The Call of the Abyss
 
Nguyễn Đình Phùng

Chapter 1
 
The sea was blazing under a scorching sun, utterly devoid of wind. The sky above was a crystal-clear blue, without a single cloud in sight. The small boat bobbed gently with each lapping wave, making no forward progress. It appeared as a mere speck amidst the vast, boundless ocean—motionless and silent as the grave. Lữ stood tall, sweeping his gaze across the entire horizon, yet he saw no sign of any vessel appearing.

It had been two days since the small boat’s engine had failed, leaving it stranded in one spot. The sole hope of the group of refugees aboard—risking everything to flee in search of freedom—was to be spotted and rescued by a passing foreign merchant ship. They clung to the stories recounted in letters sent from America by earlier refugees—tales of being miraculously picked up by U.S. vessels and granted immediate entry into the United States. These stories, often embellished with a touch of fantasy, were accompanied by photographs sent home: gleaming automobiles, magnificent houses, and images of a glorious land of freedom. Dreams that had, for those lucky few, become reality.

Huddled miserably within their fragile craft, the group aboard shared that very same wish: they prayed for a U.S. ship to pass by. Or, failing that, any foreign merchant vessel would do. Just please, let it not be a ship belonging to the Thai pirates.

Lữ felt the weight of responsibility for the nearly thirty souls crammed onto this flimsy refugee boat. He and Sơn had organized this escape attempt, and now Lữ blamed himself for placing too much trust in the mechanic—the man who had guaranteed that their outboard motor was more than capable of making the ocean crossing. Now, however, the boat lay dead in the water, and their meager supply of food and drink was fast running out. Sơn approached Lữ and, likewise, scanned the horizon. He clicked his tongue in frustration:

"Not a single ship in sight! I’m terrified! Two of the children have come down with fevers again. We’re nearly out of drinking water, too. I have no idea how we’re going to get ourselves out of this mess!"

Lữ looked at his friend with deep pity. In just a few short days, Sơn seemed to have aged several years. Lữ offered reassurance:

"It’s alright! I’m sure we’ll eventually come across a passing ship."

"But what about the Thai pirates? Lying here motionless like this just makes us easy prey for them. What happens if we run into them, Lữ?"

Lữ gave a grim smile:

"I’m fully prepared! Don’t worry."

He was confident that he had made ample preparations. Lữ had heard many stories about the pirates—tales of ill-fated escape voyages, of men being murdered and women being raped. His and Sơn’s fellow travelers on this journey were also well aware of the risks and had taken precautions; the women had even begun taking contraceptives a month before their departure. Lữ, too, had taken measures to protect himself. He was determined not to let any tragedy befall them, should they be unfortunate enough to encounter the Thai pirates.

Sơn scanned the horizon once more. A black speck seemed to have just appeared in the southeast. He spoke softly to Lữ:

"Look there, Lữ!"

Lữ nodded; he had just spotted it as well. He raised his binoculars and squinted through them, though the black speck was still too small for him to distinguish whether it was a ship, another fishing boat, or something else entirely. The speck grew larger. Lữ kept his eyes glued to the binoculars, never looking away. Sơn asked impatiently:

"Is it a merchant ship?"

Lữ did not answer. He remained motionless, his hands unmoving from the binoculars. Finally, he replied—his voice as cold as ice:

"No! It’s not a merchant ship!"

Sơn snatched the binoculars from Lữ’s hands and raised them to his own eyes. He let out a curse. Neither man spoke for a moment. After a while, Lữ turned to Sơn and said:

"You know what we have to do, right?"

Sơn nodded. They had discussed their plan before setting out—mapping out every step, every specific action to take in the event of any contingency. How would events unfold, and—should they take a turn for the worse—how were they to react? Lữ did not want matters to spiral beyond his calculations. Yet no one could foresee everything—such as the engine failure that had left them stranded here for two days. And now, the Thai pirates.

For that growing black speck on the southeastern horizon was another boat—one larger than their own. It was no battered, listing, and harmless refugee craft; rather, it was a sleek, jet-black vessel with white stripes along its flanks, looking as menacing as a demon. Peering through his binoculars, Lữ could already make out the figures of several men milling about on deck, guns in hand.
 
The pirate boat was bearing down on the refugees at full throttle, charging with the ferocity of a predator closing in on its prey. The Thai marauders were laughing, shouting, and pointing; they were certain of a haul of gold and jewelry, and eager to sate their lust upon Vietnamese women who were too exhausted to resist—and who, even if they had the strength, would not dare fight back if they wished to survive.

