When Broken Glass Floats: Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge Paperback (26 page)

Ra and I sneak out to fish at the West River, flanked by a prairie, two miles from Daakpo. Ra carries mosquito netting, and I hug a metal pan. In the dark sky, the stars pulse. A sliver of the moon lights our way. The crickets chirp, the sad song of our lives. We trot on a path that snakes along new people’s huts. The cool ground deadens the sound of our footsteps.

When we arrive at the river, the shadow of the moon reflects in the water. It has been a long time since I was last here. It was when I had to bring cow droppings with the children’s brigade to the rice paddies across from the river. Then, Avy was still alive, and so was
Mak
.

Ra suggests that we fish along the leaning tree branches on the other side of the river. This will shield us from the eyes of the informants, she thinks. I agree, but dread crossing the decrepit makeshift bridge held up by the stark ruin of pylons sticking out of the water. Attached to the top of these pylons, I remember, are a few horizontal slabs. As always, Ra hurries me along, just as she did when we sneaked out to ask
Pok
for food at Zone 3. I crawl on the bridge behind her. Now I’m not worried about the informants, but about falling into the dark sheet of the river.

Our hands and feet become our eyes. After we cross the bridge, we feel our way into the river. The water is cold. We fish along the bank beside the leaning tree branches. Since the water is shallower near the bank, Ra holds one end of the net toward the center of the river and I fish near the bank. The water comes up to my chest.

Slowly we wade in, with both hands stretching the mosquito net open. The pan floats in front of the net, guided by the arching top of it. Our plan is to scoop the net up beneath the branches. The fish are usually there during the day when it’s hot. Under her breath, Ra whispers urgently to me to hand over the pan. After pushing the pan to Ra, I reach out to touch the dark shadow in the center of the net, wondering what we’ve caught.

“Prawns, lots of prawns!” Ra’s excited.

The thought of prawns lifts up my spirit. I can’t wait until we finish fishing. Hungry, Ra and I eat some. I grab a few from the pan and shove them in my mouth. They struggle, their tails flick against my tongue. Some are the size of my little finger. Others are bigger.

We hurry back to the hut. As Ra and I walk through the village, the night is quiet. It seems as if we are the only two waking souls. When we arrive at the hut, we try to be quiet. As we are about to place the pan of prawns and the net on the alcove, Chea whispers sternly, “I’ve been worried to death. What took you so long? I can’t sleep. I kept thinking the
chhlops
had killed you, that my younger sisters died because of me.” Chea talks fast, her voice growing stronger.

“But Chea, there were lots of prawns,” Ra whispers excitedly. “Not knowing when we can fish again, I thought we should fish a lot now. Here, feel the prawns. They almost fill the pan!” Ra pushes the pan toward Chea. “Lots of prawns, hah? Athy and I kept eating while we fished. They’re sweet.”

“Oh my, still alive!” Chea exclaims. Ry echoes her excitement. Their hands are busy shoving the prawns into their mouths.

In this time of hunger and secrecy, we eat in the dark quietly. Map wakes up and joins us. Together we eat the live prawns, reaching for the pan frequently; it’s just like eating steamed peanuts in a movie theater. In my mind, I can see
Mak
’s contented, relieved face as she places the prawns in her mouth. I wish she could be with us.

The luxury of being with my family is short-lived. After two more trips to the river to get prawns,
Angka
reclaims me—it puts me back in a children’s brigade located a village away from Daakpo. I stay in a wooden house, a single open room built on stilts with a ladderlike stair, along with fifty other children. Our job is to clear thickets and shrubs in the woods, preparation for the cultivation of yam and yucca root. Despite how hard it is to be separated from my family again, I try to find something positive in this change. I find a little comfort in knowing that Thore Meta, who was lenient and understanding when I worked as a scarecrow, is my brigade leader.

