I know going ahead to the border is dangerous. But I decide against going back with Phally. At least Srey’s mother has gone on this journey before. Phally doesn’t know the way, since this is her first time. I say a few words to Phally to relay to Ry and Map, and then follow Srey and her mother into the cold lake, which is now as dark as the night.
We continue on the path, escorted by PARA soldiers for a brief while, and then take refuge for the night at the edge of a forest. The next day we come to a clearing where several other people are scampering. Srey’s mom warns us that we must run across it quickly. “This is where robbers can see us, and people get shot at. If you hear gunfire and shouting, don’t stop. If you fall, get up and run. When I say ‘go,’ start running. You hear?”
When she gives the signal, we run, trotting on the sharp edges of cracked ground. I pray to Pa, Mak, and my ancestors to protect me. We all make it safely across. Later, we have another obstacle in our way—land mines. We are told to follow in the footsteps of the person in front of us as we cross a grassy field. With luck and help from a higher power, and thanks to everyone’s calmness and meticulousness, we make it across the field safely.
Srey’s mom surveys our new surroundings, then excitedly says, “We’re almost there, almost to the New Camp.”
17
The New Camp
It is May 1979. We arrive at the outskirts of the New Camp late in the afternoon. The sunlight is less intense, giving us a break from the heat. Before us, in the midst of a forest, stand doorless golden-grassed shacks built closely together like mushrooms sprouting from beneath the trees.
Srey’s mom takes me to the shelter of om’s daughter, who has come to stay in the camp with her husband. When we arrive at the camouflage-colored tent, Srey’s mom calls out, her hand shaking the cloth wall. In a few minutes om’s daughter, whom I call bang, crawls out of the tent. She’s tall and slender with curly black hair falling to her chin. Her complexion is as light as mine.
“Have you seen her sister and brother around? They left Sala Krao two days ago,” Srey’s mom says to her.
“No, my husband and I haven’t seen them,” bang says, knitting her forehead. “We’ve been trading with the Thai and haven’t seen them there either.”
Srey’s mom asks if I may stay with them until I find Than and Ra. The couple agrees and assures Srey’s mom that I’m welcome. Exhausted, I let them discuss matters among themselves. I squat down as their voices drone on. The next thing I know, bang is guiding me through her tent to a space she’s made for me to sleep, separated from her and her husband’s area.
Bang asks if I want some food to eat. I shake my head, then lie down on the welcoming blanket spread on the earthen floor.
A voice hums. Something gently pops. I spring up, sitting in a dark space filled with heat. When I fumble my way out of the space through a wall of layered of blankets, I come to the area where bang and her husband sleep—but they’ve gone.
Near the half-open cloth entrance to the tent, the sunlight filters in, shining on a covered plate of steamed rice with a piece of fresh broiled fish near a small bowl of golden sweet-and-sour sauce with sliced white onion, minced garlic, fresh shredded red chili, and ground peanuts. My mouth waters. I breathe the air greedily.
Having had no food except water for nearly two days, I swallow down everything in a flash. The rice, fish, and sauce are so delicious. The tasty sauce, which I’m pleasantly surprised to have, takes me back to my homes in Phnom Penh and Takeo. I wish I were eating this kind of food with my parents and siblings again. But that is no longer possible, and I am here alone without a brother or sister.
One day stretches to four. Still I haven’t found Ra and Than as I comb the camp, wandering past shelters and various food stands selling deep-fried bananas, yams, soup with steamed rice, vegetables, and fresh meat—an alluring makeshift market that is more bustling than I could ever have imagined possible. As I head back to bang’s tent, giving up on today’s search, a voice calls out my name urgently.
I stop, then turn back, looking for the voice among so many roaming people. Finally, on my left near a thicket, I spot a hand waving by a row of huts. I study the woman, who now waves at me with both hands. I walk over to her, and she asks, “Do you remember me?”