Sơn issued instructions to each person: Everyone was to lie flat on the deck and remain absolutely silent. No sitting up; no scrambling about in panic. Lữ and Sơn would handle everything. Everyone was to find whatever cover they could—the more thorough, the better—for he and Lữ intended to fight back against these pirates.

He retrieved his M16 rifle and handed a second one to Lữ. He also passed Lữ a hand grenade. These weapons were items he and Lữ had acquired at an exorbitant price from a corrupt government official. How the man had managed to procure such strictly forbidden and heavily controlled contraband remained a mystery; yet Lữ had the right connections and had successfully located someone willing to sell. Sơn would never have organized this escape attempt had he not first secured at least these two firearms. And the grenade—he hoped it hadn't rusted yet.

Lữ and Sơn each squatted down in a corner—one at the stern, the other at the bow. Lữ held his rifle at the ready, allowing only the top half of his head to peek out as he kept watch on the pirates' boat. He raised his binoculars to look. The boat appeared...

The boat came clearly into view, and he could make out every single pirate. They all stood upon the deck, their heads wrapped in bandanas. Their swarthy, sun-scorched faces gradually emerged from the haze. Each man carried a gun. Lữ counted them. There were six in all. These pirates—men who had once made an honest living fishing in the Gulf of Thailand—had transformed into sea bandits following the surge of people fleeing their homeland by boat.

The Vietnamese refugees, abandoning their country, carried with them whatever precious remnants of their former lives they had managed to convert into gold. The pirates soon realized that intercepting the flimsy boats of these wretched Vietnamese refugees was an effortless task. The loot from a single raid often equaled an entire year’s earnings from fishing.
 
Why, then, would they let such an opportunity slip away? And then there were the women—to be used for their amusement. Any husband who dared to resist was shot dead and his body tossed into the sea. The pirates had acquired a taste for blood; each man had participated in dozens of such raids, reaping heavy hauls of gold and silver every time, all without fear of punishment. Why bother fishing anymore when piracy offered them such a lavish life?

° ° °

Thomchan watched as the boat carrying the Vietnamese refugees gradually came into focus, and he sensed that something was amiss. The vessel was far too small to venture out into the open sea. He simply could not fathom how these Vietnamese people could be reckless enough to risk their lives to such an extent. He himself would never dare set foot on a boat like that—not even to hug the shoreline—let alone attempt to cross the vast ocean packed shoulder-to-shoulder with a crowd of people.

The boat sat motionless in the water. Had the engine failed, or was there some other reason? Usually, whenever he spotted prey, he had to give chase. He typically steered clear of the larger refugee ships; they were too densely packed with people—he wasn't sure he could keep such a crowd under control—and he feared that some of them might be armed.
 
But as time went on, the vessels used for these escape attempts had grown smaller and smaller. The large  freighters had likely all passed through by now—at least, that was Thomchan’s guess. As for the smaller fishing boats, carrying twenty or thirty people apiece, he and his crew could easily chase them down and overtake them. His vessel was equipped with the most advanced and powerful engine available; how could those patched-up, rickety old fishing boats—with their ancient, feeble motors—possibly hope to escape?
 
On almost every boat he had ever raided, not a single person carried a weapon. Thomchan surmised that these refugees had simply entrusted their lives to the heavens, accepting that their survival or death was a matter of pure fate; it never occurred to any of them to carry weapons for self-defense or protection.

All the easier for him! To him, the refugees were mere lambs to the slaughter—creatures he could butcher at will, strip of everything they owned, and grant the gift of life only if he so chose. If he decided someone should die, they died. Any woman who caught his eye, he raped on the spot. Any young maiden, he abducted. The brothels in Chiang Mai paid handsomely for these Vietnamese girls. Thomchan felt like a petty god, a deity in his own right. He held the power of life and death over every boat he intercepted, satisfying every whim and desire—what more could a man ask for?

Thomchan assumed the boat ahead of him had suffered engine failure, leaving it dead in the water. But why was it so eerily silent? During previous raids, he could always spot the refugees milling about from a distance—a huddled, restless mass of humanity. Their faces would turn vacant with terror, as if rooted to the spot, the moment his vessel drew near. The clamor he could hear when still several boat-lengths away would suddenly fall dead silent the instant he closed in. Thomchan could sniff out fear from afar, and he reveled in the twisted pleasure of knowing he had plunged those wretched souls into utter despair, casting the very shadow of death upon them.
 
