Read Online Alive in the Killing Fields by Nawuth Keat - Free Book Online
Authors: Nawuth Keat
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out of sight. I later realized there was no plan, no plotted out route to the city. Our goal was just to stay away from the Khmer Rouge. Every night, we walked again, zigzagging to confuse any Khmer Rouge who might be tracking us. Van Lan decided which direction we should go. I did not ask, “Why are wewalking this way? How much farther do we have to go? What is going to happen?” It was as if I had blinders on. I just focused on placing one foot in front of another, again and again and again.
We never walked on a road where we would be easy to spot. Open, grassy fields—even if the grass was tall enough to hide us—were not safe either. The Khmer Rouge had put land mines in them to scare people from trying to run away. Instead, we criss-crossed the jungle on narrow, bumpy trails that had been made by small animals. Van Lan studied each path carefully to see if there was any hint of a land mine. He looked for disturbed roots, uneven ground, or anything that might show a mine had been buried there. Barefoot, we stepped as lightly as we could, hour after hour. We took short rests, but we traveled every night, and sometimes during part of the day, too. We were always listening for any Khmer Rouge that might be in the area. To keep the babies in the group quiet, mothers gave them tree bark to suck. It contained a chemical that caused the babies to sleep.
It was the summer dry season, and we were thirsty. I fantasized about the soothing, satisfying taste of water. Then I saw a rise ahead of us. Cambodia is mostly flat, so any ridge really stands out. I knew that during the rainy season, people stay in high and dry spots above the flood plain. They usually dig a well so they can have clear, fresh water to drink. When we got to the high ground, I was thrilled to discover a well there. I looked down into it, and I saw water. My tongue felt even drier than before.My family stopped to drink. Bunna lowered me into the narrow darkness. I let go with one hand and filled a bucket with water. He pulled me back up, and we drank. But the rest of the group had not waited for our family. We were alone.
When we came out of the jungle, we found ourselves with no clear way to go other than across an open area with high grass, much taller than we were. We had no choice other than to risk the land mines that might be set there. The high grass would hide us from the Khmer Rouge, but we could not see them, either. As usual, Van Lan led the way. I guess he looked at the sun to decide what direction to go. The soil was hot and sandy. My feet burned so much from walking on it that I wrapped rags around them. As the hours passed, the rags shredded. I just trudged along, pushing the bike and thinking about nothing except the miserable discovery I had made—that I could move when I was too tired to move. Then, I snapped out of my thoughts. I spotted what looked like a mound of something, but I could not see clearly what it was. Could this be as valuable a find as the bike? I was still carrying chickens in my hand, so with my foot I tapped the mound. The “mound” leaped up at me! It was a dog. It attacked me and bit my leg. Blood poured out from the wound.
“Van Lan,” I yelled. “I’m hurt!”
He stopped and came to me.
“I’ll make a bandage,” he said. He pulled the shirt off his back and wrapped it around my wound.
“I know you can keep going,” he said. “You have to.”
As I walked, my leg swelled. I yanked a small branch from a tree and pulled the twigs and leaves off it. Even using that as a crutch, I still could barely move ahead. But somehow, I did.
We walked by day, we walked by night. We rested in short stops, but kept going as much of the time as we could. When we did sleep, we had no choice but to lie down on the ground. When I woke up, I still felt tired. Even the chickens needed breaks. We carried them upside down, and their feet swelled. If they did not walk right side up every now and then, they would die.
A
We never walked on a road where we would be easy to spot. Open, grassy fields—even if the grass was tall enough to hide us—were not safe either. The Khmer Rouge had put land mines in them to scare people from trying to run away. Instead, we criss-crossed the jungle on narrow, bumpy trails that had been made by small animals. Van Lan studied each path carefully to see if there was any hint of a land mine. He looked for disturbed roots, uneven ground, or anything that might show a mine had been buried there. Barefoot, we stepped as lightly as we could, hour after hour. We took short rests, but we traveled every night, and sometimes during part of the day, too. We were always listening for any Khmer Rouge that might be in the area. To keep the babies in the group quiet, mothers gave them tree bark to suck. It contained a chemical that caused the babies to sleep.
It was the summer dry season, and we were thirsty. I fantasized about the soothing, satisfying taste of water. Then I saw a rise ahead of us. Cambodia is mostly flat, so any ridge really stands out. I knew that during the rainy season, people stay in high and dry spots above the flood plain. They usually dig a well so they can have clear, fresh water to drink. When we got to the high ground, I was thrilled to discover a well there. I looked down into it, and I saw water. My tongue felt even drier than before.My family stopped to drink. Bunna lowered me into the narrow darkness. I let go with one hand and filled a bucket with water. He pulled me back up, and we drank. But the rest of the group had not waited for our family. We were alone.
When we came out of the jungle, we found ourselves with no clear way to go other than across an open area with high grass, much taller than we were. We had no choice other than to risk the land mines that might be set there. The high grass would hide us from the Khmer Rouge, but we could not see them, either. As usual, Van Lan led the way. I guess he looked at the sun to decide what direction to go. The soil was hot and sandy. My feet burned so much from walking on it that I wrapped rags around them. As the hours passed, the rags shredded. I just trudged along, pushing the bike and thinking about nothing except the miserable discovery I had made—that I could move when I was too tired to move. Then, I snapped out of my thoughts. I spotted what looked like a mound of something, but I could not see clearly what it was. Could this be as valuable a find as the bike? I was still carrying chickens in my hand, so with my foot I tapped the mound. The “mound” leaped up at me! It was a dog. It attacked me and bit my leg. Blood poured out from the wound.
“Van Lan,” I yelled. “I’m hurt!”
He stopped and came to me.
“I’ll make a bandage,” he said. He pulled the shirt off his back and wrapped it around my wound.
“I know you can keep going,” he said. “You have to.”
As I walked, my leg swelled. I yanked a small branch from a tree and pulled the twigs and leaves off it. Even using that as a crutch, I still could barely move ahead. But somehow, I did.
We walked by day, we walked by night. We rested in short stops, but kept going as much of the time as we could. When we did sleep, we had no choice but to lie down on the ground. When I woke up, I still felt tired. Even the chickens needed breaks. We carried them upside down, and their feet swelled. If they did not walk right side up every now and then, they would die.
A
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