Her name is Sitha, a small-built, short-haired woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties. Her voice is gentle, polite. She reminds me that we met at Korkpongro, a village where we first heard the Khmer Rouge’s guns soon after leaving Daakpo. She says I would remember her father. She points to her hut, to a wise-looking, friendly man whom I now recall. I remember how much I prayed when we were in Korkpongro. Perhaps those prayers were heard, and here we are, meeting again. To my pleasant disbelief, she has seen Ra and Than, and gladly offers to take me to where they’re staying.
As we approach a golden-grassed shack situated near a mound with two tall trees, Aunt Sitha points to it and says that it is where Ra and Than are. Smiling, she bids me good-bye, leaving me excited about my reunion with my sister and brother. I imagine their surprise at seeing me, their little sister, standing in front of them. When I arrive in front of the doorless hut, I see a woman in a bright blue blouse and a flowered skirt sitting on a mat with her back toward me, engrossed in something she’s making. That’s not their hut, I think disappointedly.
I hurry toward where Aunt Sitha and I parted, hoping to catch her and tell her she was wrong, but she’s gone.
Returning to the hut, I decide to ask the woman if she knows Ra and Than.
“Excuse me.”
The woman turns around.
“Ra! Oh, it’s you.” I laugh, surprised and happy to find that she is my sister after all.
Beaming as she gets up from the mat, Ra asks, “Whom did you come with?” When did you get here?”
Ignoring her questions, I eye her from head to toe. Her healthy, glowing skin. Her eyes. They’re happy, vibrant. Finally I find the words to describe how different she looks since I last saw her a week ago. “Ra,” I say, smiling exuberantly, “you have spirit, you have meat [gained weight]. You have good skin. You look like koon chen [someone of Chinese descent].”
Ra grins broadly, her hands reaching out to me, speechless at my bluntness.
I sit on the mat beside Ra and she tells me that Than’s out trying to buy merchandise from Thai merchants to trade with travelers on their way to Cambodia.
“Isn’t he scared?” I knit my eyebrows. “I’ve heard that it’s dangerous. Thai soldiers arrest Cambodians and torture them, beating them up. Is that true, Ra?”
“Well, there are Thai soldiers patrolling, I’ve heard. But you have to know when to go to trade with the Thai merchants,” Ra explains, not so sure herself. Suddenly her face shines with excitement. “Athy, over here, if you have Thai money or gold, you can buy lots of things. They have everything. Pineapples, chickens, beef, ice, everything. All you could ever want to eat.” Ra grins comically. “All you need is money.”
“No wonder you have meat on you.”
So relieved and exhilarated, I chuckle with Ra. Since the Khmer Rouge’s takeover, I have not laughed this hard with my sisters or brothers. But today we laugh until my cheeks and belly hurt. My face becomes warm, my soul at ease.
Afterward I go to bang and her husband and tell them the news. They are relieved that I’ve found Ra. When I return to the shack, there’s Than, smiling, happy to see me. And squatting by the entrance to the shack, there is the man whom Ra has told me about, from Kompong Cham province. Dark skin, medium build, with long, defined eyebrows. His name is Vantha, his nickname Preag. He had traveled through Sala Krao with a few men and a woman from Kompong Cham. Everyone else, Ra says, has gone back except him.
Considering how uncomfortable Ra is around men, I’m surprised that Vantha is allowed to stay here. If Mak and Pa were alive, they would not have approved of this living arrangement. But then, who is to say that one should follow the old cultural rules when the circumstances are so changed? What
I’m most concerned about is how to survive in this camp. When Than and bang Vantha go to trade with the Thai, I talk to Ra about selling food, knowing I would never jeopardize my life by going into Thailand to trade.
She rejects the idea and suggests that I give the gold I’ve brought to bang Vantha. She explains that we can live off the profits from bang Vantha and Than’s trading. Looking into her eyes, I realize there’s no point in arguing with her. For the moment I accept Ra’s suggestion and hope that I too can depend on Than and bang Vantha, a stranger, with my gold.
Than and bang Vantha embark on a new business. After our meal, Than and bang Vantha seek out customers and bring them to our shack. They are middlemen, exchanging gold for Thai money, then we exchange this money at a higher rate with travelers who buy goods to take back to their respective provinces.
