Lucky Child (34 page)

“So,” I pipe in when Mike stops long enough to take a breath. “What do you think about the United States invading Iraq?”

“Whaat?” Mike protests, confused.

“January fifteenth, the deadline President Bush gave the Iraqis to pull out of Kuwait. You know Saddam’s going to ignore the deadline. The United States will go in with guns and bombs, and it will mean thousands of innocent civilians dead. Whatever the political agendas, we must not forget about the innocent civilians.”

“Man, you’re a total party pooper,” Mike announces. “Whatever happens over there, that’s their world, not my world, man.”

“There’s no ‘their world’ and ‘your world,’ Mike. There’s only our
world. I hope you’re just too drunk to get this and that it’s not your actual belief.” I look down at Mike like a child, sick of playing up to him because of his good looks.

“See ya, party pooper.” Mike takes his beer and leaves.

The next week, I watch the TV news about the invasion. As I flip from channel to channel, a bomber pilot’s likening of the bombings to Christmas lights is repeated by many journalists. Upon hearing this, I want to crawl back into bed, curl into a fetal position, and cry until I am all dried up. For I know that when each one of those lights hits the earth, somebody’s mother will lose a child, somebody’s son will no longer have a father, and some daughter will be orphaned. Suddenly I get up, throw on my clothes, and rush to the student resource center to find a way to help. And at that moment, I decide to become a party pooper from now on.

24 eldest brother returns

June 1991

“Second Brother is here!” Pheng calls out. Chou hurriedly takes off Chang’s soiled cloth diaper and comes out of the hut in time to see Khouy parking his motorcycle at Uncle Leang’s hut. The sun is barely up in the sky, but already Khouy’s green military police uniform is red from the blowing dust.

“Second Brother, everything is well?” Chou asks. It is not normal for Khouy to travel to the village so early.

“We have another letter from Eldest Brother. We need to show this to Uncle Leang as well. Come quickly.” Khouy’s voice is full of urgency as he walks into Uncle Leang’s hut. His strides are wide and confident, each step fully connecting on the ground before the other takes off.

“Second Brother, is anything wrong?” Chou wrings her hands in her krama as Pheng follows with their three children.

“Don’t worry. If it’s true, it’s the greatest news!” Khouy laughs as Uncle Leang, Aunt Keang, Amah, and the rest of the family gather around him. “Last evening, a man arrived on a motorbike from Phnom Penh. He works for a hotel and said a man staying there paid him to deliver this letter. Since the road isn’t safe in the dark, he quickly returned to Phnom Penh after he gave me the letter. I’ve waited all night to deliver this.” Khouy pulls the letter from his shirt pocket and hands it to Uncle Leang, who reads it out loud.

“‘Greetings to young brother Khouy, sister Chou, Uncle Leang, Aunt Keang, the young cousins, and all the family. This is…’” Uncle Leang blinks his eyes rapidly and tries to steady his voice. “This can’t be true!”

“Uncle, just read it!” Chou demands, a bit too harshly.

“‘This is your brother Meng. I am in Phnom Penh.’”

“Not true!” Chou gasps, and sits down on the bed. The rest of the family yells their disbelief as Pheng comes over and rests a hand on her arm. “What a terrible joke someone is playing on us!”

“The letter continues,” says Uncle Leang. “‘This is your brother Meng. I am in Phnom Penh. I am staying at the Phnom Penh hotel. I am waiting to see you all very soon. I will not leave my hotel room until you come. Come very soon to this address. Your brother, Meng.’” Chou stares at Uncle Leang, her head light, but her nose floods with water.

“Chou, this is an old letter from Eldest Brother,” Khouy says, and hands it to her. “Look at the writing of the two letters. They match.”

Chou grabs the new letter from Uncle Leang and compares the intricate curves and strokes of the handwriting. Then she drops the letters on her lap and covers her mouth.

“It’s Eldest Brother,” she says in disbelief. “It’s really him. He’s here.” Chang sees her mother anxious and reaches out to her from her father’s arms. Chou gathers all three of her children in her arms and smiles through her red eyes. “You’re going to meet your Eldest Uncle!” She turns to Khouy suddenly. “When do we leave?”

“Pack quickly. We’re leaving now,” Khouy announces. “I’ll meet you all in Ou-dong. I’ve arranged for two motorbikes to take us from there to Phnom Penh.” With a wave, Khouy takes off.

