The Lotus Blossoms

Prologue

Exodus

September, 1945 – Vietnam

I am my father’s daughter. I am my father’s daughter. I am my father’s daughter. This is what weary Ahn Liên chanted silently as she marched behind her family on their exodus from Lao Cai in the Red River Valley. It was a trip launched on a small wooden sampan, clinging to the darkness of night in the jungle shadows of the river bank when, initially, the journey was peaceful except for the occasional gunfire. So only a little fear accompanied them from time to time floating down the river. Once on land, hazards multiplied daily, but Liên’s task was constant: make sure that her little sister, Thị Kim, didn’t stray from the family unit as they moved single file through the darkness on their flight that passed far south of the turmoil and violence in Hanoi.

I am my father’s daughter... Father had bartered for the boat ride with a cart filled with bags of rice, the most valuable commodity in the land after the Imperial Japanese Army had stolen most of the grain from everywhere, leaving two million to die of starvation. Liên could not comprehend a million, although she was sure she’d taken that many steps so far. She knew ten people, twenty, even. A hundred made sense. She’d seen countless numbers in the streets of Hanoi not a year before their journey, and she imagined they might amount to a thousand or more. Think of all the rice grains from our farm in that cart, in those great sacks bigger than you. That may be a million. Now think... that many people—no, twice that many—dead from hunger. That is the evil of the Imperial Japanese Army, Mother said.

I am my father’s daughter. They left the river near Hoa Binh and, nightly, Father calmly guided them southward in his confident manner, through San Thuy, Trung Bi, Nin Binh, and then, Hue— where the Emperor Bảo Đại had held his figurehead court. Here, Mother thought they should apply for sanctuary, because Father knew Emperor Bảo Đại. But Father was sternly against it, for he said the Emperor had already abdicated in the face of the communist Ho Chi Minh and his Viet Minh forces. And here, too, the sounds of war magnified, and fear was everywhere. Even now, the Viet Minh were purging the cities of remaining French and Japanese occupiers, and rounding up Vietnamese nationalists like Father for execution. So said Father and, thus, on they went, following the unflappable patriarch. Sometimes they were fortunate to catch a ride by truck or cart driven by a friendly countryman; more often, though, they traveled on foot. The names of the towns and villages vanished behind them after the boat trip, cities that Liên tried to memorize and catalog in her head. As Father had insisted many weeks earlier, they must leave Mother’s family land they called ‘the farm’, where the occupying Japanese Army stole nearly all from them... and return to Saigon, far from the Japanese soldier holdouts and the communists too. And, although Father’s air was calm, Liên read his sense of urgency back then. Mother knew it too, and so did Madame Dubois. Only Thị Kim, sweet, playful Kim, was oblivious to the threat; she had laughed at the Imperial Japanese soldiers and their funny hats from the very beginning. Kim didn’t know the word ‘rape’, and never heard of kidnapping or ‘comfort girls’. Liên wished that she hadn’t either. But Mother had found a need to explain it all to her after they’d fled Saigon, back when the Imperial invaders came and bullied the Vichy French Governor and did as they pleased.

I am my father’s daughter. Danang—here, Father said they would turn inland again, along the western flanks of the city, then continue southward. It was a shorter route back to Saigon than the coastal roads. There would be fewer Imperial Japanese soldiers, he said, because the Americans had won the war. The Americans had dropped terrible bombs on the Japanese Imperial homeland, and their vanquished soldiers would be heading for the coastal towns of Vietnam to escape the vengeful Viet Minh and the victorious Americans. This made some sense to Liên, for she had seen a few bombs here and there. But, in spite of Father’s description, she had no sense of just how terrible a bomb could be. Still, even had she known or understood that horror, the numbers would have been far less than those starved to death in her world, so said Mother.

