When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [105]
“I don’t know, ming,” Ra says, flashing an uncertain smile at the woman. “We are following everybody.”
“So are we following others. Go wherever there’s food.” She beams.
In the late afternoon we stop at a village to rest and eat, then replenish our supply. In the fields by the road, we glean rice, whatever was left by harvesters. We join others who are already there, their bags and buckets half or nearly full. And here we are just beginning.
As we work through the field, we spot our aunts stooping and rising as their hands gather leftover heads of rice. They are Pa’s young sisters, Aunt Chin and Aunt Leng. Even though we aren’t working under the Khmer Rouge, my aunts can’t seem to take time to talk. They have to keep busy. Their sunken faces demand the action of their hands. They seem like strangers to me. It takes me a while to realize that they are my relatives. The effects of the Khmer Rouge’s abolition of family intimacy slowly seep away from my mind, and a sense of family connection gradually takes their place.
Aunt Chin’s brows are furrowed. She motions her head to show us that her children are in the next field. Then she and Aunt Leng ask us where we’ll be going after this village. Ra says she doesn’t know. Go to Phnom Penh with us, they urge us. And Ra agrees, looking relieved.
But before we have a chance to finish processing the rice we’ve gleaned, Aunt Leng decides that she, Aunt Chin’s family, Aunt Cheng, Kong Houng, and Uncle Surg’s only surviving son should go ahead and leave first. Her plan is for us to follow them when we’re done. Ra asks them to wait as we quicken our rice processing, but Aunt Leng only says they will walk slowly so we can catch up with them on the road. Ra doesn’t say anything, her face reddened as she vigorously sifts the rice.
When we set out on the road, we see no trace of our aunts, cousins, or Kong Houng. I wish we would somehow run into Mak’s remaining sisters and brothers, but there is no trace of them either. It seems that our extended families shot out of their huts as soon as the Khmer Rouge vanished. Again, we are on our own, just the five of us without a destination. We follow others, going wherever we can find food. As the night creeps in, we decide to rest in a village called Korkpongro, taking up residence in the foyer of an abandoned wooden house, as do other traveling families.
Later in the night we sleep side by side. Quickly, I drift into slumber as if someone had cast a spell on me, only to be awakened by the distant voice of gunfire, familiar sounds we all know too well. The dull, hollow explosions of artillery combine with the raucous noise of rifles.
A man’s voice bellows in the quiet night. “What was that?”
I spring up, as do my brothers and sisters.
“What happened, what happened?” Ra mutters, alarmed.
People nearby wake. A woman asks the question to which we all wish we know the answer. Who is fighting? The Khmer Rouge? Tonight they won’t be surprised, the men say, if the gunfire belongs to them. Only then do I realize we are far from safe.
The next morning everyone in my family resumes our rice gleaning, including four-year-old Map, who helps his elder siblings search for clusters of rice in the hot sun. Scavenging through the already harvested fields, I think of nothing but the golden cluster. When night comes, the gunfire roars in the distance again. It growls louder than the night before, as if the fighting is only a village away. For the next three days it continues, making us feel trapped. Fearful for our lives, we confide in other families who stay near us. To our relief, they tell us about a prayer gathering and urge us to go.
On a decklike stage covered by a wooden roof, candlelight illuminates the wooden floor and a picture of Buddha in the forest. Sitting behind the candles are old men and women with shaved heads. These elders could be former nuns or priests. In awe, I’m surprised and comforted to see candles after all these years. Already many men, women, and children surround this place, their legs folded neatly on the sandy ground.