When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [101]
Ra says, “I have to get married…. I don’t want to go to a labor camp—I don’t want to die….”
Married? I’m shocked. All of a sudden everyone seems to retreat into his own silent thoughts. Ry, Than, and I are speechless, our eyes looking at Ra. The color in her face momentarily disappears.
“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go,” she mutters. “I don’t want to die. You have to understand me. I almost died many times.”
Ra is agitated. Here, she’s going to marry someone, yet she’s fearful, and our faces are the mirror of her fright. She tells us that she needs to make a quick decision because Angka will soon have a wedding sanctioned for those who want to help increase the population.
“If I’m in the village, there’s a better chance for me to survive. I can also help take care of you now that Chea has died.”
“To whom are you going to be married?” Ry asks.
“A local man,” Ra says dismally, her eyes expressing her dire need of our approval.
“It’s up to you,” Than says indecisively. Ry murmurs a soft yes. I keep my thoughts to myself.
I remember Ra’s last brush with death, and I can understand why she would never want to be sent to a labor camp again. It happened when I was working as a scarecrow while Ra remained in the camp near Zone 3. Ra and her coworkers, out of hunger, had ventured into another zone. They got caught and were accused of being spies for the Vietnamese. They were taken to a crowded, filthy prison where they were interrogated and tortured. But they were lucky. Their brigade leader reported them missing and got them freed.
Two days later, Ra is to be wed. She asks me to come with her to the wedding ceremony, which will take place in Poi-kdurg village. I worry, and am nervous for her. I hope the man she will marry is not mean or abusive.
The sun is bright. We cover our heads with our tattered scarves, dressed in grayish-black uniforms with cotton pants shrunk far above our ankles.
As we scurry barefoot on dusty paths, no words are exchanged between Ra and me. I hope we’re not late, for we don’t have a watch. We stop at an old barn. By the entrance are two cadres, their necks decked out with red-and-white checked scarves. Hanging from their shoulders are rifles. They stand still, solemn.
Ra and I briefly look toward them as men and women in dark uniforms enter the barn. Finally Ra gets up the courage to ask a woman who is about to enter the barn. The woman tells us that this barn is the site for a wedding.
It’s dark inside the barn. I grab Ra’s shirt, walking behind her like a blind child. On my right I see dark shadows, patches of heads in rows. I’m overwhelmed by the sight of so many people, perhaps a hundred, sitting quietly. They are all getting married?
“Listen for your name,” a stern male voice says firmly.
They start calling off names. All I see across the barn are shadows rising, then dwindling behind the sheet of blackness. My eyes return to the comfort of the sunlight filtering through the tiny cracks in the walls as if I need it to stay alive.
“Athy, let’s go,” Ra calls softly, her hand tapping my shoulder.
I rise, wading behind Ra. Nervous all of a sudden.
At the center of the barn, Ra stands, and I am beside her. Across from us are perhaps six men’s silhouettes. Cadres? My mind is jolted at the sight of them. Why are so many of them here?
Their hands clutch their rifles, one hand at the bottom of the butt and the other on the barrel. They position themselves in the shape of a pyramid. Suddenly a silhouetted body, a man, emerges from my left. He stands beside me. Now I’m between him and Ra.
“Athy, move back. Stand behind me,” Ra whispers.
“Comrade Ra and Comrade Na,” a male voice erupts.
Before I can hear all that is said, the two cadres in the front turn, face each other, and raise their rifles up.
“The rifles will be the judge when comrades betray each other or break Angka’s rules.”
My mind freezes shut. The next thing I know,