2 Juniors, Anthony
Thanh, and Alphonse Minh were present with my 2 nephews. They were joyful and
more or less relieved in meeting us again and ran around to meet Brother
Francois and me. Anthony said to me, “Brother, we didn’t have anything for our
stomach since yesterday noon. We are really hungry. Maybe you can ask these
policemen to give us something to eat?”
Having looked around, I saw posted everywhere some mounting guard policemen
encircling our group in the middle of the basketball court. I noticed among them
a policeman, maybe the youngest, who looked rather sympathetic and smiled to me.
I couldn’t realize who that guy was. I came to him and asked, “May we cook
something to eat because these Juniors and little boys haven’t eaten anything
since yesterday.” In turn, he looked around, then whispered, “Do it quickly. At
9:00 A.M. ‘they’ will come and you’ll be in trouble! I’ll take care to watch for
anything that can stop you cooking!”
- Thanks!
I told Anthony to catch the fattest hen, then just cook chicken rice soup; it
might be quickly done. My two nephews were more than happy to have an
opportunity to run to catch the fattest hen, while Anthony and Alphonse prepared
everything necessary for cooking. Alphonse came to me, “Brother An, please come
to the kitchen. There is something weird in the corner of the kitchen!” I ran
into the kitchen, and Alphonse showed me 2 cartons full of books and magazines
in English and Vietnamese. The very first pages showed some images about guns of
any kind and tanks, i.e. these books and magazines were about military training.
I urged Anthony and Alphonse to use these books and magazines for firing the
stove, instead of using kindling. The chicken rice soup pot started to smell
burnt, but the books and magazines still remained in more than a half of a
carton. I urged Anthony and Alphonse to tear only pages which contained pictures
of guns or tanks and any logos relating to the American and South Vietnamese
armies, and then preferably books and magazines in Vietnamese would be burned.
Although the chicken rice soup was burnt, everyone appreciated it as “tasty, not
because it smells naturally good, but because it smells like something
Providential!” Brother Francois said when I recalled the way Anthony, Alphonse,
my 2 nephews and I, had cooked the meal. Personally, I was really relaxed and
calmed down because I guessed that these 2 cartons had been hidden there by
Brother Michel with intention to have them burnt, but he must have forgot or he
didn’t have the opportunity to destroy them. During the critical moment, we had
destroyed, all or at least the most dangerous part of these so-called
reactionary proofs against us.
***
9:00 A.M. passed, and the officers hadn’t come yet. We gathered at the
basketball court under the mounted guard of armed policemen, of course. On this
occasion, we gave each other more details about what had happened since the
morning of the day before. I re-assured everyone that “nothing serious hopefully
had happened to us because yesterday they had thoroughly searched in each room,
and they didn’t find anything that could be used against us.”
Around 10:00 A.M. Officials came and started immediately working. Policemen were
divided into small groups of 4 or 5, the Juniors and some Brothers included. Two
or three small groups searched in the gardens in front and behind the building.
The small group with Brother Francois and me was searching in the chapel and
every classrooms. I really didn’t know whether other small groups found
something anti-revolutionary underground hidden somewhere, or not; but in the
chapel and classrooms, there was nothing except tables, chair, religious books,
etc. What would be their intention requiring that Brother Francois, Director,
and me lead them into these rooms? To tell the truth, they just passed through,
looking into each classroom, and walked around the chapel. It took about 20
minutes to make a tour including first and second floors. Yesterday, they had
searched thoroughly the third floor including Brother Michel’s room, Brother
Colomban’s, Brother Pierre’s, and the big dormitory for the Juniors.
While we walked across the big room used for toilets and shower for the Juniors,
a policeman looked up at the ceiling and noticed that there was a rectangular
hole in the form of a little door up above the ceiling. He called out, “What’s
that?” I replied, “That’s the door through the ceiling to the roof.” The head of
the group obliged me to climb up there. Using the water pipe as a ladder, I
climbed up into the ceiling, a policeman followed. It was dark. The policeman
shouted, “Turn on the light!” I replied, “Above the ceiling to the roof, there
is no light available.” The head of the group gave orders for a cable and
electric lamps, and every policeman was equipped with a flashlight.
