The Illiterate Daughter: The Young Guardian, #1

By Chia Gounza Vang

In war torn Laos, thirteen-year-old Nou daydreams of the legendary heroes and mythical beings who live in the folklore stories she loves to hear. Remembering them helps her ignore physical pain as she struggles through the endless chores expected of a dutiful daughter. Each night, she examines the two books given to her by her ex-soldier father and prays for an end to the Vietnam War. Only peace will allow her to attend school and learn to read the secrets locked inside her wonderous books.

 

In a late-night Communist attack on her village, Nou's home, books, and illusion of safety are lost in the deadly flames and rifle fire that follow. Although her family escapes into the jungle, they leave behind unknown numbers of dead and missing friends and neighbors.

As her father desperately searches for a place to rebuild their home, he learns that the Communist soldiers who control the country are intent upon killing any man who fought alongside the Americans. Nou's family must flee their homeland or live under constant threat of imprisonment and torture. But escape from Laos requires a guide able to smuggle large numbers of refugees through the jungle's high mountain passes and across the Mekong River into Thailand, routes watched by patrols instructed to shoot to kill.

 

While the number of dead who litter their escape route increases, Nou increasingly draws upon her "worthless" folklore heroes for help in getting her surviving family members closer to freedom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: scarsdalepublishing
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393247821

Book preview

Chapter One

May 1974

The sun roasted me, and my sweat-stained, ragged, black clothes clung and itched as I hoed weeds in my family’s rice field. Two blisters had popped on my dirty palms and the raw skin hurt. The cramping pain in my back and hands surged with each slam and drag of my hoe. I dropped the hoe, straightened, and groaned.

I longed to be in a classroom. If the foolish war stopped, I could escape my family’s backbreaking labor. I dreamed of learning stories about the universe, magic, demons, princes, and princesses. As usual, my musing eased my pain.

A crow cawed and snapped me out of my daydreams. I looked for Mother and caught sight of her across the field. She had assigned each of us a strip of field, and I had fallen far behind her. I’d needed the break, but my mother’s scolds frightened me.

I scanned for Father and my sister, Der. They’d been more than halfway to the top of the hill and the end of the field but now were nowhere in sight. Neither was Der’s boyfriend, Pheng. Der and Pheng had been hoeing side by side ahead of my parents. Weeding was intense work, and Pheng had helped Der for three days in a row. Where were they?

As I scanned the woods beyond the field, something swished near me. A bullet? I jumped back, heart racing. Instead of a bullet, a black crow landed on my shoulder. Its flutter tickled my cheek. I froze in shock. Then its sharp claws loosened their grip, and the crow flew away as fast as it had come.

My pounding heart slowed, then sank with new fear. The elders said that wild birds entering the home or landing on people were bad omens. What did this mean for me and my family? Tree stumps scattered the field. Why had the crow chosen to land on me instead of one of them? I might not be the best worker or a perfect daughter, but I hadn’t done anything bad. I shivered despite the heat, and suddenly my knees gave way. I slumped on the dirt, head spinning.

Up ahead, Father limped out of the woods, headed in my direction. His right leg was shorter than the left, a result of the gunshot wound that ended his fighting with the Americans. Occasionally, the old injury would swell, and he’d have to walk with a stick. The war had made life hard for everyone.

Dangling at Father’s side was a barong machete in a wooden case, fastened at his waist with a tied rope. His secret document was hidden inside the knife’s bamboo handle, so he carried the knife everywhere.

As he drew near, Father said, Nou, you look pale. Are you all right?

If I told Father about the crow, he’d tell Mother, and she’d become frightened. Mother worried about everything.

Yes. I took a deep breath to steady the quaver in my voice. My back hurts, so I’m taking a short break.

Don’t take too long. Your mother will not be happy.

Father started across the field toward Mother. He worked hard despite his short leg and never complained. Both my parents were far ahead of me on their work.

Father, I called, do you think the Communists will find our village?

I hope not, he replied without turning.

Since the departure of the American bombing crew, adults had whispered among themselves about the Communists invading villages. What was our chance of winning the war without the Americans? Losing the war would mean torture and enslavement instead of school. Anxious dread settled in my belly.

