When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [136]
I read the fancy print in Cambodian, my mind half asleep. It says something about going to hell. Suddenly Om stops me from reading further. Both of her hands clap mine to close the kompee. She says I didn’t concentrate hard enough when I wished for good fortune. “Let her try one more time,” she says to her husband. Before he says anything, she tells me to concentrate and wish for a great fortune. Her hands wrap around mine and lift them to my forehead, then she says, “Now concentrate. Wish for a good fortune.”
I wish for good fate, good fortune. God, please help me in America, I say tiredly in my mind. Somehow I find myself pouring my soul into my wishing. I hold the kompee up longer so Om thinks I am wishing hard, concentrating hard. I just want to see her happy. I hope I have some luck tonight and the incense lands on a good page.
That’s enough, Om says lovingly. She tells me to turn to the page and read, coaching me like I am a little girl. I read from the page and it says that I will have a good fate, and that a sathey, a wealthy person, will find me and support me in every way. Before I finish reading, Om interrupts, “You see, daughter? When you focus your mind, you get a good fortune. Om believes that daughter will have good luck in America as the words say in the kompee.”
I’ve packed everything I own: a few clothes, notebooks, pens, the Essential English Book I, tattered family photos I’d hidden, a medical dictionary Sothea gave me, and a small packet of medicine for anyone who might get sick on the plane. In the packet I put my ID from Phase I in case we are questioned about the medicine. I tell Ry that I’ve packed everything, then I run down the stairs and yell out to her that I need to go to Phase I. I need to say good-bye to my friends.
On the concrete sidewalk, I trot. Tears burn at the back of my eyes when I think about leaving PRPC today. I hope they’re there. I don’t want to leave without saying good-bye. I’ve told everyone else at Phase I that I’m going to America. Streams of tears course down my cheeks.
“Chanrithy, Chanrithy,” a voice sounds behind me.
I turn. My eyes search for the voice. An American woman runs toward me. Mary Bliss? She smiles and quickens her stride, leaping over the flower bed near the sidewalk.
Smiling, I say, “Mary, I’m going to America today! I’ve been wanting to say good-bye to you.”
“That’s what I heard from the people at the clinic. That’s why I came to find you, so I could say good-bye.” She gazes at me, her arms embracing me.
She hands me her address in Washington, D.C., and tells me to write her so she can write me a letter of recommendation for a job in America. Looking into my teary eyes, she apologizes that she couldn’t say good-bye to me sooner because she was out of the country in Thailand. Knowing I’m pressed for time, she says her good-byes and wishes me good luck in my new life in America.
I wipe away my tears and hurry into the clinic. I go up to the front desk to find out if Dr. Tanedo will be at the clinic, but he’s only working at the hospital today. A lump forms in my throat. When the nurse at the desk hears I’m leaving, she calls Dr. Tanedo at the hospital, who says he will find me when I go to my mandatory physical exam before departure.
I smile, thank her, then rush out the door. I can’t help smiling radiantly. I’ve been teased about Dr. Tanedo, but I don’t care. I do have a crush on him, but he’s been kind to me.
When I arrive home, Dr. Tanedo is already there. “Hi, Dr. Tanedo. Thank you for coming to say good-bye to me,” I exclaim, smiling brightly yet embarrassed to have him look at me.
He returns the smile and tells me that he came as soon as he heard I was leaving the camp. He’s so kind to take the time to come. I feel awkward, embarrassed again. I lower my eyes, then realize I need to introduce Ry, Ra, and Than. He reaches out to