First They Killed My Father (5 page)

“Chou, I wonder what happened to our cats.”

“Don’t worry about them.”

We had five cats in Phnom Penh. Even though we say they were our cats, we had no real claim to them. We didn’t even have names for them. They came to our house when they were hungry and left when they were bored.

“Well, somebody is probably having them for dinner by now,” Kim teases us when we ask him. We all laugh and scold him for saying such a thing. Cambodians do not generally eat cats and dogs. There are specialty stores where they sell dog meat but at a very expensive price. It is a delicacy. The elders say that eating dog meat increases body heat, thus increasing energy, but you shouldn’t eat too much of it or your body will burn up and combust.

That night, Ma tucks me in on the back of the truck. While Chou, Geak and I sleep with her on the truck, the older kids sleep on the ground with Pa. It is a warm and breezy night, the kind that requires no blankets. I love sleeping outside with the stars. My imagination is captured by the bright shining light, but I don’t understand the vastness of the sky. Every time I try to wrap my mind around the concept of the universe, my mind spins as if caught in a whirlpool of information I will never be able to understand.

“Chou, the sky is so big!”

“Shhh. I am trying to sleep.”

“Look at the stars. They are so beautiful and they are winking at us. I wish I was up there with them and the angels.”

“That’s nice, now go to sleep.”

“You know the stars are candles in the sky. Every evening, the angels come out and light them for us, so if we lose our way, we can still see.”

Pa has told me in the past that I am blessed with a gifted imagination and he likes the stories I tell.

When I awaken in the morning, my siblings are already up. They were awakened by gunshots fired into the distant sky by the Khmer Rouge, but I was so tired I slept through it. My siblings all have gray pouches under their eyes; their hair is knotted and sticking out in many directions. Slowly, I sit up and stretch out my sore shoulders and back. Sleeping in the truck is not as much fun as I thought it would be. Before long, a group of Khmer Rouge soldiers come by and yell at us to keep moving.

After a small breakfast of rice and salted eggs, we get back in our truck and take off again. We drive for many hours and everywhere we go we see people walking in all directions. The sun is high and hot on our backs. It burns through my black hair as little beads of water collect around my hairline and on the curve of my upper lip. After a while, we all get on each other’s nerves and start to fight.

“It’s not much farther, kids. We’re almost there,” Pa tells us when we stop to have our lunch. “Soon we will be where it is safe.”

As Ma and Keav prepare our meal, Pa and Meng disappear to gather firewood. When they return, Pa tells Khouy that it is a good thing that we got out of the city as quickly as we did. He says the people he just talked to told him that the soldiers made everyone leave the city. They emptied schools, restaurants, and hospitals. The soldiers even forced the sick to leave. They were not allowed to go home first to their families so many people are separated.

“Many old and sick people did not make it today,” Khouy offers grimly. “I saw them on the side of the streets still in their bloody hospital robes. Some were walking and others were pushed in carts or hospital beds by their relatives.”

Now I understand why Keav kept wrapping the scarf around my head, telling me to keep my head down, to not peer above the truck’s sides.

“The soldiers walked around the neighborhood, knocking on all the doors, telling people to leave. Those who refused were shot dead right on their doorsteps.” Pa shakes his head.

“Why are they doing this, Pa?” Kim asks.

“Because they are destroyers of things.”

Chou and Kim look at each other and I sit there feeling lost and afraid.

“I don’t understand. What does all this mean?” I ask them. They look at me but say nothing. Yesterday I was playing hopscotch with my friends. Today we are running from soldiers with guns.

After a quick lunch of rice with salted fish, we climb in the truck and move again. I watch as a stream of people seems to follow our trail. Fighting drowsiness caused by the smothering heat, my thoughts race from one subject to another. I question why we had to leave, where we are going, and when will we return home. I do not understand what is happening and long to go back home. The sudden sputtering and choking of our truck halt my daydreaming. It kicks and whines, and finally stops. I climb off hoping it will move again.

“The truck’s out of petrol and there’s no petrol station around here,” Pa says. “Looks like we have to walk the rest of the way. Everybody grab only some clothes and all the food you can carry. We have a long way to go yet.” Pa then orders us what to take and what to leave behind.