My role is to inspect the authenticity of the gold and weigh it, using our little brass scale. I’m good, Ra and Than tell bang Vantha, at distinguishing the twenty-four-karat gold from the fake jewelry or the nongold sheets. I’ve learned from the other traders as well as from my own observations the appropriate heaviness and color of the gold.
When in doubt, I’ve learned to place the jewelry or the so-called gold piece on the embers in a cooking pit or set it on fire with lighter fuel. If it’s real gold, the color remains the same, bright gold. If not, it turns black. So far, I haven’t been swindled.
Rumor has it that we’ll be moved into a camp inside Thailand. Ry and Map are still in Sala Krao. If we are moved, we’ll be separated forever, we fear.
A few days later, I’m relieved to hear Than’s offer to go back to Sala Krao to bring Map and Ry here. If they start moving people out before he returns, Than emphasizes, Ra and I are not to leave.
While Than is gone, Ra confides to me that she and bang Vantha have decided to get married when we are moved to the new camp. She says, “If I don’t marry him, don’t love him, he said, he’ll go back to Kompong Cham to his parents. If he’s gone, who’s going to take care of us? Cambodian elders would say it’s good to have a man to support the family. I want you to be with me when we get married.”
At night Than arrives with Map on his shoulders, a human bundle whose hands are draped over Than’s head, about to slip off at any time. Than lifts him up and puts him down on the mat near Ra and me. Map is quiet. No word, nothing, comes out of his mouth. He sits still, his eyes sad, exhausted.
Getting up from the mat, I peer along the alley in front of the shack, but there’s no Ry. “I left her,” Than fumes. “She walks slowly and carries nothing. Walks a little bit, stops. Walks a little bit, stops. Rest, rest, rest…. Since we were near here, I didn’t want to wait for her.”
“So where is she?” I ask.
“I don’t know! She wanted to rest, so I left her. I carried Map because he couldn’t walk, and he got heavier and heavier. I’m also tired, but I kept on going, but she kept wanting to rest….”
Worried, Ra says, “She doesn’t know her way around here. You should have waited for her.”
Sitting down on the mat, Than is quiet. His head rests on his arms atop his knees.
“Athy, tomorrow go look for her. Look around the entrance to the camp and you should find her.” Than speaks tiredly, his voice now composed, concerned.
When the light streaks the morning sky, I spring up from the mat. Ry is the first thing on my mind. I trot and run, hoping Ry hasn’t gotten up and begun to look for us.
Along the grassy path flanked by clumps of trees, I search for Ry. I check once, twice, three times, walking far out of the camp, yet I can’t find her. The fourth time, on my last attempt, I still don’t see a trace of her. I cry.
Standing against a makeshift fence of freshly cut logs encircling a large open field of stumps and thickets, I watch young, skinny men in civilian clothes who are leaping over the stumps, each making a stabbing-shooting gesture with a piece of wood. One stumbles and plunges to the ground. Laughter erupts from the other side of the fence. When I turn to look, I see a group of children giggling among a few chuckling adult spectators.
Amused, I smile, laughing with the other children. As more men fall, they guffaw at their own clumsiness. Suddenly two cold hands tightly cover my eyes. Startled, I turn sideways and hear giggling. I reach up to pry the hands open, but they grip my face harder.
“Who is it? Who is it?” I demand, irritated.
No answer.
I swing my hands to hit whomever it is, and the person moves, jerking my head back. Angry, I pry at the hands again and they come loose. When I look behind me, I see Ry, laughing comically.
She chuckles, pointing at me. “I’ve been standing behind you, and you didn’t even know that I was here. You kept laughing.” Ry imitates my laughter, very amused.
We hurry back to our shack, and Ry updates me on where she slept and what she had for dinner last night. She says she bought herself dinner with the gold she’s brought, and found a family who let her sleep in their hut. What a free spirit she is! And there I was in our shack, worried about her. Now I’m at ease, very grateful that she’s come home—a home that is defined not by the camp where we live, or the shelter that covers us, but rather by those in our family who are left alive.
Our shack is more crowded with the addition of Ry and Map, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I remember a saying in a song, “It’s more bearable to have a crowded home than a crowded heart.”
