The detention center head, Mr. Le Canh, who discovered the so-called tomahawk
in my closet, was sitting comfortably in an armchair, ready to welcome me. Three
armed policemen stood by the desk. He showed a stool in front of him then
ordered, “Sit down!”
At my first glance toward the desk, I recognized a piece of paper containing my
handwritings and my signature. That statement read “Right now, in the property
of La Salle, there is no Gestetner printing machine.” (cf. Page 210.) Mr. Le
Canh glowered at me for a few seconds, and said, “I give you the favor of
confessing again. In the La Salle Mossard, is there a printing machine?” I
immediately realized that there would be someone who had informed the police
about this. However, I kept myself calm, and convinced. “No!” I replied. A
little surprised, he continued, “If I bring that printing machine here, what do
you think?” I replied, “I take all responsibility for my answer.” He ordered his
servicemen, while glaring at me, “Bring the printing machine here!”
Two policemen brought in the Gestetner printing machine and laid it on a small
table at the entrance to the office. I was startled at seeing it, looking for
the way to reply. Mr. Le Canh pointed to the printing machine, and then asked,
“Whose is this printing machine?” I replied, almost promptly, “In Saigon, there
are lots of printing machines like this one. How can I know whose it is. So, how
can I answer your question?”
I saw his eyes flash angry rays at me and he shook his fist emphatically. I was
afraid, not because of his anger, but rather because I couldn’t figure out which
tortures he would apply to me. A muffled voice came from his mouth, “OK! If I
call the witness attesting that this printing machine belongs to La Salle, what
is your idiot opinion?” A quick question came to mind, “Who had confessed the
whole story?” I tried to be as calm as possible. I replied, “I am responsible
for my opinion.”
The detention center head ordered the witness to come. The latter stood outside
the door facing toward the printing machine. Just seeing the shadow of the
witness, I knew who he was, and I regretted not guessing beforehand who could
confess the whole truth. Mr. Le Canh asked the witness, “Whose is this printing
machine?”The witness said, “It belongs to the La Salle Mossard community.”
It was exactly the voice of Brother Colomban, a voice that was although clear
and calm but still revealed some suffering and constraint. Brother Colomban was
immediately pulled away. Mr. Le Canh glared at me, and then said with a strained
voice, “Did you clearly hear that?” I calmy replied, “I did hear it, clearly.
But I did not lie to you when I answered your question ‘Is there the printing
machine, right now, in the La Salle community?’ I did answer ‘No!’ and it was
really true. The proof is that during two consecutive days, you had searched,
thoroughly, at the La Salle community, and you didn’t find any printing machine.
Now, where did this printing machine come from? The only reasonable answer is
that because Brother Colomban Dao had been the housekeeper and Econome of the
community, and if he sold or leased this printing machine to someone outside the
community, how can I know it?”
The detention center head pulled out his revolver, pointed it straight to my
face, then shouted, “I’m cutting out your tongue! And don’t think that I don’t
dare fire at you.” I looked at him, empty mind. It took a few seconds. He then
ordered, “Hang him up to the window for 3 days and 3 nights!”
Two policemen lifted my armpits and pulled me over to the detention center; a
third policeman pinned my arm to my back. At the entrance of a short corridor
into the detention camp, there was a rectangular blue board with white words
hung on a wall that read “If guilty? Beat until giving up illegal deeds. Not
guilty? Beat until admitting the mistake!” I was so panic-stricken that cold
sweater rolled off my back.
It was about 11:00P.M. At the middle of the corridor, on the left side appeared
a series of dark cells; on the right side, a relatively larger room #4 was
brightened by dim electric bulb; at the end of the corridor opened a rectangular
cemented court in the open air followed by another series of large rooms more or
less lit by electric lamps.
Sounds from the keys opening Room #4 awakened about 40 people more or less
naked, laying on the floor in two rows like sardines. The door was opened. My
God! The unpleasant smell poured out from the room made me feel sick enough to
vomit. I trembled, frightened to death. “Oh my God!” I said to myself,
“Nowadays, there still are people who have been treated like that?” I didn’t
know why or how, the question of Jesus to His disciples suddenly came to my
mind, “Who do you say I am?” Somewhere echoed “New comer!”
