When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [100]
When I arrive, Kong Houng (Pa’s father) and a man climb down from the hut, their hands steadying a long wrapped object, Chea. Ra, Ry, and Map are behind them, their red eyes swollen. Once Chea is off the hut, Kong Houng and the man secure her with a rope, tying her to a carrying pole. How sad, I think, to have Chea disposed of this way. I cry uncontrollably.
As Kong Houng and the man dig Chea’s grave near palm trees, I look at her corpse. In my mind I speak silent words for me and Chea. I say: Chea, if I survive, I will study medicine. I want to help people because I couldn’t help you. If I die in this lifetime, I will learn medicine in my next life.
When night falls, Ra reminds me to go back to the commune house. For a moment I’m not sure what she’s talking about. I look at her, my brow furrowed. Only when she repeats the words “commune house” do I remember Thore Meta, who has given me permission to stay with my family tonight and tomorrow.
Lying on the floor, I recall Chea’s request. I look at Ra and ask, “Why didn’t you bury Chea under the tree?”
“I didn’t want to bury her there! I’m scared,” Ra says annoyingly.
I can’t believe that Ra has denied Chea’s last wish, and I remind her of Chea’s exact words, Chea’s plea for her not to forget. Ry jumps in to rescue Ra, reminding me that Ra is afraid of ghosts. True, she is afraid, and I understand that, but Chea is our sister. She won’t scare us. She wanted to watch over us, I reason, but I only scare Ra even more.
Ra hisses at me, “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to sleep. I haven’t slept since she died.”
I awake so suddenly, yet I feel refreshed. It was dark before I fell asleep, but now it’s bright and I’m amid layers of clouds. Freely, my body ascends through them, soaring to the next layer, where there’s a flat surface like a floor made of clouds. How strange, I think, but it looks like the floor of a home, a special home filled with men and women dressed in white clothes. One by one, their arms open to welcome someone. A white carpet magically rolls over the floor. The men and women smile. When I look up to the layer of cloud, a woman descends. It’s Chea! Her back faces me. Those people encircle her, then somehow dwindle behind the clouds. “Chea, wait! Wait for me.”
“Athy, Athy. Wake up! You had a bad dream,” Ry says, and comforts me.
13
Mass Marriage and a Forbidden Love
Just as I’m released from my brigade, Than returns home, too late to say good-bye to Chea. Though he seems shocked to hear about her death, he doesn’t look sad. Maybe he’s numb like Ry was when Avy died, and he can’t shed any tears, or maybe boys have a different way of grieving.
At fifteen, Than has been sent away a lot, more than I can remember. For a while I even forgot that I had an older brother. When he showed up, I was surprised to see him, but also relieved that he’s alive.
At thirteen, the nascent adult in me realizes that Cambodia is a nation that houses the living dead. Around me there are starving, overworked, and malnourished people. Death is rampant, as if an epidemic has descended on the villages. Yet Angka is nonchalant, doing nothing to stop this plague. For the last three years of my life, since the Khmer Rouge’s takeover, I’ve lost half of my family. Pa, Vin, Avy, Mak, and Chea. Death is like leaves in the autumn, readily falling from a soft touch of the wind. I wonder who in my family will be the next victim.
As the population dwindles and rumors spread that Vietnamese troops are invading Cambodia, Angka awakens. In meetings, the Khmer Rouge stress the need for chamren pracheachun, the need to increase the population for Angka. Young adults need to be married, they emphasize, and stay in the village to fulfill this goal. Those who stay single will be sent to the front line, to the battlefield.
One bright sunny afternoon Ra returns from a mandatory meeting. Standing by the alcove, she