Agence Kampuchea Presse

LONG LOVE, SHORT LIFE CHAPTER 5

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AKP Phnom Penh, April 02, 2021 --

LONG LOVE, SHORT LIFE

CHAPTER 5

THE COLD WAR ENDS, MISERABLE PASTS REVEALED

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Part 1

It was in September 1989 and the students were lined up as usual ready to sing the national anthem before the morning class started. The skinny school director, who only received a small salary, walked over to the flagpole carrying his Soviet-donated megaphone. The thunder echoed loudly in the sky, and the lightning started striking in the angry clouds. He stood there like a scarecrow in the centre of the school campus. He rolled up his sleeves and announced: “Hello all. I hate to make a small announcement in the rain like this. It is a small announcement but it is big event so I have to do it now before the lightning might strike us.”, His words made many of the students laugh out loud

“That is… tomorrow… we need to join the historic ceremony commemorating the withdrawal of the Vietnamese Army Volunteers,” said the director. He looked to his left and continued: “To show your gratefulness to our Vietnamese friends who freed your parents from the bloody hand of Pol Pot... so, you all must come… OK!”

The windy morning touched the trees and blew the director’s sleeves, making him look like he danced alone on the stage of the flagpole as he raised his hands and turned left and right to make sure the students paid attention to him.

“All of us will be standing on the national route number 2 in front of our school. Be there at 7:30am folks.” he said and pointed to the road in front of the school campus.

He ended his statement with a joke: “I should stop now before lightning strikes.” Students laughed as they applauded.

About half an hour later the strong wind from the Gulf of Thailand blew away the dark clouds in the direction of South Vietnam, and they were replaced by sunshine. This let Dara and Duongchan spend their time outside class as their teacher had malaria. They both sat under the mango tree and talked about how to arrange their plan for the next morning’s event celebrating the Vietnamese troops withdrawing from Cambodia.

“Let’s talk about it, Duongchan, we do not want just go there and clapping hands. We should do something meaningful.” he told her as he placed his bag next to the trunk and sat on it.

“Why are they withdrawing from Cambodia?” she asked.

“As I have told you before, the Communists are doomed to failure, but not our love. We, however, need to show our gratefulness and respect to those Vietnamese troops when they get back home. The Vietnamese and Cambodian people alike have been victimized by the ideological clashes between the Communism camp led by the Soviet Union/USSR and the liberal camp spear-headed by the United States of America,” he said, referring to the Vietnam War 1965 – 1975 and the Communist Khmer Rouge take of over Cambodia from 1975 –1979.

“How do you know all that? You are not telling me a lie. Are you?” she asked.

“Of course, not… I learned from reading the books and listening to my dad,” he replied.

“How did your dad know all that?” she asked.

“I think he was a CIA operative during Cambodia’s Civil War in the 1970s. I do not want to talk about it, given what happened to him. He was jailed by the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia in early 1970s and again by the communist Vietnamese after the end of the Vietnam War,” said Dara. He knew a lot about his dad even though Dara had been born in 1968, the year of the heaviest U.S. bombardment on Cambodia soils in the eastern part of the country near the border with Vietnam.

“Yes, I once heard my mom talking with other villagers about the CIA, but I still don’t know what it is. What does CIA stand for by the way?” she asked.

“Do you think I know more than your mom?” he asked.

“Yes, sometimes a young man may know more than old people, like in your case. So, please tell me what is CIA?”

Dara, although he knew, told her a lie as he did not want to uncover what his dad did in the past. He thus replied, “CIA stands for… er… well, something like Cambodia’s Information Authority.”

“So, does that mean your dad works for an information centre?” she further asked.

“I think he did. He collected information and wrote up reports for his boss and people got confused that he works for the CIA operated by the U.S. That is why I do not to tell anyone, given it was too complicated and I hate to recall old bad memories… well, CIA is CIA… you know that.”

“Dara, you seem to hide something from me or not give the right answer as to what it stands for. Maybe you can tell me what does the CIA do?

“Well… as far as I know they do lots of good things. You name it from A to Z. The CIA operatives write love letters to their beloved wives and families back home in Washington just like I write love letters to you. They also sometimes write back home to Washington to get aid for Cambodia and so on.”

To be continued …

Part 2

Dara had not yet finished his statement but she interrupted: “And I heard from my mom that the so-called CIA sometimes writes letters home to get America to bomb us, right?”

