by Chileng Pa
Sovong inhaled the smoke slowly, saying, “Thy, it’s been so long since we’ve had any real tobacco that this corn is starting to taste pretty good.”
We were able to giggle for the first time in a long time. How long had it been? I remember few moments of laughter during the years of the Khmer Rouge. I occasionally joked with someone when, for instance, we were able to catch something extra to eat. I remember one time we were clearing brush when a snake darted out. There were no Khmer Rouge around and, with great glee, we quickly lit a fire, threw the snake in it, then snatched it out, and tore it to bits in our eagerness to devour it. There was quiet laughter that day. But there were few occasions for humor, and our memories of lost family and lives and our constant fear quickly drove out any joy.
Now, Sovong turned to me and said, “Thy, have you had any news of your wife and son back in the village?”
I replied, “Last week, I spoke with one of the villagers who brought supplies to the worksite. He told me that my son, Sokhanarith, was sick with diarrhea and was getting very skinny. He was at the revolutionary clinic. Since I got this news, I’ve been worried about him. He’s so young, only eighteen months, and look at how he’s being treated!”
“You’re right, Thy,” said Sovong. “These are bad times for all of us but especially for the young. It’s a great misfortune to be born during this regime. I am sorry for your son. His mother and father are sent to work and starve to death, and he is denied their love and care.”
“Angkar persecutes New People in methodical ways,” I said to my friend. “First, they declare our personal possessions contraband and steal them from us. Then, we’re humiliated and intimidated by thugs who force the weakest among us to reveal anyone who has an education or military or political connections. And finally, the killings begin.”
I was on a roll. “Those of us Angkar doesn’t kill outright are killed through starvation, overwork, or a lack of medical attention.” As I became more exasperated, I saw Sovong take a quick look around to see if any guerrillas were close enough to hear me.
“I’m sorry, Sovong. I didn’t mean to go on like that and put our lives in danger. I just feel so helpless. There must be something I can do!”
“Mit Thy, you told me yourself! You must survive. We must live through this horrible time in our lives so we can tell others of the terrible things we Cambodians have had to suffer at the hands of these barbarians who have shit for brains.” He didn’t speak elegantly, but I understood his meaning.
Sovong reminded me, “Mit Thy, be careful what you say. We must always be conscious of those around us. The guerrilla guards are constantly walking around, listening to us. If they hear talk about the old society or complaints about the new government, they’ll be quick to accuse us of opposing the revolution. They’ll kill us, just as they have so many others.”
“You’re right, Sovong,” I told him. “The guerrillas murder more innocent workers every day. They’re slaughtering us like animals. When we’ve outlived our usefulness to them, they’ll throw us away like garbage.”
Sovong and I returned to our digging and completed our quota just as the sun was setting. The routine was the same each day. We hurried back to the shelter to store our tools, then went immediately to the communal kitchen to receive our rations. Then, it was back to the shelter to rest and renew our strength for surviving the next day, when the canal and levee would once again suck life from us.
Most of the workers were stretched out on the shared bamboo mats, and some were already asleep. Sovong looked thinner and thinner each day. He looked so tired, I worried that he would soon be unable to work effectively.
“Mit Thy, come lie down and rest,” Sovong said.
“In a while,” I replied. “I want to use the restroom.”
I left the shelter and headed for the toilets that were located in a bushy area about fifty meters away. As I neared the toilets, I was startled by the sound of a girl shouting for help. As I ran toward her, I saw her running through the bushes. I instinctively crouched low in the brush and barely missed being spotted by the three guerrillas chasing her. I followed them to the edge of the canal, being careful to keep myself hidden.
When the guerrillas caught the girl, one of them began questioning her. “Mit Neary, why are you walking alone and why are you running away from us? Why are you shouting so much? You were near the garden. Did you intend to steal the communal fruit?”