It has been two weeks since I last saw Chea. Working from dawn to dusk exhausts me, leaving me little energy to think of her. But when I do, I miss her so much. Knowing how ill she was when I left, I’m afraid, so afraid, that I’ll lose her like I lost
Pa, Mak
, Avy, and Vin. Despite the prawns, her fever worsened. Her body temperature continued to rise, and she became more and more delirious. Each day she was slipping away. She needs proper medical care and not simply food. I don’t know how we can save her. I think of
Pa
and his medicine desk, the magic that can cure Chea. I want to take her back in time so
Pa
can heal her.

Tonight something is nagging at me. Lying on the floor, I’m wide awake as a voice inside me urges me to go see Chea. The yearning grows stronger, and I sob. Something inside is eating me up. I wail.

“Which comrade is crying?” Thore Meta’s voice inquires, her footsteps coming up the stairs.

I get up and sit at the corner of the house, looking at Thore Meta’s silhouette.

“Why are you crying, Comrade Thy?” she asks, her voice stern.

“My older sister is very sick. I want to see her. I want to see her before she dies.” I break down.

“Go. Go see your sister, then come back. If anyone asks, tell them I let you go,” Thore Meta says, her silhouette disappearing into the sheet of darkness.

When I near the hut, a fire is burning in the cooking hole. Yet there’s nothing cooking, and the yellow-orange tongues lick the dark space. When I get to the door of the hut, I brace myself.

“Don’t let
bang
sin—” My arrival interrupts Chea’s faint voice.

“Chea, Athy’s here!” Ry announces. Her head turns, and so do Ra’s and Map’s.

Everyone moves over, making room for me to see Chea. A thin, shriveled body lying on the slabs of the floor. Her breathing is shallow. As I move closer to her, her eyes, deep, sunken, shock me.

“Chea, I’m here,” I say softly, wanting her to open her eyes. Suddenly they roll slowly behind the eyelids.

“Athy,” Chea whispers. “If
ban
g has done anything wrong that hurt you, please forgive
bang
,
p’yoon srey
. I’m sorry. Please don’t let
bang
sin.” Chea chokes, her body convulsing.

“No, Chea. You’ve—you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve never done wrong….” I sniff, trying to fight back tears and the pain inside my chest.

“
P’yoon
, all of you, forgive
bang
for the things I’ve done wrong. Please don’t let
bang
sin….” Her eyes close again.

“You have not sinned, Chea,” Ra says, her voice tender.

Ry sniffs, her hand reaching out to Chea. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“When I die, bury me under the tree in front of our hut. I want to look after all of you.
Mak, Pa yurk
[Our mother and father] died, and there is nobody to take care of you. I want to watch over you. Ra, don’t forget,
p’yoon
.”

The next day in the woods, I think of nothing but Chea. Her shriveled body. Her pleas for forgiveness. As I stare into space, my hands clear tall grass and bushes. I’m oblivious to the other children working beside me.

“Comrades, it’s time for lunch,” a man says. It is the drawl of the boys’ brigade leader.

The children in my brigade hurry past me to get their rations. But today getting food is a tedious task for me. As I sit under some shade, my hands balancing a plate of dark leafy soup, I hear the voice of the boys’ brigade leader inquire, “Does that comrade over there ever smile when she gets yam or rice?”

“I’ve never seen her smile,” a woman says. “She always looks sad. Frowns.”

Suddenly Chea’s vivid words force their way into my mind again, overshadowing what is here and now. She said, “Come to see
bang
again, Athy. Tomorrow, don’t forget.”
No, I won’t forget
, I whisper to myself, as if wanting Chea to hear me.

As soon as my brigade returns to the commune house, Thore Meta grants me permission to see Chea as if she already knew I would ask her for it. She says, “Go, then come back.” Her voice is concerned.

I scamper down the stairs. The breeze is warm, humid. The evening becomes twilight so suddenly. When I near the hut, the fire is burning beneath the hut again. This time it’s dimmer. Just as the fire loses its intensity, I find Ra, Ry, and Map lying near Chea. It’s quiet. I don’t hear Chea’s voice as I had last night. I feel I’ve returned too late. And here I am, wanting to hear Chea talk again, to pick up where she left off yesterday.

