When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [19]
The shelling stops. A while later Mak tells us it’s okay to come out. I’m relieved and feel I can breathe normally again. Mak, Chea, and Ra peek in at us, and reach out their hands to help us unfold our stiff bodies, which are clenched into tight little balls.
The next morning, April 17, 1975, I awake to a voice. The radio blasts. My legs involuntarily slap against the mattress. For a second I feel as if I’m awakening from death, for my body has never felt this exhausted before.
An unusual male voice comes on the air. It doesn’t speak, it shouts. “Surrender! Phnom Penh has been taken over!” I leap out of bed to find everyone. Mak, Chea, Ra, Ry, and Than are crowding onto the couch listening to the radio. Threatening words shoot from the radio: “If you don’t give up your weapons and display a white flag, our comrades will consider this an act of rebellion against us,” the voice intones.
“Chea, all of you, Ra koon, make a flag! Hurry!”
Chea, Ra, and Ry disperse as soon as Mak’s words leave her mouth. Ra looks in one closet and Chea runs to another with Ry. For a second I panic, burning with the need to do something. But then I see Ra fumbling through the closet. Mak dashes into her bedroom. Than runs out the door, and I follow. Than unlashes the gate and I zip through it to the road.
The morning is overcast as I make my way up the road. I don’t see any flags, but I notice some women running to other neighbors. They seem as frantic as my mother. With shrill voices, they alert people to put up white flags, warn each other to listen to the news on the radio.
More people are out of their houses, and the road fills with them. Men and women ask about others, wondering what will happen next. No one knows how this sudden change will affect them. Thankfully, I spot Pa approaching on his light blue scooter. He stops abruptly in the middle of the road, planting his feet on the ground to secure the scooter near a few men. Pa says something while keeping his grip on the scooter’s handles. One of the men says something back, and Pa nods his head. As quickly as they’ve come together, they scatter, scurrying. As Pa is about to take off, more people approach him, anxious for news.
“Pa!” I keep running, overjoyed that he’s all right.
When I reach the crowd surrounding him, I call out again. Pa stops his conversation. He turns and is surprised to see me. Pa quickly says, “Athy, why aren’t you at home? Go back home, koon. Go.”
I obey. I can’t help noticing how weary and rumpled Pa looks. His eyes are bloodshot, cloudy with a web of pink little veins, and more sunken than usual. I realize that he’s not wearing his inspector’s uniform. Instead, he wears an ivory-colored shirt and dark brown slacks.
As I’m running home, I hear Pa’s voice shout: “Put a white flag in front of the house! They won, and we lost.”
A woman shouts from her balcony, “Lok!* We don’t have a white flag. Where can we get a white flag?”
Pa diverts his attention from the crowd. He looks up. “It doesn’t have to be a nice white flag. A white pillowcase or a white piece of bedsheet will work. Anything white will show them we surrender!”
I’m anxious to let Mak know that Pa is coming. Through the open gate I fly, shouting: “Mak! Pa’s coming home. I saw Pa tell people to put out white flags. Pa’s almost home.”
Everybody anxiously rushes out of the house. We swarm around Pa like bees around honey as soon as he walks inside the gate. After a deep breath, he exclaims, “The Khmer Rouge got the country. We’re in trouble.”
A powerful admission for everyone. Pa shakes his head and slowly walks into the house. Everyone is anxious to hear what he has to say about the Khmer Rouge. He sits on the couch and sighs. Without a word, we take our places.
Pa speaks, choosing each word with precision: “Srok Khmer [Cambodia] has fallen into the hands of the Khmer Rouge. Our lives will not be the same. They have ordered Lon Nol’s soldiers to put down weapons and surrender. If people refuse to