At the entrance to the ceiling, there was a rectangular blue rug stretched on
several beams, and on the rug, a relatively clean and white T-shirt was exposed.
Under the 100W lamp lights, the policeman turned up and down the rug corners,
and then took the T-shirt, turned it up and down, and discovered a black trace
on it. He shouted, “What’s this black mark?” I looked at it, and although I
immediately recognized it as the trace of a M2 gun head, I replied, “Brother
Michel and I used it to fix and repair the water pipe over here. This trace is
just of some dirty oil drops from a little water pipe head.” The policeman
looked at me, angry and suspicious. He ordered his team, “Comrades! Keep this
T-shirt carefully. Let’s start searching thoroughly and very carefully every
corner of this attic.”
The ceiling was as long and wide as the whole building. It was, one would say,
the 4th floor where we used to store empty suitcases for the Juniors; the mid
line was high enough so that one could stand, but at the two side lines, one had
to bend his/her back and walk on the long beams like a chimpanzee. Policemen
spread out on a line across from one side to another, and each one was to search
within two parallel beams along the length of the building. I was to walk before
them, in the middle, holding the 100W lamp and advancing step by step. Brother
Francois was to hold the cable behind the policemen line. It must be said that
“Comrades” really searched very carefully every square foot on the 4th floor.
I staggered ahead and incessantly moved my eyes up below the roof. I was shocked
when I saw a Thompson gun underneath two roof girders. I then promptly lowered
the lamp so that policemen couldn’t see above. They still zealously bent their
back toward the floor, slowly advanced forward and concentrated searching on the
floor. The danger section passed, I silently took a deep breath of joy and self
consolation. While the search for anti-revolution proof was continuing, my mind
worked incessantly, looking for a way to get rid of that Thompson gun as soon as
possible. Anyway, I tried to appear calm, peaceful, and indifferent to avoid
being detected by the barn-owl-like eyes of the chief of police.
We finished about two thirds of the 4th floor. A policeman on the right side
shouted, “Here it is, a box full of bullets!” I directed the lamp to the
direction of the policeman and saw the small box that he had raised high to the
view of everybody. It was really a container for cookies, labeled L.U. in form
of a cubic prism. The policeman showed to everyone the contents in the box: a
short holder bullets-chain with about 10 cartridges of different sizes. I looked
at Brother Francois who looked at me, too, and we exchanged to each other our
surprise by shrugging our shoulders as saying, “Where does that come from?”
After such a discovery, policemen began search more thoroughly. The chief police
urged all officers not to forget any corner of the 4th floor, and to especially
look at the narrowed point between the floor and sloping roof. So progress in
the searching became slower. However, they didn’t find anything else as proof of
anti-revolution.
At the middle of the 4th floor, on the front side, there was a little door that
opened to the terrace which was the roof top of the water tank for the whole
Junioriate. Around the exterior of the 4th floor was a long concrete water-spout
so wide that two persons could work on it in side by side. When the search
finished on the 4th floor, the chief of police ordered Brother Francois and me
to lead them outside on this terrace.
Taking off the lid and looking inside the cubic tank, the chief of police asked,
“What’s inside this container?” Brother Francois replied, “Drinking water.” The
chief police continued, “What else?” Brother Francois pulled a wry face, then
said, “What else do you think is in a drinking water container?” The chief of
police angrily pointed at me, then said, “You. Jump down into the container and
bring up anything in it.” I looked at him, really surprised and angry, then
said, “Whimsical idea! You want me to bring up water? If you don’t believe us,
jump down there to check for yourself.” Although my mouth spoke with that tone
rather convinced and self-confident, my mind was really confused and anxious,
wondering if there were something else inside the tank. A policeman was assigned
to jump down in the container. After a few minutes diving and searching for
something they wanted to find, he emerged, then said, “There is nothing inside!”