“No, Mit Bong! I walked by the garden only because it was on the way to the toilets. That’s where I was going,” she replied respectfully. The guerrillas continued to insist that she was trying to steal some fruit and was, therefore, an enemy of Angkar. She continued denying any wrongdoing, but without success. One of the three yothea, apparently superior in rank to the other two, gave the command to seize her. She dodged left and right, then jumped back, crying all the while.
“Mit Bong, why do you falsely accuse me? Why do you want to catch me?”
One of the guerrillas managed to grab her by the wrist and slapped her face with his open palm, then with the back of his hand. Another guerrilla wrapped his arms around her and carried her to the base of the canal, about ten meters from where I was hiding.
She tried to break free. “Let me go! Let me go! Please, Mit Bong!” she pleaded with them.
The guerrilla giving the orders said, “Scream all you want, Mit Neary. There’s no one around to hear you or who dares to help you. But, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up. Otherwise, I will kill you.”
She continued to scream at the top of her voice, hoping someone would help her. I knew she was doomed and I was powerless to do anything but die with her if I dared to help her.
The guerrilla yelled at her. “Mit Neary, stop yelling!”
“No, no, let me go! I’ve done nothing wrong!” she wailed.
“I’ll kill you instantly if you don’t stop it!” he screamed, raising his arm to strike her. He told his comrades, “Hold her down by that tree.”
His buddies dragged her down on the grass. One held her arms, the other her legs. The oldest guerrilla stood over her and began ripping off her clothes. One of the others said, “Leader Mit Bong, maybe you shouldn’t do this. Rape is against our revolutionary rules. If the top Angkar finds out, we’ll all be punished.”
The leader glared at him. “Mit, it’s too late to think about that now. If you’re too scared to stick around, you can leave. But I’m going to enjoy her!”
I prayed to the Buddha that the two guerrillas would leave so I could kill the bastard leader. Neither left. Both knew they had already gone too far.
As the leader dropped his pants, the girl cried out, “Oh, Buddha, please don’t let them do this to me. Mit Bong, I’m a virgin!”
“Sure you are, Mit Neary,” the leader said sarcastically.
She continued to resist them, thrashing and twisting, but his fellow yothea tightly held her down. She cried out, “Mit Bong, please let me go free. If you want me, please go to my parents according to Angkar’s rules. If Mit Bong rapes me, I’ll report your behavior to the top Angkar!”
“I believe you would, Mit Neary,” said the leader. “But it would do you no good. I’ve been a revolutionary too long for my reputation to be questioned by a stupid little tramp like you. Maybe I shouldn’t take a chance, eh? Maybe I should just show you what playing is all about, and share your body with my mit! Then we will leave you to die. Would you like that?” He laughed. Turning to his fellows, he said, “Mit, I’m going to get a taste of this first. You can have some after me.”
She cried out as he brutally assaulted her. Her screams were so loud that I expected, hoped, someone would hear her. I was horrified. The screams of the poor girl were the screams of all the innocent Cambodians whose lives had been ruined by these black demons. I remained an unwilling witness, knowing if I revealed my presence I would live only until I was caught.
The leader finished with the girl and stood to pull up his pants. My blood boi
led and I almost lost my temper. I imagined Sean standing there over my wife as this selfish guerrilla leader exclaimed, “What a lovely piece of ass this mit neary is!”
I had to choke back my vomit. Never had I felt such revengeful anger. Then I heard Sovong’s voice in my mind, telling me, “You must live, Mit Thy, so you can tell others....”
The guerrilla leader turned to one of his mit, and said, “Go ahead, Mit, it’s your turn to sample her.” The yothea wasted no time. In only a few minutes, he began roaring like a bull, saying “Oh, you’re so good!” Then he rolled off her, and the last yothea quickly took his place between her legs.
He also took only a few minutes and then, as she lay sobbing, he stood up and kicked her in the belly. She convulsed and passed out. Using his hands to scoop water from a puddle, another guerrilla threw it in her face. When she regained consciousness, she managed to stagger to her feet. The three bastards surrounded her, laughing, as they watched blood stream down her legs. When she became cognizant of them, she covered her genitals with her hands, and began cursing them.
