When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [107]
Amid the flow of humans, she flashes a distressed glance at me. When we get to our tent, Map is not there. Than and Ry are not there either. Most of the tents are disassembled, vanished. Ra shouts at me to find him while she packs.
The crowd flows around me as I peer at every kid I see. They are all crying, just like me. Suddenly I spot a boy screaming, looking in the direction from which Ra and I came. On a mounted path between rice paddies, he is stomping hysterically with his hands flying in the air. I run, my hands parting people away from me as my eyes try to keep track of him. When I get closer, I recognize his clothes. It is Map!
“Map, Map. I’m here, over here.” I raise my hand, waving.
He runs to me, his hand wiping away his tears. I grip his other hand. He glares at me. “I waited a long time,” he barks. “Why didn’t you come sooner?” He shoots another angry look at me, his long eyelashes rise, then fall.
I’m so relieved and thankful to find Map and to see his furious little face scolding me that for a moment I’m oblivious to the gunfire.
Ra is distraught. She shouts for me to carry a load, what looks like bags of rice, pots, and pans, all tied up to be carried on a stick. She lifts her load onto her shoulder, then drops it back down. She picks up a mat, all rolled up and almost twice Map’s height, and hands it to him. Now we run, heading toward a small makeshift bridge built over a ditch. The crowd backs up. A hollow boom thunders. Everyone cries hysterically. Ra steps down into the ditch and then up on the other side. I follow. Map is behind, struggling. The weight of the mat slows him down, pulling him backward. Ra is up ahead, a dwindling figure in the crowd. I’m waiting for Map. “Come on, hurry,” I mutter to myself, frightened for Map and myself.
When an artillery explodes, followed by the raucous pop of rifles, everyone moves forward. I run across one dry cracked paddy to the next, climbing the mounted path. “Map, hurry, hurry,” I shout, wanting Map to step up his pace. When I turn to look for him, he is far behind, a paddy away, standing still. He is crying, his hands holding the mat that is taller than he is. I wave for him to come. He shakes his head. I drop my load and run to him, he drops the mat and walks toward Chhnoel. I wail, screaming, “No, don’t go back—”
Map vanishes among people and trees. Standing still, I wait for him to return, but I see only other children and their families. I place my load on my shoulder and run forward.
“RA, RA, STOP!” I yell. She turns. I pause, crying.
“Where is Map?” she asks, her eyes alarmed.
“Run only for your own sake,” I bawl. “You didn’t help me look after Map. Now he’s gone, running backward.”
“Backward where?”
“Toward the Khmer Rouge!” I yell, then point to the trees and fleeing people.
Ra puts down her load, runs, then stands by a mounted path. “Ming, poo [uncle], have you seen my brother?” Ra asks, her hands reaching out to the men and women, but no one looks at her.
“Hey, Ra, your brother is coming!” a woman shouts at Ra.
Ra’s eyes search, then her legs leap over the path.
The woman trots by me with two girls. I ask her, “Ming, is my brother coming?”
The woman nods. Now I remember who she is—her tent was close to ours in Chhnoel.
Suddenly Ra and Map appear without the mat. Ra pulls Map up the path. When Map nears us, I scold him. “Crazy kid, running backward! Don’t you know you’ll get shot!”
“The mat’s too heavy, my legs hurt,” Map snaps. “You didn’t wait for me. You let me run by myself!”
Together we trot, catching up with the woman and her daughters. Then we are ahead of them again. When we’re near Kandal village, about two miles from Chhnoel, the woman calls out to Ra.
“Hey, neag, let’s rest a little,” she begs, out of breath.
We stop near a ditch a few steps ahead.
“We’ll rest with you, ming,” Ra says, panting.
Frustrated, the woman shouts at her daughters, “Throw something