For the next thirty minutes, Chou showers and brushes her hair, being careful to smooth out the knots. Then she puts on her best blue sarong and pink shirt before dressing her children. While Chou packs her family’s clothes, Aunt Keang quickly makes rice balls and wraps pieces of cooked dried fish in a banana leaf for their journey. Outside, Uncle Leang hitches their wagon to the cows as Pheng pours drinking water into plastic petrol containers. When Chou is ready, she and the three children climb into the wagon and are followed by Uncle Leang and Aunt Keang. With a light whip to their behinds, Pheng drives the cows forward as Amah and the other family members see them off.

As they follow the one road to Ou-dong, the sun climbs higher and higher in the sky. The birds leave their tree nests to search for food in the rice paddies. The farmers plow their fields, their calves bulging with muscles as strong as their cows’. Behind the farmers, the birds swoop down and pull earthworms and other bugs out of the overturned earth. As Pheng drives, Chou sits with her back leaning against the wagon. In her arms, Chang sleeps soundly while Hourt huddles in Chou’s lap. Next to Chou, Aunt Keang rests her chin on her chest and holds on to Eng while Uncle Leang sleeps sitting straight up with his legs splayed out all over the wagon.

When they arrive in Ou-dong two hours later, Uncle Leang and Aunt Keang hop on a rented motorbike with Khouy’s oldest daughter while Khouy piles on his bike with his wife, Morm, and their other three children. Behind them Chou straddles two of her children behind Pheng and balances Chang on her lap on their bike. As they push off, Chou looks back at the village and realizes that this will be the first time she’s returned to the city of her childhood home. As if traveling back in time, Chou glances at the open fields they pass and sees herself as a child, sleeping under the stars with Loung. When their bikes pass farmers walking on the roadside, images of Keav holding Geak in her arms as the family marched out of the city sting her eyes.

By midafternoon the city looms in front of her, its tall seven-story buildings pushed into the cloudless skyline like mountains. Chou hugs Chang and holds on to her family as the bike takes her into Phnom Penh. In the city, four-story concrete houses replace thatched-roof huts, and dusty narrow roads widen into gray asphalt boulevards crowded with motorbikes, cyclos, and, to the delight of Chou’s son, cars.

“Ma, look!” three-year-old Hourt points excitedly. “Wagon has big eyes! Haha! Big eyes!”

“Cars,” Chou corrects him.

“Ma, so many people!” five-year-old Eng screeches. “Where they from?”

“They live here,” Chou says.

“Your ma used to live in the city,” Pheng tells his daughter.

“Ma, you lived in the city?” Eng asks with awe.

“A long time ago when I was small like you,” Chou replies, and her
voice lifts with happier memories of movie theaters, pink dolls, swimming pools, and school uniforms.

In the traffic, their bikes slow as traffic zooms in and out around their traveling party. Right next to them, Chou counts three adults and three children piled on top of one another on one cyclo. The scene reminds her of trips to the market with Ma, when all the sisters would sit on one another. Pheng drives them past the loaded cyclo and past rows of shops selling car tires, mechanical nuts and bolts, woven baskets, shiny golden altars, colorful dresses, and plastic flowers. Chou turns her head here and there and takes in all the details of Phnom Penh. It seems to her that little has changed from her childhood memories of the hustling and bustling city. The only difference now is that she no longer feels that she belongs here.

“Phnom Penh Hotel,” Pheng announces after many stops for directions and wrong turns. They pull up in front of an old off-white four-story plain-looking concrete building. Chou stares up at the glass windows wrapping around the walls like little square boxes and wonders if Eldest Brother is somewhere inside.

“Second brother, this is the correct address?” Pheng asks, and parks his bike next to Khouy.

“Ummm,” Khouy acknowledges with a nod of his head.

Chou’s cheeks twitch lightly as the family meekly follows Khouy into their first hotel. Morm comes up behind her and squeezes her arm.

“I’m so nervous!” she whispers to Chou. “This is so exciting!”

Chou can only nod and will herself to stop shaking.

“Can I help you?” a male desk attendant asks.

“Yes, I’m looking for Meng Ung. He’s staying in room 210.” Khouy answers casually while Chou stares at the riches of the linoleum floor, the glass windows, the worn couches, ceramic flower vase, electric power lightbulbs, and whirling overhead fans.

“Certainly. Please go up.”

Without thanking him, Khouy lights a cigarette and climbs up the stairs. Behind him, Chou takes a deep breath and follows with Chang on her hip. As they ascend the steps, the usually talkative family is quiet; the only sounds coming from them are the coughs of the children trying to spit the dust out of their lungs.

