When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [109]
When we arrive at Chhnoel, the presence of the Khmer Rouge still lingers. Clothes in disarray, tarps, blankets, pots, and pants are strewn near coconut and palm trees. I dread coming back here. As we approach an alley behind a group of houses, a warm breeze carries a terrible odor. Before I can ask about it, we are looking at a black ashen ground, half the size of a rice paddy.
“Oh no, they’ve already burned my relatives,” bang Meng cries, shocked, her hand covering her mouth.
She hurries over to the charred body parts. Ra scurries after her. Holding Map’s hand, I’m rooted to the ground. I cringe as bang Meng and Ra survey the dark ashes and partially burned remnants. The stench repulses me, but the ghostly silence moves me to take Map over to Ra and bang Meng. Now we too are staring at the charred remains.
“Ara, this was where my siblings and aunt were. Look.” Bang Meng walks up to a blackened piece of a small chest. “Maybe it’s a part of my young brother. It’s small.”
Glancing at the scorched chest with its rib cage still intact, I pull Map away. My eyes take refuge in the trees in a faraway field. I shield Map’s face with my hand, my stomach churning.
As we’re leaving, walking back along the main road of Chhnoel, bang Meng tells us stories she heard on her first day upon returning here. Pointing to a group of palm trees, she says that the PARA soldiers found the body of a murdered woman sprawled beside that of her newborn with its legs torn apart. She says babies were killed by the sharp sawing edges of a palm branch. A woman with edema was shot in the head in a house. I wish bang Meng had not told us these stories. I pray that Ry and Than didn’t return here to look for us. I pray they are still alive somewhere.
16
The Exodus
Our arrival in Sala Krao village is met by a commotion. We, along with fifteen families who seek safe haven, merge with a procession of men and women who glare angrily at three men with their hands tied behind their backs. Escorting them are two men in civilian clothes and two Vietnamese soldiers in dark lemon-green uniforms and helmets. The soldiers are among the few we’ve seen so far, though we’ve been told more are stationed on the far right off the road.
“They’re Khmer Rouge,” a man in the crowd exclaims. “They dressed up like civilians so they can infiltrate this village.”
My mind shuts off, refusing to take in any more news. The man’s voice drones on. The sharp throbbing pain of a badly decaying, infected wisdom tooth returns. The swelling of the gum flares up at a bad time. The pain saps the little energy I have left to get to Sala Krao. Luckily, on the road among displaced families, we spot Than, Ry, and Phally, Aunt Leng’s former servant who worked for her back in Phnom Penh. When the Khmer Rouge attacked Chhnoel, they managed to run farther south, then followed other families until we were reunited. Than and Ry help me carry our foodstuffs, a heavy load that was slowing me down. Even now, carrying nothing, I have a difficult time walking.
“Athy, lie down here.” Ry taps me on my shoulder, her hand points to a cloth spread on the ground near the exposed roots of a tree.
My body savors the rest, welcoming the awaiting cloth.
The sound of a hollow boom. A loud, bright fire bursts. The ground shakes. I feel hot. “Mak, help me—” I hear myself scream in a long-drawn-out plea.
“Get in the water, get in the water. Hurry.”
“Mak, help me….” At that moment I think I’m dead, but I feel my body being dragged along and it’s getting wet. The muddy water seeps into my mouth and ears. I struggle, trying to get up. A voice commands, “Don’t stand up, Athy!” I feel a tug on my shoulder. I open my eyes and Ry is beside me. We’re in the pond! I don’t understand….
Suddenly a baby cries, and only then do I realize that we’re being attacked by the Khmer Rouge again. It’s night, a moonlit night. Shadows of heads scatter above the water. The baby’s older sister, perhaps three, cries as well. Her mother whispers, “Don’t cry. If the Khmer Rouge hear you, they’ll kill