When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [21]
“Thy, let’s go,” Thavy cries out, a voice that seems to drone on like a slow echo. When the words reach my ears, it is as if they reach me from some place dense and distant. They snap me out of my trance.
We run toward the hole in the fence where we entered. I run, then behind me I hear a boy crying in a sudden burst at the top of his lungs—Thavy’s brother trips and falls when they reach the fence. I’ve forgotten why I’m no longer holding his hand and somehow have run past them both. Thavy’s shriek pierces the air as she lifts her brother, yanking up a little boy dressed in blue shorts and sandals as if he has taken a routine spill on the playground, as if it were a normal day. I run back to help. I look toward the school buildings, almost expecting to see a shadow, the ghost of that suffering soldier coming after me.
We grab her brother’s small hands and run. We methodically clean dirt off Thavy’s brother, brushing off his hands and knees to erase evidence that would lead to any suspicious questions from adults. We try to calm him and bribe him with promises of candy, gum, crackers—anything that comes to mind. Anything to get his terrified mind off the school and the decaying corpses, to return him to a normal state of mind as we near our separate homes.
As they leave me at my home, I watch Thavy walk away, an arm snaking around her little brother as she murmurs reassurances. I see their small backs moving up the street. It is a rare parting. The last time I will ever visit my school. Perhaps the last time I will ever see Thavy.
Once home, I try to be as normal as I can, acting like I’ve just come back from a typical visit at a friend’s house. No one suspects my spying, nor the horror that has visited our playgrounds. I keep it to myself and it seems to eat me up, devouring me from the inside out.
The next day the news reaches us—the Khmer Rouge are ordering everyone out of the capital city. The Americans will bomb us, we are told. We have to be three kilometers (about two miles) away from Phnom Penh to avoid the bombing. Since we are not going far from the capital, we are told we shouldn’t take too many belongings, just enough to last until we are allowed to return.
Upon hearing of the imminent evacuation, Pa asks Uncle Surg and Than to get his mother, Yiey Khmeng, and his sisters’ families near Olympic Market. His plan is to leave the city together. If we are not allowed to return, we’ll head to his birthplace in Year Piar village, the Khmer Rouge’s “long-liberated” area where my grandfather, Kong Houng, lives. The trip to pick up his mother shouldn’t take long, only about ten minutes to reach the families’ houses. Maybe an hour or two to pack belongings. But two hours turn into three, daylight turns to cool night, and still we don’t see or hear the car or voices of Than or Uncle Surg. Nothing.
Everyone is worried, especially Pa and Uncle Surg’s wife, Aunt Heak. Mak worries about Than, but feels he’ll be okay since he’s with Uncle Surg. Pa decides to go after them. Mak insists he wait until morning. Pa doesn’t say anything to Mak, but gets ready, tugging on his shirt and pants. He retrieves his keys and asks me to unlatch the gate. The scooter starts up with a pop and growl, then headlight and taillights wink on and in a few seconds Pa disappears up the dark road.
In a short while, he’s back. “These Khmer Rouge are difficult to deal with. They pointed rifles at me and made me turn around.”
The following morning, April 19, Pa walks to a nearby street. After a few hours Pa returns to tell us more Khmer Rouge are pouring into Phnom Penh. Their skins are dark from being in the sun, their appearance crude, as if they need a good bath. Their heads are wrapped with scarves like a farmer