Read Online When Broken Glass Floats: Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge Paperback by Chanrithy Him - Free Book Online
Authors: Chanrithy Him
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from being in the sun, their appearance crude, as if they need a good bath. Their heads are wrapped with scarves like a farmer’s turban. Sitting defiantly atop tanks, military jeeps, and trucks, they form a strange victory parade. Renegade floats decorated with ragtag humans. Their uniforms look like black pajamas. Many wear red-and-white-checked scarves wrapped around their necks like mufflers. Their sandals are odd, with soles fashioned of car tires and pieces of inner tube strapping them into place. It fits with their bare-fisted philosophy of combat.
That doesn’t really concern my father. What catches his eye is their physical condition, their malnourished bodies. They act tough with guns and rifles strapped onto their shoulders, but their sallow complexions betray their suffering. Pa sees not only with his eyes but with his heart. In the evening Pa takes a bottle of multivitamins to these malnourished Khmer Rouge. To them, he looks like a Chinese merchant.
A man with good intentions holds a bottle of medicine and a flashlight. He is not fearful of the ones he seeks to help. Aware only that their newly seized turf is being trespassed upon, the soldiers roar and growl like hyenas, puffed up with false bravado to intimidate Pa . They stab their rifles at my father as they close in on him.
Pa shines the light on the white vitamin bottle and explains his intention. But an explanation will not suffice. They don’t trust him, they accuse him of trying to poison them. One snatches the bottle away. To ease their suspicions, Pa pops two red-coated vitamins into his mouth, chewing them like candy. Only then do the Khmer Rouge put their hands out, and Pa feels like a child sharing his goodies with bully kids.
Now he has their trust, he asks them if Hou Yuon and Hu Nim, * high-ranking Khmer Rouge members, are already in Phnom Penh. My father knew these men when he was a young boy, long before they became Communists. Perhaps they could pull some strings for him, allow a passage to Olympic Market to retrieve Uncle Surg, Than, his mother, and his sisters’ families before we evacuate. But none of these Khmer Rouge men know of them. Pa finds out later from other Khmer Rouge coming through the street that Hou Yuon and Hu Nim won’t be coming to Phnom Penh. Pa ’s heart sinks.
The next morning brings more hopelessness and we brace for the unknown. The Khmer Rouge come by to remind us to leave. They ask if Pa has weapons. He turns over his pistols, requisitioned to him long ago for work. Pa gives his word that we’ll leave tomorrow, the twenty-first of April, holding out as long as he can in the hope that Uncle Surg and Than will return. For now, we must pack. Everyone has a chore, and we dully follow our duties: prepare meals for the road, hide money and any valuables: watches, jewelry, house title, birth certificates, etc.
Ra hastily assembles cloth belts with compartments where bundles of money will be hidden. Some of us fold clothes and pack them. Others cook rice, cut vegetables, boil a pan full of eggs, which have been incubated by the hens we raised. Pa has to kill the hens for us to eat, ten of them.
Tonight is a night of togetherness, the last wisp of freedom. The night presses on. Fatigue creeps up on me. I fall into a deep sleep, drifting off to the sound of chopping.
Day has come. The morning steals upon us with a heavy, overcast pallor. It is as if nature is in mourning. The weather has been dreadful since the Khmer Rouge took over the country. Black clouds have covered the sky above Phnom Penh.
Leaving our home this morning are Pa ; Mak ; Chea; Ra; Ry; myself; Avy, seven; Vin, three; Map, one; Aunt Heak, Uncle Surg’s wife; Ateek, their two-year-old son; their baby son, who is not yet one; and our dog, Akie. We are one of the last families to leave, setting out on foot. We lock our gate behind us and begin to walk.
I am struck by how slowly we move, held back by the weight of our sorrow. Suddenly Pa stops
That doesn’t really concern my father. What catches his eye is their physical condition, their malnourished bodies. They act tough with guns and rifles strapped onto their shoulders, but their sallow complexions betray their suffering. Pa sees not only with his eyes but with his heart. In the evening Pa takes a bottle of multivitamins to these malnourished Khmer Rouge. To them, he looks like a Chinese merchant.
A man with good intentions holds a bottle of medicine and a flashlight. He is not fearful of the ones he seeks to help. Aware only that their newly seized turf is being trespassed upon, the soldiers roar and growl like hyenas, puffed up with false bravado to intimidate Pa . They stab their rifles at my father as they close in on him.
Pa shines the light on the white vitamin bottle and explains his intention. But an explanation will not suffice. They don’t trust him, they accuse him of trying to poison them. One snatches the bottle away. To ease their suspicions, Pa pops two red-coated vitamins into his mouth, chewing them like candy. Only then do the Khmer Rouge put their hands out, and Pa feels like a child sharing his goodies with bully kids.
Now he has their trust, he asks them if Hou Yuon and Hu Nim, * high-ranking Khmer Rouge members, are already in Phnom Penh. My father knew these men when he was a young boy, long before they became Communists. Perhaps they could pull some strings for him, allow a passage to Olympic Market to retrieve Uncle Surg, Than, his mother, and his sisters’ families before we evacuate. But none of these Khmer Rouge men know of them. Pa finds out later from other Khmer Rouge coming through the street that Hou Yuon and Hu Nim won’t be coming to Phnom Penh. Pa ’s heart sinks.
The next morning brings more hopelessness and we brace for the unknown. The Khmer Rouge come by to remind us to leave. They ask if Pa has weapons. He turns over his pistols, requisitioned to him long ago for work. Pa gives his word that we’ll leave tomorrow, the twenty-first of April, holding out as long as he can in the hope that Uncle Surg and Than will return. For now, we must pack. Everyone has a chore, and we dully follow our duties: prepare meals for the road, hide money and any valuables: watches, jewelry, house title, birth certificates, etc.
Ra hastily assembles cloth belts with compartments where bundles of money will be hidden. Some of us fold clothes and pack them. Others cook rice, cut vegetables, boil a pan full of eggs, which have been incubated by the hens we raised. Pa has to kill the hens for us to eat, ten of them.
Tonight is a night of togetherness, the last wisp of freedom. The night presses on. Fatigue creeps up on me. I fall into a deep sleep, drifting off to the sound of chopping.
Day has come. The morning steals upon us with a heavy, overcast pallor. It is as if nature is in mourning. The weather has been dreadful since the Khmer Rouge took over the country. Black clouds have covered the sky above Phnom Penh.
Leaving our home this morning are Pa ; Mak ; Chea; Ra; Ry; myself; Avy, seven; Vin, three; Map, one; Aunt Heak, Uncle Surg’s wife; Ateek, their two-year-old son; their baby son, who is not yet one; and our dog, Akie. We are one of the last families to leave, setting out on foot. We lock our gate behind us and begin to walk.
I am struck by how slowly we move, held back by the weight of our sorrow. Suddenly Pa stops
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