First They Killed My Father_ A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers - Loung Ung [18]
Our food supply is reduced to only a few pounds of rice so Meng, Khouy, and Kim have to forage for other food to supplement the rice. They walk half a mile to the nearby town of Ang Snur and return an hour later. Their figures move toward us slowly; Kim carries an armful of dry wood and in Meng’s hand is a small branch piercing two small fish and some wild vegetables. Khouy walks toward us with a small pot and an ecstatic grin on his face.
“Ma, look!” he calls to her, barely able to contain his glee. “Sugar!”
“Brown sugar!” Ma exclaims, taking the pot away from him. Though I am tired, those two words bring me running in the direction of the pot.
“Brown sugar!” I repeat quietly. I never knew how two little words could bring me so much happiness. “Ma, let me have a taste! There’s almost a quarter of a pot of it!”
“Shh. Don’t say it so loud,” Keav warns me, “or people will come and beg us for some.” I notice a few of our neighbors look in our direction.
“Here everyone, have a small taste. We have to save some,” Ma says as we gather around her. My siblings stick their fingers into the sugar and lick what they are able to pull out.
“Me … me … me …” I beg Ma as she slowly lowers the pot to my level. I know it is my one chance to get as much sugar as I can, so I wait a few seconds to form enough spit in my mouth. Then I put my finger in my mouth and swish the spit around my finger to make sure I wet every millimeter of my finger. When I am satisfied that my finger is wet enough, I take it out of my mouth and slowly roll it around on top of the sugar. My finger rolls so slowly that I can feel the rough grains bonding to it. When I pull it out of the pot, I am happy to see what I have achieved. I have more sugar on my one finger than anyone else does! Carefully, I place my other hand under my treasure to catch any grains that might fall from my finger. Slowly, I walk my finger back to my spot on the mat and begin to eat each grain of the sugar.
After dinner, Ma takes us girls to a nearby pond, which is already crowded with people washing their clothes and naked children, tentatively putting their heads under the muddy water. The children all look too tired to bop up and down, laugh, or splash at one another. Ma instructs us to strip off our clothes. I remove my brown shirt, a shirt that was yellow when I hurriedly dressed six days ago. Naked, Chou, Geak, and I wait while Ma removes her clothes from under her sarong and hands them over to Keav. With no soap, Keav takes the clothes to the edge of the river and scrubs them against the rocks to get them clean.
With Geak balanced on one of her hips, Ma takes my hand and walks Chou and I into the pond for our first wash in six days. Hand in hand, we stop when the water reaches my waist. The water feels cool and soft on my skin, slowly peeling away the layers of grime that has collected. The slippery grass in the water sways back and forth to the rhythm of our movements, gently brushing against my legs. Some of the blades slither around my ankles, sending chills up and down my spine. I jump and fall into the water, pulling Chou with me, who is still holding on tight to Ma’s hand. When I resurface, they are all laughing at me. I am happy to have all of us laughing together again.
In the morning, Ma wakes everyone and we get ready for our seventh day of walking. The road ahead of us shimmers in the heat, and the dust swells are everywhere, burning my eyes. In the distance, my eyes focus on a lone bicyclist. I cannot tell how tall he is, only