“I do not know… You may wrong or right… you are right because America bombed the Ho Chi Minh Trail because there were then the North Vietnamese Communist Viet Cong soldiers hiding on Cambodia’s soil. How do you know this?” Dara asked in low voice.

“My dad told my mom, and she told me that some Cambodian troops shared the same fate as many Communist Vietnamese troops,” she said.

“What did your dad do then?” Dara asked and looked at her.

“He was a military commander for the Khmer Republic, led by Lon Nol,” she answered.

“What happened to your dad?” he asked.

“He was taken away by the Khmer Rouge when they came to power in April 1975, accusing him of working for the U.S. So, tell me about your dad, Dara.”

“I think it was in 1971- 72 when my dad worked for some factional groups in Cambodia in the early 1970s before he fled to South Vietnam as refugee. He worked as the head of Cambodian refugees in Vietnam. He had some connections with American Red Cross officials and Cambodian men who served alongside the Americans during the Vietnam War. He handled the distribution of American assistance for Cambodian displaced people who took refuge in Vietnam. But when the Americans left Vietnam in late 1973 he moved deeper inside Vietnam after the communist Viet Cong led by Ho Chi Minh——took over Saigon on 30th April 1975…. Then.”

“Then… what happened next,” Duongchan asked.

“The communist searched the pro-U.S. allies and that placed my dad at risk. At the end of the day he was thrown into jail because the Vietnamese intelligence suspected him of working for the CIA.”

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed in English!

“You are not saying Horse Shit Man or Ho Chi Minh,” Dara wanted to make sure which one she was referring to, given her English was poor.

“I mean that is too bad. How did they find out?”

Dara took a deep breath while trying to clear his bad memories. He tried to tell her his dad’s story while he s looked around, making sure no stranger could hear him.

“One evening I saw my dad pull out bunches of documents, including some laminated cards, from his bag under his bed along with some coloured papers and others rolled up like toilet paper. He asked all of my brothers and sisters go to the front house and he carried bundles of documents to burn behind the house. He did not realize that he was under watch and being followed up by Communist Vietnamese spies. While he burned the documents the smell of plastic burning attracted the attention of the plain-clothes Vietnamese spies, and they s emerged from a bush behind the bamboo and banana grove. They ran all the way like a hungry tiger who had seen fat wild boars and they grabbed the remains from the fire.”

Dara talked and asked Duongchan not to fall asleep as she was interested in his dad’s story.

“Dara, please keep going… your dad’s story is more interesting that watching the movies from East Germany and the Soviet Union screened in our school last week about how the Eastern Communist European workers produce tractors.”

“As the night fell,” Dara continued, “the same day, five Vietnamese police, including two in plain clothes, came to my house and asked my dad to go with them as they suspected him of working for the CIA. My mom cried, my brothers and sisters were shocked and shivering and fought to prevent the Vietnamese officials from taking my dad away. I myself pleaded them do not take my dad away… We need him… No matter how hard we fought we could not stop them from taking him away.”

As Dara kept talking, she interrupted, “I am sure I do not fall asleep, but I am quite sad to hear this.

“Do not cry,” Dara told her, and added, “what happened, it happened, and you cannot change that but learn from it.”

Up to this point, Duongchan’s eyes were glistening with tears as she listened to Dara’s family’s story. Dara continued, “I cried so badly, but my youngest brother, who was sick at the time, cried until he lost his voice. After about one hour of fighting and resisting the Vietnamese officials, we lost and they won.”

“My dad—after he saw that we could not win the battle—told us to stop fighting and let them take him to the truck parked under tree. As the Vietnamese men escorted my dad, our dog barked madly but the Vietnamese men kicked the animal in the mouth and stomach with his military boots.

“They got him on to the truck and they drove fast to the police station for interrogation,” Dara continued, “all of us cried and cried like our dad had passed away. It seemed to me then my family’s life was over. No neighbour dared come out and help us. The night was so dark. We barely saw anything in the house with the one kerosene lamp we used. My brothers and sisters slept in separate rooms. I was about 6 years old, I think, and slept with my younger brother on either side of my mom. I heard my mom cry the whole night. I sometimes fell asleep and when I woke up I heard her sobbing again. There were lot and lots of mosquitos. We slept under mosquito nets on a rattan bed on one side of the house and our two cows also slept under mosquito nets in the backyard.”

