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kilometers from the Thai border. The area had many barracks and garrisons for both

Vietnamese and Cambodian troops. One by one, Vietnamese soldiers entered the village

to buy and sell food, looking for entertainment in the native villages. Suddenly, we
received news of a large clash on the border between Vietnamese and Khmer Rouge

troops, so we rushed back to a small hamlet about 1 kilometer behind Kabore to shelter
and wait.

My father and son were sent into people's homes. This family consists of 2 brothers in

their youth, living in a poor squalid house. The brother, newly married, worked as a
carpenter. The younger brother worked as a farmer, joined the guerrillas, and guarded

the village at night. The house had a small, planked room surrounded by a wooden
hatch, which served as a bed and furniture. A cloth curtain just in front of the wooden

collapsed to hide the prying eye outside.

As soon as we entered the house before we could say hello, we were pushed onto the

wooden hatch and pulled back the curtains. Our slippers were put away. The bed has

many items, such as blankets, pillows, suitcases, clothes, and chests. All those
miscellaneous and cluttered items took up half the collapse. An additional curtain of dark

floral cloth hanging from the roof fell to hide the possessions. We were pushed on top of

them behind the second curtain. This is the shelter they consider safest. We were
retracted 1 yard across, 2 yards long, 3 yards high. All living necessities are concentrated

in this six-cubic yard space. Every day, the host brought two meals, water, and necessary

hygiene supplies for the two of us. Friends of the landlord and even the police always
came. They talked noisily while we lay still, holding our mouths. Sometimes, the police

even pretended to pull back the room curtains to inquire. The second curtain of flowers
sheltered us. When there are no people, I exercise and teach Huy Manh to exercise his

legs to keep from numbness and prepare for the upcoming journey, planning to walk at

least 10 kilometers through the forest. In this remote village, there is the sound of gunfire
every night. The atmosphere of war and death prevailed.

On December 31, 1984, leaving my hiding place, I longed to set foot on Thai soil at the
first moment of 1985. It must be great. Pass through the county seat of Kubota at dusk.

We were about to pass a checkpoint. After 8 p.m., the station was empty. The officers

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