“Chea, Chea, it’s Athy,” I whisper. “I’ve come to see you, Chea. My brigade leader let me come.”

There’s no answer. Ra and Ry turn to me, then they weep. Their cries are echoed by Map’s. Ry says Chea stopped talking this morning. But she asked me to come back to see her. She must have wanted to tell me something more. She can’t stop talking now. She can’t.

I sob, gasping for air. Suddenly Chea’s hand slowly reaches out to me. I move away, wailing uncontrollably. Her hand drops to the floor. Her throat chokes. Her eyelids quiver, then shut again. This is too much to bear. I leave, running back to the commune.

Through the night I weep. Though the pain is in my heart, my sorrow is shared by the other children in the commune. They cry softly. Their snifflings fill the air.

After work the next day, as I hang my washed pants on the wall of the commune house, my body senses something strange. A sudden emotion surges through my body, then my body is jolted and tears stream out of my eyes.
Chea!
I cry, calling her under my breath.
Chea died. Oh God, please help my sister.

I hear the sounds of footsteps climbing the stair. I wipe my tears, then before me are the children with whom I share the house. Their faces are a mirror of my sorrow. Soon Thore Meta emerges. I walk up to her, then say, “I want to—” I break down before I can say Chea’s name.

“Comrade Thy, your sister came and told me that your older sister has died.”

The morning comes. The dawning sunlight filters through the cracks of the house. I just fell asleep, but already I’m awakened by the voice of Thore Meta—it’s time to work. Before I can think, everyone gets up and hurries down the stairs, disappearing one by one.

After the noon ration Thore Meta tells me to go home. As she talks, I feel the eyes of other children looking at me. Too weak to say anything back to her, I leave.

When I arrive,
Kong
Houng (
Pa
’s father) and a man climb down from the hut, their hands steadying a long wrapped object, Chea. Ra, Ry, and Map are behind them, their red eyes swollen. Once Chea is off the hut,
Kong
Houng and the man secure her with a rope, tying her to a carrying pole.
How sad
, I think, to have Chea disposed of this way. I cry uncontrollably.

As
Kong
Houng and the man dig Chea’s grave near palm trees, I look at her corpse. In my mind I speak silent words for me and Chea. I say:
Chea, if I survive, I will study medicine. I want to help people because I couldn’t help you. If I die in this lifetime, I will learn medicine in my next life.

When night falls, Ra reminds me to go back to the commune house. For a moment I’m not sure what she’s talking about. I look at her, my brow furrowed. Only when she repeats the words “commune house” do I remember Thore Meta, who has given me permission to stay with my family tonight and tomorrow.

Lying on the floor, I recall Chea’s request. I look at Ra and ask, “Why didn’t you bury Chea under the tree?”

“I didn’t want to bury her there! I’m scared,” Ra says annoyingly.

I can’t believe that Ra has denied Chea’s last wish, and I remind her of Chea’s exact words, Chea’s plea for her not to forget. Ry jumps in to rescue Ra, reminding me that Ra is afraid of ghosts. True, she is afraid, and I understand that, but Chea is our sister. She won’t scare us. She wanted to watch over us, I reason, but I only scare Ra even more.

Ra hisses at me, “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to sleep. I haven’t slept since she died.”

I awake so suddenly, yet I feel refreshed. It was dark before I fell asleep, but now it’s bright and I’m amid layers of clouds. Freely, my body ascends through them, soaring to the next layer, where there’s a flat surface like a floor made of clouds.
How strange
, I think, but it looks like the floor of a home, a special home filled with men and women dressed in white clothes. One by one, their arms open to welcome someone. A white carpet magically rolls over the floor. The men and women smile. When I look up to the layer of cloud, a woman descends. It’s Chea! Her back faces me. Those people encircle her, then somehow dwindle behind the clouds. “Chea, wait! Wait for me.”

“Athy, Athy. Wake up! You had a bad dream,” Ry says, and comforts me.

