Lucky Child (25 page)

“Stop!” Chou screams suddenly from the kitchen, startling the family. “Stop wasting my water!” Chou runs up to Kim, who stands dumbly next to a muddy old bicycle. “Stop wasting my water!” Chou grabs the water container from his hand and tosses it back into the jug.

“Are you crazy? What are you doing?” Kim flinches from Chou’s raised fists.

“Don’t use my water to wash your bicycle! Take it down to the pond! I’m going to school today and I don’t have time to collect more water!” Chou glares at him, her eyes bulging.

“Fine, fine!” Kim is red-faced with embarrassment and quickly wheels his bike away. As her blood pressure returns to normal, Chou grabs a washcloth and runs to Kim.

Like many other Cambodians, Chou’s education was halted the four years under the Khmer Rouge regime. After the Khmer Rouge, there were very few teachers available to teach because Pol Pot had killed so many of them. The teachers who survived opted to teach in the big cities like Phnom Penh and Siem Reap. Here in the village, there is only one school in Chou’s province to serve all the children from the surrounding villages. And in families like hers where there are many children, it is usually the boys who are allowed to attend school while the girls stay behind to work and look after the other children.

“Kim, take this to wash your bike.” Chou hands him the rag as a way to apologize.

“Learn well in school,” Kim replies with a smile as he takes it from her.

As he walks away, Chou remembers the many times Kim has been there for her. When they have free time, Kim and the male cousins frequently roam watering holes and fields to pick morning glory, green tamarinds, mangos, and other plants and fruits to sell for extra money. But before they can take it to the market, the boys hide their goods under the plank. Sometimes, when they’re not looking, Chou will steal from the stash and sell it back to the boys for cheap. Chou smirks while doing this, thinking she is very clever and mischievous. When the boys place the
money in her hands, her fingers quickly clamp over the bills like iron claws before they can take it back. As she runs away, her smile widens because she knows that Kim knows she stole from them and that he will never say anything about it.

In addition to keeping Chou’s secret, Kim also helps her learn to read and write. At night, after the boys finish with their chores, Kim and the cousins are usually allowed to burn one candle in order to study and do their homework. As the candle flickers on and off their faces, Chou rocks the baby in a hammock next to them and joins in when the boys sing the Khmer alphabet songs. As the boys learn to put the vowels and consonants together to form words, Chou repeats after them. Sometimes Kim becomes so focused on his work that he doesn’t realize Chou’s been standing behind him for several minutes, peering over his shoulder. When he’s not too busy, Kim will take the time to teach her what he’s learned. Other times, he waves Chou away in annoyance, the way he would a fly. But today, Chou will go to school to learn her own lessons.

“Aunt Keang, I’m going to school now!” Chou hollers and picks Nam up.

“Go ahead,” Aunt Keang replies from inside. Hurriedly, Chou grabs a few kramas, a ball of rice wrapped in a banana leaf, and her blue cloth bag, then rushes off before her shadow becomes too long.

On the short walk, Chou switches Nam from one hip to another. Her free hand clutches at the faded bag containing the few sheets of paper Kim spent his hard-earned money to buy. Nestled in between the clean pages are the boys’ used and discarded exams. To study, Chou would often take these used exams and copy the questions on a clean sheet of paper so she’d be able to take the same tests. When she’d get an answer wrong, she’d reprimand herself like a real teacher and study even harder. And when her marks had been good, she’d proudly show them to Kim and he’d shower her with more old papers and lessons.

Walking with a brisk stride, Chou stays on the path and avoids the roadside crowded with thick, reddish green, leafy shrubs covered in fine orange dust. Above them, green tamarind trees hanging heavy with fruit provide shade from the hot sun. In the distance, the wind blows lightly and swirls dust into the air. Chou imagines Pa smiling proudly at her from afar while Ma applauds her bravery.

“Ma, Pa,” she calls out softly to them, “I am a good girl. I know how to work hard. Kim is a very good student. Second Brother is happy with his new family. And Eldest Brother and Loung are safe and well. You don’t have to worry about us anymore.”

