Escaping the Khmer Rouge

by Chileng Pa

  The horrid woman looked down the line and said to the others, “Don’t be envious or disappointed! Remember, Angkar has pineapple eyes.” She turned back to me, gave me another ladle of gruel, and said, “Does that satisfy Mit Thy?”

  I was about to say yes, but she continued in a louder voice, “Do you see this, people?” Gesturing with the ladle, she added, “If you want better rations, you must follow Mit Thy’s example, learn the discipline of Angkar, and pay your dues!”

  Why did the Khmer Rouge always speak in exclamation points? I said nothing and turned away, unsure why Sean had singled me out, encouraging that woman to make an example of me in order to inspire the others to participate in the new society. “Why don’t you just shut up, bubble lips?” I thought viciously as I returned to the oxcart to share the rations with my wife and son.

  “What happened to you, Bong?” Devi asked.

  I sighed and told her, adding, “That bitch Monida acts like it’s her own food. It isn’t hers. It’s ours. Angkar has taken our food and now we’re starving to death with this crude gruel and black water soup.”

  “Stop complaining, Bong,” said my wife. “This is another time you must act deaf and dumb or insane. You yourself have told me this many times. This regime hates educated people. For all you know, an Angkar spy was standing in line with you acting as pineapple eyes.” She looked at me. “And don’t forget Angkar has ears, too. Maybe Angkar has heard everything you’ve been saying about them. Be careful, or they’ll report us and kill us all.”

  I glanced toward the ration line, watching the rest of the people waiting in the hot sun to be served. Devi stirred the gruel in her bowl, seeking a few grains of rice to feed Sokhanarith.

  “Why must we be persecuted like this?” I whispered. My wife sighed and said, “Bong, drink your gruel. You’ll need your strength when we resume our journey. Stop torturing yourself.”

  “I’m fine. You’re the one who needs to eat more because you have to breastfeed our son.” As I murmured to her, Sean walked past the oxcart and leered at my wife, reminding me of what Mit Aul had told me about my wife and him.

  Then he shouted, “Everyone, get ready! It’s time for us to go!” He turned back to us and yelled, “Eh, Mit Thy! Prepare the oxcart to continue our journey, now!”

  “Yes, Mit Bong.”

  I took Devi’s bundle and stowed it on the oxcart and told her to let Sokhanarith ride on the cart, too. Her legs were already weak from the day’s long walk. I planned to be the last in line so we wouldn’t have guerrillas behind us who would insist on her walking. I encouraged her to ride whenever she tired.

  One of the guerrillas on a bicycle incessantly yelled, “Hurry up! We must reach the next village by sunset!” Then, he began ranting about fighting capitalism and idolizing Angkar. The Angkar way was a better way. Angkar had liberated us from the claws of imperialism. His spew of propaganda continued for the duration of our journey, until we finally reached a small village in Svay Chrum District. I thought I was going to go mad listening to him.

  We made temporary shelters for the night and, the next morning, Sean ordered us to move to a location near ruins that had once housed Svay Chrum District’s Ministry of Agriculture. It had been destroyed during the fighting between Vietnam and Angkar. I put together a shelter under a large mango tree using bamboo branches to support a roof of sugar palm leaves. I spread rice husks on the ground and covered them with a plastic mat. The sun was setting by the time I finished building our little home.

  When darkness fell, a large moon rose from the horizon. The night was cool and quiet. I lit a fish oil lantern inside the hut and rested. I watched Devi nursing my son to sleep and was grateful for the quiet evening. There was no activity outside, all of our fellow travelers taking advantage of the opportunity to rest since they were tired from the long journey and building their shelters. We knew morning would bring another exhausting day of work earning our meager rations from Angkar.

  While Sokhanarith slept, Devi and I talked quietly about how drastically our lives had changed. She sang a song for me from the old days, which brought up good memories for me. Then, she nestled next to me on the mat and held me tight. I loved having her arms around me, but that was all. Since this Khmer Rouge terror began, our Cambodia had become a country where people didn’t have the energy to make love.

  I could feel my wife’s heart beating fast and she seemed disconcerted and upset. “Bong love, I have something I must tell you, something you won’t like. You’ll be disappointed, but I must tell you.” She looked away.

