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Mr. & Mrs. Lap
(conclusion)
On April 22, 1975, the last battle of the war between the North and South ended. The South had lost Xuan Loc after two weeks of combat. The North had won. South Vietnam’s chances of freedom deteriorated as the North Vietnamese continued edging toward Saigon. By April 27, at least 140,000 Communist troops had encircled the city, blocking off all exits out of the capital. At night, Mr. Lap could hear gunshots in the distance. During the day, he could see people in a panic, trying to find a way to escape. Everyone rushed from one market to another to buy emergency supplies of extra food and water. Constant fear and worry strained their faces. The end was approaching, but no one knew when. Mr. Lap must leave Vietnam now.
After Mrs. Lap and his children’s departure, Mr. Lap had resumed work as normal. He would take the 20-minute trip on his Vespa to Tan Son Nhat in the morning and come back home for dinner. On April 28, Mr. Lap had just finished eating when he heard on the radio that the North Vietnamese Army had captured two A-37 jets from Phan Rang Air Base and bombed Tan Son Nhat. Mr. Lap immediately drove to the air base. The gates were locked when he arrived. Those stuck on the air base during the attack could not get out. Mr. Lap waited outside with his comrades. Rumors circulated that a South Vietnam Air Force pilot had flown one of the A-37s. For years, he had been a spy for the North Vietnamese Army.
Three hours later, at 10 p.m., the gates of the air base opened. Mr. Lap dashed to his office and burned several more important documents. He knew that those affiliated with the Air Force now faced imminent danger, especially with the attack on the main air base. After completing his task, Mr. Lap went to sleep in his office.
At 4 a.m., Mr. Lap awoke when he heard a loud crash. It did not take him long to recognize the sound of a rocket breaking the sound barrier. Water splashed everywhere. The rocket had hit a water tower about thirty feet from where Mr. Lap slept. He would have been dead if it had exploded any closer. Running around, Mr. Lap finally found an exit and darted outside. From there, he saw the Headquarters office explode. Without much time to react, he hid in the gutter-water trail that ran around the air base. Mr. Lap waited there until the bombing ceased.
At 5 p.m., after almost 12 hours, Mr. Lap decided it was safe to go home. On the way back, he felt compelled to check on his best friend. To his relief, Mr. Lap found his friend and family safe in their home. He told his friend that Mrs. Lap and the children had already escaped, that the air base had been attacked, that now he needed to leave as well. The two friends said goodbye and Mr. Lap headed home.
The attack of Tan Son Nhat had caused a commotion. Police, no doubt members of the North Vietnamese Army, were trying to keep things under control. In other words, they did not want anyone to leave Vietnam. Stationed in front of Mr. Lap’s house, the police had fenced off the entrance. Knowing he could not get in through the front, Mr. Lap went around and entered his house through the back. Airplanes could no longer fly out of Vietnam because of the attack on the air base. Now the only way to escape was by sea. Mr. Lap would have to seek the help of his brother-in-law, a member of the Navy. Also, Mr. Lap’s mother might be able to go with him if they traveled by boat. He asked her if she wanted to go. She refused, unless the rest of her children could go also. Mr. Lap knew that could not happen and he was forced to make another difficult decision. He had to leave his mother. Having already separated from his wife and children, he felt little emotion. His main objective was to flee Vietnam in order to find his family. Mr. Lap said goodbye to his mother, got on his Vespa for the last time and headed to Saigon Seaport Base.
With little hope left for Saigon, people ran through the streets desperately searching for an escape route. Mr. Lap maneuvered through the debris and dead bodies on his Vespa. He wondered about the handful of unclaimed bodies, how they died, whether they were shot by the Viet Cong, why an ambulance had not come to their rescue. No one paid any attention to those lying dead on the street. Mr. Lap saw thieves go into the houses of the people who had already left and take their belongings. They carried out beds, t.v.’s and mattresses. It became to clear to Mr. Lap that it was every man for himself. He could not believe what had happened to his beloved country. It was April 29, 1975 and little did he know that tomorrow, Saigon would officially fall to Communist rule.
Mr. Lap arrived at the Navy Seaport Base at 6 p.m. Just as the Navy boat began to slowly leave the dock, Mr. Lap ran and jumped onto the boat. Looking back, he saw thieves pouncing on his Vespa and snatching a small bag carrying what little personal belongings he had, including a Colt 45 pistol and a camera he had used to document the atrocities he witnessed on his way to the boat.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Lap reached Hai Quan Cong Xuong, a ship repair center. From there, Mr. Lap and forty other people were transferred to another small boat, belonging to the Vietnamese Navy. Then the boat set sail again. At around 8 p.m., Cat Lai, an ammunition storage center, exploded. Everyone became fixated on the flames burning in the distance.
At 11 p.m., a hurricane blew in at full force. As the small boat bobbed up and down, people vomited on each other’s necks and backs, the smell inescapable. Mr. Lap and another man were the only two who did not get sick. The hurricane raged for about two hours. By 1 a.m., everything was still.
No one slept that night. At 5 a.m., the boat reached Con Son, an island off the coast of southern Vietnam. Three or four hours later, the passengers were again transferred, this time to a larger Navy ship that would finally take them out of Vietnam.
Mrs. Lap and the children reached Subic Bay on April 22. She did not know how long they would have to stay there. They tried to settle into a large, empty house that had once been occupied by men in the army.
