“I’m hungry,” Mai croaked through her tears. Tâm knew the hunger was for more than food. It was a hunger that would never be completely sated.
“Let’s find some fruit,” Tâm said.
“No!” Mai cried. “I—I can’t go back—there.”
Tâm intended to explain that they’d have to. That she didn’t want to leave Mai by herself and that they’d have to forage in the bush if they wanted to eat. Then she thought better of it and simply held out her hand. “We can do it together.”
Mai squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sob. Reluctantly she put her hand in Tâm’s, and they trudged up the steps back to the bush, looking in all directions to make sure they weren’t followed. Thirty minutes later, their arms laden with ripe jackfruit, mangos, papaya, and lotus fruit, they returned to the beach and wolfed down their food.
By the time they finished eating it was dark, but the heat still hadn’t lifted. They were hot and exhausted and smelled of gasoline, char, and fear. The only light came from a waxing moon that spilled across the water. It was enough.
“We’re sleeping here?” Mai said.
Tâm nodded. “You finish the washing and spread our clothes out to dry. I’ll gather some palm fronds to cover us.”
Mai glanced around fearfully. “But—but what if they come back?” she whispered. “Or what if someone saw the smoke across the river? They could be waiting for dark to loot whatever is left.”
Tâm tried to sound confident. “We’ll be hidden under the fronds. But that’s not going to happen.” At least not tonight, she hoped. They had already lived through one hell. They wouldn’t survive another. “I’m going to take a bath in the river. You should too. Then we’ll wash the rest of our clothes.”
Tâm woke before sunrise. She hadn’t slept well; during the dark hours a horde of mosquitoes had feasted on her skin. Mai snuggled against her back, snoring softly. Tâm blinked her eyes open. Memories of the massacre flooded through her. The life that she’d known was over. The certainty that the sun would rise, that she would read and study, work in the rice fields, and help her parents, was gone.
Why did the Americans choose their village? Was it just a random attack? They’d claimed to be looking for VCs, Viet Cong fighters and their enablers, to retaliate for Tết. The truth was they could have found them in any village. During the day the South Vietnamese were hardworking farmers or craftsmen, doing their best to feed their families and survive. After nightfall, however, people would flip their pictures of President Thiệu. On the other side was a photo of Hồ Chí Minh with a benevolent smile. They would don black-and-white-checkered scarves and prepare food and drink for the guerrillas who crept out of the bush. Although they weren’t fighters themselves, these collaborators, including Tâm’s father, put their lives at risk. And the Americans knew it. Unable to battle their enemy directly, the soldiers used villagers for target practice instead.
Mai must have sensed Tâm was awake, because she rolled over and opened her eyes. Her sleepy expression gave way to fear when she realized where they were and why. Tâm attempted a reassuring smile, but they both knew it was just for show.
They dressed quickly and ate the mangos they’d saved, after which Tâm took a sheet and folded some of their now dry clothes in it, tied it up, and hoisted it on her shoulder. Tâm pointed. “Start walking.”
“Where?” Mai asked.
“Toward Saigon. Stay back from the water, closer to the brush.”
“Is it safe there?” The capital city of South Vietnam had been a key objective for North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces during Tết. They’d even held the American embassy for a few hours and fought hand to hand with South Vietnamese forces in Cholon, the old Chinese section of Saigon. After the invasion failed, though, it provoked a massive retaliation from the Americans and the ARVN, the South Vietnamese army. Fighting still continued on the city’s outskirts, and some sections of Cholon were damaged by mortar attacks.
“The U.S. soldiers who attacked us are headed inland. Toward Cambodia, not Saigon,” Tâm said. “So we’ll go the other way. To Saigon.” She hoped Mai wouldn’t realize she hadn’t answered the question. Tâm didn’t know if Saigon was safe.
The shadow of a smile flitted across Mai’s face. “Dung would have liked that.”
“Why?”
Mai told her. Had it been any other time, Tâm would have belittled Mai’s friend Dung, and Mai, too, for such superficial dreams. Mai didn’t know she couldn’t afford those dreams anymore. But Tâm kept her mouth shut and pointed.
“Don’t forget our nón la.” Mai ran back to pick them up.
They’d walked about half a kilometer when Tâm squinted at something in the distance. As they grew closer, she jogged toward it. Beached on the sand ahead was a sampan. She approached it cautiously, but no one was nearby. She peeked into the sampan. Its oars were stowed on gunwales on each side. And a fishing pole lay in the bottom of the boat. Tâm smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours. Buddha had blessed her with his compassion.