J
ust as I’m released from my brigade, Than returns home, too late to say good-bye to Chea. Though he seems shocked to hear about her death, he doesn’t look sad. Maybe he’s numb like Ry was when Avy died, and he can’t shed any tears, or maybe boys have a different way of grieving.

At fifteen, Than has been sent away a lot, more than I can remember. For a while I even forgot that I had an older brother. When he showed up, I was surprised to see him, but also relieved that he’s alive.

At thirteen, the nascent adult in me realizes that Cambodia is a nation that houses the living dead. Around me there are starving, overworked, and malnourished people. Death is rampant, as if an epidemic has descended on the villages. Yet
Angka
is nonchalant, doing nothing to stop this plague. For the last three years of my life, since the Khmer Rouge’s takeover, I’ve lost half of my family.
Pa
, Vin, Avy,
Mak
, and Chea. Death is like leaves in the autumn, readily falling from a soft touch of the wind. I wonder who in my family will be the next victim.

As the population dwindles and rumors spread that Vietnamese troops are invading Cambodia,
Angka
awakens. In meetings, the Khmer Rouge stress the need for
chamren pracheachun
, the need to increase the population for
Angka
. Young adults need to be married, they emphasize, and stay in the village to fulfill this goal. Those who stay single will be sent to the front line, to the battlefield.

One bright sunny afternoon Ra returns from a mandatory meeting. Standing by the alcove, she waves urgently at Ry, Than, and me as we weed in front of the hut. Her face looks scared and troubled. As I climb up the alcove, I brace for the worst.

Ra says, “I have to get married…. I don’t want to go to a labor camp—I don’t want to die….”

Married?
I’m shocked. All of a sudden everyone seems to retreat into his own silent thoughts. Ry, Than, and I are speechless, our eyes looking at Ra. The color in her face momentarily disappears.

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go,” she mutters. “I don’t want to die. You have to understand me. I almost died many times.”

Ra is agitated. Here, she’s going to marry someone, yet she’s fearful, and our faces are the mirror of her fright. She tells us that she needs to make a quick decision because
Angka
will soon have a wedding sanctioned for those who want to help increase the population.

“If I’m in the village, there’s a better chance for me to survive. I can also help take care of you now that Chea has died.”

“To whom are you going to be married?” Ry asks.

“A local man,” Ra says dismally, her eyes expressing her dire need of our approval.

“It’s up to you,” Than says indecisively. Ry murmurs a soft yes. I keep my thoughts to myself.

I remember Ra’s last brush with death, and I can understand why she would never want to be sent to a labor camp again. It happened when I was working as a scarecrow while Ra remained in the camp near Zone 3. Ra and her coworkers, out of hunger, had ventured into another zone. They got caught and were accused of being spies for the Vietnamese. They were taken to a crowded, filthy prison where they were interrogated and tortured. But they were lucky. Their brigade leader reported them missing and got them freed.

Two days later, Ra is to be wed. She asks me to come with her to the wedding ceremony, which will take place in Poi-kdurg village. I worry, and am nervous for her. I hope the man she will marry is not mean or abusive.

The sun is bright. We cover our heads with our tattered scarves, dressed in grayish-black uniforms with cotton pants shrunk far above our ankles.

As we scurry barefoot on dusty paths, no words are exchanged between Ra and me. I hope we’re not late, for we don’t have a watch. We stop at an old barn. By the entrance are two cadres, their necks decked out with red-and-white checked scarves. Hanging from their shoulders are rifles. They stand still, solemn.

Ra and I briefly look toward them as men and women in dark uniforms enter the barn. Finally Ra gets up the courage to ask a woman who is about to enter the barn. The woman tells us that this barn is the site for a wedding.

It’s dark inside the barn. I grab Ra’s shirt, walking behind her like a blind child. On my right I see dark shadows, patches of heads in rows. I’m overwhelmed by the sight of so many people, perhaps a hundred, sitting quietly.
They are all getting married?

“Listen for your name,” a stern male voice says firmly.