Duongchan skipped her class and sat under the mango tree listening to Dara’s dad’s sad story about his family till lunch time.

Dara continued, “the next morning, my mom went to the police station and saw my dad was in bad shape from losing sleep. He was shivering. Still, he was strong of mind and he told my mom that he was fine and asked my mom to take care of all 9 children at home. My mom brought him lots of food and some clothes. The Vietnamese officials did not allow my mom to stay long talking with him. They were separated about half an hour later. My parent raised hands along with making signs of loves to each other.”

Duongchan listened to Dara and she placed her head between her skinny knees with her hands covering her head like a beggar sitting under tree.

To be continued ...

Part 3

Dara, who was good at telling a story, continued: “The next day my mom, who speaks Vietnamese very well, returned to the police station and approached the officials and tried to explain them that my dad did not work for the CIA and that he was innocent. Our life then was so mentally tortured. One thing that encouraged us to fight on through the misery was the message from my dad, who told my mom that, ‘as long as he is still alive, do not worry too much and try to put it aside. If we all love him, please keep fighting for our lives as refugees in Vietnam since there was nothing we can do, only time will tell’.

“Our life went on and on like this for about three months until one day, two police officials came to question my mom at home about my dad’s background before the Khmer Rouge came to power. My mom told them in Vietnamese that he was a commune chief. They also asked my mom, how come my dad speaks very good English and French? My mom said that he learned from the French rulers and later he learned some English from Cambodian officials working for the Khmer Republic government supported by the U.S.”

Dara was a bit tired and there was no water available. “I might have shortened the story because I am thirsty.”

“I am sorry for that, please go do your best then. Thanks,” she pleaded with him to continue.

“The next question was…,” Dara recalled, “they asked my mom, what was contained in the documents my dad burned? My mom said those were his academic records and some useless commune papers from his work in Cambodia. They also asked her, how did we manage to escape Cambodia as Pol Pot’s forces spread nationwide in the early 1970s? My mom said that we left Cambodia early in 1971 and moved to live in a village near the Vietnamese border and then we moved deeper inside Vietnam in 1972/3. Another question, how come my mom speaks Vietnamese and not the rest of the family? My mom said that before the 1970s she traded with the Vietnamese. As they questioned my mom, I was terrified and sat quietly next to my youngest brother. At that point, my siblings returned from catching fish and harvesting paddy rice and sat on the side of the officials and listened to them grilling my mom.”

“After the Vietnamese got the answers from my mom, they left,” Dara recalled, adding, “my mom visited my dad the third week. My dad told my mom that they grilled him much more than they had my mom at home. Fortunately, after nearly three months of investigations they found no concrete evidence to support the allegations against my dad. The Vietnamese authorities decided to free my dad.”

It was now almost lunchtime, the young lovers sat and talked under the shade of the tree so that it looked from a distance as if they exchanged views about their homework, but they talked about their families’ bad past experiences instead. They could have been punished by the school if such conversation had reached the school master.

As Dara was about to continue, Duongchan interrupted saying, “you have a good memory.”

“Thanks. Because I ate a lot of Vietnamese fish from the Mekong Delta and on the other hand I was not mentally abused by Khmer Rouge,” he said, pointing to his head.

“A great memory my dad told me,” Dara continued, “upon our return to Cambodia following the Vietnamese troops toppling Pol Pot from power in 1979, my dad told me that the Vietnamese officials invited him for social talks while he was still in jail in Vietnam and asked him how many wives he had. He replied that he has one and one only, a Khmer woman who can speak Vietnamese. His reply made the Vietnamese officials have sympathy for him. They gave him soap and a comb and opened the bath room for him to clean himself.t. Once he finished taking a bath, he was greeted with the nice words “you can go home now.”

“I am relieved and glad to hear that. Your dad is quite smart.

“Not really, if he was smart he would never have been arrested, but he was freed because the Vietnamese authorities had more respect compared to the Khmer Rouge. Can you imagine what would have happened to him if the Khmer Rouge arrested him? I can tell you, he would have been gone.”

“So, did you learn anything from him?” she asked.

“I learned some things from what he told me, but I forget much more than I remember because my plate is full. That is to say that, I have to focus on our studies and even more than that is our love.” Dara, however, stressed that, “Do good things to people. Keep a low profile. Don’t underestimate people. Don’t judge a book by its cover. No gain without pain, and never leave records.”