I prayed softly, My honorable grandfather and ancestors, please protect us and our village from the Communist Pathet Lao. Protect our soldiers so that we win the war.

Nou, get to work! Mother yelled. Stop daydreaming. You are so behind.

I’m just taking a short break, I called back.

You take too many breaks. Work harder to get your area weeded.

Anger burst inside me, and my sharp tongue slipped into disrespect and disobedience. How come you don’t make the boys work? Why do they get to stay home? It’s not fair.

You’re good at complaining. Mother scowled and strode toward me.

She had told me that she yelled because she loved me, but her anger frightened me. Slowly, I stood, picked up the hoe, and returned to my work. When I was young, she spanked me for not completing my tasks. I was her naughtiest child. I tried to behave better and, as I grew older, she mostly scolded.

Nou, you rushed through this. She pointed toward my toes, where a cluster of weeds lay covered in dirt. Go back and get every weed out.

There were too many weeds. What she wanted was impossible, but I wouldn’t win by arguing and couldn’t show more disrespect.

I sighed loudly. All right.

Do it right the first time or do it over. Mother shook her head. You have a lot to learn, my daughter. You need to work hard like your sister. Skills are important for your life. Stories and books are not, so don’t waste your time daydreaming.

I flared my nostrils in anger. It was true I daydreamed, but I hated when Mother compared me to Der, who was patient, reliable, and obedient. Comparing and scolding were meant to make me work harder, but they drained my enthusiasm and energy. They lowered my self-esteem because I would never be like my sister. I was born different. My dreams were full of folklore and curiosity about the universe, not physical work. I hated myself for my lack of motivation to be a hard worker and a perfect daughter. I hated the war, and I hated my sister and mother for refusing to help me. How could I be self-sufficient if they didn’t have the patience to teach me?

Get to work. Mother, petite but strong, walked steadily back toward her area.

Mother, is Der taking a break? I asked.

Yes.

Why aren't you yelling at her?

Pheng and Der got a lot done, Mother shouted over her shoulder.  

I bit my lip. Before Der began dating Pheng, she and I worked together, supporting and helping each other. Der’s assistance had declined since, and her excuse was that I had to learn to be independent. Now, she ignored me because of her annoying boyfriend, who came around whenever he wanted. Proper courting took place in the evening, but Pheng wanted to show off his skills to impress my parents. His help was changing Der, making her lazy and undependable. If he wasn't present, Der would have checked on me and asked how I was doing.

I dropped the hoe and headed to nearby trees. Pheng and Der sat shoulder to shoulder in the shade, their hands entwined. Wind soughed through the branches. Pheng turned to Der and kissed her cheek.

Disgusted, I shouted, Don’t you do that to my sister!

Pheng shot me a worried glance. I love your sister. A kiss is all right. You can ask her.

I looked down, regretting my sharp, loud voice.

Der’s dimples appeared on her thin, fair-skinned face. She kissed Pheng on the cheek. Someday, you’ll know what love is.

How dare she shame the family by kissing a man in front of others? I clapped my hand over my mouth to suppress a scolding. I couldn’t scold her because Der had been my second mother since our twin brothers were born, and I relied on her for everything. Wasn’t she ashamed of herself? Our parents had high expectations for her, a perfect daughter. Maybe she wasn’t perfect, after all.

I flicked a glance at Pheng. Heat flushed my body. Disrespecting a guest was shameful, so I took a deep breath and walked away, head low and shoulders slumped. Der’s and the crow’s strange behaviors fueled my stress. I wished to remain a child and to be a son, so I’d have freedom like my brothers.

Nearing my weeding area, I stretched my back and scanned the rich, green, knee-high rice plants that stretched across the rolling hills and swayed in the breeze. In far off fields, other villagers bent over patches of land, tending to their livelihoods. It was now May, the month my sister and I were born. The crops and harvesting seasons helped me know where we were in time. Thirteen summers had passed since I came into the world. My family had been fleeing war since I was seven. Three summers ago, Father gave me two Laotian books and promised me I could go to school when we won the war. I yearned for school.

Mid-afternoon, my family stopped weeding. Pheng picked his way carefully around the rice plants to Father, who lingered nearby. They shook hands.

