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.
Trial and Tragedy
As it was universal in Khmer Rouge’s Cambodia, people were divided into work brigades according to their ages, not their abilities. My father once again went to work at the village’s crafting center, while my mother and the rest of my older brothers went to work in the rice fields. Once the rice harvesting was done, all the adults were mobilized to build dikes or dig small canals in preparation for the upcoming planting season. As for the children, we were once again ordered to go into the fields to collect dried cattle’s dung and bring them to the compose pits to be turned into fertilizer. Thus, every morning, I set off along with Oss to look after the water buffalos while, at the same time, collecting any dried cattle’s dung we might find in the fields to bring back to the compose pits. Oss taught me how to ride and handle water buffalos while we were out in the fields. Though I was still afraid of the beasts, my experience with the young oxen in Prek Rumdeng had given me some confidence to overcome my fear. So, with Oss as my instructor, I climbed up on the back of one of the buffalos and ride along with him. It was my maiden ride on the back of a water buffalo, and the experience was rather exhilarating for me. However, as I belatedly learned upon the conclusion of my ride, the water buffalo’s back and its skin gave me the greatest surprise of a life time. Oss showed me how to ride on the water buffalo’s back, but he didn’t tell me how or where to sit on it. Naively, I sat close to its shoulder where the beast’s vertebrate protruded up. Hence, the end of my behind smacked right against the protruded vertebrate which caused inflammation to that sensitive area rather severely. As soon as I dismounted from the water buffalo’s back, I knew that something was wrong with my rear end. The pain was so excruciating that it gave me renewed respect for the expression “pain in the butt.” In addition, I was wearing shorts while riding on the water buffalo’s back, and as my skin touched the beast’s hide, it developed rashes and blisters all over my legs. Upon arriving home, I was in very bad shape and crying in pain. After inspecting the rashes and blisters on my legs, Om Po brought me a handful of rice kernels and told me to put the grains into my mouth and chew on them until they became milky powder, then spray it onto my affected legs. I did as told, and afterward, lied down on my stomach to recover from the ordeal.
In a somber mood, my brother, Hong, went to ask for permission to take my father to the district’s hospital. The village’s authority gave him a written pass and a bicycle to take my father to the hospital, as my father was too weak to be able to walk all the way to the hospital which was located about 5 miles away. At about 10 o’clock in the morning, Hong and my father set off for the hospital. As my father about to ride on the bicycle behind Hong, my mother handed him a tiny bag containing a small blanket and a pair of clean clothes for him to change into when he washed the ones he was wearing. Without saying a word, my father took one last look at us pleadingly as if he was begging for mercy. We all tried to maintain eye contacts with him as short as possible and acted optimistically in front of the many villagers who came to see him off. Amidst well wishes from villagers, Hong pedaled the bicycle slowly with my father sitting precariously behind him. From the corner of my eyes, I saw my mother turned around and walked back into the house with a heavy heart. Her eyes were filled with pain and sadness.
We sat quietly for the rest of the day waiting for Hong’s return, so that we could learn what the condition at the district’s hospital was like. By about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, Hong returned from the hospital. Surprisingly, and to my mother’s great relief, my father also came back with him. Hong told us that the district’s hospital was overflowed with patients. The hospital had run out of spaces to accommodate new patients. Hence, the hospital staffs just simply refused to admit my father, despite his urgent need of care. In a rather cruel twist of fate, the hospital’s refusal to admit him was a blessing, for in a crowded Khmer Rouge’s hospital, my father would certainly be left to die like a vermin. By being back at home, my father could at least die knowing that his family was nearby.
At about 4:30 in the early morning hours, we all woke up to a rather strange sound. It was my father making painful sounds. At that instance, we all knew that something had gone terribly bad with his health. Through my mother’s trembling voice asking my father to respond to her, we all knew that the devil was about to claim his soul. Om Po burned a torch to give the house some illumination as my mother continued to ask my father to respond to her. But there was no discernible answer coming out of my father’s mouth. He continued to moan in pain. He arched his back up slightly and his body appeared stiff. At that point, his moan died out slowly. In his final attempt to stay alive, my father struggled to take in a gulp of oxygen; but it was in vain. He died in the middle of his breathing with his eyes still open as if his body refused to die. My mother put a white handkerchief to cover my father’s face and we all sat around his lifeless body to let reality sink in.
The Silent Genocide
During my stay at the vegetable garden, the Khmer Rouge’s round up of new people for execution intensified. Many families, all of them were new people, began to disappear quietly. We were told that they were being relocated to live and work in some faraway communes. But, in reality, they were sent to the execution sites somewhere in the region. It appeared that most of the people who were slated for execution were those whom the Khmer Rouge authority deemed unproductive, or they were suspected of working for the previous regime. So, to keep a low profile, Ta Plaok told me to avoid going into the village so that I would be out of sight from the Khmer Rouge’s vigilantes. As a gesture of help, Yeay Nhong, who had just been forced by the Khmer Rouge’s Angkar to relinquish her large home to be used as communal dining hall and lived on a small plot of land about half a mile from the village, agreed to take my little brother, Buntha, under her wing by having him help her son look after her cows. Hence, no one was around in the village. We all were out and about doing works for Angkar every day.
Administratively, Ponlear Chey Village was divided into three groups. Each group was overseen by a headman. We were living in Group 2 while Aunt Muoy and her husband were living in Group 3. Out of the three groups, Group 1 was the most unfriendly place for new people to be in, for it was overseen by a callous man named Choy who had the least sympathy for new people. Of all the new people who lived in his group, about 2/3 had been sent away for execution. We were sort of lucky to be dropped off just a few houses away from that brutal man.
