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.