As she speaks, she sees Ma and Pa’s faces darken and wrinkle with worry every time they look at her. Wherever their spirits are, she wants desperately to ease their concerns. “Ma, Pa, I miss you every day very much. But you don’t have to worry about me.” She crinkles her nose, wipes her forearm against her eyes, and continues on.

When she finally arrives at the school, Chou walks to the back corner of the wall-less thatch-roofed building and takes a seat on one of the wooden benches. Chou places her bag on the rough wooden table, then quietly unwraps Nam and lets him loose on the dirt floor.

Around her, students of ages ranging from sixteen to eighteen sit quietly. Chou looks around the room and sees that she’s the only one who has brought a baby with her to class. As the others take out their pencils and paper, Chou can hardly contain her excitement because, at seventeen, this is the first formal school she’s attended since the Khmer Rouge takeover. When the teacher enters the room, Chou is surprised to see a handsome man in his twenties. Though he is not much older than she, his clean white shirt, blue slacks, and teacher status give him the authority of one who is much older. She sits primly in her seat but feels like she’s a caged alligator who’s just been released in the water.

“I see we have a new student today,” the teacher announces. “Miss, tell the class your name.”

“My name is Chou Ung,” Chou stands up.

“Have you been to school before?”

“Yes,
lork kru.”
Chou calls him
lork kru,
which means “lord teacher” in Khmer, and neglects to tell him it’s been ten years since she last went to school.

“Do you know basic reading and writing?”
lork kru
asks.

“Yes,
lork kru,”
Chou replies, and hopes he doesn’t ask her to write something on the blackboard as a test.

“Good.”
Lork kru
accepts her answer. Then he stares directly at Nam next to her and asks, “Is he yours?”

“No,
lork kru.
My apologies,
lork kru.
He is my nephew. My aunt is
busy with work every day and there’s no one else but me to look after the baby. I want very much to go to school,
lork kru.
I—”

“Enough.”
Lork kru
stops her and turns to the blackboard to write down the lesson for the day.

For the next few hours, Chou scribbles the day’s words excitedly on the sheet of paper Kim gave her, and Nam quietly plays by himself. When the baby begins to fuss, Chou picks him up and bounces him on her lap.

“Shhhh. Shhhh,” she shushes him when he starts to cry.

“Chou,”
lork kru
calls. Chou closes her eyes briefly and mumbles a silent prayer.

“I’m sorry,
lork kru,”
Chou speaks, raising her eyes to meet the teacher’s.

“Keep the baby quiet,” he warns.

“Yes, thank you,” Chou answers. For the next few minutes, Chou tries to hush the baby, to no avail. The boy is awake and gurgling, and moments later Chou notices that her sleeves and lap are wet. In his body hammock, Nam laughs contently
Lork kru
glares at Chou from his desk.

“Sorry,
lork kru.”
Chou bows her head and walks outside with her back bent low to the ground to show the teacher respect. While the other students continue, Chou sets Nam on the floor, then wrings out his wet scarf and hangs it on a tree branch to dry. With one eye on the teacher and one on Nam, Chou chews the rice in her mouth to make it into paste and feeds it to the baby. After he’s fed, Chou cradles him in a krama and ties it diagonally across her chest. Full and sleepy, Nam yawns and wriggles in his little hammock as Chou lightly pats his bottom. When he struggles against her chest, Chou calms him by putting a finger in his mouth. Nam holds on to her finger and suckles it like a nipple, until finally, slowly, he falls asleep.

Chou and Nam come home from school in time to witness Hong’s viewing party.

“They’re here already?” Chou asks Kim, who sits alone outside under a tree.

“Yes, they’ve been here for about half an hour.”

Chou knows this is difficult for Kim to watch and that’s why he’s sitting outside by himself. A viewing party is when the prospective groom and the elder members of his family pay a formal visit to the prospective
bride and her family to find out if a marriage can be arranged between them. For many families, it is also a time for the two families to get to know each other, to see if they like each other, and if their children like each other. When all that is assured, they then discuss the dowry, the wedding parties, and where their children will live once they’ve married.

“Have you been inside?” Chou asks Kim gently.

“For a few minutes, but it’s very hot inside, so I came out here for some air.”

