Author’s Notes: For those who are interested in reading the story in its entirety, this manuscript will be published into a book soon. I will make an announcement in KI-Media when the book comes out.
Thank you.
Disobeying Angkar’s Viney
One afternoon, after coming to fetch our lunch from the camp’s kitchen, I felt my legs were shaking and a sheer fatigue throughout my body, a sign of weakness due to prolonged malnutrition. So, I told my team leader that I didn’t feel well and would like to take the rest of the afternoon off. Afterward, I went to the hut which was our sleeping quarter and lied down to give my body a much needed rest. A couple of hours later, I heard someone yelled at the far end of the hut calling everyone in there to come out and assemble in front of it. From the tone of his voice, I knew instantly that there was trouble ahead. I got up slowly and made my way to the gathering place. There I found a man named Chay, who was our brigade’s leader, and a few of my colleagues who, like me I presumed, were feeling unwell as well. Chay told us to sit in a half circle in front of him as he was preparing to interrogate us what were the causes of our staying in the hut while everyone else was out working in the fields. Amongst the six or so people who were being interrogated, I was the youngest and smallest. So, Chay picked on me first. He asked me what kind of sickness I had that warranted my absence from going to work. I told him that I had a temperature and that I felt fatigue so badly this afternoon. Chay put the palm of his hand on my forehead to feel my temperature and afterward chastised me that I was pretending to be sick, and that my sickness was not real. It was an emotional sickness, chheur sateh arom. As he vented his rage at me, Chay drew his hand in a motion of slapping me in the face for not convincing him enough of my sickness. Instantly, I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable punishment. But Chay somehow stopped short of slapping me. He then turned to a young man named Met who sat next to me. “What is the matter with you?” he asked Met. “I am sick.” Met answered him matter-of-factly. “Liar!” Chay screamed. “You all are lazy pretending to be sick.” He went on. In an attempt to defend his innocence, Met interjected that if he were not sick, he would not stay away from work. Chay was enraged upon hearing Met’s rebuttal to his accusation. In a split second, he stepped forward and kicked Met right on the chest. Met fell backward and struggled to sit up again as he was assessing the damages to his mouth and chest resulted from the impact of Chay’s kick. His mouth bled profusely. But no one dared say a word. We all sat still like stone waiting for Chay to make his next move.
After venting his rage at Met, Chay seemed to have fulfilled his callous behavior. In a contemptible mood, he ordered us to get out of his sight and don’t ever again use illness as a pretext to stay away from work. Under Chay’s sharp gaze, we sheepishly and quietly went back into the hut. As we were walking into the hut, I stole a quick glance at Met to see how badly hurt he was. His lips were badly swollen as Chay’s knee might have hit them when he delivered his kick. He was really in bad shape. But nothing we could do to help him. Not even a word of sympathy. In the Khmer Rouge’s silent code of conduct, anyone who was punished by a cadre or cadres should be shunted. Hence, it was prudent to stay away from a person being punished whether that person was guilty or not. With a helpless feeling, I went to my sleeping quarter and lied down waiting for the rest of the afternoon to pass by.
My mother was surprised to see me coming home in the dark and soaking wet. I told her that I came home to have her mended my torn shirt which I was wearing. But my mother seemed to know that my real motive was not only to have that torn shirt mended but rather to have some food in my stomach. After giving me some dry clothes to change into, my mother went to the kitchen and opened up a crevice where she hid some rice. She cooked the rice and a piece of dried fish in a kettle as the Khmer Rouge authority did not allow people to have any pot and pan at home beside a kettle to boil water. After the rice and the dried fish were cooked, my mother told me to go to the kitchen and eat the food quietly lest there was any Khmer Rouge vigilante called chhlob spied on us while she was mending my shirt.
Despite my enormous hunger, I was overcome by fear and anxiety about the consequence of my action once I returned to the camp. Khoeun was one of the camp’s supervisors. The fact that he spotted Teav and me running away from the camp was a serious cause for concern. Although the Khmer Rouge had, at that point, stopped classifying people as being new or based, my predicament was compounded by the fact that Teav was the child of base people who had some privilege while facing disciplinary action regarding wrong doing. Hence, should there be any punishment for our action, I would certainly be the one who will bear the brunt of it. The more I think about the consequence and punishment I might face, the more worrisome I became. All of a sudden, my stomach began to churn and my throat was tightened. The fear had finally broken me down, mentally and physically. I struggled to swallow the food in my mouth and left the rest uneaten while sitting quietly in the kitchen to regain my composure.
