When Broken Glass Floats_ Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge - Chanrithy Him [99]
“Athy,” Chea whispers. “If bang has done anything wrong that hurt you, please forgive bang, p’yoon srey. I’m sorry. Please don’t let bang sin.” Chea chokes, her body convulsing.
“No, Chea. You’ve—you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve never done wrong….” I sniff, trying to fight back tears and the pain inside my chest.
“P’yoon, all of you, forgive bang for the things I’ve done wrong. Please don’t let bang sin….” Her eyes close again.
“You have not sinned, Chea,” Ra says, her voice tender.
Ry sniffs, her hand reaching out to Chea. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“When I die, bury me under the tree in front of our hut. I want to look after all of you. Mak, Pa yurk [Our mother and father] died, and there is nobody to take care of you. I want to watch over you. Ra, don’t forget, p’yoon.”
The next day in the woods, I think of nothing but Chea. Her shriveled body. Her pleas for forgiveness. As I stare into space, my hands clear tall grass and bushes. I’m oblivious to the other children working beside me.
“Comrades, it’s time for lunch,” a man says. It is the drawl of the boys’ brigade leader.
The children in my brigade hurry past me to get their rations. But today getting food is a tedious task for me. As I sit under some shade, my hands balancing a plate of dark leafy soup, I hear the voice of the boys’ brigade leader inquire, “Does that comrade over there ever smile when she gets yam or rice?”
“I’ve never seen her smile,” a woman says. “She always looks sad. Frowns.”
Suddenly Chea’s vivid words force their way into my mind again, overshadowing what is here and now. She said, “Come to see bang again, Athy. Tomorrow, don’t forget.” No, I won’t forget, I whisper to myself, as if wanting Chea to hear me.
As soon as my brigade returns to the commune house, Thore Meta grants me permission to see Chea as if she already knew I would ask her for it. She says, “Go, then come back.” Her voice is concerned.
I scamper down the stairs. The breeze is warm, humid. The evening becomes twilight so suddenly. When I near the hut, the fire is burning beneath the hut again. This time it’s dimmer. Just as the fire loses its intensity, I find Ra, Ry, and Map lying near Chea. It’s quiet. I don’t hear Chea’s voice as I had last night. I feel I’ve returned too late. And here I am, wanting to hear Chea talk again, to pick up where she left off yesterday.
“Chea, Chea, it’s Athy,” I whisper. “I’ve come to see you, Chea. My brigade leader let me come.”
There’s no answer. Ra and Ry turn to me, then they weep. Their cries are echoed by Map’s. Ry says Chea stopped talking this morning. But she asked me to come back to see her. She must have wanted to tell me something more. She can’t stop talking now. She can’t.
I sob, gasping for air. Suddenly Chea’s hand slowly reaches out to me. I move away, wailing uncontrollably. Her hand drops to the floor. Her throat chokes. Her eyelids quiver, then shut again. This is too much to bear. I leave, running back to the commune.
Through the night I weep. Though the pain is in my heart, my sorrow is shared by the other children in the commune. They cry softly. Their snifflings fill the air.
After work the next day, as I hang my washed pants on the wall of the commune house, my body senses something strange. A sudden emotion surges through my body, then my body is jolted and tears stream out of my eyes. Chea! I cry, calling her under my breath. Chea died. Oh God, please help my sister.
I hear the sounds of footsteps climbing the stair. I wipe my tears, then before me are the children with whom I share the house. Their faces are a mirror of my sorrow. Soon Thore Meta emerges. I walk up to her, then say, “I want to—” I break down before I can say Chea’s name.
“Comrade Thy, your sister came and told me that your older sister has died.”
The morning comes. The dawning sunlight filters through the cracks of the house. I just fell asleep, but already I’m awakened by the voice of Thore Meta—it’s time to work. Before I can think, everyone gets up and hurries down the stairs, disappearing one by one.
After