But this time was different. There was something unusual about this particular boat. Not a single human figure was visible on deck. Not a sound could be heard. There was only the throbbing roar of Thomchan’s own engine as he bore down upon it. For a fleeting moment, Thomchan considered turning back. He sensed that something was amiss. There were countless other boats drifting across the open sea for him to plunder—so many other opportunities. This particular boat likely wouldn't yield much of a haul anyway. And Thomchan had no fondness for the strange or the unexpected.
 
Yet, despite these thoughts, he allowed his vessel to press onward. He had been sailing all day—now nearing dusk—without encountering a single target. He had suffered a crushing gambling loss just the night before and urgently needed to acquire some gold to recoup his losses. And then there was Saphang! That fellow seemed intent on striking out on his own, refusing to submit to Thomchan’s authority as he once had. If Thomchan were to turn back now, Saphang would surely laugh in his face. Worse yet, he might even persuade the other men to defect and join him. To lose these henchmen would mean the ruin of Thomchan’s enterprise. He had to save face; he had to push forward.

Thomchan ordered his boat to slow down. He tucked his Beretta pistol into his waistband. He left the automatic weapons to his subordinates; he wanted to project the image of a true leader. Thomchan turned to the henchman standing nearest him and ordered him to prepare to cast a grappling hook onto the hull of the refugee boat, thereby drawing the two vessels side-by-side.
 
The pirate boat gradually lost momentum; Thomchan’s henchman straightened his stance, whirling the rope rapidly overhead, ready to cast. The instant the hook snagged against the hull of the refugee boat—just as the Thai pirate was bracing himself to haul it in—a sharp burst of gunfire erupted. Thomchan’s henchman recoiled backward, blood spurting in crimson jets from his chest. He crashed heavily onto the deck, and Thomchan stared in wide-eyed horror.

 
Chapter 2
 
Lữ held his gun at the ready and signaled to Sơn to wait. He wanted the pirates to draw even closer before opening fire. And he intended to wipe them out—not merely to demonstrate that his boat was armed, prompting them to retreat in search of other prey. Lữ had heard much about these Thai bandits before preparing for his voyage. Those who had gone before him had sent letters back recounting their experiences.
 
He had heard countless people curse the atrocities these brigands had inflicted upon others. Lữ had made thorough preparations for the very contingency that his boat might encounter pirates. Deep down, perhaps, that was exactly what he wanted. For if he merely bluffed to intimidate them into turning their vessel away, another boat—another group of refugees—would inevitably fall into their clutches. Those with no means of self-defense would face a tragic fate.
 
Lữ felt compelled to do whatever lay within his power to spare future refugee boats from such a calamity. And if he could eliminate even a single pirate—no matter the danger, even if it meant sacrificing his own life—he would do so without hesitation.

Lữ waited until the bandit had hurled his grappling hook to latch onto their boat before opening fire. Sơn, grasping his friend's intent, fired in unison with him. The man who had just cast the hook was instantly cut down, while another took a hit and crumpled to the deck. The remaining bandits hit the deck and began returning fire.
 
The air filled with the whistling exchange of bullets between the refugee boat and the pirate vessel. Sơn glanced at his friend; between the two of them, they had only two magazines left. The pirates still numbered four, and their arsenal was undoubtedly far superior to the two men's meager supply.
 
Lữ met Sơn’s gaze and nodded. A smirk played upon his lips—a cruel, fierce smile. It was a smile Sơn had seen only during the most perilous moments the two of them had ever endured together. During the horrific battles of that "Summer of Red Fire"—and later, when the two of them escaped together from a re-education camp and were relentlessly hunted down—they had faced countless life-and-death situations.

Lữ jerked his head, signaling Sơn to provide covering fire for him. Sơn swept long bursts of gunfire across the pirates' boat; not a single one of them dared to raise his head. Lữ pulled the pin on a hand grenade and counted exactly three seconds; then, he rose above the gunwale of his small boat, took precise aim, and hurled the grenade straight into the very center of the enemy craft.

° ° °

Thomchan was beside himself with rage. He had sensed that something was amiss with this raiding expedition from the very start. The night before, he had lost a massive poker game—a game he had been certain was a sure win. Yet, the tables had turned, and he had been completely cleaned out. All the gold he had plundered over the entire week had to be handed over to another man. To make matters worse, his mistress had abandoned him on the spot to run off with the very man who had won his money.
 
He had spent the entire day scouring the seas for Vietnamese refugee boats, yet hadn't spotted a single one. And now, having finally stumbled upon a boat, he had blundered right into a nest of fire ants.

