First They Killed My Father_ A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers - Loung Ung [16]
“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.
“What do you do?” the soldier curtly asks Pa.
“I work as a packer in the shipping port.”
“What do you do?” The soldier points his finger at Ma. Her eyes focus on the ground, and she shifts Geak’s weight on her hips. “I sell old clothes in the market,” she says in a barely audible voice.
The soldier rummages through all our bags one by one. Then he bends down and lifts the lid of the rice pot next to Pa’s feet. Gripping Pa’s finger even tighter, my heart races as the soldier checks the pot. His face is close to mine; I concentrate on my dirty toes. I dare not look into his eyes, for I have been told that when you look into their eyes, you can see the devil himself.
“All right, you are cleared. You may go.”
“Thank you, comrade,” Pa says meekly, his head bobbing up and down to the soldier. The soldier is already looking past Pa and merely waves his hand for us to hurry on. Passing the checkpoint safely, we walk a few hours more until the sun goes to sleep behind the mountains and the world becomes a place of shadows and shapes once again. In the mass of people, Pa finds us a spot of unoccupied grass near the side of the road. Ma puts Geak down next to me and tells me to keep an eye on her. Sitting next to her, I am struck by how pale she looks. Breathing quietly, she fights to keep her eyelids open, but in the end she loses and falls to sleep. Her growling stomach talks as mine grumbles in return. Knowing there will be nothing to eat for a while, I lie down on a small bundle of clothes next to her and rest my head on another. Quickly, I too fall asleep.
When I wake, I am sitting upright on the