By early January 1979, we began to hear the sounds of transport trucks going along the dirt road leading northwestward, which were unusual given the fact that that desolated dirt road rarely saw any motorized vehicles traveling in it beside the oxcarts. When Ret went to fetch our weekly rations at the communal warehouse, we asked him to inquire about those transport trucks as to why they were traveling through this isolated dirt road. To our surprise, Ret told us that those transport trucks carried loads of people and materials apparently on the run. That evening, Iev went to see the commune’s chief and other Khmer Rouge’s notables to find out what was going on. He returned to the camp at about 7 o’clock in the evening and told us to pack up and go home as there was no one remained in the commune’s office. Apparently, the Khmer Rouge’s cadres in the commune had hotfooted away or went into hiding.
Not knowing what to do, Ret divided the rice rations among everyone, and we all went our separate ways toward home. Ponlear Chey, the village from where I came, was located farthest away from the camp. To get there, I had to walk through three other villages, Phum Bonteay Staung, Phum Chonloss, and Phum Po. Between each village, there was an empty span of rice field with a distance of about one mile. Amongst the kids in my camp, two of them lived in Phum Po, and I was the only one who was from Ponlear Chey. Hence, this would mean that I had to walk across that empty span of rice field between Phum Po and Phum Ponlear Chey alone. But I had no choice. Staying in the camp alone was out of the question. So, with fear and anxiety, I returned home in the dark with the two kids who were from Phum Po. After the two kids reached their houses, I walked alone toward home in pitch darkness with only some stars overhead. That last few miles of walking home toward freedom was perhaps the scariest experience I had ever had in my life. I still have goose-flesh when recalling that particular experience.
Thank you.
Disobeying Angkar’s Viney
One afternoon, after coming to fetch our lunch from the camp’s kitchen, I felt my legs were shaking and a sheer fatigue throughout my body, a sign of weakness due to prolonged malnutrition. So, I told my team leader that I didn’t feel well and would like to take the rest of the afternoon off. Afterward, I went to the hut which was our sleeping quarter and lied down to give my body a much needed rest. A couple of hours later, I heard someone yelled at the far end of the hut calling everyone in there to come out and assemble in front of it. From the tone of his voice, I knew instantly that there was trouble ahead. I got up slowly and made my way to the gathering place. There I found a man named Chay, who was our brigade’s leader, and a few of my colleagues who, like me I presumed, were feeling unwell as well. Chay told us to sit in a half circle in front of him as he was preparing to interrogate us what were the causes of our staying in the hut while everyone else was out working in the fields. Amongst the six or so people who were being interrogated, I was the youngest and smallest. So, Chay picked on me first. He asked me what kind of sickness I had that warranted my absence from going to work. I told him that I had a temperature and that I felt fatigue so badly this afternoon. Chay put the palm of his hand on my forehead to feel my temperature and afterward chastised me that I was pretending to be sick, and that my sickness was not real. It was an emotional sickness, chheur sateh arom. As he vented his rage at me, Chay drew his hand in a motion of slapping me in the face for not convincing him enough of my sickness. Instantly, I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable punishment. But Chay somehow stopped short of slapping me. He then turned to a young man named Met who sat next to me. “What is the matter with you?” he asked Met. “I am sick.” Met answered him matter-of-factly. “Liar!” Chay screamed. “You all are lazy pretending to be sick.” He went on. In an attempt to defend his innocence, Met interjected that if he were not sick, he would not stay away from work. Chay was enraged upon hearing Met’s rebuttal to his accusation. In a split second, he stepped forward and kicked Met right on the chest. Met fell backward and struggled to sit up again as he was assessing the damages to his mouth and chest resulted from the impact of Chay’s kick. His mouth bled profusely. But no one dared say a word. We all sat still like stone waiting for Chay to make his next move.
