Lien and Tho exited the massive hall and burst onto a street only two blocks from Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum—still very much behind enemy lines. They dove into the first alley they crossed and rested against a house’s cement wall behind a garbage dumpster.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Tho?”
“I wish my legs were as sharp as my mind. And I wish my mind were as sharp as my wit.”
“What should we do?”
“I feel tired,” he said, slumping down farther on the wall.
“What did she mean, go back to the beginning? The beginning of our journey? To the lake?”
“No. I think not. Farther still. I believe she means back to the original Vietnamese kings.”
“The Hung kings?”
“Yes. They predated everything. Before one single Han ever stepped into our land, the Hung kings ruled in the bronze age. The bronze drum proves everything.”
“Well, how can we find the Hung kings? They’re long dead as far as I know,” said Lien, throwing her arms in the air. “But hey, I thought Lady Trieu was dead too. And the turtle. And don’t get me started on the terracotta warriors. This has been quite the experience.”
Tho chuckled through a raw cough. “We’ll go to Den Hung, the Hung Temple.”
“In Viet Tri? That’s northwest of here. Almost fifty miles. How would we get there? And what about Minh? How are we going to find him?”
Tho smacked his lips and yawned. “The little I used to know has been dwarfed by the greater amount I don’t know.”
“And Tho. Is it true what she said? You come from a royal line?”
He simply shook his head slightly out of exasperation and chuckled in silence. He leaned his head against the side of the cement wall and fell fast asleep. Lien leaned against him and placed her head on his shoulder. They would take every respite given to them.
The deep sleep came to an abrupt halt when the beeping sound of a truck backing up awakened them. It reversed to the edge of the alley and stopped two feet short of the dumpster. The stench made them both stand up and cover their noses. They had nowhere to run, so they waited for fate to decide who would step out of the cab to confront them.
“Mr. Tho, look!” The license plate on the back of the truck had the words Phu Tho. “That’s where Viet Tri is! Do you suppose?”
The cab door opened and out popped a middle-aged Vietnamese woman. “That’s a strange place to be standing,” she said to them.
“I see you’re from Phu Tho. Are you going there?”
“I make a run every day. I took over my husband’s job when he, well … he’s gone. And with the Chinese bringing services back to order, I come down here every day and remove all of this crap.”
Tho and Lien looked at each other and smiled.
“Can we ride with you to Viet Tri?”
“There’s no way. They’ll arrest me if I take anyone else. I took a young man with me one day and they ripped him out of the truck at a checkpoint and accused him of being a spy and beat him within an inch of his life. Of course, he was a spy. But anyway, no. You can’t ride with me. Although you sure don’t look like spies. But I suppose that’s what spies look like. Not like spies. Oh, you know what I mean.”
“How about in the back?” said Lien, pointing to the garbage compacter.
The woman cocked her head and looked at them queerly. “You want to ride in there? With all that shit?”
“Please?”
“You’re begging me to ride in garbage?”
“It would mean so much,” added Lien.
“This war has done some screwy things, but desperate times I guess. I got like three more stops.”
“We don’t care,” said Tho.
“I’ll be dumping garbage on top of you.”
“That’s fine,” said Lien.
“It’s your grave. If they discover you back there, it’s not on me. I never saw you.”
“We agree.”
“Hop in!”
Minh slept solid the rest of the night and woke up in Ms. Huong’s modest home with two other gentlemen waiting for him—Huong’s father-in-law, whom he had met at the temple before their adventure in the lake, and a short man in his mid-thirties. Minh’s backside still bothered him, but he felt refreshed, except for the nagging, persistent worry for his mother and Tho.
The small man introduced himself as Mr. Hung—meaning hero. He had a simple confidence about him, bordering on cockiness. Minh told them the story—not all of it, lest they think him a lunatic—but enough about the Chinese and the mysterious warrior to make it believable. Minh never mentioned the giant’s name, again so they didn’t balk at the story.
“That’s quite a tale. Quite a tale. Very difficult for a young teen like you to get anywhere near the rebel HQ. A story won’t do as an entrance ticket. You must have proof. Something to convince them to let you through.”
Minh thought for a moment then reached into his right pocket and pulled out the marble tablet. “I’ll show them this. One of the tablets which helped us.”
Hung’s eyes lit up and reached for the tablet, but Minh recoiled his arm.
