Chapter 6: In the Mekong Delta
On the little train from Saigon to My Tho, my fellow passengers (barefoot peasants for the most part), whether out of tact or indifference, appeared not to notice the handcuffed prisoner with his police escort. After almost a month of confinement in the Sûerté at Phnom Penh and with an unknown jail sentence ahead of me, it was a sheer joy to watch the repetitive landscape roll by, the sparkling expanse of ricefields, the herds of peaceful buffalos, the straw huts sheltered by clumps of bamboo. But why was I being transferred to My Tho?
As soon as we arrived, I was taken to the office of the examining magistrate, a native of India with a bloated, peevish face.
“Ah, a Trotskyite! You gang... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
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