“You!” someone yells. We all stop what we are doing and stand paralyzed.

“You!” A Khmer Rouge soldier comes over to us. “Give me your watches.”

“Certainly.” With shoulders bent to show submission, Pa takes the watches off of Meng and Khouy’s wrists. Pa does not look the soldier in the eyes as he hands the watches over.

“All right, now move,” the soldier orders and then walks away. When he is out of earshot, Pa whispers that from now on we are to give the soldiers anything they want or they will shoot us.

We walk from the break of day until the dark of the evening. When night comes, we rest by the roadside near a temple. We unpack the dried fish and rice and eat in silence. Gone is the air of mystery and excitement; now I am simply afraid.

The first sight I see when I open up my eyes the next morning is the glum upside-down face of Chou against the background of cloudy skies as she tugs at my hair. “Wake up. We have to move again,” she tells me.

Slowly I sit up and rub the seeds out of my sleepy eyes. All around me, a sea of people wake: babies cry, old people groan, pots and pans clang against the sides of wagons whose wheels grind the dirt beneath them. There are many more people than the numbers I know to count them with. My eyes follow Khouy and Meng as they walk into the temple with big silver pots to fetch water. Keav says there is always a well near a temple. Moments later, Khouy and Meng return visibly shaken with their empty pots.

“We went into the temple but found no monks there, only a Khmer Rouge soldier,” they tell Pa. “They yelled for us to stay away from the temple well. We stopped and came back but other people went in anyway—” Khouy’s words are interrupted by the sound of gunshots coming from inside the temple. Hurriedly, we pack our belongings and leave the area. Later on we hear the Khmer Rouge soldiers had killed two people inside the temple and wounded many more.

Today, our third day on the road, I walk with a little more bounce in my step. In Phnom Penh, the soldiers had said we could return home after three days. The soldiers told us we had to leave because the United States was going to bomb our city. But I have not seen any planes in the sky and have heard no bombs dropped. It is strange to me that they made us leave just so we can turn back and go home after three days. I smile at the silly picture of us marching like black ants coming to a stop at the end of the day only to head back home. I do not understand, but I guess three days is how long it takes for them to clean the city.

“Pa, will we go home soon? The soldiers said we can return home after three days.” I tug at Pa’s pants. It is afternoon and we are not even slowing down yet.

“Maybe, but meanwhile, we have to walk.”

“But Pa, this is the third day. Are we going to turn around and walk back home now?”

“No, we have to keep walking,” Pa says sadly. Reluctantly, I do what Pa tells me. Everybody has to carry something, so I pick the smallest item in the pile, the rice pot. As I walk, the pot becomes heavier and heavier in my hands as the sun climbs higher and higher in the sky. The metal handle digs and burns the palms of my hands. Sometimes I carry it with two hands in front of me, other times I switch the pot from my right to my left arm, but it seems no matter how I carry it the pot painfully bangs into some part of my leg. It is evening now and I am losing hope that we can go home tonight. Tired and hungry, I drag my feet, taking smaller and smaller steps until I am far behind everyone else.

“Pa, I’m very hungry and my feet hurt,” I yell to him.

“You can’t eat now. We have very little food left and we need to ration it because we have a long way to go.”

“I don’t know why we have to save it!” I stand still in the road, letting go of the rice pot to wipe dirt and tears from my cheeks. “Our three days will soon be over. We can return home. Let’s just go home. I want to go home.” The words somehow come out between halting sobs. My forty-pound body refuses to walk any more. The red dust from the road and the sweat on my body has mixed to create a layer of mud on my skin making it dry and itchy. Pa walks over to Keav and takes a ball of sticky rice out of the pot she is carrying. He comes over to me and hands me the food. My
eyes look down at the ground in shame, but I take the food from him anyway. Silently, he strokes my hair while I eat my rice between choking sobs. Bending down, Pa looks me in my eyes and says softly, “They lie, the soldiers lie. We cannot go home tonight.” His words make me sob harder.

“But they said three days.”

“I know. I’m sorry you believed them, but they lied.”

“I don’t understand why they lied,” my voice quivers as I say it.