They start calling off names. All I see across the barn are shadows rising, then dwindling behind the sheet of blackness. My eyes return to the comfort of the sunlight filtering through the tiny cracks in the walls as if I need it to stay alive.

“Athy, let’s go,” Ra calls softly, her hand tapping my shoulder.

I rise, wading behind Ra. Nervous all of a sudden.

At the center of the barn, Ra stands, and I am beside her. Across from us are perhaps six men’s silhouettes.
Cadres?
My mind is jolted at the sight of them.
Why are so many of them here?

Their hands clutch their rifles, one hand at the bottom of the butt and the other on the barrel. They position themselves in the shape of a pyramid. Suddenly a silhouetted body, a man, emerges from my left. He stands beside me. Now I’m between him and Ra.

“Athy, move back. Stand behind me,” Ra whispers.

“Comrade Ra and Comrade Na,” a male voice erupts.

Before I can hear all that is said, the two cadres in the front turn, face each other, and raise their rifles up.

“The rifles will be the judge when comrades betray each other or break
Angka
’s rules.”

My mind freezes shut. The next thing I know, Ra and I arrive at her “husband’s” house—a wooden house on stilts with a stair and railings. In the front yard, vines of squash spread over trellises. Large green leaves crowd together, mixing with bright yellow flowers. Near the trellises are rows of yams and hot chili plants. Everything looks like it’s well kept. These people’s way of life is intact, unlike ours.

In the house, the wooden floor is the color of oak. Smooth. Clean, as if there are no grains of dust on it. The slabs are tightly sandwiched together, well built. It’s almost as pretty as
Kong
Houng’s house, though much smaller. I study the wooden walls. This room is more spacious than our hut, two times larger.

A woman’s voice erupts from the nearby room. “If you want to take, go ahead, take all.” The voice sounds hoarse. Old. Irritating.

Footsteps vibrate on the floor. Suddenly Ra’s husband, Na, appears holding three pillows in his arms. Na is about Ra’s height. Compared to some men in the village, he looks fit with a slightly jutting chin. He looks healthy and strong. He’s different from what I had imagined—not ugly or scrawny. He’s quiet and seemingly gentle. Now I’m more at ease, not as worried for Ra as I was before.

“Here,” he says. His voice is soft, his eyes look at Ra. Ra looks at the pillows, then takes them from him.

Pillows with cases?
My eyes widen. I haven’t seen pillows since we left Year Piar.

Ra places a pillow by the front door. Then another one near it. The third pillow she drops far away from the one in the middle. It’s near the room where the old woman’s voice came from.

“That’s your pillow.” Ra points to the middle one. She lies down sideways, facing away from us, on the pillow by the front door.

I stand there, puzzled, and glance at him. He says nothing. I lie down beside Ra, facing her back.

Ra has me spend several nights sleeping beside her. Most of the time she ignores Na. When he talks to her, she scolds him, angry. He’s confused, frustrated.

Ra is mostly at our hut with Than, Ry, Map, and me. Sometimes she brings us food from Na’s house. Rice and yams. Though it’s not much, I’m glad she does this. It is as if she’s trying to take a motherly role now that Chea’s gone. But I fear that she will put herself in jeopardy because she has an obligation to
Angka
to be with Na. When she’s with us and stays overnight, I’m reminded of the man’s stern voice in that dark barn.

“The rifles will be the judge when comrades betray each other or break
Angka
’s rules.”

When Ra and I return to Na’s house, as we climb the stairs we hear the bellow of a drawling voice. “What kind of a wife are you, never staying home with her husband? Coming and going as you please.”

Ra and I turn, and there by the trellises is Na’s mother, a short, gray-haired woman, glaring. Ra looks hurt. Resuming the climb, she sighs as if shrugging off the blame. Looking at her back as we climb the stairs, I ponder how changed Ra has become. Angry. Resentful. Even though she is this way, Na has never raised his voice to her. His face shows only frustration, not anger.

