The Happiest Refugee: A Memoir Read Free Page B

too risky for Mum to take both children, in case we were too noisy. Uncle Thanh drove the boat and I hid inside the hatch with my aunty. Just as we were approaching an army patrol boat in the canal I decided that I was sick of having rice stuffed in my mouth and started crying for my mum.
    ‘Shhhh!’ Uncle Thanh hissed. ‘Get him to be quiet!’
    ‘I can’t! What can I do?’ panicked Aunty Huong as she jiggled me up and down and tried to cover my mouth, half-suffocating me. The more she tried, the louder I screamed.
    ‘Here, give him this’, said Uncle Thanh as he shoved his arm through the corn bags and handed my Aunty his gold wedding ring. She gave it to me, and I straight away put it into my little mouth, which freaked her out and made her forcibly pry open my jaw to retrieve the ring before I choked to death. This made me wail even louder and the patrol boat got closer still. Thankfully, just as it approached us, Uncle Thanh realised it was just a fishing boat. The group of fishermen stared at this canoe with a strange lone man who they had heard wailing like a baby, then telling himself to shush up in a woman’s voice. My uncle told me later that, by the look on their faces, they knew what we were doing but just turned a blind eye.

    Earlier in the day, before the rest of the boats started their trips out to the Motherfish, Dad had made his way quietly down to a little canoe at the water’s edge. Dad’s knowledge of the canals and his seamanship made him vital to the success of our journey—he couldn’t risk being caught. He also had with him all the equipment we would need for the escape, like maps and compasses. If he were spotted the whole thing would have to be aborted.
    Waiting for Dad at the boat were two teenage boys, Kiet and Toan. Dad’s plan was to paddle the motor-less canoe, with the help of the two boys, fifty kilometres through the waterways and then out to the open sea. Dad and the two boys jumped into the canoe and commenced their marathon paddle.
    They each took turns on the oars. As the sun rose, the heat of the day seeped into their skin and soon their shirts were drenched in sweat. When the sun was high in the sky, Dad judged that it was almost midday. Suddenly, the roar of a communist guard boat approached them from behind.
    Dad quickly bent down to grab some fishing nets so he could look like he was busy mending them and whispered, ‘Just remember what I told you. Keep your mouths shut and let me talk.’
    The patrol boat cut its engine and idled next to the canoe. A soldier squinted down at them.
    ‘What are you doing out here?’
    ‘Fishing.’
    A tense silence followed as the squinty-eyed face bent down to stare at Dad under his straw fishing hat. Dad held his gaze without flinching. Another voice murmured behind the soldier.
    ‘Maybe they’re going out to a boat?’
    The soldier looked out at the open sea, considering.
    ‘Ha! They’d have an engine. Only an idiot would try to paddle that far.’
    And with that the communist boat roared back to life and continued on its way.

    When Dad’s canoe finally made it out to the Motherfish, several pairs of hands reached out and hoisted him and the two boys onto the boat. People silently cheered as their scared and nervous faces looked at their fatigued and exhausted leader. Dad reassured them with his trademarked wonky teeth smile.
    The next morning was going to be the most nerve- wracking because we needed to cross the invisible border between Vietnam and international waters. Armed communist patrol boats made routine surveillance missions along this stretch. We had two engines on the Motherfish, the main one and a smaller back-up engine. Dad got both of them going to get us across this patch of sea as fast as possible.
    Just when it seemed we were finally beyond the border patrol area, Uncle Eight screamed out: ‘Patrol Boat!’
    Behind us a patrol boat was heading in our direction at full speed. Dad cranked up both the motors