The policemen pushed me into room #4, locked the door, and then ordered,
“Come here, face to the window. Pass your two hands outside, on both sides of
the window bars.” A man of robust appearance that I identified later as the cell
head said, [In each room, the detention center head assigned a detainee as
“the cell head”. He was responsible for the ordered living in the room. He alone
could address the officers of the camp, and to whom officers made commendation
and recommendation in order to communicate to the other “roommates.”] “You
should undress, everything, because it is quite hot in here,” then he turned to
the policemen, begged, “May I report to Officers. [If necessary, any detainee
could address directly to the officers of the camp, but always beginning with
the honoring formula: “May I report to Officers...”] It’s quite hot in here;
I beg your favor to allow him to undress before hanging him up at the window.”
The policemen answered curtly, “OK!” I was like a robot, empty mind. The cell
head removed my pants, except my underwear, while two young men removed my shirt
and T-shirt. I had no reaction until my two hands were cuffed, outside the
window bars. I felt really ashamed because it was the first time I was
practically naked in the presence of a crowd. Somewhere around me echoed
something like “Ho! Ho! That white skin! He must be a teacher or someone
intellectual! He must be a political detainee! That’s good!”
I didn’t know how long I was in that state of numbness or in a nightmare, and
how long it took for Room #4 to return to quiet and for me to bring my mind
gradually in order. I clearly and realistically realized that my hands were hung
and cuffed outside the window bars, high enough so that I could not kneel and,
of course, not sit. I suddenly trembled in horror.
In front of me, a series of dark small cells were displayed like the inside of a
tunnel extended ahead to infinite darkness. I turned my head into Room #4: it
displayed an abundance of human bodies on the floor, like sardines. I perceived
some eyes looking at me, smiling and kind of sharing comprehension and
compassion; some other eyes, too indifferent to be frigid, seemed to express
something like “C’est la vie! C’è la vita! It’s life!” about the sort of
prisoners.
Too tired and stressed, I didn’t know for how long I was asleep while standing.
My head bent down, carrying downwards my whole body which was held up by the
cuffs, whose pain woke me up. I had no idea what time it was. Still having
half-closed eyes from sleepiness, I heard vague sounds of walking from outside,
approaching foot steps in my direction. I opened eyes and was surprised to see
two policemen escorting Brother Gervais. He, too, saw me with my two hands
cuffed outside the window bars. He suddenly stopped, looking at me for a few
seconds. Through the flash of his eyes, I could imagine his fear and pain and
anxiety. I just gently shook my head. I did want to smile “welcoming him” but I
could not. My tears rolled down. He was pushed into a dark small cell in front
of me.
***
A clang was heard. The cell head shouted, “Wake up! It’s 6:00 A.M. Roll up
your mat. Sit down at the ‘head of your bed,’ and then be ready to be counted.”
Here and there around the detention center echoed “Here!” or “Present!” A guard
came to the other window at Room #4, holding a folder in one hand and a pen in
his other hand. He began to call name after name of the detainees. “Here!” or
“Present!” echoed correspondingly to each called name. Some detainees inclined
their head at the direction of the folder and seemed to detect the color of the
labels on it. To my name called I replied “Here.” All of the detainees in Room
#4 turned head towards me. I smiled to them, raised and moved my two hands up
and down outside the window bars. Some nodded their heads; others gestured with
their thumb up then smiled. The roll call was done: there were actually 39
detainees present in Room #4 which was 3.2m wide, 6m long and 1.8m high.
When the call was finished, there were whispers and comments. Labels colored red
are for ‘political’ detainees; labels colored blue are for ‘social and criminal’
detainees. In Room #4 there were 3 red labels. “Good! Very good!” There was a
whisper that I could hear, “We need people like that! If there were no people
like them, we would lose the nation for ever!...” I glanced at the direction
from where I heard such comments, nodded my head in approval and then smiled,
comfortably.