Thomchan had wanted to turn tail and flee immediately after the first volley of shots rang out from the other boat—never mind his two henchmen who had just been cut down, or Saphang, who was currently thrashing about in a frenzy. He knew he had crossed paths with some truly dangerous adversaries, and that making a clean escape was his only sensible option.

But he dared not raise his head. The gunfire coming from the other boat was simply too intense. Moreover, attempting to turn his boat around at this precise moment would be futile. The grappling hook he had cast was already firmly embedded in the hull of the other boat; even if he gunned his engine, he would only succeed in dragging their boat along with him.
 
To free himself from the very line he had bound himself with, Thomchan would have to crawl back toward the henchman who had thrown the hook—the man who now lay sprawled and incapacitated—and cut the rope. Thomchan had barely begun to crawl when another sustained burst of gunfire erupted from the other boat, forcing him to duck his head back down and freeze in place.
 
Suddenly, a round object dropped right in front of him. Thomchan stared, jaw agape, intending to scream—but it was too late. The final thought that flashed through his mind before his body was blown to smithereens was that he truly should have heeded his gut instinct and stayed home instead of going out that day.

° ° °

Lữ heard the deafening blast of the grenade and breathed a sigh of relief. His only fear had been that his sole grenade was too old—that the sea air had corroded it into a dud. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air, and then, silence. The surface of the sea returned to its calm state.
 
Lữ lay there waiting for a few more minutes. Not a single shot was fired in return from the other boat. Lữ raised his head above the gunwale of his skiff. He swept another burst of gunfire across the deck, just to be sure. Still, there was no reaction from the pirate vessel. Then, Lữ began to see flames rising.

The pirate ship had caught fire. Lữ and Sơn both stood up straight. This confirmed that the grenade had successfully taken out all four of the remaining pirates. Sơn ran over to embrace his friend, grinning with delight. He froze, however, when Lữ pushed his hands away:

"Hold off on the celebrating! We still have work to do!"

Lữ pointed toward the skiff’s engine. Sơn understood immediately. He ran to grab a pair of pliers and some other tools, then plunged into the sea and swam toward the pirate ship’s engine. Lữ dove in after his friend and clambered aboard the vessel. The six pirates lay sprawled across the deck, their chests riddled with shrapnel. The largest among them—presumably the ringleader—lay dead with his mouth gaping open. His eyes stared wide and glassy, ​​filled with a look of bitter hatred. Lữ gave a grim, guttural laugh:

"You got exactly what you deserved! You’ve slaughtered countless innocent Vietnamese people! Let this be a lesson: there are still those who will punish your crimes!"
 
He helped Sơn detach the bandits' outboard motor. The flames, ignited by a grenade blast in the fuel tank, were rising higher and higher. They managed to retrieve the engine just in the nick of time. Lữ swam back to their boat first and tossed a rope to Sơn, who then securely fastened it to the motor. Aided by two other swimmers from their group of refugees, they successfully hoisted the engine aboard.

The bandits' vessel was now almost entirely engulfed in flames. Lữ unhooked the grappling line that the bandits had thrown over earlier, allowing them to pull away and escape the inferno raging on the burning ship....

 
Lữ felt a deep sense of satisfaction with himself. It had been a very long time since he had last experienced this feeling—the sensation of having successfully completed a mission. And having succeeded.

He had eliminated the pirates, sparing the people on his boat from disaster; moreover, future refugee boats crossing these waters would face at least one fewer risk of encountering this particular gang. While there remained far too many other pirate groups out there, at least one had been taken out of the equation. And in the process, he had secured a new engine—one powerful enough to sustain their perilous journey across the sea.

° ° °

Lữ gathered everyone on the boat together. Most were still shaken by the recent gunfight, yet everyone felt incredibly lucky to be alive. They looked upon Lữ and Sơn as their saviors. Lữ began to speak:

"The fact that we were able to eliminate the pirates and seize an engine to continue our voyage is proof that Heaven still watches over us. However, I ask that you all understand this: once we reach the refugee camp, you must remember that we never encountered any pirates, and that absolutely nothing out of the ordinary occurred. I implore everyone here not to breathe a word of this to anyone—not until we have all been resettled in a third country. I will keep the gun for now to maintain our security until we draw close to the island; at that point, we will cast it into the sea. Please, everyone, keep this in mind."

Lữ was certain that no one would dare to utter a word about the elimination of the pirates. Yet, he felt compelled to take every precaution. His chances of being resettled in the United States would be utterly destroyed if news of this incident ever reached the authorities on the island.
 