Having seen Ra’s aversion to Na, I don’t think
Angka
will succeed in its goal of increasing the population. A marriage sanctioned in such an evil way will never bear fruit. Even though I’m young, I can’t imagine that babies will be produced by these men and women who are made up of bones and sheets of skin, whose physical appearance reminds one of the living dead. Months ago,
Angka
could have spared a baby and its parents. Instead,
Angka
destroyed them.

It was nearly noon, perhaps in November 1975, when my brothers, sisters,
Mak
, and I, among hundreds of other people, arrived at a place near Peth Preahneth Preah. It was a large, open ground studded with tall trees shielding us from the blazing heat of the day. Men, women, and children were gathered to witness a judgment on two people. Their crime,
Angka
said, was loving each other without
Angka
’s permission. Thus they were our enemies. “When
Angka
catches enemies,” a leader had announced in the previous mandatory meeting, “
Angka
doesn’t keep them,
Angka
destroys them.”

One by one, the children, are picked from the crowd and told to stand near the two poles so they can see what
Angka
will do. It sounds as if we are about to see a play, an entertainment.

To the right of the poles are three wooden tables aligned from edge to edge to form one long table. Behind them, sitting on chairs, are Khmer Rouge dressed in black uniforms, perhaps in their forties and fifties, whom I have never seen before. Their necks, as usual, are decked out with red-and-white-and white-and-blue-checked scarves, draped over their shirts. They are well guarded by cadres standing with rifles behind and beside them. The cadres’ faces are grave. They stand still, straight like the poles. A few Khmer Rouge at the table whisper among themselves. At that moment I see a stash of spades, hoes, and shovels leaning against a pole planted firmly in the ground.

A one-horse buggy pulls up. Two cadres stride toward it. A blindfolded man, hands tied behind his back, is guided off it. Behind him emerges a blindfolded woman who is helped out of the buggy by another cadre. Her hands, too, are tied behind her back. Her stomach bulges out. Immediately she is tied to the pole near the buggy. Her arms first, then her ankles, with a rope about half the size of my wrist.

A woman in the crowd whispers, alarmed, “God, she’s pregnant.”

The blindfolded man’s arms are also bound to the pole. He’s calm, standing straight as his ankles are fastened to the bottom of the pole. Dressed in slacklike pants and a flannel shirt with long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, this man appears intelligent. He’s tall. His body build suggests he’s one of the “city people.” Like him, the pregnant woman looks smart, educated from the way she carries herself. She looks composed. Her collarless blouse with short sleeves reveals her smooth arms. Her once-refined face suggests a once-sheltered life.

Each of the Khmer Rouge rises from the table to speak. Their voices are fierce, full of hatred and anger as they denounce the couple. “These comrades have betrayed
Angka
. They’ve set a bad example. Therefore they need to be eradicated.
Angka
must wipe out this kind of people.”

Abruptly another Khmer Rouge at the table gets up, pulls the chair out of his way, strides to the front of the table, picks up a hoe, and tests its weight. Then he puts it back, lifts up a long, silver-colored spade, and tests its weight. He walks up to the blindfolded man.

“Bend your head now!” he commands, then raises the spade in the air.

The man obeys, lowering his head. The Khmer Rouge strikes the nape of his neck again and again. His body slumps, his knees sag. A muffled sound comes out of his mouth. His lover turns her head. The executioner strikes the man’s nape again. His body droops. The executioner scurries over to the pregnant woman. “Bend your head NOW!”

Her head bends. The spade strikes her nape. Her body becomes limp. No sound comes out of her mouth. Only two blows and she’s dead. The executioner walks away, his hand wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Suddenly a long choking sound is heard. The woman’s stomach moves, struggling. Everyone turns. Someone whispers that the baby is dying.

Oh
…a cry from the crowd. The executioner runs back and strikes the body repeatedly until the struggle in it stops, still like the pole.

This was a brutal lesson. By now I know the Khmer Rouge’s dark side. I fear for Ra for avoiding Na, a defiant act against
Angka
. I am afraid her silent rebellion will carry a heavy price.