I am my father’s daughter, Liên chanted quietly one night after leaving Danang behind, trying to cover for Madame Dubois’ occasional sobs: her family’s oldest friend, Madame needed protection too, for reasons that Liên did not quite understand at first. Madame Dubois was what her parents referred to as an ‘agent’, and she’d fallen into serious danger when the Imperial Japanese had murdered and imprisoned the Vichy French overlords in March. Somehow, it was known that Madame was married to a Frenchman, and this made her a Vietnamese person of special interest to the Japanese occupiers. But Monsieur Dubois had already fled to Canada with their daughters, while Madame stayed to her tasks as an agent. Liên reflected, remembering the last six months, as that’s what it had taken for everything to fall apart after the Japanese purge of the Vichy, and in that time, she’d begun to understand that there were different kinds of Frenchmen. And by listening to the adults talk quietly, she also started to realize what a spy was, and to grasp what hope the Americans represented. Madame Dubois, missing her family and in all of her sadness, was still part of an underground network relaying information to the enemies of the Japanese Emperor—people called ‘The Allies’, or, just ‘Americans’, more often. And the Americans had been busy buttoning up the Imperial Japanese remnants wherever they could be trapped. Father knew all of this somehow, and he held them together in apparent safety with his confidence and his endless list of contacts.

I am my father’s daughter. Night after night, they hiked on, sheltering by day in hamlets and towns; Father seemed to know someone everywhere. Fifty kilometers by truck one evening, forty, another, but most nights they walked far fewer. In Pleiku, they again stuck to the city’s outskirts; then on to Phu Nhon Hoa, and more—  Liên began to lose track of the village names. She ceased caring about the names after staying in one village, where she heard horror stories of Imperial Japanese war planes strafing the rice fields, killing many villagers for no reason. She began to fear looking to the sky whenever a plane’s engine could be heard, and tried to discourage her sister from looking too, as if they could remain invisible if they never saw the plane and never named the village where they hid.

I am my father’s daughter... Liên clutched the heavy rifle her father had handed her when he picked up Kim to ride piggy-back for a time. Father had taught her to fire a gun on the farm, over Mother’s protests that young girls shouldn’t have guns. I have no son, Father had countered, and the time will come when... and he left the sentence unfinished. Liên was not fond of the big gun, but Father had a small French pistol that she could fit both of her delicate hands around, unlike the rifle. But, in principle, she knew how both weapons operated. After an hour on the trail that night, though, she took a stronger dislike to the heavy long gun. But she didn’t complain, for Father was carrying a heavier load on his shoulders.

I am my father’s daughter... Another night, another march, another village. Then another and another, until they arrived in a city, Gia Nghia. Father had a brother here, and this uncle had a vegetable truck that sometimes ran if there was fuel. He would drive them from the highlands to Dong Xoai, he said to Father. Then, only a hundred kilometers to go! But they would need to stay away from the main road from here on, added the uncle. Father agreed, but then they stayed on the main road in the shadows anyway, ducking into the woods whenever engines were heard or headlights flashed through the night. Father must know every road, Liên told Kim one night. He didn’t, of course, and Liên would only realize this when she was older and understood that Father had spent years as a young man fighting the colonialists with the Dai Vet[1] nationalists, hoping to drive the Europeans away from his homeland with guerilla tactics. Now, though, he was just an academic with a limp and an expert knowledge of his homeland, trying to protect his family from chaos.

November, 1946—Saigon

By French colonial standards, the villa was modest, but still far better than their Red River Valley farmhouse in the north. Father had purchased the villa from Monsieur Dubois after something called the ‘Great Crash’ ruined his holdings in France, years before Liên and Kim were born, this much Liên knew from eavesdropping. Liên was more than a little vague on the connection between Mother’s family farm in the north and the villa in Saigon, but she didn’t dwell on such things. After just a few months, though, the villa had a familiar air about it, as if she could remember living there from a dream. And as the anniversary of their return home approached, Liên couldn’t remember anything more comfortable. The house was cool, shaded by the tamarind and hollong trees, and she found the flowered  gardens far more pleasant than the sameness of the farm’s rice fields. Missing, though, was the clear pond that she and her sister could play in for hours on end, and the little boat they used to move about the waterways; but it was worth losing those things for those that were gained. When she and Kim found the secret tunnels beneath the villa in which to play clandestine games, she forgot all about the pond on the farm. It all seemed magical and peaceful enough to Liên if they did not venture into the chaotic noise of the city, and she tried to stay out of the way of the adults who never seemed to sit still.