Chou knows that this is not entirely true; even though he no longer talks about Huy Eng, Chou knows Kim still thinks about her. It’s been one year since Kim first saw Huy Eng climb a mango tree. While the other boys teased her for acting like a boy, Kim was impressed with her speed and skill as she balanced herself on the swaying branches to reach the fruit. He was then eighteen and Huy Eng was a petite and pretty sixteen-year-old girl. In the months that followed, he never spoke of his feelings for Huy Eng, but Chou could see how his face bloomed like an opened lotus flower whenever she was near. Huy Eng’s family runs a small stall selling soy sauce and spices in the market, so every day after school and work, Kim could be found loitering around her family’s stall, making friends and small talk with her eleven older siblings.

When he turned nineteen, Kim asked Amah, as the matriarch of the family, to help him approach Huy Eng’s family and ask for her hand in marriage. But Amah refused and told Kim that Huy Eng was too strong-headed and full of spirit to be his match. Instead, she offered to arrange a marriage between him and Huy Eng’s older, more subdued sister. Kim gave Amah the respect she was due as head of the family and bent his body low to her as he left the room. But his eyes were flaring and his hands were clenched into fists. Huy Eng’s name was never again mentioned between Kim and Amah, and for the next few months many other villagers arrived at the hut to offer Kim their young daughters to take as his wife. Kim refused them all. When this news reached Huy Eng, she told people who knew Kim that she admired his kindness and gentleness. In her message, Huy Eng also said that if asked, she and her family would accept Kim’s proposal. But until Kim can convince Amah that Huy Eng is right for him, he has to watch her from afar and dream that someday they will be man and wife.

Realizing how dirty she and Nam are, Chou leaves Kim to his silence and carries the baby to the round petroleum container they use to store water. Squatting down, she pulls a clump of wet coconut thatch from a brown coconut shell lying nearby. She pours a few spoonfuls of gasoline from a white plastic bottle into a bowl to soak the thatch. When it is thoroughly wet, she uses the gasoline-soaked shell to scrub the encrusted black dirt off Nam’s legs and feet. After she rinses him off, she does the same to herself, dreaming of the day when they will be wealthy enough to afford such luxurious items as soap again.

After they are both clean, Chou hands Nam to Kim as she smoothes down the wrinkles in her pants. She gathers her wavy hair into a tight bun and secures it with a chopstick before tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Picking up a green coconut from the ground, Chou hacks off the top with a big silver cleaver. She then smashes the corner edge of her cleaver into the hard shell three times, creating a triangle break, which she picks off with her fingers. Placing a large tin bowl under the hole, she flips the fruit upside down and catches its juice. When the fruit is empty, she carries the container to Kim. As the juice slides down his throat, Chou watches his Adam’s apple move up and down.

When Kim is done drinking, Chou leaves Nam with him and enters the hut. Inside, the prospective groom and his family, dressed in their finest clothes, sit on wooden benches across from the Ung family. The Ung men have their hair combed and slicked back and wear stainless light blue shirts tucked inside black trousers. Next to them, the Ung ladies have covered their faces with a powdery beige foundation two shades lighter than their skin, darkened their brows with charcoal, and stained their lips with berries. On both sides, the women have on their finest colorful sarongs and shirts, while the prospective bride wears a soft, fresh color that signifies her purity.

“Chou, come here.” Aunt Keang signals for her to sit with the family. “This is my niece Chou. She and her brother Kim live with us.”

“Chump reap sur.”
Chou bows to the groom’s family.

“Hello,” the groom’s family greets her.

“We think the two of them are a good fit,” the groom’s family continues politely. Before they came to the viewing party, the groom’s family
had already thoroughly investigated the bride’s family history, their good name, and her Chinese animal sign.

“Though she is only seventeen, Hong is very clever and strong.” Aunt Keang praises her daughter. “And as both our families have lived in the same province for many years, we know you are a good family. And we also know that your son is a good person. And you know that our Hong is a very hard worker and very loyal. When she was only six years old, she went to live with her grandmother. And during the Khmer Rouge, she took care of her grandmother and continues to do that today. She has a very good heart. We know your son is a hard worker and loyal to his family as well.” In this manner, Aunt Keang gives her blessing.