“You filthy dogs! You barbaric animals! You dirty bastards!” she screamed. I envied this young girl’s strength and bravery but, as I saw the rage in the eyes of the lead guerrilla, I knew her words meant her certain death. He furiously slapped her face, knocking her to the ground. I was astonished to see her immediately get back up and charge him. The other two grabbed her.
The guerrilla leader was irate. He approached the girl and poked her chest with his cigarette to emphasize the words he spoke to her. “I want you to understand that your foul little mouth may well cost you your life, Mit Neary!” When his cigarette disintegrated, he began hitting her with his fists. He knocked her to the ground again, picked her up by her hair, and said to her calmly, “Mit Neary, you have nice firm breasts. I’m going to cut them off, cook them, and eat them. Doesn’t that sound delicious? I’ve heard that the breasts of a young maiden girl gives a warrior great strength.”
The poor girl’s strength and bravery suddenly drained from her. She cried out, “I’m sorry, Mit Bong! I promise not to swear at you again. I’ll keep quiet about this from now on, and I’ll do anything you ask from me. Please, Mit Bong, let me live to see my parents one more time!”
The guerrilla leader took great satisfaction in watching her beg. He looked at her, and said, “Believe me, Mit Neary. This will be fair punishment for having cursed Angkar yothea. Besides, you should know that once the word of a revolutionary like me has been spoken, it cannot be changed. I must do what I said I’d do. That’s the discipline a revolutionary follows. So, I will cut off your tits and share them with my yothea. We will feast on them!”
She wept and implored him, “No, no, Mit Bong, please forgive me. This is my first mistake! Please don’t do this horrible thing to me!” She looked up, and said, “Where is the Buddha? Please come, help me. Please, don’t let this happen to me!”
The guerrillas took her to a nearby tree and tied her with her arms pulled around the trunk behind her. Now, she knew she would die. Her strength and courage in the face of such danger had returned and was truly inspiring to me. With all the pain and brutality she had suffered, she still had the anger to fight them. She cried out, “You are sons of bitches! You Angkar yothea are wild dogs! I hope all of you rot in hell for your crimes!”
The guerrilla leader pulled out a large tuft of grass and stuffed it into her mouth. Then, he grabbed her breasts, hanging from her beaten body. “What a beautiful pair!” he exclaimed, glancing at his fellow yothea. In one continuous motion, he drew a knife from his belt and sliced off her left breast which fell into his outstretched palm. Blood poured down her unclothed body, and she fainted from the pain.
The guerrillas just laughed at her. The leader slapped her face on one side and then the other until she regained consciousness. She immediately convulsed with pain, her eyes bulging.
“What’s the matter, Mit Neary? Does that hurt? You should have considered that when you were so quick to curse us for having sex with you! We just wanted to have a little fun and soar to heaven with you. That’s all we wanted from you! Now, I want you to know that after I cut off your other breast, I’m going to leave your body for the wild dogs,” gloated the leader.
The leader turned to one of his yothea and handed him the severed breast. The leader then turned and sliced off the girl’s right breast. Blood spurted on his face and shirt as her body convulsed. He licked blood from his lips and turned to give the breast to the second guerrilla. He turned back to the girl and plunged his knife into her body, slashing her from sternum to genitals. Her entrails slid through his fingers as they fell to the ground, bathing his hands and arms in blood. He stared into her eyes, watching for life to leave her body. Even in her mutilation, the poor, brave girl was able to gasp one last breath before she died.
I trembled. I felt nauseous and light-headed, my hearing drowned by a high-pitched buzzing in my head. I massaged my forehead to ease the noise. When I began to feel better, the guerrillas were gone. I slipped away from the bushes and quickly returned to the shelter. I was sick with fear that the guerillas would find out that I had witnessed their rape and slaughter.
When Sovong saw my face, he became concerned and said, “Mit Thy, you look awful! Are you sick? You took so long using the toilet. You look pale, my friend. Are you dizzy?”