It was the second November after their return to Saigon that Liên found Father, in a rare pensive moment, sitting quietly on a bench in the garden. He was smoking a cigarette, something she had rarely seen him do before, and so she hesitated for a moment. He smiled, stubbed it out, and beckoned her to sit with him. They were impossible to find during the war, he explained pointlessly. Then he continued, You were strong on our journey, Daughter, and you have helped take care of your sister like a young woman beyond your years. And you make me proud.

Liên accepted the compliment even though she wasn’t sure why she deserved it now. After a bit, she asked, Papa, who is Monsieur Decoux? I hear you and others speaking of him. But it seems that he is—gone? And that is important?

Father raised his eyebrows above the black rims of his glasses, bemused by such a question from his young daughter. Governor General Decoux... he was the French overlord here in Saigon when the Imperial Japanese occupiers moved in.

Was he your friend, Papa?

Father laughed discordantly, No, not in the least. Oh, for a time, he tried to make things better between our people and the French in our country, but when he was forced to collaborate with the Japanese occupiers, things changed for some of us. You see, he knew that I was among the Dai Vet fighters who opposed the French colonials many years ago. So, when it became necessary to blame people—when the Japanese demanded to know who the troublemakers were... we became expendable. Do you understand?

No, Papa. But...

Do not worry, then. The Japanese removed him and threw him in prison more than a year ago. We hear that he has returned to France... and the Japanese are gone now, too. So, Daughter, you will hear other things that we speak of also... the Viet Minh communists, the British, maybe the Kuomintang Chinese... please ask me questions any time. Just understand that there will be much turmoil in the near future... but we are safe for now.

And Madame Dubois? She is safe as well?

Father laughed once more, this time pleasantly, Yes, and Monsieur Dubois has returned with their daughters. And we will have a school again soon!

We had school before, Papa... on the farm.

Yes, but it was necessary to keep it secret when the Imperial occupiers were about. Now we can teach again, without threats... and the French schools will not be filled with Japanese soldiers.

Then does that mean that the French will return too, Papa?"

For now, we are free and independent, but I am afraid that we are ripe for colonial empire seekers yet again. The French? Again? It seems possible, but who knows? British troops are here in Saigon now, and the British rarely leaves a place once they have arrived. Only Ho Chi Minh has an army of Vietnamese to contest outsiders, but he is busy fighting in the north, and his treacherous communist agents are everywhere. Many of us here in the south believe that life under his communist rule would be worse than ever before. Do you understand, Ahn Liên?

Liên pulled her legs up onto the bench and crossed them, holding onto her feet and rocking back and forth while she thought about it. Shortly, she said, It is like a difficult puzzle, Papa. But these things you have said help me understand what I overhear from my elders... even though I do not understand why any of it happens. But if you are not afraid, then I will not be afraid either, Papa.

Child, you are wise beyond your age, so I will tell you two more things, and then I want you to go play with your sister. The answer to ‘why?’ is simply that our country is rich with resources-—riches of all kinds-—and others want them for their own and are willing to enslave or kill as many as necessary to get what they want. And the second thing is that our people want to be independent of these occupiers more than anything else, and want freedom and respect, even if it means more war. But you need not worry about such things now. I believe that we have powerful allies in the Americans that help us avoid more war, and they will aid in negotiating for a peaceful solution.

Liên stood up and kissed Father on the cheek, and smiled sweetly in obedience, then walked through the garden chasing a bright green bee eater hopping along the ground, and ignored the scolding from a robin above for her efforts. But she never stopped eavesdropping, and definitely never ceased worrying about the things she heard.