In the evening, someone took out a radio and everyone gathered around to hear reports about Vietnam. The voice on the radio revealed disheartening news. On April 21, 1975, South Vietnamese President Nguyen Van Thieu had resigned and had nominated Vice President Tran Van Huong to take his place. After only one week in office, Huong had handed over the presidency to Doung Van Minh. There were rumors that Minh supported the Communist Party. Everyone listening to the broadcast who was old enough to understand wept. Mrs. Lap had been holding on to an inkling of hope that she would one day be able to return to Vietnam. Now with the news of President Thieu’s resignation, she knew she was leaving for good.
Still out at sea, Mr. Lap sat on a larger Vietnamese Navy cargo ship not meant to transport humans. Two planks set up outside, on the edge of the boat, functioned as a toilet. Falling through the planks meant falling into the ocean. Each person ate just enough canned food to survive. Many could not eat at all because they had been vomiting so much. Although constantly aware of his hunger, Mr. Lap felt grateful for being able to stomach his food.
On May 1, the captain announced that they would soon arrive at Subic Bay in the Philippines. The ship had sailed up next to a U.S. Navy ship. Mr. Lap did not understand what was happening, but he heard that the U.S. ship would supply the Vietnamese ship with water under two conditions: The captain must lower the South Vietnamese flag before entering the island, as a sign of surrender, and all of the weapons on the ship must be thrown into the sea. Those at Subic Bay would be willing to shelter the refugees, but they needed to make sure that no one caused any trouble. The captain had no choice. He stepped up to the flag, yellow with three red stripes, and lowered it. At that moment, Mr. Lap knew that his home town of Cong Troung Dan Chu—where he grew up, met his wife and raised his two children—would no longer be the way he remembered it. He had truly lost his country. Mr. Lap wept as he watched the captain take down the flag and hold it to his chest.
It was April 30, and Mrs. Lap had arrived at Orote Point, a refugee camp in Guam. Boatloads and buses filled with people filtered through Guam everyday. That morning Mrs. Lap ran into one of her friends who had just been reunited with her husband. She gave Mrs. Lap $2. Mrs. Lap gratefully accepted, thanked her friend, and then rushed off to wait for a bus carrying men from the Air Force. She watched as the last man got off the bus. It was not Mr. Lap.
Mrs. Lap stopped one of the men and asked him when the next bus would arrive. He told her this was the last bus. All of the men had come from Utapoa, an air base in Thailand. The man said, “If your husband is not here, then he probably was not able to leave Vietnam.” After seeing Mrs. Lap’s expression, he tried to comfort her. “Maybe he flew in another plane and landed somewhere else. But all of us are from Tan Son Nhat.” With that last bus, Mrs. Lap lost any hope of finding her husband.
Mr. Lap arrived in Guam on May 15. He had been at sea for 15 days after being transferred to yet another ship. As soon as the ship reached the island, people were rounded up and put into a large shower room—the men in one room, the women in another. Mr. Lap stood in a stall and waited. Soon a foul-smelling powder poured down from the showerhead. Mr. Lap held his breath. The powder was DDT, one of the best-known synthetic pesticides. The U.S. officials at Guam, fearing that the Vietnamese brought with them diseases, were using DDT as a cleaning agent. After being sprayed with the powder, Mr. Lap received permission to take a shower. He felt lower than an animal.
When he was settled in, Mr. Lap knew he needed to start searching for his family. For the next few days, he posted notices about them on the Red Cross bulletin board. He also inquired at the Red Cross office located in the camp. Mr. Lap vowed that he would do everything he could to find his family.
Mrs. Lap had lost track of time. She knew it was sometime in May. Since the last bus had arrived on April 30 without her husband she had given up hope that they would one day be reunited.
After leaving Orote Point, she was transferred to Black Construction, another refugee camp in Guam. There, Mrs. Lap passed the time by volunteering at the Red Cross organization, administering supplies to new refugees needing assistance. She had to keep busy in order to not think too much. Uyen and Quoc needed her.
Then one day while passing out diapers and clothing, an American Red Cross employee approached Mrs. Lap and told her she had a phone call from Orote Point. He led her to the Red Cross office and gave her the phone. Mrs. Lap held it to her ear. A familiar voice said, Mui, minh ne. Mrs. Lap began to cry. She knew who it was.
Mrs. Lap and Mr. Lap did not have a traditional Vietnamese marriage or relationship. Out of respect, a wife would call her husband “anh,” and a husband would call his wife “em” to show he possessed authority over his wife. Rarely would a wife address her husband by his first name. Mrs. Lap had been calling Mr. Lap by his first name ever since they met 23 years ago. What’s more, Mr. Lap never used “anh” when talking to her. He would always refer to himself as “minh,” which affectionately translated into “me” or “myself.” He also never called her “em.” Instead, Mr. Lap called Mrs. Lap one of two things: “cung” or “mui.” “Cung” meant “dear” in English. “Mui” was something he started calling her years ago. Mrs. Lap used to have a Chinese babysitter who could not pronounce her name. So the babysitter called her “mui,” which was a loving pet name for a baby girl. The name stuck and Mrs. Lap continued to be Mr. Lap’s “mui” even after they were married.
When Mrs. Lap heard those words through the phone, she knew it was him. To make absolutely sure she asked, “Cung, is that you?”
“Yes it is. I’m here with all your brothers and sisters.”
“Please try to find a way to come here to be with the children and me,” she pleaded. Yes. Mr. Lap promised to see her soon—and this time, he believed every word he said.
“Ok, I will wait for you.” And just as a bus had taken Mrs. Lap’s husband away from her, she now waited for the bus that would bring him back.
© Copyright 2010 Jennifer Lee |