“So, what about these stacks of love letters you write to me, are those not records? So, your dad probably is wrong on that point. Don’t you think?” she said.

“Maybe that is an exceptional case because of the power of your love on me,” he replied.

“What about your mom?”

“To our Khmer people, culturally or superstitiously speaking, if someone was born in the daytime in the year of the cow or horse they are not lucky people because they will work like those animals, towing heavy thing like carts and ploughing in the rice fields like you see. I did not know what year, month, day, and hour my mom was born. But she is the most caring mother to me in this world. But she is an unlucky woman as well. I mean, I noticed since I was about six years old living as refugee in Vietnam I always saw her work hard and sometimes she cried. I did not know what was wrong with her then. I only learned later in 1980 when I returned to Cambodia that she cried because she missed her parents who were trapped by the Khmer Rouge after the fall of Phnom Penh.”

“What happened to your grandparents?”

“My granddad died of forced labour. My grandmother died of starvation. She fell sick and died,” he answered.

“How about your parents?” Dara asked.

“My dad is dead. My mom survived the Khmer Rouge. My mom told me that my dad worked as a military commander with the U.S. backed Khmer Republic government. He was rounded up by Khmer Rouge soldiers when they captured Phnom Penh. They stormed into my parents’ house near the river front of Tonle Sap. After the Khmer Rouge saw my dad’s picture in military uniform hanging on the wall, they tied his hands behind his back and took him away. We never saw him again.”

“Every Cambodian family shared suffering as a result of Cambodia’s war. It is too much for all of us. What about your mom?” Dara asked.

To be continued ...

Part 4

“My mom, after the fall of Khmer Rouge in January 1979, returned to her house near the river front but she was terrified by ghosts given that no one lived in the building block. She was terrified by ghosts. There were about 70 people lived in the capital then. Khmer Rouge grew coconuts in many parts of the capital. One day, she came of the house and spent about two hours sitting in front of her house and she looked to the riverbank then cried and cried as she did not see anyone walk on the road. She recalled Phnom Penh had about one million people in 1975. Her heart was broken. She cried so badly when she saw that Phnom Penh in 1979 was like a ghost city. When she walked into the house she had to fight the hungry rats that were tearing the rice sack she had collected from the abandoned rice warehouse on the outskirts of Phnom Penh after the Vietnamese invasion. She just could not bear any more suffering—after the killing fields were over—and the situation forced her to move to Prasat village in Takeo province in Prasat village where she had relatives. If she hadn’t, I would not be here and see you today, Dara.”

“That is why I am grateful to the Vietnamese troops who sacrificed their lives to save us. Many of them lost their life, some lost their limbs, and others survived their battles against the Khmer Rouge who tried to return to power. For the same reason, I owe a debt to the Cambodian combatants, men and women, who rose up against the Khmer Rouge in December 1978. To honour these valuable debts and gratitude I feel, I have to do a good thing, join hands and rebuilding Cambodia. I love this nation as much as I love you, too.”

Duongchan smiled and asked, “so what is our plan for tomorrow’s event then?”

“I think we should do what we can, such as buying those grateful Vietnamese troops lots of food, water, flowers, and flags of friendship between Cambodia and Vietnam, showing our gratitude to them and building good memories together as neighbouring countries. Like my Vietnamese friend said, our land and territory, both Cambodia and Vietnam, cannot be parted from each other. We continue to live as neighbours till the end of the world. Our countries are not like boats that we can sail away from each other. Our lands and border are still there forever. We need to build up good friendship and trade for mutual benefit.”

“After all these years and how the Vietnamese officials treated your dad, you still like the Vietnamese?” she said. In response, Dara said, “You know the good thing is I am grateful to the Vietnamese for a number of reasons: number one, they let me and my family live in their country as refugees. Number two, they did not kill my dad, and number three, they ousted Pol Pot from power otherwise all Cambodians, who were under the Khmer Rouge, could have been gone. Then I would have no girl, which is you, to fall in love with.”

“Wait a minute, number three is not totally correct in the sense that the Vietnamese would have not bothered to drive the Khmer Rouge from power if Pol Pot had not ordered his troops to invade Vietnam in 1978. Am I correct?” she asked.