I grabbed my belly, saying, “I have a bad stomachache, Sovong, but I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m all right now.” I had to lie to Sovong. I didn’t want him to know about the killing I’d just witnessed. I trusted him but I didn’t want to place his life in jeopardy by telling him what had happened. Being the true friend he was and, although he wasn’t feeling well himself, Sovong offered to help me. “Thy, if you feel sick or dizzy, lie down! I’ll rub your skin to make you feel better.”
He was offering to administer a rubbing to bring bad blood to the surface, an old Khmer folk remedy believed to relieve pain. The rubbing was usually done with a copper coin but, since we had no coins, we used a spoon. I told Sovong, “Thank you for worrying about me, my good friend, but I’m really okay.”
Sovong replied, “Well then, if you’re not sick, let’s go take a bath. Come on, before it gets too dark!”
“Okay, Sovong,” I replied. I followed him to what we all called the canal pool. In fact, it was the reservoir of water that was being held to flow through the canal when it was completed. Sovong had a difficult time getting to the pool because he was becoming increasingly weak from hard work and no food.
I sat at the top edge of the canal bank while Sovong bathed. I stared in the direction of the spot where, just a while ago, the girl had been raped and killed. I could see nothing. “How quickly those devils cover their tracks,” I thought to myself. I prayed to the Buddha that the slaughter of the Cambodian people would end. I prayed for the poor maiden girl. I prayed for my family, and I caught myself hoping that none of my family or friends would suffer a similar fate. Death, however, seemed a much more likely fate than survival. If we were not killed outright by the guerrillas, we would probably die of dysentery, malaria, cholera, the lack of nurses and doctors, or simple starvation. As my thoughts wandered, I concluded that praying to the Buddha for good fortune was the only way I could increase my chances of survival.
I heard voices coming from the other side of the levee and saw a small group of workers walking along, carrying their tools. Several guerrillas were leading the workers toward a thicket of bamboo. I was curious as to why a work detail would be starting so late, always wondering what the Khmer Rouge were up to. “Hey, Sovong!” I called to my friend. What do you think is going on over there?”
He yelled back, “Thy, why don’t you come on down and take a bath with me?”
I slipped down the canal bank to join Sovong. “What did you see, Mit Thy?” he asked.
I whispered back, “Look on the other side of the levee, on the top. There’s a work party going into the bamboo. I wonder what they’
re doing at this time of day. It’s almost dark. Besides, I never heard the bell ring, calling workers for work, did you?”
“No, I didn’t, but don’t be surprised by this and don’t worry about them,” he said. “Just hurry up and finish your bath so we can go back and get some rest. Stop worrying about what they’re doing. It’s usual to see a night work detail. They’re probably off to dig a grave for the latest bunch of us who’ve been killed or starved to death.”
“Sovong!” I said. “I’m curious, that’s all. I want to see what they’re doing.”
Our conversation was interrupted by a loud voice from the top of the levee. “Eh! Mit Thy and Mit Sovong, what are you doing in the canal pool this late? Are you slandering our Angkar?” We turned to find Mit Huot and Mit Thol standing above us, staring down angrily. They were flanked by two guerrillas. I recognized one of the yothea as one of the three men who’d raped and murdered the young girl.
Mit Huot smiled and said, “Mit Thy and Mit Sovong, don’t you know the revolution’s wheel keeps spinning round? Any person who dares tamper with it will be squashed.”
Sovong and I were scared to death but we quieted our fear and came out of the water toward Mit Huot and Thol. As chief of our worksite, they could easily have us killed, for no reason.
I said, “Mit Bong, we aren’t trying to slander Angkar. We’re always loyal and we follow the glorious Angkar’s rules, step by step. We know Angkar has a good path to follow and we are glad to live under Angkar. We would do nothing to betray Angkar.”
“Very good, Mit Thy. You are learning and changing fast and you are doing well speaking Angkar language. I know you and Sovong always meet your quotas, and I don’t question your loyalty. I was just having a little fun with you two,” Huot said.