  Immediately anxious, I said, “Wife love, go ahead and tell me. What’s this about?”

  “That bastard Sean,” she stammered, and began sobbing. My heart was breaking for her but I couldn’t tell her I already knew her terrible secret.

  “What about Sean?” I asked, caressing her face, catching her tears, holding her close to me.

  Sobbing, she said, “I’m sorry, Bong, my love,” she said through her tears. “I shouldn’t be telling you this because it will probably cause trouble, but I can’t bear to keep this secret from you any longer. When Sean sent you away to work on the canal, he asked me to come and work for him, cooking meals for him and his yothea. I’m sorry, my Bong love, but I couldn’t refuse.”

  Now, she launched on a story that was long, and even sadder than it was long.

  That bastard Sean is a monster. Not long after I began working at his house, he told me he wanted me.

  Please, believe me, Bong, I tried to resist him. I told his bodyguard to take me to the torture center rather than let Sean have me. Sean ordered him to take me there and, while I was there, I saw the Pol Pot soldiers torturing prisoners in many different ways: suffocating them with plastic bags or tying them against a post and whipping them with electric wires.

  I saw them torture a woman from our village. Her husband had been a history professor at Svay Rieng College who’d been able to escape the guerrillas who came to kill him. One of the guards pulled a knife from his belt and drew it slowly down her cheek, her neck, and her breasts. The woman bit her lips and gasped, waiting for the knife to cut her. My heart pumped faster and I rubbed my forehead to stop my dizziness. I was going to be next, Bong. Oh, Bong! I was so terrified! I thought I would die right there, and leave Sokhanarith with no mother, leave you with no wife.

  I tried to stop Devi, but she was insistent that I listen to her. Now gasping through her tears, she continued as I sat next to her, dumb with shock:.

  The woman was brave. She told the guard to get it over with, that she would never reveal anything to them about her husband. The demon stuck his knife in her breast, and she screamed in pain. He told her she would live to take care of her children only if she told him the truth.

  They finally took me away from that place and brought me back to Sean. He told me I had one last chance to do as he wished. Otherwise, he would kill me and you and Sokhanarith. He said he also knew you worked for Lon Nol’s regime. Oh, Bong! He raped me! I begged him not to do it. I told him it was against Angkar rules, but I couldn’t stop him. I was too scared to defend myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of his bodyguards coming after you and Sokhanarith.

  After he raped me, he warned me never to tell anyone, especially you. He said that if I didn’t keep this secret he would kill us. I couldn’t believe it had happened to me! Bong love, I’m sorry! I’m so ashamed!

  “I’ll kill the bastard!” I said.

  Devi quickly replied, “Bong, no! You mustn’t do anything! If you seek revenge now, we’ll surely die! You must promise me you’ll be strong and not lose hope that we can survive this demonic regime.”

  “I’ll kill the bastard!” I repeated, wounded not only by his acts but by my wife having to tell me what he’d done to her.

  She reached up and put a hand on my chest, caressed it soothingly, then turned her face to me, crying. I closed my eyes tightly and squeezed my lips together, so angry and so broken-hearted. I vowed Sean would die by
my hand for the heartbreak he had caused my wife. I held her close and whispered, “My poor Devi, love. I’m so sorry you had to suffer so.”

  “I’m sorry, Bong. We’ll survive this. We’re strong enough to overcome anything that’s happened.” Slumping in my arms, she said, “Bong, I need to sleep now.”

  Devi slept. I could not. I held her in my arms and only after a long time was I finally able to slip into unconsciousness. My sleep was broken by the sharp voices of Sean’s guerrillas shouting, “Get up, Mit Thy! Mit Devi! Get up!”

  I awoke with a start and looked in total disbelief at the guerrillas standing just outside our flimsy hut. “What are you doing?” I asked them. “What do you want? It’s the middle of the night!”

  One of them answered curtly, “The supreme Angkar needs your family to move immediately! You’re to go to another worksite where you will assist in carrying supplies.”

  “Tonight, Mit Bong?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yes, right this minute, Mit Thy,” he replied.

  “Mit Bong, can’t this possibly wait until morning? My son is still asleep and we’re very tired,” I said politely, trying to remain calm.

