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.