When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [123]
My fears quicken as the bus picks up speed and the trees and landscape on the road pass by. I cry as my fears turn to sadness. With each passing moment, I’m taken farther away from Cambodia. I miss Pa and Mak, Chea…. I turn to look for Ra and Ry behind me. They too, cry. Many people do, their red eyes expressing their silent fears. Soon an English song eases our sorrow. A Thai man sitting by the driver reaches out to a portable stereo and presses one of the buttons. Suddenly a song comes on and the bus fills with sensational music:
Oh oh yeah yeah I love you more than I can say
I love you twice as much as tomorrow….
Smiling through my tears, I gaily tell Ra and Ry that I understand these words. They smile, looking proud. I turn back, wiping away my tears and enjoying the song.
19
Sakeo II Camp
It is July 1980, and here we are in a new camp. Sakeo II Camp is smaller than Khao I Dang, but it is cleaner and nicer. Doorless shelters, called quads, are built in groups of four, all facing each other with a large open space in front. Along an unpaved road lie rows of quads, made of wood and thick gray sheets with wooden floors. Also on this road, which snakes through the camp, are a large two-story wooden building that says “Public Health Center” and, across from it, quads where people can send letters or applications to the American, Australian, French, and Canadian embassies requesting permission for resettlement.
A family of seven, we share the quad with another family. As at Khao I Dang, we receive food and water rations. Many times the rations are better than what we got there. However, it’s still not enough for all of us.
Refugees here are no different from those I saw in Khao I Dang. They wear flowered blouses and sarongs or pants. I haven’t seen anyone wearing black uniforms like those of the Khmer Rouge, so I am not as scared as I was before coming here.
I walk along the main road to the market, approaching the Thai soldiers’ barracks. Suddenly a Thai song comes over the loudspeakers. Ahead of me, I see a few soldiers stop and stand straight, their rifles lowered. The butts of the rifles touch the ground. Other Cambodian refugees have noticed them, so they too stop. I do the same.
While the song is being played, an old man limps past me, his eyes staring at the ground. The old man keeps on tottering along. As soon as the song is finished, one of the soldiers darts after the old man, raises his rifle, and strikes him on the back. The man drops facedown, struggling. When he fumbles to get up, the soldier roars in his face, speaking in Thai. Then the soldier drags him to the barracks, disappearing behind the metal gate. The old man looks perplexed, frightened. Horror-stricken, every Cambodian refugee stands rooted to the road, watching helplessly.
Later the barracks becomes a place where it is common to hear people squealing in pain. One day a man’s voice screams in agony. Suddenly a tall man with brown hair leaps over the fence and quickly takes snapshots. The Thai soldiers run up to him and corner him. One snatches the camera from him, pulling the film out of it, and shoves it at his chest. The photographer walks backward as the soldiers snort at him in Thai.
A few weeks later, I witness a torture within my own family. A friend comes running over to Ry and me, telling us that bang Vantha has beaten Than up, and Than is chasing after him with a hatchet.
On the main road, Ry and I proceed, looking for Than. Ahead of us is bang Vantha, sauntering. When we reach him, Ry asks him what happened, and he says, “I hit Than a little bit, and he chased after me with a hatchet, so I told my friend to tell the soldiers to arrest him. Now the soldiers are beating him. Go help him.”
Through the metal gate, Ry and I peer, wondering where they have taken Than. We shake the gate, crying. Soon a soldier