  “You must obey Angkar! No argument, Mit Thy. Surely you know this. Angkar has ordered that your family be moved tonight, not a minute later! Those who oppose Angkar’s orders will be crushed!” the guerrilla threatened.

  Devi interrupted, “Excuse me, Mit Bong, can’t we wait until daylight? It’s so dark now it’ll be dangerous to travel.”

  “Mit Neary, it isn’t dark! There’s bright moonlight,” he said. “Mit Neary, Devi, Angkar has given us orders. You cannot disobey them and you cannot argue. Now, let’s go!”

  I knew the time had come for us to die. Angkar wasn’t carrying food and supplies to any worksites at midnight. These thugs were sent to kill us. I knew we had no option but to go away with them and I decided it was the wrong time to let them know I wasn’t fooled by their story about carrying food supplies.

  I said to them, “Excuse me. Where is this worksite? Where do we need to go to help carry supplies?”

  A young guerrilla stood in the doorway smoking a cigarette. His revolutionary attire, black shirt and pants, krama scarf, rubber tire sandals, and AK-47 rifle hanging loosely from his neck, couldn’t hide his lack of education. He gruffly answered my questions. “You’ll know when you get there! Let’s go! There’s a beautiful moon out tonight to light our way.”

  One of the other guerrillas said, “Don’t make Angkar wait for you!”

  My wife lifted our sleeping son and carried him out of the hut. I followed her. One guerrilla led the way and the other two followed. We crossed over a dike and walked through a number of rice fields. The guerrilla was right about one thing: the night was bright. It was also clear and full of stars. As we walked across the rice fields, the cool north wind brought back memories of freedom. The insects in the rice stubble left from the recent harvest seemed to be calling to one another. The brilliant moon overhead illuminated the landscape and glistened off the surface of the fields. It was beautiful and, on this night, I was going to die.

  Nature was unconcerned with our lives. I wondered if anyone anywhere in the world—other than Cambodia—knew that families like mine were being led to the killing fields under the gaze of a full moon.

  After more rice fields, the lead guerrilla turned onto a narrow path. I felt each step taking me nearer to my death. Our lives shortened as we walked. Soon, the narrow path merged with a larger path leading into a forest, thick and dark. Deep into the trees, we came to an abandoned hamlet. My heart nearly stopped beating when I realized it was the place Pol Pot’s soldiers had taken countless others. It was the killing place.

  I was near panic as the lead guerrilla slowed down, then stopped. I knew I must remain strong and keep my wits about me. I was determined to face death bravely. I turned to the guerrilla, and said, “Mit Bong, is this the place where we’re supposed to help carry food supplies for Angkar?”

  “No, Mit Thy,” the guerrilla replied, with an evil look. “This is the place where people who oppose the Angkar revolution come to die.”

  As I heard these words, I looked at Devi. Her forehead was wet with perspiration in spite of the cool night and tears rolled down her cheeks, dropping on Sokhanarith who was sleeping, tight in her arms. I turned again to the guerrillas and, in a terror-stricken voice, said, “Mit Bong, what have we done wrong? I’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t opposed Angkar, like Mit Bong is saying. I’ve been honest and respectful with Angkar. I’ve loved Angkar and followed all the rules. I’ve worked hard for Angkar. My whole family has been devoted to Angkar. How can Mit Bong accuse my family of being against Angkar? It’s not true, Mit Bong!”

  One of the guerrillas replied, “Didn’t you know, Mit Thy, that Angkar has been watching you for quite some time? Angkar hears and sees everything you’ve hidden.

  He kept on talking. “Now, Angkar knows the biographies of you and your wife. Angkar has crushed the rest of your family and now it’s your turn to die. We also know your wife is a half-breed yuan.” He called her by the insulting term some Cambodians use for Vietnamese. “She is nothing but a Vietnamese sympathizer. She can be nothing else with all that Vietnamese blood flowing in her veins. Angkar must clear the population of all Vietnamese blood. I’m also aware you were in Lon Nol’s military.”

  When he finished, we were petrified with fear. He was finished talking and we knew what would come next. I suffered a special agony when I looked at my son, only two years old, and realized how sad it was that he wouldn’t have a chance to grow up. Devi began again to cry at the certain knowledge that her family was indeed dead.