Thank you for your help again today, Father said in a bubbly voice.

Pheng’s mouth quirked into a smile. The dirt that encrusted his face made him look older than eighteen. His black, wide-legged trousers and black shirt were stained with mud.

It was my pleasure. Thanks for allowing me to be with Der, Pheng said.

It’s hard work. If you don’t mind, you are welcome to come every day.

I’ll be back tomorrow, Pheng replied.

Pheng didn’t mind the hard work because he got to kiss Der. Who wouldn’t want to be with a beautiful girl like Der? I was happy to see him go.

Later, in the vegetable patch, Der and I picked gai choy. A cool breeze brushed my long face and tousled a strand of hair into my eyes.

Der dropped a handful of gai choy in the rattan basket and stood. Get up and I’ll fix your hair for the evening chores. I don’t want your hair in our food.

I brushed dirt off my black trousers, tightened the red and green sashes around my waist, and stood with my back to Der. She removed a metal barrette clip, and my long hair fell on my shoulders. My sister gathered the loose strands and started braiding. Having Der by my side, my back pain and the crow faded from my mind.

I love your silky hair and big round eyes. Der’s voice was soft and gentle.

You just say that to make me feel better.

Soften your voice, she said. I want to tell you a secret.

A secret?

You can’t tell anyone, especially our parents.

Der quickly wove my hair and clipped it with the barrette. Then, she untied a small, black drawstring bag that dangled from her red sash. She took out a beautiful silver ring in the shape of a kite elaborated with small triangles.

What kind of ring is this? I asked.

"It’s called Nplhaib Kooj Nplias."

The name meant grasshopper, but the ring didn’t look like a grasshopper. How did you get it?

Pheng gave me the ring. It is his promised gift to me. Joy filled her voice. Although we’ve been dating for only three months, it was love at first sight. We are going to get married soon.

My heart almost jumped out of my chest. No! Don’t leave me!

Quiet! Der whispered. Why do you always talk so loud? I don’t want Mother and Father to hear us.

I softened my voice, Why?

I don’t want our parents to know about this. Her voice was quiet but rough. It’s embarrassing. They will find out when I’m at Pheng’s home and his family notifies them that Pheng and I are married. I’m sharing the news with you in advance because you are my sister and my best friend.

I recalled my friend Maineng saying that her sister had married in secrecy. Her brother-in-law took her sister to his home one night. The marriage was announced after her parents were notified. This was a tradition that the majority of couples practiced.

It was nice of Der to share her secret, but her news weighed heavily. I sank to the weeds. Der sat with me shoulder to shoulder.

I’m only getting married. Nothing to worry about, she said.

I’m going to miss you, and I won’t have free time to listen to Aunty Shoua’s stories anymore, I cried. And I can’t cook. Mother will scold me more.

You haven’t learned to soften your voice. Try harder.

I scowled.

Mother can tell you her stories, Der said.

I’ve heard all her stories. I grasped Der’s hand. You are only sixteen. You should wait until you are older.

It’s love. Pheng and I are ready to marry.

I knew there was no way I could convince her to wait. Suddenly cold, I hugged my knees and imagined the misery I’d face, burdened with all the chores and without her help. And the loneliness. My chest heaved in sadness. After a long silence, I drew a deep breath.

I steadied my voice and said, When are you leaving?

In two days, because that’s the auspicious date Pheng’s father wants us to have. Don’t tell anyone and ruin my marriage.

I won’t, I whispered.

The prettiest girl and the handsomest boy in the village were getting married, and I was losing my sister. I hoped the crow had come to warn me of that loss. I hoped there wasn’t more bad luck.

Chapter Two

The sun, a blistering red sphere of light, dwindled beneath the western horizon. Like many others, my family trudged home to our village, Thao. My parents knew all fifty families residing here. Thao was a quiet, peaceful place, and we loved it. Mountains surrounded us on four sides, shielding us from the enemy and giving me a sense of security. Nonresidents wouldn’t know a village existed. Brown thatch huts were scattered throughout the small valley with our hut on the north side near the woods.

As we passed the Vue’s hut, our closest neighbor, our roosters crowed, their squawk welcoming me home. Nothing felt better than coming to the place I loved. Our hut, made of bamboo walls and an elephant grass roof, stood before us.