Part 1

Quickenings  

Your hands are not clean to fight communism when you don't fight dictatorships. It seems that the United States is not interested in honest government down here, as long as a government is not communist and pays lip service to democracy.

—President José Figueres of Costa Rica

Chapter 1

Home

Saturday, April 7, 1956— Calcutta to Saigon, Tan Son Nhut Airport

Somewhere over the Bay of Bengal the airliner shuddered an ominous warning and abruptly dropped a few hundred feet. The noise shift and momentary weightlessness was just enough to awaken Liên from a fidgety sleep, and she opened her eyes to a smoke-filled cabin with a stewardess leaning across her to close the window shade. A glimpse out the window revealed that one of the propellers of the Constellation was not turning. An illusion? she wondered, as the shade was being closed. The stewardess calmly said in French, Nothing to worry about, Mademoiselle, we shall be fine. Liên, now on sudden alert, clinched her jaw. What about this smoke? It took another few moments to realize that it was only the haze of cigarette smoke hovering at eye level throughout the big plane’s cabin. She controlled her heartbeat and breathing, checked her tiny silver wristwatch, and took an imperfect inventory. At least three hours left in the flight, three of four propellers worked, the upbeat French stewardess appeared calm and, surely, the pilots were not suicidal. Liên knew little about airplanes, but guessed they would be over land soon, and therefore she assumed the pilots could find an airport if necessary. But rather than go back to sleep, she revisited her checklist and peeked out the window shade more than once.

Liên waited for most of the passengers to deplane before making her way forward to the exit door of the big French airliner. Having endured quite enough jostling and squeezing in the last 35 hours, she was glad to be free of the crippled, cigarette haze-filled airliner at last. To be sure, the flight had only taken half as long as her journey to Europe two years before on a lumbering DC-4 that hopscotched its way from Indochina to Paris, but the Frenchmen onboard this flight seemed to have forgotten their manners for some reason. So she controlled her excitement to be home again and waited a little longer to de-plane.

At last, stepping down the gangway, she breathed in the thick familiar air of her homeland, a muggy atmosphere now tinged with the smell of aviation fuel exhaust. Briefly lamenting the distant scent of spring left behind in Paris, she began to look for her parents in the waiting crowd. Most of the passengers and families were European, and most seemed happy enough, giving Liên a moment of pause. It was widely said the French were leaving Vietnam in droves, and she’d been summoned home before the end of the school term, supposedly because of unrest in both Paris and Saigon. "Why? Nobody looks upset," she wondered. The question was forgotten, though, when she spotted her parents standing off to the side of the waiting crowd where they could easily be seen.

Liên hurried across the searing asphalt in their direction and rushed into their embrace, missing the look of consternation on her mother’s face in that moment. When the first flush of the emotional reunion had passed, Mother asked, Ahn Liên, is that the way young women dress in Paris these days?

Confused, Liên looked down at her wrinkled white blouse and khaki slacks, then, self-consciously, replied, No, Ma, in school, we must still wear skirts as prescribed. But in the Latin Quarter, this is casual dress for young women in university when we are out. Besides, a dress would not have been practical on such a long flight.

Her father chuckled, and mildly chided his wife, The girl has barely been on the ground for two minutes, and already...

His wife shushed him with a cluck, smiled and hugged her daughter again, Yes, yes, we will get you cleaned up once we are home. Let us find your luggage and get to the car. We can speak more on the way home.

Once her bags were packed into the rattling Citroen and they were headed for home, her mother asked, Did you have any difficulties in your journey?

No, Ma, Monsieur Dubois escorted me to the plane himself, and tipped the steward to look after me. But I am still not certain why I had to leave so suddenly. There was no sign of trouble at the school or in the Quarter, either. I am treated well wherever I go.

