by Khang Nguyen
Heroism is endurance for one moment more. – George F. Kennan
It was April 26, 1937. A few days passed since the rain first started and was still pouring down heavily with no sign of stopping soon. Looking at the sky, I imagined these droplets were tears from the Gods standing on thick, dark clouds. The rain fell for days until the water level rose dangerously high. Almost everyone else evacuated to higher ground. Among the citizens, most of the men worked together to help everyone survive the flood.
The efforts of sandbagging helped keep the water from rising higher. Some of the braver folks volunteered to their boats to help anyone who was still left behind. I was among those braver ones.
There was no sign of life. The only sounds I could hear were that of the rain and that of the water as I paddled through the current. Houses and lands were all ruined. The water was so high that most of the houses were completely covered. Some of the homes on higher ground managed to escape that fate. Before the flood, I’d often admire these stately homes, looking all the way up to see their roof tops. Now, in the swollen waters, I could reach out to one with my hand.
The whole scene reminded me of that fateful day, July 12, 1883, when what was known as the Major Flood, robbed me of my parents. I knew then in those raging waters, I could meet the same fate and join Father and Mother, but before I got consumed by the water, a lady, Clara Lamb, grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me back before Saint Peter called my name.
It’s been fifty-four years, since the last one, I thought to myself . Time sure flies fast. I slipped back into that fateful year, into that tragedy. When the flooding subsided, my childhood home was gone in two ways. The house was badly damaged. It was in no state to keep anyone inside safe. But even if the house were still there, there wasn’t anyone to say Welcome home to me. A house could be fixed, but lives could never be brought back once lost.
Shortly after that flood, I remembered being sent to an orphanage. Ironically, that was also where the woman who saved me worked. Despite having a new roof over my head, the sadness of losing my family was unbearable. When I first moved in, all I did was eat, sleep, cry, and whine. I sure caused a lot of trouble for the people there. Mrs. Lamb was the only care giver who could stand my whining. She chewed me out a lot for being selfish. I could still remember it like it was yesterday.
I thought, Can’t believe this whiny brat from fifty-four years ago is now fighting the flood to save people. If she saw me now, she would surely be shocked. It was because of Mrs. Lamb that I survived that day. It was also because of her that I came to know myself. I could never thank her enough. If the afterlife existed, and the souls there could watch the world now, I hoped she could see what became of me. I wanted to believe so. Please watch over me, Mrs. Lamb.
As the cold, April winds picked up, I searched the flooded streets for three hours in my modest boat, and when I was about to turn around, I suddenly heard something – the faintest pleas for help. I strained to hear where the source was.
The cries were weak and to the northeast. I turned my boat in the right direction.
“Help..help!” The cries became clearer. “Help! Please! Can anyone hear?”
I shouted above the winds and the rain that started pouring. “Anybody there? If you can hear me, stay where you are! I’m coming!”
I started paddling faster. The closer I got to them, the clearer their voices became. And then I found them on top of one of the roofs that survived the flood. Three people hung on – a man and a woman, who I thought were the parents of a young girl, not more than ten. I desperately rowed closer, as the wind and rain and the swelling current threatened my efforts and compromised my balance.
Their cries for help were overwhelmed by rain hitting the water’s choppy waves. My vision blurred.
In a moment of clarity, I suddenly saw the young girl slip from the water- drenched roof and fall into the swirling water which swept her away.
“Marcia! Marcia!” The woman called out.
“As the man held her back, he screamed, “No, my love, you cannot leave me. It is too dangerous!”
I was close and warned her to stay on the roof, that I would find their daughter. Yet despite our warnings, motherhood broke her husband’s grip and she dove into the current.
“Seona…!” The husband reached out his hand desperately.
The chaos took me back to that day once more when I had cried for my own mom and dad. For a split second I saw myself where the husband stood on the roof. It was that day all over again. That feeling of total sadness for his loss, his loneliness swept over me.
Mustering all my strength, I rowed at full speed to try to close the distance between mother and daughter and myself. The young girl, a poor swimmer, was carried away by the current, but the mother swimming quickly got to her and pulled her close. I brought my boat up behind them. The woman tried to fight against the powerful current, but carrying her child was too challenging for me to get them into my boat.
Quickly observing the surroundings, I saw the very top of a tree not far from them. They didn’t have much time to take hold.
“There’s a treetop ahead of you,” I screamed. “Grab on to it. Now!”
The woman, understanding what I was saying, stretched out her free hand and grabbed the branch just in time. Both the child and the mother were no longer drifting. I needed to fight the current to come along side of them.
“You won’t have much time,” I shouted, “but you have to let go of the tree and take my hand. I’ll pull you into the boat!” I got closer.
The young girl reached her hand toward me. In that moment, that eternal goodbye to my parents flashed before me and the deep scar it left on my heart. I knew that I would never allow that to happen again to anyone.
My hand reached out to hers and never let go.
