When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [131]
“Oh, Chanrithy. Why didn’t you shake Minh’s hand?” the teacher asks sympathetically.
I reply, smiling. “I will next time.” It serves him right for smirking at the girls earlier. I look at Minh. His face is still red.
A week after our arrival, we were told to see the immigration officers. Bang Vantha walked in the opposite direction of their offices. Sitting on chairs at the immigration office with other families, we wait for him to come. Ry and Than blame Ra for not berating bang Vantha for his behavior. Ra says, he’ll come. He’s an idiot, she admits, to play around on a day like today. We keep looking at the doors, but there is no sign of him. As soon as his name is called, we all stand up, frowning at each other. Suddenly his smirking face appears at one of the doors. This is not the first time he has played with our emotions. He seems to take pleasure in making us mad.
After the meeting with immigration, bang Vantha says that he has changed his mind. He doesn’t want us to be with Uncle Seng. Instead of going to Portland, Oregon, he says he is happy to relocate. He will go anywhere the immigration authorities send us, and we will have to go also.
He smirks. Ra ignores him, holding Syla in her arms. Ry’s angry, her face red. Than keeps his thoughts to himself. Savorng and Map frown at bang Vantha. Many Cambodian refugees desperately want to go to a country like the United States, sending letters and applications for resettlement to the embassies of America, France, Australia, Canada, and any other country who might be willing to take them. They worry about their fates and pray that they will be remembered, yet my own brother-in-law is ungrateful for his own good luck.
My friend Sothea takes me to Phase I, a medical clinic that provides medical care to refugees. It looks just like a clinic in Phnom Penh, and is surrounded by lush flowers and plants. There are concrete sidewalks. Paved roads. It’s been a long time since I saw such a place.
Inside the building Sothea gives me a tour, showing me examination rooms with chairs, posters, and equipment I’ve never seen before. The front desk, where patients are received, has a long, smooth counter with a few nice chairs behind it. There are even telephones. Never before have I seen a place for refugees that is so—so modern, so well established. And the pharmacy is also nice. It has shelves along the walls with boxes and bottles of medicine neatly arranged, the variety of labels and names of medicine catch my eye. Suddenly a shadow of a memory comes to mind. I’m taken back in time to Phnom Penh, to Pa’s medicine desk. The times when he took care of me when I was sick with asthma.
Sothea introduces me to some of the staff: Dr. Sophon, a Cambodian from Canada; Mary Bliss, an American registered nurse, and Dr. Tran, a former medical doctor from Vietnam. Surprisingly, I find myself shaking hands with them naturally. All of a sudden I feel like an adult, so mature.
Sothea is going to America and needs someone to take her place as a medical interpreter. She asks if I am interested in the job. I am more than interested, I tell her! She laughs, tickled by my excitement.
Now one of my dreams is about to be realized. In Khao I Dang, I wanted so much to speak English. I wanted so badly to be a medical interpreter. Sometimes I daydreamed while I studied English. I envisioned myself translating for patients, working with doctors and nurses. It would be rewarding to help my fellow refugees who have gone through so much. Now this dream is coming true. Perhaps my other dreams will come true also, when I go to America. I remember what I promised during Chea’s burial: Chea, if I survive, I will study medicine. I want to help people because I couldn’t help you. If I die in this lifetime, I will learn medicine in my next life.
Than complains that no one has thought of teaching Map Cambodian. Than thinks Map, seven, should learn Cambodian because