After venting his rage at Met, Chay seemed to have fulfilled his callous behavior. In a contemptible mood, he ordered us to get out of his sight and don’t ever again use illness as a pretext to stay away from work. Under Chay’s sharp gaze, we sheepishly and quietly went back into the hut. As we were walking into the hut, I stole a quick glance at Met to see how badly hurt he was. His lips were badly swollen as Chay’s knee might have hit them when he delivered his kick. He was really in bad shape. But nothing we could do to help him. Not even a word of sympathy. In the Khmer Rouge’s silent code of conduct, anyone who was punished by a cadre or cadres should be shunted. Hence, it was prudent to stay away from a person being punished whether that person was guilty or not. With a helpless feeling, I went to my sleeping quarter and lied down waiting for the rest of the afternoon to pass by.
***********
My mother was surprised to see me coming home in the dark and soaking wet. I told her that I came home to have her mended my torn shirt which I was wearing. But my mother seemed to know that my real motive was not only to have that torn shirt mended but rather to have some food in my stomach. After giving me some dry clothes to change into, my mother went to the kitchen and opened up a crevice where she hid some rice. She cooked the rice and a piece of dried fish in a kettle as the Khmer Rouge authority did not allow people to have any pot and pan at home beside a kettle to boil water. After the rice and the dried fish were cooked, my mother told me to go to the kitchen and eat the food quietly lest there was any Khmer Rouge vigilante called chhlob spied on us while she was mending my shirt.
Despite my enormous hunger, I was overcome by fear and anxiety about the consequence of my action once I returned to the camp. Khoeun was one of the camp’s supervisors. The fact that he spotted Teav and me running away from the camp was a serious cause for concern. Although the Khmer Rouge had, at that point, stopped classifying people as being new or based, my predicament was compounded by the fact that Teav was the child of base people who had some privilege while facing disciplinary action regarding wrong doing. Hence, should there be any punishment for our action, I would certainly be the one who will bear the brunt of it. The more I think about the consequence and punishment I might face, the more worrisome I became. All of a sudden, my stomach began to churn and my throat was tightened. The fear had finally broken me down, mentally and physically. I struggled to swallow the food in my mouth and left the rest uneaten while sitting quietly in the kitchen to regain my composure.
************
Returning HomeBy early January 1979, we began to hear the sounds of transport trucks going along the dirt road leading northwestward, which were unusual given the fact that that desolated dirt road rarely saw any motorized vehicles traveling in it beside the oxcarts. When Ret went to fetch our weekly rations at the communal warehouse, we asked him to inquire about those transport trucks as to why they were traveling through this isolated dirt road. To our surprise, Ret told us that those transport trucks carried loads of people and materials apparently on the run. That evening, Iev went to see the commune’s chief and other Khmer Rouge’s notables to find out what was going on. He returned to the camp at about 7 o’clock in the evening and told us to pack up and go home as there was no one remained in the commune’s office. Apparently, the Khmer Rouge’s cadres in the commune had hotfooted away or went into hiding.
Not knowing what to do, Ret divided the rice rations among everyone, and we all went our separate ways toward home. Ponlear Chey, the village from where I came, was located farthest away from the camp. To get there, I had to walk through three other villages, Phum Bonteay Staung, Phum Chonloss, and Phum Po. Between each village, there was an empty span of rice field with a distance of about one mile. Amongst the kids in my camp, two of them lived in Phum Po, and I was the only one who was from Ponlear Chey. Hence, this would mean that I had to walk across that empty span of rice field between Phum Po and Phum Ponlear Chey alone. But I had no choice. Staying in the camp alone was out of the question. So, with fear and anxiety, I returned home in the dark with the two kids who were from Phum Po. After the two kids reached their houses, I walked alone toward home in pitch darkness with only some stars overhead. That last few miles of walking home toward freedom was perhaps the scariest experience I had ever had in my life. I still have goose-flesh when recalling that particular experience.
3 comments:
1) Kampuchea Democratic vs. Khmer Republic
2) Khmer Republic overthrown
3) Killing Fields
Where is chay now?.
http://khmer-heroes.blogspot.com
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