The Immolation by Poh Seng Goh

Author:Poh Seng Goh [Goh, Poh Seng]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789810754921
Published: 2017-05-30T16:00:00+00:00

10

THROUGH GAPS BETWEEN the trees amongst which the village of Loc Son was located, Thanh could see patches of sky, horizontal rice fields and, violaceous in the distance, small hills. As the shards of low-hanging mist cleared, the rice stalks lying green in their flat beds possessed a lambence in the softness of the early morning.

He was out on a walk accompanied by two village children, a boy of about seven years old and a girl, aged four. It was a pleasant change to find a community with children again, especially after the barrenness of the training camp. Loc Son had the full spectrum of inhabitants, babies, children, adolescents, adult men and women, and old people: a real community. The small boy and girl were brother and sister, children of the people with whom he was staying. The household consisted of a farmer and his wife, their young niece, and the boy and girl whose names were Dinh and Di.

In certain other respects also, Loc Son was different from the training camp and from old Ky’s home, the village of Ban Trang. Loc Son was a combat village, and the first thing one noticed was the surrounding barricade made up of stakes stuck into the ground, the outer side of which was strewn with booby traps. Some of these were deep pits with sharpened bamboo stakes pointing upwards. The surface was camouflaged with thin sticks covered with leaves and earth, which would not take the weight of a man. If one were to fall in, one would meet with a gory end. Another feature was that the whole area was criss-crossed with underground tunnels and bunkers, rather like a rabbit’s warren with multiple entrances and numerous air vents invisible to the casual eye. These were hiding places in case of attack, which also served as air-raid shelters. The bunkers were well provisioned with food, clothing, medicines and arms. Soon after his arrival, Thanh found that the inhabitants of Loc Son bore arms: carbines, rifles, light machine guns, grenades and even spears made of bamboo tipped with metal. The latter were mostly for the old men. Some of the younger women too bore arms. Thanh had no doubts whatsoever that when the occasion arose the villagers of Loc Son would fight.

On the surface, Loc Son was like any other peasant community: the inhabitants grew rice and vegetables; fished in the rice fields and the river which was also quite a rich prawn-bed; loved, married, begat children, died. The cycle of life turned and turned, inexorable as the universe.

They reached the rice fields, the young man attended by the two children. Thanh could not have wished for better companions. He was gazing at the smooth surface of the shallow water through which the young rice stuck out like stubble. The water was crystal clear in that blue nimbus of morning. The plots of rice were square, structured by hand, the bunds confining the water like cell membranes that contrasted with the shapelessness of his thoughts.

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