Ra has told Ry, Than, and Map that she will marry bang Vantha, and that seems to be okay with them. We all feel it is her decision to make.
One evening Ra and bang Vantha go strolling in the camp and come back with a little girl about six years of age. She’s thin, about Map’s height, her face hid behind streaks of black dirt, her nose runny, her hair short like a boy’s. Her shirt and pants are ragged.
Sitting down on the mat between Ra and bang Vantha, the little girl sniffs, then wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Bang Vantha glances at her proudly.
“Ara and I want to adopt her as our daughter. She’s an orphan. What should we name her?”
Ra thinks, studying the girl. “Name her Savorng, because she is articulate and talks like sarika.”* Ra seems proud of herself for having chosen the name.
Bang Vantha agrees and thinks Savorng is a smart child. He says that they saw her in an alley near the market, where she was addressing passersby with this mature young voice. She would say, “Uncle, aunt, please help me. Please give me money and I’ll wish you and your family long life and good health.”
Map becomes teary and moves closer to Ra. Savorng does the same, declaring, “She’s my mom!” Her hands peel Map’s hands from Ra’s folded legs.
Map cries, looking helpless, neglected. Bang Vantha laughs, amused. Ra finally turns her attention to Map, placing her arms around him. He sobs endlessly, and cries harder when some of his clothes are given to Savorng after her bath. He runs over to her and tries to pull her shirt off.
“No, it’s mine!” Savorng pulls away, glaring at Map.
The move into a Thai camp never materializes, but a warning of a Khmer Rouge attack suddenly surfaces in the camp. We gather in the alley in front of our shack. Tomorrow, it is said, at about ten o’clock in the morning, the Khmer Rouge will attack the camp. Their goal is to seize the camp from the PARA soldiers, and we will be caught in the combat zone, a man reports dismally. Before returning to our separate homes, some elderly women suggest that we should get up early to cook food. If we are forced to flee again, they reason, at least we should have a full stomach.
We get up early and prepare a wonderful meal. Steaming food has been dished out on the mat. Seven plates of rice. Two bowls of soup with pineapple chunks, catfish, lotus shoots, tomatoes, mint, green onion, and browned minced garlic. Among the soup bowls lie a plate of fresh broiled fish with sliced cucumbers and two small bowls of sweet-and-sour sauce.
I eat a few bites, but I am too anxious to finish, and go outside. I go around the shack to t
he back corner and hike up the mound, then climb up one of the two tall trees. I climb up higher, far above the shack. If I turn, I can see in all directions.
Peering toward the woods to my right, I glimpse something unusual—white-and-red-checked scarves amid tall greenish trees. Men in black. One carries a rocket-propelled grenade. Others carry rifles, bazookas.
I yell to my family, “I saw the Khmer Rouge. I saw the Khmer Rouge. They have guns. One is holding a “banana bud”* gun. They’re wearing black clothes. It is the Khmer Rouge, I’m sure, it’s the Khmer Rouge.”
Ry comes running toward the mound, peering toward the woods where I’ve pointed. Our neighbors emerge from their shacks and congregate by our shelter.
While I’m still in the tree, artillery explodes behind our shack. Gunfire roars, showering the camp. I freeze, clutching the tree trunk with all my might. Ra, Map, everyone darts to the trench and water holes. Ry is on the mound, sobbing.
“Ry, help me!” I scream long and hard. Flat against the mound, she waves at me to come down, but I shake my head, tears streaming down. I’m afraid the flying bullets will hit me.
“Ry!…“I lean my face against the tree.
“Athy! Get down,” Ry shouts in a long-drawn-out voice.
I gaze at her crying face and shake my head. Suddenly more explosions erupt, one right after the other, producing shattering noises that rattle the trees and our shack. I have to get down, I have to get down. But I’ll get shot. I cry, frustrated.
Ry gazes up, waving again. I focus on her face, then slide down, landing beside her, hugging the mound. My hands and the soles of my feet throb from sliding down the tree, but soon the pain is overshadowed by the raucous, endless noise of gunfire.
When Broken Glass Floats: Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge Page 26
