Collection of Short Stories

Angel

Assessment task from a short collection called 'Dark Roots' by Australian author Cate Kennedy. The story I used for inspiration from this was called 'Angel'.

I remember my mother. My real mother. I remember her voice, telling me to, "Go! Go Tuyen, my angel." to go and escape the terror that had befallen on us; a terror by the name of Communism. "And remember I am always with you in your heart. You will find a place to belong. A good and safe place, with no evil" I remember nodding. I was only eight at the time and yet I knew the risks that I faced – landing in jail or worse. My two brothers and sister had all already fled, one at a time, to not cause suspicion. We didn't know whether they made it safely, but my mother prayed and hoped for them. Now it was my turn for my mother to pray and hope for me to make it to safety.

I went out into the street, leaving my parents and home and everything that I knew behind. I was going into the unknown. I knew where to go, knew what to do, but the fear was still there. The night was dark and silent as I made my way soundlessly like a cat across the town to where a boat should be waiting. I made it safely, without a sound. People were already there. Waiting for the unknown. When the last few had arrived we rowed out to sea, breaking through the still water with silent grace.

I remember the boat, the two months voyage and the fear of pirates. It was a rough journey, the sea at times choppy and wild. The small fishing boat was crammed with people of all ages, all looking as miserable and filthy as me. I felt so little. I didn't speak, no one did, except for the occasional groans, but even those were few. We were all almost nose to nose; trying to sleep was near to impossible, with a baby cry's occasionally filling the night. I stayed close to a woman, huddled together for warmth.

The fear and silence for the most part was always present. Until it happened. We were almost at our destination, so close. Screams filled the vast ocean. At first, I remember thinking it was Thai pirates but then I saw the fin. It was a shark. I huddled closer to the woman, my heart racing fast. I remember thinking this was the end and that my mother would never know what happened to me. My tiny hands grabbed the woman's next to me. I saw the shark fin circling the boat. The boat was swaying, people trying to get closer to the middle and away from the edge.

A scream came from the front. I remember someone falling in, the water splashing furiously as they tried to get back on the boat. The boat rocked and rocked. I was knocked to the edge and felt the taste of salt water on my lips. I could see the shark swimming towards the man, who was still half flailing in the water sending up sea spray. He made it just in time, and the shark jumped out, its teeth sinking into the side of the boat, before disappearing into the deep of the water again.

There were no more screams, only silence as we watched the now once again still water. Watching for a sign of movement, but the shark seemed to have lost its interest. We stayed floating for a while, with the quietness wrapping around us. Eventually, I remember that someone starting the boat again, the low hum of the engine and smell of the fuel filled the vast ocean once again before my eyes closed and I fell into and uneasy sleep.

When we reached the harbour, everyone scrambled off in a hurry to get off the boat that had been our home for the past two months. The ground felt strange, my legs felt as if they weren't my own. People came to welcome us; conversation filled the area around me. But yet I remained silent and still, the woman next me took my hand as we made our way to the camp. Cameras and news reporters greeted us. A camera was thrust in my face. I remember feeling the confusion and the anxiety of being surrounded by all these strange people. They asked questions, but I didn't answer, I couldn't answer. The horrible memories and shock, still vivid in my mind that I was unable to understand, let alone put it all together, so I remained silent, letting them film me, while others talked around me.

I remember five months later, I still hadn't said a word. I stuck close to the same woman from my boat. I found out her name was Mai. We understood the need for silence, and so day after the day we ate, slept and sat together in silence, comforting each other. The camp was full and noisy. There were many people from Vietnam, escaping the same danger as I had, with similar stories. But I never saw any of my siblings or my parents.

Then one day men came, saying that children under the age of 5 will be given preference. I knew this was my chance. I wrenched myself away from Mai and ran to one of the men.

"I am five," I said, thanking my parents for teaching me English. I remember a presence behind me, it was Mai.

"I am her mother." She said. We both lied that day.

I remember the arrival to Australia. Everything was so different. I was glad for Mai by my side. I felt safe again; I felt I belonged somewhere again, just like my mother had told me before I left. She had been right; mothers always seemed to be right. I had a home once more. Going to school I felt safe, I felt like I belonged to some degree.

I played nearly every day with other girls my age, some were like me, a refugee, others immigrants and the rest born in Australia. We all got on because that's what children do. We didn't judge one another; as older students did at school. My silence was broken; I could be a child once more. I could jump around with no fear of communists, could sing and play all day, freely and openly.

Then one day one of my friend's older brothers came to speak to me, my mother had taught me to always be polite to older people and to people that you know. He said he had something to give to me. I nodded excitingly and followed him to the little storerooms. I stood waiting, confused, where was the present?

After, I remember the confusion of what had happened, of not understanding. Only the hurt was left behind, the pain of knowing I had been hurt. My silence returned and my happiness had diminished. Evil was everywhere, in every country in different forms. Nowhere was safe.

I remember showing Mai what had happened; her face went dark as I told her with tiny gestures what he did. I showed her at school who it was. Her face darkened even more. She clutched my hand tight, promising to fix everything.

Then one day the police came. I remember standing by the door watching the police find the knife and telling Mai she had the right to remain silent. Ironic, I thought, she had been silent so long; silence always heightened suspicion in this country. And then they took her away, my 'mother', my own guardian angel. I remember my real mother saying that she hoped I would I would go to a place where there was no evil. I realised now that she knew that was impossible, she was just being hopeful. There was and always will be evil in the world.

As I sit on the plane now, 20 years later, my heart begins to beat faster the closer we get to Vietnam. Soon I would land in the place that I was born, the place of my ancestors. And I would see my mother again.

As I reached the home that was once my own, tears began to pool around in my eyes. Memories of my childhood fluttered across my eyes, like a film that I hadn't seen in a while. I knocked on the door; a short little woman opened the door, wrinkles showed her age and she looked at my face until recognition dawned, and in the corner of her eyes the tears started falling.

"Tuyen, my angel." She whispered, embracing me close, I sobbed.