“I’ve heard of Mr. Tho’s tablets. Who hasn’t in the Old Quarter?”
“Would this help me get through? To find the resistance?”
“Perhaps.”
“So you can help me? You can take me there?”
“I know where the resistance is,” bragged Hung. Huong’s father-in-law admonished him to speak softer. “I’ve been there, you know. If you want to go, I can take you. It won’t be easy. We will need a great many resources. But, let’s not talk of that. This is an important matter. I’ll do it. I’ll take you this evening.”
Minh didn’t know what to think of the man. “Are you part of their network,” he asked Mr. Hung.
“No, no. I’m a school teacher.”
“Why aren’t you fighting with the resistance? There aren’t many men your age left in the city.”
Hung smiled and rubbed his hands in front of him as if he just finished a big, satisfying meal. “I fight my own way. The Chinese think I help them, but I’m always one step ahead of them. Whatever you do in life, keep a quick foot about you, and stay one footstep ahead, I always say.”
“So you’ll take me? I must speak to the Vietnamese resistance leaders as soon as possible.”
“Yes, yes, my boy. I can take you there.”
Huong’s father-in-law spoke up. “I’ve known Mr. Hung for many years. You can trust him.”
Minh nodded. “How would we get there?”
Hung put both hands on his forehead and rubbed it in circular massaging motion. “Let me see. Meet me at the pylon of the Long Bien Bridge at dusk. Once across the river, your ride will await you.”
“Aren’t you going with me?”
“That’s what I mean. Our ride will await us.”
Tho and Lien nestled themselves in the middle of the stack of garbage under the covered truck. Lien gagged as the driver used the hydraulics to pick up the dumpster’s contents and fling it right behind them. Lien thought of her grandmother once again. Was this how bad it was? Enduring rotting stench? Overcoming the human desires for a bigger goal? She gagged again and almost threw up. Tho laughed.
“Oh, I’ve been complaining of my diminished olfactory system for decades, but I’ve finally come to realize there are advantages.” Lien gagged again. “Close your eyes, Lien. Breathe slowly. Focus on the darkness. Focus on your peace.”
Her peace erupted three times as she hurled all the contents of her stomach, and some she didn’t even know she had, into the midst of the rest of the garbage piled around her.
The truck pulled out. It had no trouble passing the check point at the Thang Long Bridge leading out of the city to the north. No guard even bothered investigate the back of the truck because the stench kept everyone at a distance.
Tho and Lien rattled and shook in the back for well over an hour. Lien had nothing more to vomit, but it didn’t prevent her from gagging. The truck came to a stop along a stretch of trees a couple miles outside the town of Viet Tri. The woman pounded on the back of her cab and yelled for them to exit. Lien didn’t have to be told twice. She sloshed her way to the back and jumped down onto the pavement. She fell and scraped open her pant leg on the right knee. But she didn’t care. She could breathe fully again, and she took in the open air as if a cleansing shower.
“Lien?”
She had nearly forgotten about her companion. “Sorry, Mr. Tho. Let me help you.” She reached up to help the old man down out of the filth and onto the ground. They walked around the back corner of the truck and onto the sides of the road filled with overgrown grasses. Brown sludge and soaking wet filth covered from head to toe. The woman opened the cab door and stepped down.
“You can’t go any farther,” she said, holding her nose. “You’ll have to go on foot from here.”
Tho nodded. “Thank you.”
The woman rolled her eyes as if the guilt of staring at the disheveled man had started to eat away at her harsh exterior. “Where do you need to go?”
“Hung Temple.”
She let out a sigh. “Pilgrimage? At a time like this?”
“It’s not a pilgrimage, it’s …” Lien didn’t finish her sentence. “Thank you for your help.”
The woman turned to climb back in the cab but stopped. “Why would you two endure a ride to Viet Tri in the back of a garbage truck?”
“Perhaps it was always a dream of ours?” Tho laughed and coughed at the same time.
The woman let out another befuddled cry. “What’s up with you two?”
“It’s important that we get to the Hung Temple.”
“Temples are a great place to find peace,” the woman said. “… and feel free.”
“And there’s nothing more precious than independence …” Lien stopped and looked at the woman. Almost daring her to finish the sentence. It had become a common plea, using Ho Chi Minh’s words as a battle cry of sorts to link people together. To remind each other of their common cause.