My eight-year-old twin brothers, Tong and Hlao, squealed as they rushed past Der and me to meet our parents. Hlao grabbed Father’s arm and Tong grabbed Mother’s. The boys spoke rapidly about their small-game snare traps. At the fire pit, they showed our parents four birds on the ground. Mother and Father’s eyes gleamed, and they praised my brothers with enthusiasm for their ingenuity.

Standing near the fire pit, I crossed my arms and stared at them. The boys were praised for having fun while I was scolded for working hard. Since Mother demanded that I master all the skills expected for a wife, I had been working extra hard to be like my perfect sister. My parents weren’t fair, and I wanted to tell them that but was afraid of more scolding. They seemed to have no hope in me, a useless girl. My life was difficult as an unattended middle child and an imperfect daughter.

The boys squealed and pulled our parents to sit with them by the fire pit. They talked about making traps in the woods and playing at the duck pond with our big brother, Toua.

I envied my brothers. I truly missed the fun time I had babysitting the twins three years ago. When I turned ten, my mother said I was old enough for other work and prohibited me from playing with them. I became Grandmother’s caretaker, and I helped with farm work and chores.

My ninety-year-old grandmother was absent from the group, but her snores emanated from her bed. I went to her bamboo cot enclosed with a gray cloth on two sides. Only she and my parents had fabrics enclosing their beds. Grandmother lay on her side. I touched her scrawny hand. It felt cold. I covered her with a blanket. She relied on the family for everything, especially me, but I liked helping her because she told me stories and never scolded me.

My brother Toua came in, carrying an ax. He was two years older than Der and tall and lean with a strong forehead and jaw. He had just finished splitting logs outside.  Toua set the ax against the bamboo wall by the door.

Toua and I are going to a meeting with the neighbors, said Father. We’ll be back.

I want to go with you, Hlao said.

You can go with me when you are older.

Father and Toua left for the meeting.

Der and I rested on our bamboo cot to catch our breath. Like always, I reached beneath the bed for the bamboo box that contained my treasures. I pulled out one of the books, then turned it over to admire the cover.

When are you going to stop touching that book? asked Der.

When I can read and know its story.

I turned the pages. The book gave me hope. One day I’d be able to go to school and read it. How long would it take to learn how to read Hmong or Lao? Unfamiliar with Lao, it would be more difficult to learn, but I would study hard.

It’s time for chores. Der stood.

I huffed. Can we rest longer?

No time.

I sighed. I had to obey my master, so I placed the book back in the box and shoved it under the bed. While Der cooked, I fetched water and fed the chickens and pigs. 

During supper, Der ate quickly, then disappeared outside without a word. Concerned, I followed her and found her vomiting into the brown dirt.

Panic spread through my nerves. What’s wrong? I wrapped an arm around Der’s shoulder. I’ll have Mother give you herbal medicine.

I’m all right. Der wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. I’m just having an upset stomach. I’m all better now. She shook my arm from her shoulders. Go inside.

I hesitated, then said, If you say so.

Inside, I helped my grandmother to her cot and tucked her in. Then I cleaned the dining area quickly, so I wouldn’t be late for story time.

Our black ridgeback dog, Fox, curled up by the front door. I smoothed his back and said, Go.

He got up, and we snuck out the door. He hunted and guarded us, so we fed him well, making him heavy but muscular. Fox was my bodyguard during the night when I had to relieve myself or go somewhere. I felt safe with him leading me. We found our way by moonlight to Aunty Shoua’s home, five huts away. Her booming voice echoed from the backyard. The fire pit gave warmth and light to the group. As I joined the circle of four, Fox lay down nearby. Maineng, my friend, hurried in and sat next to me.

Aunty Shoua, the storyteller, said, You are lazy! You can’t do anything right! Get out!

She was telling the story of an orphan boy. His mean sister-in-law was kicking him out. This part was interesting and, though I had heard it a few times, the storyteller’s skill and having my friend by my side were a comfort. I was thankful to have my parents. Otherwise, I’d be like the orphan boy.

Suddenly, Der appeared out of the darkness. Nou, go home. You have to finish your chores.

Aunty Shoua stopped,