It was about 7:00A.M. “Room #4, ready to go,” a guard shouted while opening the
front door. At my surprise, every detainee was holding a plastic 1liter mug full
of water that he had reserved before, got in line waiting for the order of the
guard. The cell head looked at me, and then begged the guard, “May I report to
Officers. Brother An is still hung at the window, may you un-cuff him so
that...” The guard cut short, “No!” Some detainees looked at me and shook their
heads.
Where were they going? I really didn’t know. About 5 minutes later, holding an
empty mug, detainees in Room #4 re-entered their lodge, relaxed, even satisfied.
I wondered “Where did they go and what did they do?” The guard locked the front
door.
***
Two young boys about 16 or 17 years old, who yesterday helped me to take off
my shirt and T-shirt, came to my side. One of them was Cuong and the other was
Han. Han said, “We just all went to the latrine. Every morning we have the
opportunity to go there for 5 minutes. Excluding this time, if you need to go,
an ammunition box is here for you.” He showed me the ammunition box right at the
frame of the door, then continued, “Do you need to go now?” I shook my head,
telling him that for a week, I hadn’t felt it necessary. He opened eyes wide
then looked at me, amazed. Cuong asked, “What about peeing?” I remembered that
since yesterday afternoon, I hadn’t urinated. I showed both of them my hands
cuffed outside the window bars. Cuong said, “I’ll help you!” then went to his
“bed”. Han pointed out to me an upside down half of a plastic bottle connected
to a plastic pipe which ended outside the door. It was hung on the door frame at
medium level. Han said, “Normally, we pee over there!” Cuong brought me his own
plastic mug and helped me to empty myself. I was really perplexed, but anyway,
when it was done, I felt cheery and relaxed.
The detainees in the room gathered in small groups of 2 or 3. Some groups were
talking, smoking cheap tobacco, helping each other catch maggots from their
sores, or applying some kind of powder, even water from their tobacco filters in
order to cure sores. Others prepared their own snacks, e.g. soy-bean-powder or
anything else they had previously received from their families. Some others just
lay down, perhaps trying to find something in dreams more joyful and peaceful in
compensation for the actual real life.
[It may be hard to imagine such wormlike creatures in the sores, but I
myself later had experience with such maggots when, after more than 30 days
living in such a lifestyle in jail, I got my whole body except my head infected
with sores. [I understood at that time why people had to be undressed. I
witnessed a roommate who, totally naked and lying on his stomach, displayed his
two buttocks covered of black sores like two black rags. This view had made me
feel sick enough to vomit the first time I entered Room #4.] Some of my
“roommates” in turns helped catch maggot from each of the sores on my body. Once
he caught a maggot, he put it on my thumb-nail. It was a very little milky-color
creature that I could see moving quite slowly. I laid my other thumb-nail on the
previous, like making an anvil, to grind on it and I heard a little “pop”. To
tell the truth, I heard not with my ears, but rather by sensing something
grinding between my two thumb-nails.
In addition, when a maggot was caught from sore, I really felt less painful or
itching at that area.
Instead of using the filter in most of cigarettes, rustic tobacco smoking used
water as a filter. This “filter water” unchanged for a long time would be used
in treating sores.
After the events of 1975, sores or other infections like that, were commonly
spread among people, especially in dirty and over-populated areas.]
The two young boys were still standing, Cuong at my right and Han at my left.
They were not Catholics, nor any other kind of Christian, nor Buddhists. Their
faces reflected innocent and simple souls. But, their eyes were discontented
because of envy, frustration and deep resentment. Both of them were from middle
rank families of the former government of Saigon. Their fathers had to present
themselves to the new administration for enrollment in the so-called
re-education program that was promised for 3 or 10 days at most. But, more than
3 years had passed. Their fathers hadn’t yet obtained the “diploma” necessary to
be released. Their mothers had to work hard for 5 or 6 children’s daily meals.
