When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [70]
Hundreds of children and young adults cluster around the cooking area, which is open, without a shelter to shield it from the rain or sun. The natural landmark is a dead tree, leafless with only the brittle skeleton of tree branches sticking out. People hover close by, sitting and squatting on the dirt, shoving rice into their mouths. Ary and I wait in a children’s line, our eyes stealing glances at the rice and thin fish soup people are already devouring. Suddenly a faint eager voice calls out my name, “Athy!” again and again.
I turn, looking for the voice. I see Chea emerging from the waiting lines and people sitting on the ground. It’s hard to believe this is my sister. The image makes my heart ache—she’s thin, her face darkened and worn by the sun. Her clothes are very old, grayish-black pants and a rag of a shirt with an old faded scarf around her neck.
“Chea, Chea,” I croon. I’m giddy with jubilation and frozen with shock at the deterioration of my sister’s beauty. I’ve heard that many in the brigades have died from exhaustion and illness. Yet she’s running to me, her eyes glowing. She would have opened her arms wide to embrace me if space permitted it. I don’t care about being in line, I don’t care about eating. Chea is food for my soul.
“Athy, where are you staying?” Chea inquires urgently. Her face closes in on mine, but she recoils, horror-stricken.
“Your eyes have white lines of tissue in them.” She gently lifts my eyelids with her fingers, then spits out her blunt conclusion. “Your eyes look bad. You could go blind, Athy.”
Her words scare me, and I blink hard—my eyes suddenly feeling heavier than they felt before. Chea has to leave right away, but she promises me that she’ll look for me. I find my way back to the food line. I know I’ve had problems with my eyes. When I wake, my lashes are glued together. And it’s been hard to see, my eyes squint painfully under the sun. I’m frightened about the possibility of going blind.
The following day Chea sneaks over to see me briefly during mealtimes. One evening, during the ration, Chea seems anxious. She waves, signaling me to come to her. “Athy, do you want to go with Ra and me to see Mak? We’re going to see her and bring her rice.”
The thought overwhelms me. “I’m scared, Chea. I want to go, too, but I’m scared. I’m afraid they’ll catch us on the way.”
“It’s okay. We’re going at night, and we’ll walk in the woods and not through villages. My coworker knows a way. Don’t worry. I’ll come to get you at your shelter when it gets dark. I have to go now,” she says, touching my shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that comforts me.
Night sets in. Chea, Ra, two other women, and I stoop and crawl past shelters, out of the labor camp. The only thing I hear is my own breathing and theirs, soft whispers of air. The sound of our footsteps is muffled by sandy earth. The trees along the oxcart path cloak us, but they also darken our way. My eyes, which strain in bright sunshine, are of little use at night, but we don’t run into anything. Chea’s coworker must know her way around these villages. I wonder if she’s one of the “old people.” I can’t tell. In the dark, I see only shadows, the dim silhouettes of Chea and Ra. I recognize Chea only by her voice. There, I put my trust.
We leave the oxcart path, turning onto a different path flanked by trees, bushes, shrubs. It looks familiar: This is the oxcart path that snakes through many villages, leading us close to Daakpo village. Though we are still in the woods, there is more light. Our fears lessen as we get a glimpse of the familiar community of huts, all in shadow.
The two coworkers go their separate ways to their families. My sisters and I head to our mother, cautiously weaving past the sleeping huts. We walk quietly into the hut, trying not to scare Mak, Avy, or Map, who are already asleep.
“Mak….” Chea sticks her head into the doorless hut, whispering.
“Mak!” Ra echoes in an enthusiastic whisper. I join in, climbing into the hut for our secret homecoming.
Scooting close to Mak in the dark hut, it’s hard to believe