“Room 210.” Khouy stares at the number. Slowly, he curls his right hand into hammers and pounds on the door.

“Who is it?” asks a familiar voice from the other side.

When he hears this, Khouy uncurls his fists and lets out a big laugh, then hollers, “Eldest Brother, it’s us!”

“Khouy!” Meng swings the door wide open and wraps his arm around Khouy’s shoulders. “My brother Khouy!” Meng’s tears spill as if a ten-year-old dam has just burst, flooding his face and cheeks. Khouy grips Meng’s arm, his eyes red and his jaws hard. “Chou.” Meng’s voice cracks like a teenage boy as he reaches out to her.

“Eldest Brother.” She takes his hand as her lungs choke for air. Meng puts his arm around her as she leans her head on his shoulder. While she sobs into her hands, Meng pats her hair with a gentleness that reminds her of Pa.

“Eldest Brother, you’re here,” Chou whimpers. Chang clings to her hip. Seeing her mother in distress, Eng runs over and holds on to Chou’s leg.

“Second Uncle, Second Aunt,” Meng greets them, his voice barely audible. “This must be Morm and Pheng. So good to see you.” Meng barely finishes his words when his face crumbles again.

“Meng, come sit.” Uncle Leang ushers the family into the room.

“Meng, it’s so good to see you, my nephew.” Aunt Keang takes his arm and leads him to sit on the bed. “Chou, Khouy, you sit with your brother.” The others find places on chairs and the floor.

On the bed, Khouy takes off his shoes, crosses his legs, and introduces Meng to all his nieces and nephews. When he gets to the last one, Meng’s smile quivers again as he rubs his eyes. As Meng turns his head to stare at each member of the group, Chou’s eyes never leave his face and absorb every detail of his hair, eyes, cheeks, and smile. Though he is older and a little heavier, he looks happier and healthier than the brother who left her ten years ago. Chou reaches out and again touches his arm, elbow, and hand as if to make sure he’s real. Each time her fingers pinch solid mass, she smiles more broadly.

“Eldest Brother has good flesh,” Chou exclaims, and the group agrees about his good health.

“Eldest Brother.” Khouy is the first one to compose himself. “When we received your message, we didn’t believe it was you!” When Khouy laughs, his children bellow with him from their corner of the room.

“I don’t blame you,” said Meng. “I can hardly believe it myself. It’s been a very long journey to come back here.”

On the day he received Khouy’s first letter in 1983, Meng started to plan his visit to Cambodia, but because of the U.S. boycott, he didn’t know of a way to get in. For eleven years, Meng read everything he could about immigration and talked to everyone he knew to see if they had any ideas about how he could get back in the country. No one did. Then six months earlier, a friend had introduced Meng to a man whose brother worked for the Cambodian government in Phnom Penh. For a fee, the man said, his brother would help Meng cross the border.

“Here’s what my brother said to do,” the man had said. “Buy your airplane ticket to Bangkok. In Bangkok, apply for a visiting visa at the Cambodian embassy.” Meng had pressed the telephone receiver to his ear, straining to catch every word. “You will not have any problems getting a visa if you bring plenty of cash to pay the bribes. Once you have the visa, buy your ticket from Bangkok to Cambodia. When you have all that, call my brother at his government job and he’ll take care of you.” The man made clear that the telephone number was for a government phone; therefore Meng had to call during business hours. He then told Meng that the first commercial telephone line in Phnom Penh only went up that year and that very few people or businesses had them.

For three months, Meng smiled and saved money and went to sleep dreaming only of Cambodia and the family’s reunion. When he received the approval from IBM for extended time off, he vacuumed the house and took out the trash without any prompting from Eang. The day he purchased his airplane ticket to Bangkok, he spun Tori around the living room until they were both dizzy with joy. The next morning, with Maria peering over his shoulder, he called his Cambodian connection to confirm his plans. When Meng told the man he was about to send a letter to Khouy to let the family know of his visit, the man told him not to send it.

“Why?” Meng had asked as his hands went cold. “Is it not safe to go?”

“No, no,” the man replied. “It’s safe if you’re careful. The political situation
there is unstable now but UNTAC [United Nations Transitioning Authority for Cambodia] is there to keep order. It’s probably safer if you don’t announce your visit and make it a surprise.” Then the man gave Meng a long explanation as to why he should keep his visit a secret to his Cambodian family until he got there.