Cuong and Han tried to do their best to assist their mothers. At their age, what
could they do, if not to “borrow without promising to return” what was in reach
of their hands? Thievery was the most common means of earning a livelihood for
most young boys and girls, since the events of ‘75.
***
At noon, members of the cooking team of the camp brought two big pots into
Room #4. The menus were a little bit more abundant here than at the temporary
detention #1. Each detainee received a cup of “rice” made of boiled wheat flour
mixed with manioc and/or starchy sweet potatoes. In addition, a cup of “Atlantic
soup”, i.e. more water than vegetable, was served as for food AND drinking
water. I noticed that some detainees didn’t have enough plastic mugs for their
ration. They consumed, immediately, their “Atlantic soup” in order to have the
mug for containing their “rice” ration. I also realized that they used the same
mug as they did in the morning when they went out for their toilet.
Anyway, these detainees were luckier than me, because I had nothing - nothing to
eat since I was handcuffed. Cuong and Han looked at me, both anxious and
compassionate. I smiled and told them to take my rations. Cuong used the same
mug he had helped me to pee in a few hours before, for “Atlantic soup!” We
looked at each other, both smiling, bitter-sweet. My eyes reddened.
Han brought to my mouth his drinking water mug. I sipped a draught. Cuong gave
me a handful of rice but I shook my head. He entreated, “Please try to have
something in your stomach. You have not eaten for many days!” I looked at him,
really moved, then whispered, “Thank you, my little brother! But my mouth feels
too bitter.” Cuong and Han looked at each other then shook their heads. I
understood what they wished to express.
After lunch, most of detainees lay down for a nap. Cuong and Han wanted to be
around me despite of my recommendation to them to enjoy their nap time and to
relax.
***
I was standing in a fixed position since last night. My two legs gradually
swelled and became hardened and uncomfortable. I tried to swing by leaning my
arms on the window frame and raising my legs high, but not for long. The image
came to mind of poor and undisciplined students, who were required to stand
straight for a long time. I realized and understood “How awful and cruel is such
a punishment!”
From time to time, Cuong and Han noticed that I pulled a wry face and an
uncomfortably deep breath. They knew what was going on. Cuong suddenly went to
his “bed” and brought up a colorful piece of cloth, although speckled but long
enough to be used as a blanket or a pillow. Han helped him to roll the piece of
cloth out its length. Each one by one side, they tied on both sides on window
bars around me to make sort of a hammock so that I could sit on it. While Cuong
and Han covered the knots as hiding them from the guards, I sat on the hammock.
Wow! It was greatly relaxing! I hit my shoulder to Cuong’s, then said, “Thank
you, Cuong! You’re so nice!” Both gentle boys shared my joy and happiness,
talking, laughing sometimes, but always vigilant in watching out for the guards.
The enjoyment was not for long, a sound of torn cloth was heard. My body fell
down vertically and was retained by my two cuffed hands narrowed to the window
bar, while Cuong and Han held on each one’s hand a half of the torn piece of
cloth. Three of us were stunned by such an accident.
I looked at Cuong and whispered, “I am so sorry! my little brother Cuong!
Because of caring for me, you lost this precious piece of cloth!” Cuong looked
at me, gave me a smile that I never forgot, and rushed to say, “Please do not
worry, my brother! For me, every minute I see you relieved and comfortable, I am
happy, too!” I looked at him, so moved and consoled that I could not stop tears
rolling down. As a flash, the parable about the last judgment came to mind. I
was quite sure that Cuong never heard talking about “Who is Jesus?” and of
course, about this parable. “... Because when I am thirsty, I am hungry, I am...
You have given Me...”
I wanted to hug Cuong into my arms, but my hands, cuffed outside the window bar, prevented me from doing so.
***
It was about 2:30 P.M. It seemed that all the detainees in Room #4 were
preparing for something: naked ones put on their underwear; others held their
plastic mug; some tried to quickly drink what was left over in their mug. Han
said, “We are about to go out for a bath.” It was quite hot inside even though
it was the beginning of January. Having a bath right now sounded good for all,
except for me despite my wish.