Father answered, Yes, Ahn Liên, that may have been true, but the French Expeditionary Corps is leaving Saigon in a few days, and after that, travel may not be so easy. You see, the Viet Minh are rising in the north again at this very moment, and soon they will be running the government north of the dividing line.[2] Already, they are bending everybody under their control to their communist will. And here in Saigon, Ngô Đình Diệm has been named as our president. He has announced that he will not allow elections for the entire country as set forth by the Geneva Accords, and he has the backing of the Americans. So there is much talk of civil war now that the French are leaving. And millions of our people have migrated south of the dividing line to be free of the communists.

Liên nodded sadly, Yes, I have heard much of this in Paris... but we are safe here, yes? For I see so many French people aboard the airplane and here at the airport.

We think so... and besides, Diệm has asked the Americans for military help and, again, rumors are that they will provide support if needed. Most of the French people who still remain here are only looking after their business interests, or they have loved ones in the military. But many have also come for the ceremonies that will begin in a few days. There will be parades and events to honor those killed in war, and we will turn out to finally say goodbye to the European military.

Monsieur Dubois, then, why did he not come back? His family is all here.

Father answered, There is trouble with his company, both in Paris and here in Saigon, and also there is a rumor that Diệm is in the process of nationalizing as many of the French businesses as possible... So Monsieur Dubois has not been a favorite of Diệm and his allies—he—Monsieur—was a friend of Emperor Bảo Đại  in the before times, like we were.

Liên nodded as if she understood, and changed the subject, But where is my sister? I hoped to see her in Paris, but your letters did not explain why she could not join me last term... she never writes, and she is not here now!

Neither parent answered quickly, but Liên’s mother finally answered, Thị Kim now lives with the parents of her husband on the west side.

Husband? protested Liên, But Ma, she is only sixteen!

Mother answered quietly, Not too young to become with child, apparently.

Pregnant? But how? Never mind, I know how, but...

Thị Kim became very... wild... after you left for university... your father tried everything except putting bars on the windows and chaining her in her room, answered Mother as her husband drove on silently.

But her school? The Lycée ...?

The priests said she must leave, so now she takes private lessons at her new home. So... Monsieur Dubois has an older daughter... do you remember Mademoiselle Dubois?

Yes, Binh... or Elizabeth... Betty, she is called...

Yes, that is the one... she gives private lessons to Thị Kim until... Liên’s mother began to cry, and could not finish her sentence.

Finally, Father broke the silence, Kim may go to America with her husband when he has finished pilot’s school here. They say he will be a fine pilot, and the Americans have a place to train him and others from our Air Force.

Liên allowed the shocking news to quietly sink in before saying anything more. At last, she said, I want to see her before she goes.

Father drove on in silence for a few minutes, then said, Actually, Daughter, you will probably be leaving for America before Thị Kim,

Liên’s response was sharp, No! But she instantly regretted the outburst.

He replied sternly, Daughter, we will speak more of this at home!

Liên sat silently in the rear of the car, trying to compose herself for what was likely going to happen next, because when Father spoke to her in that manner, the outcome was usually predictable. She had intuited that the freedom she’d taken for granted as a student in Paris, even under the hawkish eyes of the ever-present French nuns, was likely not going to hold once she returned to Saigon, where her raising had been the strictest. But she had not expected to have her wings clipped quite so soon. Yet, here she was, already with two squabbles with her parents simmering away. She made up her mind not to let the emotions create tears. No, she’d learned to negotiate many situations in two years away from the home rules, and she resolved to fall back on that experience now when the time was right.

The old Citroen navigated the city streets, and Liên realized that her father was taking the long way home. Was it to cool off? Maybe. "Papa, why are all these flags flying everywhere... is this not La Rue Catinat? The street signs all say Duong Tu Do."

Yes, it has been renamed Tu Do Street now that the Frenchmen are leaving. We are no longer a colony of France... and the flags, well, this is where the parade will be on the tenth. We will come to say goodbye to the old European friends and masters. She could hear the irony in his voice, and knew of his bitterness. He’d once fought