It was just before Tết in 1971 when news arrived that two Cao Đài clergymen had been abducted, tortured, and executed by the Viet Cong. The victims were identified as Father Mạc, the bishop of Da Nang, and Father Hoa from Hue.
Biên was the first kitchen worker to announce it during their morning break. “Did you hear about Father Mạc and Father Hoa?” he said breathlessly.
“Who?” Tâm asked.
“Two Cao Đài priests. They were tortured and killed by the Viet Cong!” Biên said. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
Tâm inclined her head. “Those names sound familiar.”
Ly stared at her. “We talked about both of them a few months ago. The ones who were . . .” His voice trailed off but he made a motion with his hands that indicated exactly what he meant.
“No!” Tâm cried. Her shoulders hunched and her body tensed. “What happened?”
Ly, who clearly already knew about the men, shook his head. “No one knows.”
Tâm shrank into herself. “Was it because of their adultery?”
A flash of anger lit Ly’s face. “I just said no one knows.”
Thủy cut in. “We’re all upset, Ly. Don’t take it out on Linh.”
Ly didn’t say anything for a moment, then lowered his eyes. “Sorry.”
Tâm nodded.
“But from what I picked up, it was horrific. The Viet Cong are brutal. The last thing a soldier wants is to be caught by them. You die a thousand deaths.”
All eyes slid toward Ly. “What do they do?” Thủy asked softly.
“What don’t they do?” Ly gazed at each one of them in turn. “You have no doubt heard how the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong scavenge weapons, undetonated bombs, and land mines once a battle is over?”
The others nodded. Tâm’s heart was thumping so hard and fast she was sure they could hear it.
“Well, they’re even more innovative when it comes to torture. They are trained to imagine their enemies as hateful and evil. Without a shred of humanity. To them, we are monsters who have no right to breathe the same air as they do.”
Tâm wanted to ask how Ly knew this. It wasn’t a lie, but he made the Viet Cong sound repulsive. Morally corrupt. Without a morsel of empathy. Her breathing grew shallow. She kept her mouth shut.
“Once the priests were captured,” Ly continued, “the VC would have taken them somewhere where their screams would not be heard. Maybe into their tunnels and caves. Or deep into the jungle. If they had not already been beaten with clubs or whipped with ropes they would be. If the prisoners cried out, they would be beaten even harder. Perhaps a leg or arm twisted the wrong way and broken.”
Her throat tightened. Why was Ly going into so much detail? Was he enjoying this?
“Then the fun would begin. Since psychologically their prisoners are less than human to them, anything would be possible. Perhaps because Father Mạc and Hoa were adulterers, the Viet Cong castrated them. Tied their genitals to an electrical generator and turned it on. If there was no generator, pliers would work. While they were doing this, of course, they would demand responses to questions they knew the priests could not possibly answer, say, about traitors, spies, or South Vietnam’s military plans.”
“What do you mean they couldn’t possibly answer?”
“Do you really believe those priests are—or should I say were—spies? They may have been loose with the ladies, but how can you think they were engaging in espionage? They were just priests.” Ly spat on the ground.
No one said anything. Tâm was afraid to breathe.
“So,” Ly went on, “at that point their Viet Cong captors would be deep into their disgusting fantasies of purifying the earth of these hideous creatures. They would have continued their torture with water, or perhaps slicing off their fingers or prying out their fingernails until the priests would have told them anything to make it stop. And they probably did. Even then, however, the Viet Cong would not have stopped. If the priests were still alive, the VC would have slashed and carved them up piece by piece. After that, they would have mutilated—”
Tâm couldn’t take any more and started to gag. Clapping her hand across her mouth, she bolted to her feet, sprinted around the corner as fast as her bad leg permitted, and vomited in the grass.
It was clear to Tâm that she had sent two priests to their deaths. She had no proof that they were spies. No proof they were even womanizers. All she did was report their names to her superiors. She had condemned them on the basis of idle gossip. It did not matter that she never thought General Minh and his lieutenant would act on her information. It did not matter that she assumed they would dig up the truth before they acted. She had been naïve.
They had rounded up, captured, tortured, and killed two men whose only sin was that they were talked about by the Cao Đài staff. What had she done? A hulking guilt settled on her shoulders. How would she live with herself?