The Phantom of Hoa Lo Prison

By Sarajane

Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, Carlotta, or Piangi. Much of this was inspired by James and Sybil Stockdale's book "In Love and War", and also a bit of John McCain's "Faith of my Fathers". I heart veterans, and you should, too.

Perhaps you will try to explain away my story as the madness of a man imprisoned for far too long. Perhaps you will try to explain those strange events which unfolded at the Hoa Lo Prison as the work of American saboteurs. Perhaps I am mad, but yet the story is true. An American saboteur? No, my friend, no American POW could have performed these actions which were carried out by the man who haunted those desolate walls. I scarcely believe any human could have carried out these actions, but yet this man did. This man known only by the single name of "Erik".

It was only later that I realized the true spelling of his name: E-R-I-K, for the tap code used for POW communications did not include the letter K. I do not remember when someone informed me of this spelling. It is one event on which my memory escapes me – whereas unfortunately, the rest of my imprisonment I can never erase from my mind.

I had been imprisoned in Hoa Lo, called the "Hanoi Hilton" by we Americans, for three years, when I first heard the voice. The voice was musical, gentle, but anguished. I wondered if this were the voice of another prisoner, being interrogated by our brutal guards, but the accent was clearly not American. It sounded French, and I could hear no argument or threats being exchanged… I could hear only the same words being repeated, again and again…

"Quy Lihn, Quy Lihn, Quy Linh…" I had no idea what these words meant, these words that were repeated for nearly an hour, with only a sound of a heart-wrenching cry in between. It was horrible to listen to, and I wondered… what was Quy Lihn, and who was this voice, this voice that seemed to be directly under my cell? Were there prisoners UNDERGROUND?

The next day, I tapped in confusion to Lt. Taftley, in the cell next to mine: HAVE YOU HEARD THE VOICE?

The reply: YES.

WHO IS IT?

I DON'T (C/K)NOW.

Then a pause. He tapped:

I HEARD A NAME. ERI(C/K).

AN AMERICAN?

NO.

VC?

FRENCH. I THIN(C/K).

UNDER THE PRISON?

YES.

WHAT IS QUY LIHN?

A GIRL.

At that moment, we were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and broke off communications. I sat and wondered… I wanted to pursue the matter more, to see what Taftley knew, but there was no chance. At night, when I went to sleep, I heard the voice again, that musical voice that intrigued, disturbed, and perplexed…

"Quy Lihn, do you love me? You must." It was said in English, English spoken with a thick French accent.

"I do not know, Erik." There was another voice! Indeed, a woman, a girl! This was a nearly broken English… A Vietnamese girl. Taftley had been right.

"How do you not know? I have given you a voice…"

"And yes… I sing for no one but you. Erik, Angel of Music."

"The Angel who will bring you from this war."

"The war will be over soon. The Americans will lose," said the voice. Obviously, this statement was instinctive, as it was suddenly spoken in Vietnamese and not in the slow, practiced English of her earlier comments. I knew enough Vietnamese to know when I was being insulted, and I bit my lip at this, fighting the urge to yell curses down at that woman, that woman whose face I could not see but whose voice I recognized. A beautiful woman who worked as a cook in the prison, beautiful, the only woman besides an old cleaning woman whom we called Pincher on account of her nose. I believed Pincher had a teenage daughter, but I had only seen that girl fleetingly and knew she did not normally come to the camp.

"Phong Quan will lose," the man's voice cackled. There was a sickly pause from the woman.

"What do you mean?" she said in a quavering voice. English again.

"That man… that BOY... the important little son of Dung Anh's," the man's voice spat.

"You think there is something between us?"

"Do you think that I am blind, Quy Lihn?"

"No… But you must know there is nothing between us!"

"Do not lie to me!"

"I do not lie to you, genius."

"I love you, Quy Lihn… Your Angel of Music will always watch over you… So long as you do as I say. You will go to England… With me… To sing."

"I will, Angel. To sing." The conversation ended. Focusing, waiting for another sound, I fell asleep.