“You are partially correct. That was a big part of it. But just bear in mind that the Vietnamese had much more respect for human rights than the Khmer Rouge who killed so many of their own people as well as other nationalities. I mean, after the Vietnamese authorities did not have evidence to press charges against my dad they released him. But in the same situation with the Khmer Rouge my dad would have been killed, followed by the executions of my whole family. Then I would not have had the chance to tie the knot of love with you as now. I tried to forget, but cannot forgive. As human beings we need to be nice to each other. None of us will last forever, it is just a matter of when and how we will die. But what we will leave behind us are our good and bad reputations. The same thing as Cambodia’s Pol Pot and German politician, Adolf Hitler. They died but their awful legacies are still lingering around.”

“You are a very nice guy,” she praised him.

“You are better than me, Duongchan. See you tomorrow.”

The next morning the event of the Vietnamese troops’ withdrawal arrived. As the convoy of the Vietnamese troops arrived in front of the school, the students lined up and waited to say farewell to the troops who were heading home to a reunion with their families.

Teachers, students, local officials, including Mr. 7 January, lined up on both sides of National Road 2. Among them was Duongchan who carried wild flowers she had picked from the bushes behind her hut near the school, as well as fruit she got from the market. She was in her white shirt, blue skirt, high heel shoes, and a large red hat. Her beautiful lips looked amazing with red lipstick on. Her round eyes and dimpled cheeks made her very attractive, not only to the Cambodian school boys but also to the Vietnamese troops.

Dara was in blue trousers and white shirt and walked on the other side of the crowd looking for Duongchan in the crowd of as many as 700 people who had gathered at the event. Dara had put on his Vietnamese military cap and Vietnamese boots, and in his hands carried lots of fruit, water, and imported bread from Vietnam.

Dara spent about 15 minutes looking for her and still he did not find her. He started to worry. He asked his classmates and friends who said that she was standing right there a short while ago.

At the same time, Duongchan was looking for Dara. She asked her friends who said that Dara was there about 5 minutes ago. They both walked from one place to another and looked for each other like playing a game of hide and seek, but such a big crowd made it difficult to find each other.

Dara then spotted Mr. 7 January standing near the entrance of the school. In one hand he held a cigarette and was puffing thick smoke into the air, and in the other hand he carried the same megaphone he used to conduct military training at the football terrace. Dara approached him and asked, “How are you Sir? I am glad you are here as well.”

“I am glad you are carrying a lot of fruit. Who are you going to give the fruit to?” Mr. 7 January asked.

“They are for the Vietnamese soldiers,” Dara replied.

“Oh, man... what about me as Cambodian solider? That is a lot of fruit, they cannot eat them all. Share some with me, why don’t you? You like Vietnamese soldiers and girls. What about me as a poor military trainer?”

“Of course, I like you too, remember I bought palm juice and we drank together. Here you are, have some fruit but do not take it all,” Dara said as he handed the fruit to the trainer.

Mr. 7 January laughed and reached his hand out to grasp some fruit from Dara’s hands. At the same time Dara reached out his hand to grasp the megaphone. “What are you going to do with it?” the trainer asked.

“I need to call my girlfriend Duongchan. Remember I told you before that I have a girlfriend and this is our second anniversary of tying the knot of love.”

“Can I call her name on your behalf because my commander restricted me from lending this megaphone to anyone,” said Mr. 7 January.

To be continued …

Part 5

“No. That will not work because if she does not recognize the voice she will not come forward, and your deep croaking tone like a toad’s will terrify her,” Dara said.

“Oh, man… here is the megaphone. But do not use for too long because the battery is almost dead. You are not going to get me in trouble, are you?” the trainer asked.

Dara grasped the megaphone and pointed it into the air, calling ‘Duongchan’ out loud, clear, and sweet. Duongchan heard him and walked straight to where Dara stood.

As Duongchan approached him, Dara said: “you are so beautiful, why could I not find you? Where were you standing?”

“No. I did not stand still but walked from one place to another and looked for you.”

“I did the same,” he said.

“Where did you get this funny megaphone?” she said and pointed to the megaphone which looked like a children’s toys

“I borrowed this from the gentleman, Mr. 7 January.Let me introduce you to him.”

Duongchan raised her hands with palms together as ‘Sompas’, a traditional Khmer sign of greeting and respecting people, while saying, “Hello Sir. My name is Duongchan.”