“I don’t know either, but they lied to us.” My hopes crushed, I wipe my forearm across my nose, dragging snot all over my cheek. Pa gently cleans my face with his hand, then takes the rice pot from me and says I only have to carry myself for the rest of the trip.

With Geak on her hip, Ma walks over to me and wraps my scarf around my head to protect me from the sun. I wish that I were a little baby like Geak. She doesn’t have to walk at all. Ma carries her in her arms all the way. I am miserable, but at least I have shoes. Some of the people walk barefoot in the scorching heat, carrying their life’s belongings on their backs or heads. I feel sorry for them knowing they are worse off than I am. And no matter how far we go, there are always more people along the way. When night falls, once again we make the road our home and sleep, along with the hundreds of thousands of other families fleeing Phnom Penh.

Our fourth day on the road starts the same as the all the other days. “Are we there yet?” I keep asking Kim. When I receive no attention, I proceed to sniff and cry.

“Nobody cares about me!” I moan and keep walking anyway.

By noontime we have reached the Khmer Rouge’s military checkpoint in the town of Kom Baul. The checkpoint consists of no more than a few small makeshift tents with trucks parked beside them. There are many soldiers at this base, and it is easy to recognize them because they wear identical loose-fitting black pajama pants and shirts. All carry identical guns slung across their backs. They move quickly from place to place with fingers on the triggers of their weapons, pacing back and forth in front of the crowd, yelling instructions into a bullhorn.

“This is Kom Baul base! You are not allowed to pass until we have cleared you! Stand with your family in a line! Our comrade soldiers will come and ask a few simple questions! You are to answer them truthfully
and not lie to the Angkar! If you lie to the Angkar, we will find out! The Angkar is all-knowing and has eyes and ears everywhere.” This is the first time I hear the word “Angkar,” which means “the organization.” Pa says the Angkar is the new government of Cambodia. He tells us that in the past, Prince Sihanouk ruled Cambodia as a monarch. Then in 1970, unhappy with the Prince’s government, General Lon Nol, deposed him in a military coup. The Lon Nol democratic government has been fighting a civil war with the Communist Khmer Rouge ever since. Now the Khmer Rouge has won the war and its government is called “the Angkar.”

“To your right, you see a table where your comrade brothers sit waiting to help you. Anyone who has worked for the deposed government, ex-soldiers or politicians, step up to the table to register for work. The Angkar needs you right away.” Anxiety spreads through my body at the sight of the Khmer Rouge soldiers. I feel like I have to vomit.

Pa quickly gathers our family and stands us in line with other peasant families. “Remember, we are a family of peasants. Give them whatever they want and don’t argue. Don’t say anything, let me do all the talking, don’t go anywhere, and don’t make any moves unless I tell you to do so,” Pa instructs us firmly.

Standing in line wedged among many people, my nostrils are assaulted by the stale smell of bodies that have not been washed for many days. To filter the smell, I pull the scarf tightly over my nose and mouth. In front of us, the line splits in two as a large group of ex-soldiers, government workers, and former politicians walk over to the table to register for work. My heart pounds quickly against my chest, but I say nothing and lean against Pa’s legs. He reaches down and puts his hand on top of my head. It stays there as if protecting me from the sun and the soldiers. After a few minutes, my head feels cooler and my heartbeat slows.

Ahead of us in the line, Khmer Rouge soldiers yell something to the crowd, but I cannot hear what they say. Then one Khmer Rouge soldier roughly jerks a bag off of one man’s shoulder and dumps its contents on the ground. From this pile, a Khmer Rouge soldier picks up an old Lon Nol army uniform. The Khmer Rouge soldier sneers at the man and pushes him to another Khmer Rouge soldier standing beside him. The soldier then moves on to the next family. Eyes downcast, shoulders
slumped, arms hanging loosely on both sides of him, the man with the Lon Nol uniform in his bag does not fight as another Khmer Rouge soldier points and pushes him away with the butt of his rifle.

After many hours, it is finally our time to be questioned. I can tell we’ve been standing here a long time because the sun now warms my lower back instead of the top of my head. As a Khmer Rouge soldier approaches us, my stomach twists into tight knots. I lean closer to Pa and reach up for his hand. Pa’s hand is much too big for mine, so I am only able to wrap my fingers around his index finger.