In principle—and certainly in the eyes of the Thai government—these pirates were officially regarded merely as fishermen; officially, there was no such thing as "piracy" in the Gulf of Thailand. Everyone on the refugee boat understood this reality, yet Lữ made a point of looking each person directly in the eye. He knew that when they met his gaze, each individual would recognize that what he asked of them was not merely a request, but an absolute imperative. And that no one would dare to speak of it!
 
Chapter 3
 
Lữ walked slowly along the path leading from his apartment to Don’s Hamburger, the shop where he had been working for just over a week now. Lữ liked leaving early, while it was still just the first glimmer of dawn; as he walked, he breathed in the crisp, cool air of a California morning—the promised land for those who had crossed the ocean from the other side.
 
Days as beautiful as this one—with a clear blue sky and clean air—were actually quite rare in the city of Los Angeles. Lữ had imagined the "City of Angels" to be perpetually sunny and pristine, just like in the movies he used to watch back home; but that wasn't the reality. Los Angeles was more often hazy with exhaust fumes—stifling and hard to breathe—than it was filled with the beautiful sunshine he was enjoying today. Lữ smiled to himself. Of course, when filming movies, they would naturally choose days with perfect weather; who would ever shoot on a day when the sky was choked with smog?

Lữ had arrived from the refugee camp on the island just over a month ago. He had wanted to start working immediately. Lữ was eager to dive headfirst into American life; he had waited nearly half a year to get here, and he wanted to integrate into society as quickly as possible. Sơn had an aunt living in Toronto, and he was impatient to leave the island right away.
 
The day before he left, the two friends went down to the beach to sit and talk. Sơn said:

"I feel like we’ve turned the page to a whole new chapter in our lives. Sometimes, I find it hard to imagine that life could change so quickly and so easily. Five years ago, we were out on military operations together. Then we ended up in prison together. We escaped the re-education camps together. We made our escape by boat together. And now, we’re each heading in a different direction. Who knows what things will look like five or ten years from now?"

Lữ thought to himself: *He’s probably feeling guilty about leaving his friend behind to go ahead on his own.* Lữ smiled:

"That’s nothing to worry about, Sơn! We’ve left our homeland behind; if one of us gets the chance to move on first, then naturally he should take it. Either way, we’re about to throw ourselves into a brand-new life, so it’s not like we’d have many opportunities to see each other anymore anyway. What do you plan to do once you get to Canada?"
 
Sơn replied:

"I’m going back to school. Back in Vietnam, I never had the chance to complete my education properly; once I get there, I’ll find a way to pick up where I left off. My aunt has promised to help me out during the initial period. What about you, Lữ? What are your plans?"

Lữ fell silent, deep in thought, and offered no immediate answer. He didn't even know himself what he would do. But there was one thing he knew for certain: he *had* to succeed. He would pour every ounce of effort and willpower into achieving success—at any cost. That was precisely why he had been so determined to wait for his chance to go to America. Only in that land, he believed, would there be enough opportunity for someone as resolute as him to truly make it—to achieve *great* success!
 
For Lữ, there was no such thing as a half-victory. Just as when he was out on military operations, he had never returned until he had fully accomplished the objectives assigned by his superiors. And just as when he encountered the Thai pirates, he hadn't been content merely to scare them off so they would leave his boat alone; he had felt compelled to wipe out every last one of them, thereby eliminating a future threat for all those who would attempt to flee the country after him.
 
Lữ still didn't know exactly what he would do. But he knew that once he reached America, every path would open up before him. Lữ turned to Sơn and said:

"I’m not sure yet! We’ll stay in touch, though. You let me know what you end up doing, and I’ll do the same for you. We’ll just take things as they come."
 
Sơn agreed. They parted ways shortly thereafter. Lữ eventually received a letter from Sơn sharing his contact details after he had arrived in Canada; later, when Lữ finally made it to America, he likewise sent his address to Sơn to let him know where he was—yet, beyond that exchange of addresses, there was no further contact between them. Not even a phone call. The new life stretching out before them was simply too full of other matters to attend to.
 
Lữ reflected that friendships, too, inevitably change as life unfolds. Each person eventually reaches their own distinct crossroads; after all, how could the currents of life possibly flow in the exact same direction forever? No matter how deep or heartfelt a friendship might be, it is ultimately a product of the specific circumstances and backdrop of the life left behind in one's old homeland—Vietnam.