First They Killed My Father_ A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers - Loung Ung [85]
When I regain some level of conscious thought, I am back at my camp, standing before Met Bong. My hand massages my stinging cheek; I taste blood in my mouth. Met Bong has slapped me awake. “Where have you been?” she demands, as the world comes back in focus. The girls stand around us, watching me.
“I don’t know,” I manage to say. “I went to see—”
“And you stayed for three days? Don’t you know the Youns are everywhere?”
My eyes widen in disbelief. No, I don’t know where I was,” I tell her honestly. Her hand lands hard across my face again. The pain makes me dizzy, I almost lose my balance.
“You won’t tell me? You won’t have any food tonight and I will reduce your food ration until you do!” She screams into my face and walks away. After she is gone, I walk to the well and pull up a pail of water. Drinking some, I pour the rest over my feet. Rubbing one foot against the other, I remove the layers of red mud to expose my small, wrinkled toes. “Ma is dead,” I repeat to myself with little emotion. “Ma is dead.” I have no memory of the three days after I left her village.
In our training the next day, I charge at the Youn dummies even before Met Bong’s cue. My skin vibrates with hate and rage. I hate the gods for hurting me. I hate Pol Pot for murdering Pa, Ma, Keav, and Geak. I stab my wooden stake high into the dummy’s chest, feeling it puncture the body and hit the tree. Hard and fast, I stab it, each time envisioning not the body of a Youn but that of Pol Pot. Now it is all real. Now I no longer have to pretend to be an orphan.
the youn invasion
January 1979
Hugging the rifle to her chest, Met Bong paces back and forth nervously at our nightly session. “The Youns have invaded our country! They are taking over our towns! These monsters are raping Khmer women and killing Khmer men. They will kill you if they catch you. You must protect yourself in any way you can. Pol Pot is all-powerful and we can defeat the Youns!”
“Angkar! Angkar! Angkar!” we scream in unison even though her words make no sense. While I pretend to listen, I wonder why the Khmer Rouge fears the Youns if we can defeat them. If we can beat them then why are they able to take over our country?
“Instead of one, two girls will now guard the camp at night. You are to shoot the Youns dead when you see them.”
That night none of us can sleep as we listen to explosions of mortars and rockets in the distance. Though we are afraid, Met Bong tells us the Khmer soldiers will keep them away from us. After a few hours of shelling, all is quiet again. Then without warning, a mortar explodes near our base, blazing the sky white like lightning. Fear runs up my spine and shoots into my heart. I scream and cover my ears with my hands just as another mortar whistles and hits our hut. The straw walls and roof burst into flame. Screaming and wailing, the girls try to escape before fire consumes the hut. The girls run and crawl to the door, their faces black from smoke and their eyes white with terror. Many are dripping blood from their arms and legs where shrapnel sliced through their skin.
I jump up and head for the doorway as fire spreads everywhere. “Don’t leave me! I’m hit! Help me!” a voice screams out shrilly. She is lying in a pool of blood. Propping herself up on her elbow, she begs us to help her. She is shaking and shivering. The other girls do not stop. Seeing me looking at her, she holds out a bloody hand to me. “Help me!” On her elbows, she tries to crawl to the door but pants in frustration after a few yards. Her tears fall into her mouth. Fire spreads through the camp quickly, debris falling everywhere. “The smoke! The fire—help me!” Her hand grabs her chest as she coughs out blood. I want to help her. I wish to help her, but I am much smaller than she. I scream and cover my ears