“And freedom,” said the woman. “All right.” Her gruff agreement was followed by a what-in-the-world sigh. “Hide down over the bank there. I’ll be back with some new clothes for you. And I’ll find you a ride to the temple. Wait here. Out of sight.”
“Thank you.”
“No,” the woman cut them off. “No thanks needed when we’re playing on the same team.”
Minh left Huong’s house an hour before sunset. She had fed him well and forced him to rest while eking out every bit of the story from the previous day. It all seemed too amazing to believe, but it convinced Huong to support such a perilous trip into the countryside to find the rebel base—even for a thirteen-year-old.
Minh edged his way through the Old Quarter, using every type of hiding spot available to avoid the Chinese patrols. Fortunately, the Old Quarter has an endless supply of trees to hide behind, convoluted alleyways to slip into, and myriad houses, which would gladly hide a boy without question.
He eventually walked onto the railroad tracks which take the Long Bien Bridge out of the city. He knew the bridge itself would be blocked, so he slipped through an alley a few blocks from the bridge and climbed along the edge of a bank below the tracks, making his way to the first pylon still on dry ground under the bridge. When Minh arrived, no one was there, and he rested against the pylon facing the river, out of sight of anyone who might happen to look down. He held the fourth marble tablet securely in his right pants pocket and thought of his mother and Tho, wondering their whereabouts. He knew they were alive. It was the only option his mind allowed him. A noise startled him out of his thoughts, and he stood up. Mr. Hung walked around the edge of the pylon with a smile on his face, as if meeting a long-lost friend without there being a war to complicate life.
“The boy made it.”
“So how do we cross the river?”
“It’s all arranged. Don’t worry.”
“Well, let’s go.”
Hung stood two inches shorter than the thirteen-year-old. “There’s just one thing we have to discuss.”
“What’s that?” Minh felt an uneasiness in his chest.
“The money.”
“What money?”
“You didn’t think I’d take you on a dangerous journey without compensation, did you?”
“You didn’t mention anything about money before. You just said you’d be happy to take me.”
“And I am happy to take you. As long as you have the money.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Mr. Hung circled Minh and looked him over. “What do you have?”
“I don’t have anything. I just need to get to …” He stopped. He realized he had raised his voice, and he looked upward at the underside of the trestles and steel beams which crisscrossed every which way.
“All right. Mr. Hung is a man of his word. I’ll take you. For sure. In exchange, you can give me the marble tablet you spoke of earlier.”
“No, I’ll never give you that tablet. It doesn’t belong to me.”
“Well, you have to give me something.”
“I promise. At some point, I’ll give you what you want, but I don’t have anything now.”
“You have the tablet, and that’s enough.”
Hung came a step closer.
“How are we crossing the river?”
“First payment.”
“How do I know there’s even a way across the river?”
“Fair enough. Here. See!” Hung climbed to the top of a small sand bar and pointed to the right. Minh goose-necked out and saw a small rowboat, flapping in the current of the Red River. “It’s right here. There’s a motorbike waiting for you on the other side of the bridge. He’ll take you there.”
“I promise I’ll pay you,” said Minh. “Just get me across.”
“Promises mean nothing when Hanoi is occupied by the Chinese. I want the tablet.”
Hung became more aggressive and moved towards Minh.
“Get away from me.”
“Give me the tablet.”
Minh backed away further.
“Leave me alone.”
“Don’t be a fool, boy.”
Hung grabbed the boy by the arm and started patting him down. Minh pulled away and slapped Hung on the arm. Hung made a fist and punched the boy in the stomach, sending him to the sand.
“Give me the tablet.”
Hung came at him but Minh sideswiped him with his right leg, knocking the attacker off balance. Hung screamed and turned over like a wild beast. He punched Minh in the eye and sat on top of him hitting him repeatedly. He patted down his right pocket and reached in to pull out the tablet. Hung climbed off the boy and laughed, holding the tablet up in front of him. Before he could begin to walk away, a large dead branch whacked the small man across the side of the head. Minh stood behind him holding the limb and breathing heavily. Hung lay on the ground dazed and semi-unconscious. The tablet had slid free and lay to the rear of the man. Minh picked it up.
“Boy, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, I do.”
He hit Hung again with the branch before throwing it off to the side. He ran down the sand bar and climbed into the rowboat; after all, he had experience with such vessels. He pushed off into the slow-moving current of the Red River.