I again took a deep self-comforting breath.
Policemen continued searching along the concrete water-spout. At one point, a
policeman discovered a bullet container underneath the roof. There was a long
holder bullet chain with about 20 bullets hanging on it. Brother Francois looked
at me, disappointed, sad and worried, while I paled in consternation, saying to
myself “My goodness!” The chief of police stood at the finding container point,
aimed to the gate, then said, “Damn it! They would set the machine-gun at this
place...”
He then ordered Brother Francois to hold the container with his hands to have a
photo taken. They did the same thing with the little box L.U. and the white
T-shirt with the imprint of M2 gun head.
Nothing else could be found.
***
The policemen dispersed for lunch time and siesta, leaving 3 armed policemen
mounted in guard. It was about 12:30 P.M. Food for lunch was brought to us from
the police station of Thu Duc. My two nephews, Chau and Thanh, played
cache-cache, innocently. Suddenly, Chau, 13 years old, stopped by my side and
whispered, “Uncle! I saw something like container box for film reel above the
stove in the kitchen.” I accompanied him to the kitchen. Through the front door,
I saw the container 16 mm film boxes. Although I didn’t know what main title of
film was contained in it, I was startled, wondering, “How come that box is there
above the stove? This morning, we were to burn books and magazines, and nobody
noticed of it.” [Until now, I have no clue “Where it comes from? Who was the
person to display this 16mm film reel in the container box on the stove?”]
Anyway, I called Thanh, 11 years old, and said, “Chau, go over there and give me
signal if policemen come; Thanh, go to the kitchen, bring the box above the
stove, and throw it over the fence.” I went to a corner of the building,
watching over policemen while they were doing what I told them to do. A minute
later, Thanh came to me, and joyfully and proudly said, “Uncle! Done!” I rubbed
his head, then said, “Good boy! Continue to play with Chau!”
I joined other “prisoners,” talking about things that happened yesterday and
recently on this morning. I suddenly felt something wrong like I had gotten
heartburn. I slowly walked to the kitchen, and looking in it through the front
door, I failed to shout “Oh My God!” when I saw the 16mm film reel sitting on
the stove. I immediately called Thanh who quickly ran to me. I said, “Thanh, I
told you to throw the box over the fence, why didn’t you do it?” “I did!” Thanh
replied, with conviction! I realized that I had said “the box,” and my innocent
nephew did obey to me in throwing “the box” NOT “the contents of the box!” I
tried to keep myself calm, and then said to Thanh, “Go! Throw the 16mm film reel
over the fence, too! Quick!” At the same time, I heard people coming back to
work. I had to leave, avoiding any suspicion from policemen. I totally relied on
the Providence of God.
***
About 1:30P.M. the policeman, Mr. Chanh, who had investigated Brother
Francois and me last night at the police station, came nearby me and said, “Mr.
An, let’s go to the kitchen.” I was embarrassed, wondering “Didn’t my nephew,
Thanh, throw away the 16mm film reel?” I went ahead, leading him to the kitchen.
From the front door, I saw a short portion of 16mm film hung down from a hole at
the back side of the stove against the wall. I walked in faster enough, straight
to the corner in order to hide the portion of 16mm film with my legs from the
eyes of Mr. Chanh.
I stood there, trying to be as calm as possible. I showed to Mr. Chanh the big
kitchen, then said, “Here is the kitchen that provides more than 100 people with
a daily meal, before 1975.” I didn’t know whether because of my trembling voice
or because of any other reason that he had an inquisitive look straight at my
face. To be honest, I tried to do my best to control trembling and appear
indifferent. A few seconds later, he began looking up and around the kitchen. He
moved to the other side of the large stove, and I followed him in little steps
while keeping undiscovered the portion of 16mm film. At the corner where this
morning we had burnt hundreds of pages which remained a heap of ashes, he seemed
to be thinking of something. Perhaps the unwashed big pot containing burnt rice
soup on this morning had saved me. He said, “OK! Let’s go outside and make a
tour in the garden.” I felt my mind comfortably relaxed. I let him go out first.
