First They Killed My Father (19 page)

Wat Ta Prom, the temple where my father told me the gods live. Photo © Sally Strickland.

Chou, me, and Meng’s two daughters, Victoria and Maria. This photo was taken in 1995 when I visited Cambodia with Meng and his family. It’s the end of the trip and Chou is seeing us off.

Me and a little girl selling goods on the street at Angkor Wat. Photo © 1999 Michael Appel.

Weeks pass after we hear the rumors about Pa and still he has not returned. I know Ma misses him and believes he is alive somewhere. Eventually, she stops waiting for him and tries once more to resume her life. Time passes slowly without Pa in our lives. Even with our own ration of food, our survival depends on our older brothers bringing more food to us each week. When Khouy gets sick, coughing up blood, we are forced to fend for ourselves. Khouy is a strong young man, but he pushes himself too hard at work. His work consists of constantly loading and unloading one hundred kilograms of rice onto trucks to be sent to China. Meng also cannot come because the soldiers are keeping him busy with work. We are all very worried for them both.

Life is hard without Pa. People in the village look down on Ma because she is not good at field work. It is too dangerous to have friends so she does not talk to anyone. The villagers also look down on her white skin and often make rude comments about lazy white people.” To my surprise, Ma becomes a hard worker and is surviving without Pa. On the days when Ma is assigned to work with fifteen other village women fishing for shrimp in nearby ponds, I go with her, leaving Chou behind with Geak. My job in the group includes fetching water for the shrimp catchers, helping untangle their nets, and separating the shrimp from weeds. Though hungry, we are not allowed to eat the shrimp we catch because it belongs to the village and must be
shared with all. If anyone is caught stealing, the chief can publicly humiliate her, take away her possessions, and beat her. The punishments for such acts are grave, but our hunger does not allow this to stop us from sometimes stealing.

“Loung,” Ma calls me. “I need some water, come here.” She stands up and wipes her brows with her sleeve, leaving a trail of mud on her face. Scooping a coconut shell of water out of the bucket, I run over and hand it to her. “Here,” she whispers, “give me your hand fast while no one is looking.” Ma turns around and takes another careful look at the others to make certain we are not being watched. She quickly gives me a handful of baby shrimp as she takes the water cup from me. “Quick, eat them while no one is looking.” Without hesitation, I shove the raw crawling baby shrimp into my mouth, shells and all. They taste of mud and rotten weeds. “Chew quickly and swallow,” Ma tells me. “Now, you look out for me while I eat some. If anyone is looking, call me.” I see Ma in a very different light now and have more pride in her strength. Somehow, one way or another, we find ways to stay alive.

It is two years since the Khmer Rouge rolled into Phnom Penh with their trucks; four months since the soldiers took Pa away and Kim became head of our household. It has been almost a year since we last heard from Meng and Khouy. New Year’s has come and gone, making us all a year older. Geak is now five, I am seven, Chou is ten, and Kim is twelve. Now head of the household, Kim takes seriously Pa’s words for him to look after us. At dawn each morning, he wakes before us and runs to the town square for our work assignment. At the hut Ma gets us girls up and spends a few minutes with each of us. Before she is done combing Geak’s hair and washing her face, Kim is back with the day’s instructions. As I slowly rise from my slumber, he is already telling Ma where to go. After Ma’s left for the fields, we all walk to the community garden together with Geak clinging to Kim’s back. Though Kim’s face looks like a monkey more than ever, Ma has not called him by this nickname since they took Pa away. Now he is only Kim to us.

A few miles down the road from our village there is a cornfield. We have had a good rainy season this year and the corn is ripe for picking. However much we fear the punishment for stealing, our desperation is too strong to stop us. “Why not, Ma?” Kim argues. “We work morning,
noon, and night planting these crops and now that they are ripe we’re told we can’t eat them. We are all starving.”

“It is just too dangerous, Kim. You know what the soldiers will do to you if you get caught.”

“Ma, we are starving to death. Many people are dying in the village. Yet the government trades our crops to buy guns to kill more people.”

“Shh … don’t talk so loud. It is a crime to speak against the Angkar. If the soldiers hear you they will take you away and kill you.”

“Ma, I am going to go and get us some corn tonight.” With a determined look, Kim has made his decision.

“Be careful,” Ma says to him and turns away.

Chou and I do not try to stop him from going either, even though we know it is dangerous. Pol Pot has many soldiers with guns and rifles guarding the cornfields every night. The soldiers have the right to punish thieves any way they see fit, killing them if they choose. Their power is so omnipotent that no one dares question their actions. However fearful I am, my hunger makes me want to go myself, but I do not have the strength or courage to actually do it. I hear tales that the soldiers rape the girls they catch stealing, no matter how young they are.

When the sky grows dark, Kim picks up two bags, straightens his twelve-year-old body, and leaves. Part of me is glad Kim is doing this and my mouth salivates at the thought of the food he will bring back. I can almost taste it already! I cannot wait until he gets back. My stomach moans for sweet, juicy corn. Yet I also fear for Kim’s safety; we have already lost Pa and Keav. I do not want to bury another member of our family.

It is getting late and Kim is not back yet. What could take him so long? I look at Ma, who is holding onto Geak for comfort. Chou sits by herself in the corner of the room, staring out into her own world.