Cuong then said, “If our Room #4 is the first to go out, it would be perfect,
because the container is full of water, and the water is cleaner. But, whatever
turn it is, having water spread on the body is better than none!” I heard
footsteps on the rectangular court, it meant that other rooms had a bath before
Room #4. The guard came, un-cuffed my hands from the window bar, then handcuffed
me again, and then unlocked the door. Han exclaimed, “You can go to bath. Good!”
I followed other roommates to the cubic container in cement. My roommates,
standing around the container, repeatedly scooped water from it onto their mug,
then poured it out over their head, as quickly as possible. I had nothing to
scoop water. I suddenly had an idea, “standing behind that tall guy, the cell
head, and profit of water pouring out from his head.” It was a good idea! At
least, drops of water refreshed my whole body. When I looked inside the
container, I was terrified, “Oh my God!” because the level of water was near its
bottom, and down at the bottom, there were several kinds of trash, fish bones
included. Anyway, as Cuong had said, “... Having water poured out on the body is
better than nothing!”
About 3 minutes later, the guard whistled and all detainees slowly walked back
“home”. The cell head whispered to me, “Brother! Hide yourself in a corner,
maybe the guard won’t see you, and then you won’t be attached to the window
again!” I accelerated furtively walking among the crowd and stood in a corner.
But, after locking the door, the guard called, “An! come here. Pass your two
hands outside the window.” I was hung at the window, again. Some detainees were
changing into their dry clothes. However, some liked to be naked... I wore
underwear more or less wet. “It’s better than like Adam!” I thought.
***
“It’s dinner time!” the cell head said, awaking those who, after a few
minutes of enjoying watering the body, had taken a nap. It was about 5:00 P.M.
The menu and procedure of distributing rations were the same as for lunch. No
one complained about anything because everyone knew that “Having food is for
living and living is not for eating food!”
After dinner, the cell head called the daily meeting, or session for
“criticizing and self-criticizing” the activities of everyone in Room #4, based
on the 10 rules, i.e. do’s and not do’s, posted on a big bulletin board hung on
the wall. All detainees in Room #4 sat around the cell head, facing to the
bulletin board. The cell head said, “First of all, welcome Brother An to our
‘family Room #4!” There were hands clapped and “Welcome! Welcome!” I turned my
head behind and nodded, saying, “Thank you! Thank you!” The cell head continued,
“By the rules, every newcomer must read aloud these 10 rules before being
assigned to a lot, but Brother An was immediately hung at the window since last
night...” Some laughed, meaningfully. “Therefore,” he continued, “I read aloud
for him. Everyone’s OK?” There was discussion among detainees, then a voice was
heard, “Brother An does not need to read it, because... he does not need!” Many
laughed, joyfully. I nodded in agreement. And so, this item of the meeting was
passed.
The cell head said, “Usually, a newcomer is assigned to the ‘runway’, [“Runway,”
a space at the entrance into the room, where the “moving toilet” was installed.]
then if another comes in or any veteran leaves, he can move up one or two
levels. For Brother An, he came in last night and his lot was assigned to the
window, therefore when he is un-cuffed, he can move up to the 4th or 5th level.
Everyone’s OK?” Hands clapped again, then echoed something like “Of course!”
The cell head continued the meeting. He reminded everyone to faithfully obey to
the rules, “if not, you’ll get into trouble!” When finished, he asked everyone
to be ready for the roll call. Everyone must sit at his place near the head of
his “bed”. The cell head counted, “1, 2, 3,....., 39. OK!” A few minutes later,
the same policeman of this morning came. This time he didn’t call detainees by
name, but just looked around waiting for something. The cell head stood up,
seriously said, “May I report to Officers. Total number is 39.”
According to the rules, when the policeman enumerator left, everyone must lay
down on his bed,except me because I was re-cuffed to the window. Any detainee,
whether asleep or not, must keep quiet until the next morning.
It was about 10:00P.M.
That was a night and a day - my first full day in jail.