Instead of saying anything nice to Dara and Duongchan, Mr. 7 January turned made a big joke to her in front of Dara, “you’ve got to watch out for this guy. He has more money than you and me. He can buy many things; especially girls he wants.”

Dara hit back at Mr. 7 January, saying “shut up, Mr. 7 January.” Dara pointed at Mr. 7 January, saying, “Remember! He is the man who lured me to drink palm juice with him and I was drunk and forget to pay you back before.”

Mr. 7 January laughed out loud, making others look at them. By the time Mr. 7 January needed to make an announcement about the arrival of the Vietnamese troops’ convoy, unfortunately the megaphone batteries had gone dead. He was in big trouble now. He had to shout with all his voice and strength he saved from last night. He cannot go to get the Soviet-donated batteries from his military base about 25 km away as he needed to use the megaphone now. At the time, Cambodia lacked almost every type of manufacturing products, including batteries. Many products, including chalk, were either imported from Vietnam or shipped tens of thousands of miles from Eastern Europe and Cuba.

Dara and Duongchan thanked Mr. 7 January for using the megaphone, leaving him standing like an idiot with a dead megaphone.

They both stood on the roadside of National Route 2, along with well-wishers stood in a row with hands carrying flowers and flags of Cambodia and Vietnam. The song played out loud as the troops waved back to all well-wishers. Some spoke in broken Vietnamese, others in Khmer.

“What does this event mean? Duongchan asked.

“It is more than just about the event celebrating the Vietnamese troop withdrawing from our country. It is also about celebrating our pure love and means the war is over and peace will prevail,” he said.

Students stand on both sides of the route with flowers in their hands welcoming the Vietnamese troops.

Duongchan and her classmates carried mixtures of flowers in red, white, yellow, and purple. Some picked from the school garden. Dara and his girlfriend smiled at each other. They chatted and made jokes. They laughed in the cheerful crowd of high school students who were clapping and singing friendship songs of Cambodia and Vietnamese, making the part of the national road in front of our school look like a wedding party.

As their classmates looked at the convoy of the Vietnamese army pulling out, Dara tried to hold Duongchan’s hand and whispered to her: “Hey, babe this event is like celebrating our love. Don’t not you think?”

“You are crazy; you compare anything that happens on this earth to our love. You are quite optimistic … I am not, given thing keeps changing from one day to the next. Today we see our love blossoming and flying high, yet we do not know what will happen in the future,” she said.

“You must be crazy talking like that. Be optimistic, babe. I am sure that our pure love will never fade away. As you may have learned, the Iron Curtain and the Berlin Wall, which separated the free world from the Communist camp has now collapsed. But our love will never be so. We share happiness and sadness together and I hope that from now our life and love will be prosperous and blossom more.

Duongchan was bored of Dara keeps saying the same words of love, love, love. She tried to change the subject by asking him to look at the Vietnamese troops sitting on old trucks and tanks in bad shape which emitted black smoke into the Cambodian sky.

“Hey, Dara have you noticed that a few Vietnamese troops are crying and looking back towards Cambodia. What happened?” she said and tugged Dara’s sleeve.

“They are crying not because they lost the war against the Khmer Rouge but because they miss their sweethearts whom they fell in love with during their military service in Cambodia and are now leaving them behind. I know it is too much for them. But remember, as long as the earth keeps moving around the sun, they will meet again and again like you and me.”

The ceremony is now over, but the conversation between the two continued

“What was your impression of the event?” she asked.

“One thing that struck me about the event was that the ceremony was covered by the media, with many western journalists, including cameras. Did you see the white man with the big beard and egg-shaped bald head? He was very active in taking notes and pictures at the signing ceremony. He even stepped on the feet of Cambodian students. He was a very aggressive journalist. I am quite interested in having a reporting job like him,” said Dara.

Duongchan laughed and said that, “maybe you will have such a reporting job since you are good at writing love letters. I can tell that by reading your stack of letters sitting on my bamboo table at home. I mean if your love letters can grasp me and win my heart, your articles will grasp global readers, especially the girls whose heart is like mine. See you tomorrow.”

OK. I will come and kiss you at your hut after sunset. Will you allow me to do so?” he asked. She raised her finger cross along with pointing to her lips of love toward Dara, although she replied with a joke, “I hate you, darling.”

End of Chapter 5