“Gods, this cannot happen to me again! If you let my brother die, I will never forgive you. You can just go to hell—for I know there are no gods in the world now,” I scream to the spirits in my mind. As if answering my call, Kim suddenly climbs into our hut. He is smiling and carrying two bags of fresh corn. I rush up to him and help him carry them into the house. Seeing Kim, Ma smiles and puts Geak down so that she can greet him.

“What happened? You took so long, we were worried to death,” Ma says as she ushers him in with her arm around his shoulders.

“Ma, it is so easy! I never knew stealing could be so easy! There is so much corn and no one can guard all the fields at once. I must have eaten at least five ears raw!” As Kim begins to tell Ma what he did, I edge myself closer and closer to the bags of corn. My nose inhales the aroma and my eyes fixate on the yellow ears. I cannot wait to sink my teeth into it.

“Can I go with him next time, Ma?” I am getting greedier and greedier with the thought that two of us can bring home more corn than Kim can by himself.

“No, you are not to go with him, and that is final!” With those words, Ma goes outside to cook our corn on a fire we started earlier in the evening. She digs a hole for the corn under the fire and spreads the fire over the makeshift stove. With Pa and many of the fathers in the village gone, the soldiers patrol our huts less and less, so it is relatively safe. For the next couple of weeks, Kim continues to steal corn for us whenever we run out. Each time he leaves, we wait with fear and guilt for his return. Each night, it seems to take him longer and longer.

Kim slings two empty bags over his shoulders and climbs down the steps of the hut. His knees buckle when he reaches the ground. Quickly, he straightens himself before anyone notices. He knows Ma and the girls are depending on him so he has to be very strong for them. There is no need to make them any more frightened than they already are by letting us know how scared he really is. He tries to show them he is fearless, but each time he goes out on this mission, he is always afraid of losing his nerve. He wants to run back to the hut and never carry out this dangerous task again. But he has to, he has to take care of his family. He looks up at the sky and sees no stars. The clouds are moving furiously fast, blocking any moonbeams from touching the earth.

“Okay,” he says under his breath, “it’s time to be brave.” With that, he forces his feet to carry him away into the darkness. He knows Ma and the girls’ eyes are still upon him, baring down on his back, but he must not turn to look at them lest his courage fail him.

He jogs in quick, little steps. He knows that not to be seen he has to dart and hide from one bush to another. “Like the foxes hiding from
humans during a hunt.” The thought almost makes him smile. The sky is very dark now, and the moisture in the air is turning into a thick fog. It is good luck for him. Pa must be watching over him. The thought of Pa almost brings his adrenaline down. All the kids think they are Pa’s favorite, but he knows he is. After all, Pa always told the story about his birth and the dragon to everyone.

Thinking of Pa takes his breath away. There is such pain in his heart and the burden is too heavy to handle. He cannot run away from it. His pining for our father is unbearable, but he is the man of the house now and cannot speak openly of his suffering. Something wet and salty drips into his mouth, focusing him again on his mission. He realizes it is his own tears and he lifts up his shirt to quickly wipe his eyes. He misses Pa so much, but he cannot allow himself to think of this now. He has to take care of the family.

He is twelve years old and only stands as tall as Ma’s shoulders, but he knows he is strong. He has to be; he has no choice. Geak’s face floats into his mind and he fears for her. He sees her hollow eyes and her protruding stomach as she loses more and more strength each day. He hears her cries when she begs Ma to give her food. He sees Ma tell Geak time and time again that there is no food. He doesn’t know how long she will live if he doesn’t do this. This little bit of food he’s able to bring to her prolongs her life just a little more, keeping her with us just a little longer. The images fuel his anger, pushing him nearer and nearer to the cornfields.

The clouds grow darker and bigger in the sky and seconds later he feels droplets of rain on his arms. Suddenly it seems as though the whole sky has opened up and pours down the tears of every Cambodian, drenching him to the skin. In some ways the rain is a blessing, as it lightens the humidity in the air. He remembers how he used to read that in some countries, the rain is cold and makes you sick, forcing people to stay indoors. Not so in Cambodia. Here the rain is warm, and in Phnom Penh, it meant it was time to go outside and play. The rain was, and still remains, our friend, even under the Khmer Rouge.

Then he sees the field ahead of him. It is thick with stalks of corn, each with three or four ears, standing twice the size of the small boy. His eyes scan the area all around him. His heart beats faster, this time
out of anger. Why are the killers starving us when all this is available? His adrenaline is pumping now, and with forced courage, he runs from his hiding place into the cornfield. Raindrops splatter on the leaves of the stalks all around him, splashing into his eyes, but he does not care. He picks the first ear off the stalk, hurriedly shucks it, and buries his teeth into it. Hmmm, the sweet, nourishing juices flow out of the corner of his mouth onto his shirt. After he fills his stomach, his fingers work busily to fill the bags.

He is so busy that he does not hear the footsteps running in his direction. His heart stops when two hands grab him from behind and throw him to the ground. The rain has made the ground all muddy and he slips as he tries to get back on his feet. Through his wet eyelashes, he sees two Khmer Rouge soldiers, their rifles slung across their backs. One soldier grabs him by the arm and pulls him off the ground, but his knees buckle. His head spins. He is shivering with cold and an ever increasing terror. A hand slaps him hard on the face, making his ears ring. The pain is sharp and cutting, but he bites his jaws together to stop its hurt. “Please, Pa,” the voice in his mind screams, “please help me. Don’t let them kill me.”