Across the Mekong River Read Online Free PDF

Occasionally, he looked up for my nod of approval.
    I turned around to find Fue jumping and hopping like a frog across three rows in pursuit of a cricket. “Fue, help your brother. Look at all these rocks,” I called.
    He grinned and returned to his place, picking up a small rock and thr owing it hard into the forest. The rock made a loud thwack as it hit a tree. “Did you see, Father? I hit the trunk.”
    I shook my head and smiled at his delight wit h the smallest accomplishment. As I continued working my hoe down the row, I wondered how it was possible that my two boys had such opposite temperaments. During the wheat harvest I had taught Fong to use the scythe. He was an apt and serious student, careful and methodical in swinging the blade. But I did not know when I could trust Fue to try this. He was only fit to help feed the cows and pigs, pulling their tails and bursting out with giggles when the poor beasts complained. Fue’s mouth ran with a million questions and nonsensical stories. I only knew that when my boys stared up at me, their faces filled with awe, I was flooded with love.
    I sto od and stretched my sore back. Fue crouched over a fresh pile of dirt, prodding a large beetle with a stick. He ran to my side and threw his arms around my leg. “Come look. It is the biggest beetle I have ever seen. He is shiny and the color of new leaves.”
    How could I be mad? Each boy was special. Each a joy.
    Yer arrived with lunch as the sun climbed to the top of the sky. After eating, Fong and I would pass down the rows, pounding our metal spikes into the loose dirt. Yer and Fue would follow behind, dropping corn seeds into the holes and covering them with soil.
    Nou, now two , was tied to Yer’s back in a brightly colored, embroidered carrier. Other parents left their little ones in the village with the elders who were too old to work the fields. But Yer refused to part with her baby, still nervous from the years of war. She untied Nou and set her on the ground.
    Nou spotted me and tried to toddle on her wobbly legs to my side but fell. I lifted her into my arms. Her little hands grabbed my neck as she held her chubby cheek close to mine. I pointed to my other cheek, “ Comme ca ,” I said, the way I had seen in a French film once in Vientiane. And Nou snuggled on the other side. Everyday, over and over, we played this game.
    We sat under the banyan trees with our family members and ate sticky rice and roasted sweet potatoes. The boys doted on Nou, sharing their food and pretending to hide from her until she laughed so hard she got the hiccups. She attempted to chase after them, stumbling and falling and clapping her hands. Each day was a treasure, a momentary gift like a precious crystal of water languishing on a leaf until the wind scattered it dry.
     
    Around this time, the peace began to unravel. In the evenings after dinner we listened on the short wave radio to the news reports on Lao National Radio and the U.S. sponsored Voice of America broadcasts from Thailand. Sometimes, we tuned in to Radio Pathet Lao, afraid of what we might hear, but more afraid not to know what they were saying. Details on the final terms of the coalition government in Vientiane remained unsettled. Negotiations continued, the announcers said, as the parties worked toward reconciliation. Each side blamed the other for the stalemate.
    Every few weeks we walked to the market in Muang Cha to trade our pr oduce for items we needed. I spoke with old friends here, who were closer to the truth. The news grew more disturbing. The coalition government was disintegrating. The peace agreements were being renegotiated. The Pathet Lao edged Royal Lao officials out of ministries and launched massive propaganda campaigns. The call went out to Lao workers to join the struggle for freedom and equality. The government must purge the puppets of the American imperialists , they said. The rhetoric echoed throughout the cities and into the countryside.