  There was no possibility of reasoning with these young executioners. They’d been indoctrinated from birth with the ideology of their Khmer communist masters. They were taught to hate New People, former city dwellers, anyone who spoke a foreign language, or betrayed any evidence of being educated. Their chant was, “kill, kill them! Rid the land of bad blood!” and their revolutionary slogan: “Whether you live or die is of no consequence to Angkar.” So brainwashed were these young people that many of them had killed their own parents, thinking they were killing the enemies of Angkar.

  One of the guerrillas tore my son from Devi’s arms. Our frightened child began to scream as the guerrilla turned Sokhanarith upside down and held him by his ankles.

  “Mit Bong! Please don’t torture him. He’s too young to know anything of politics!” I begged, dropping to my knees. He turned, kicked me in the chest, and I toppled over backwards.

  “Eh, Mit Thy, don’t interfere again!”

  He repeated the parable, “Whoever’s hair it is, it belongs to that person!” Then he followed up with his punch line. “And I’m sure you understand that if we pull out the grass we must also jerk out the roots!”

  My terrified wife tried to snatch Sokhanarith from the guerrilla, but she wasn’t quick enough and paid for her effort with a quick slap to the face. Still holding Sokhanarith by the ankles, he lowered his hand to his side and Sokhanarith’s head came perilously close to the ground. He turned to Devi, “Mit Devi, if you attempt to interfere again, I’ll kill your baby instantly!”

  Devi refused to be silent. “Respected Mit, please give me my son. Don’t murder my son! He’s too young to know anything! Heeeeee! Please let him go free! Save him, respected Mit, and kill me instead! Heeee! Heeee!” she wailed, holding out her hands to the guerrillas.

  One of them stepped forward and slammed his fist into Devi’s head. She dropped to the ground as the yothea laughed at her. When I tried to get up, a guerrilla stepped on my back and pointed his rifle at my forehead. The guerrilla holding Sokhanarith told the third guerrilla to watch Devi. “Mit, keep her quiet! Make sure she doesn’t interfere again!” he commanded.

  The soldier pulled her up by the arm. Her mouth was bleeding. She knew she was going to die. Looking at her with disgust, he said, “Mit Neary, there’s no use in being difficult
. There’s no use in praying. Angkar will not change.”

  Sokhanarith struggled to free himself from the grasp of the guerrilla. He cried loudly, screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Annoyed by his cries for help, the guerrilla held Sokhanarith out to his side, grasped his ankles with both hands and, with a terrific force, swung Sokhanarith’s helpless body through the air like a baseball bat. Sokhanarith’s head hit a nearby tree and was instantly turned to pulp. Blood and brains splattered everywhere. Devi and I both let out shrieks of agony. The guerrillas laughed as the soldier holding Sokhanarith’s mangled body tossed him into a large pit near the tree.

  One of the guerrillas said, “The first step is to kill the enemy’s son.”

  “You damned bastard!” my wife screeched. “You feel nothing when you murder innocent children. Hurry up and kill me now, you bastard! Without my son, there is nothing in your worthless regime to live for!” She wailed, cried, screamed in horror. “You bastards, hurry! Kill me! Get it over with! You’re worse than wild animals!”

  “Eh! Mit Neary, stop insulting our Angkar!” the guerrilla warned her. Then he grabbed her roughly by the hair, and said, “Damn you, Mit Neary, you’re a sick soul!” He tied her elbows behind her back with his krama, and forced her to kneel in front of the pit in which he had tossed the body of our son. I stared, horrified, unable to move.

  My brave wife continued to insult them, saying, “You cruel communists and your idiot regime, you’re all bastards. You kill our countrymen and rape their daughters and wives before you then kill them. For all your crimes against innocent people, you’ll be punished by the spirits and gods, and Buddha will send you to hell!”

  She had already accepted her death. She tried to stand and run to the body of our dead son, but one of the yothea kicked her in the back and she fell face forward to the ground. She was bleeding and gasping in pain as she forced herself up, saying, “Oh Buddha! Please stop this pain! Stop my agony!”