When I was sure he couldn’t see anything else in the kitchen, I walked a little
faster and led him around the garden.
There were different small groups searching in garden. A policeman came and said
something to Mr. Chanh, who looked at me and ordered, “Come here!” I followed
him to a sewer outlet behind the kitchen. He said, “Look inside.” I bent down
and looked inside the sewer and saw a bullet container. He said, “Bring it out
here.” I did. He opened the cover and showed me many bullets of different sizes.
I noticed that they all were rusted. Mr. Chanh said to the policeman, “Bring
this box over there, and display it on the basketball court,” then he pointed at
me, “You too, accompany him and stay over there.”
On the basketball court, there were displayed several anti-revolution objects as
evidence against us: the national flag (red - yellow star) found in the small
room annexed to the bathrooms, the small box L.U. and 2 bullet containers
containing some bullet holder chains, the white t-shirt imprinted with black
trace of M2 gun head, the “killer tool” Tomahawk found in the closet of my
bedroom, and several items “non-sense at first look” found somewhere in the
garden.
All “detainees” were gathered in front of a camera. In turn, each one had to be
photographed holding in his hands a small rectangular board. His full name, date
of birth, and a number, were written on it. After his ID photo was taken, he
went to a table nearby to have all his 10 fingers imprinted on a document. “Our
prisoner I.D.” I thought. It was about 4:00P.M.
I was in line waiting for my turn to get my picture taken. Mr. Chanh suddenly
came and said, “Mr. An, come here. We are going to the kitchen again.” I had the
feeling that something not good was to happen to us. I followed him into the
kitchen. Coming closer to the front door, I saw the 16mm film reel above the
stove. Rapid illuminating ideas came to my mind. “He would move the reel film
from the hole that I had tried to hide with my legs a few minutes before,” I
said to myself. “If so, I know how to answer his questions.” I felt more
self-confident.
He asked, “What is this film about?” I shouted, “What? That’s strange! Where did
it come from?” I noticed his embarrassment for having blundered in taking off
the reel from the hole. I continued, more confident, “Isn’t it true that a few
minutes before, you and I had searched in the kitchen, and we didn’t see
anything like that on the stove? Now, how come that this film reel shows up
here? Who brought it in and displayed it here?”
Although being stuck for a few seconds, he looked at me, very angry, then
ordered, “Look at it yourself, and see what it is about!” I really didn’t know
“what this film is about”, but to hear his tone, I would soon realize “what it’s
about.” I hesitated at the idea of reading the title of this film, but in
reality I wanted to know “What it was about.” I slowly opened frame by frame,
and read, “Hue, Old Capital, In Fire - Tet Mau Than, 1968.” I returned the film
reel to the stove, and then said emphatically, “Who put this 16mm reel film on
the stove?” I didn’t know, whether it was because I didn’t perform well the role
of prosecutor or because Mr. Chanh bitterly realized his blunder, but he showed
himself really calm, too calm, then said, “OK! Go out!”
When I joined the other “detainees”, I saw Mr. Cang, whose family lived in an
apartment annexed to the kitchen, distributing to each Brother and Junior a
little plastic bag containing the necessary items for personal hygiene. When he
came to me, he said, his eyes more or less reddened, “Brother An, I don’t know
what else I can do. Please keep this for temporary use.” I received it, really
moved, then said, “Thank you, Teacher Cang. Take care of yourself, your wife,
and especially of your little 7 day-old baby!” He broke down in tears.
The photographer was waiting for me to complete the beginning of my new journey.