As we were making the grave’s mount, I noticed that the man’s eyes were fixed on a frog Oss caught in a pond earlier and hanged it on his waist’s band. After we finished making the grave’s mount, the man thanked us profusely. Afterward, in a rather hesitant voice, he asked Oss if he (Oss) would skin his frog now and give him the discarded frog’s head, skin, and stomach’s contents. Oss agreed to the man’s request, and, as soon as he got the frog’s head, skin, and stomach’s contents, the man built a small fire, wrap the frog’s head and stomach’s contents in its skin and toss it in the fire. A few minutes later, he picked it up and ate the whole thing. Oss and I were dumbfounded to see the man actually eat the frog’s skin and stomach’s contents. If we didn’t see it with our own eyes, we would not have believed it. Seeing how hungry and desperate the man was, Oss decided to give him the frog as well. I also gave him a few snails and crabs which I had caught in a stream earlier and kept them in a small pouch. At that point, it was late afternoon; thus, we said goodbye to the man and the little girl and went to herd our water buffalos home. That day, we went home empty handed without any wild critter to supplement our diet. However, Oss and I did not feel bad at all, for we knew that we had done something right to help a desperate man.
Thank you.
Trial and Tragedy
As it was universal in Khmer Rouge’s Cambodia, people were divided into work brigades according to their ages, not their abilities. My father once again went to work at the village’s crafting center, while my mother and the rest of my older brothers went to work in the rice fields. Once the rice harvesting was done, all the adults were mobilized to build dikes or dig small canals in preparation for the upcoming planting season. As for the children, we were once again ordered to go into the fields to collect dried cattle’s dung and bring them to the compose pits to be turned into fertilizer. Thus, every morning, I set off along with Oss to look after the water buffalos while, at the same time, collecting any dried cattle’s dung we might find in the fields to bring back to the compose pits. Oss taught me how to ride and handle water buffalos while we were out in the fields. Though I was still afraid of the beasts, my experience with the young oxen in Prek Rumdeng had given me some confidence to overcome my fear. So, with Oss as my instructor, I climbed up on the back of one of the buffalos and ride along with him. It was my maiden ride on the back of a water buffalo, and the experience was rather exhilarating for me. However, as I belatedly learned upon the conclusion of my ride, the water buffalo’s back and its skin gave me the greatest surprise of a life time. Oss showed me how to ride on the water buffalo’s back, but he didn’t tell me how or where to sit on it. Naively, I sat close to its shoulder where the beast’s vertebrate protruded up. Hence, the end of my behind smacked right against the protruded vertebrate which caused inflammation to that sensitive area rather severely. As soon as I dismounted from the water buffalo’s back, I knew that something was wrong with my rear end. The pain was so excruciating that it gave me renewed respect for the expression “pain in the butt.” In addition, I was wearing shorts while riding on the water buffalo’s back, and as my skin touched the beast’s hide, it developed rashes and blisters all over my legs. Upon arriving home, I was in very bad shape and crying in pain. After inspecting the rashes and blisters on my legs, Om Po brought me a handful of rice kernels and told me to put the grains into my mouth and chew on them until they became milky powder, then spray it onto my affected legs. I did as told, and afterward, lied down on my stomach to recover from the ordeal.
************
In a somber mood, my brother, Hong, went to ask for permission to take my father to the district’s hospital. The village’s authority gave him a written pass and a bicycle to take my father to the hospital, as my father was too weak to be able to walk all the way to the hospital which was located about 5 miles away. At about 10 o’clock in the morning, Hong and my father set off for the hospital. As my father about to ride on the bicycle behind Hong, my mother handed him a tiny bag containing a small blanket and a pair of clean clothes for him to change into when he washed the ones he was wearing. Without saying a word, my father took one last look at us pleadingly as if he was begging for mercy. We all tried to maintain eye contacts with him as short as possible and acted optimistically in front of the many villagers who came to see him off. Amidst well wishes from villagers, Hong pedaled the bicycle slowly with my father sitting precariously behind him. From the corner of my eyes, I saw my mother turned around and walked back into the house with a heavy heart. Her eyes were filled with pain and sadness.
We sat quietly for the rest of the day waiting for Hong’s return, so that we could learn what the condition at the district’s hospital was like. By about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, Hong returned from the hospital. Surprisingly, and to my mother’s great relief, my father also came back with him. Hong told us that the district’s hospital was overflowed with patients. The hospital had run out of spaces to accommodate new patients. Hence, the hospital staffs just simply refused to admit my father, despite his urgent need of care. In a rather cruel twist of fate, the hospital’s refusal to admit him was a blessing, for in a crowded Khmer Rouge’s hospital, my father would certainly be left to die like a vermin. By being back at home, my father could at least die knowing that his family was nearby.
************
At about 4:30 in the early morning hours, we all woke up to a rather strange sound. It was my father making painful sounds. At that instance, we all knew that something had gone terribly bad with his health. Through my mother’s trembling voice asking my father to respond to her, we all knew that the devil was about to claim his soul. Om Po burned a torch to give the house some illumination as my mother continued to ask my father to respond to her. But there was no discernible answer coming out of my father’s mouth. He continued to moan in pain. He arched his back up slightly and his body appeared stiff. At that point, his moan died out slowly. In his final attempt to stay alive, my father struggled to take in a gulp of oxygen; but it was in vain. He died in the middle of his breathing with his eyes still open as if his body refused to die. My mother put a white handkerchief to cover my father’s face and we all sat around his lifeless body to let reality sink in.
***********
The Silent Genocide
During my stay at the vegetable garden, the Khmer Rouge’s round up of new people for execution intensified. Many families, all of them were new people, began to disappear quietly. We were told that they were being relocated to live and work in some faraway communes. But, in reality, they were sent to the execution sites somewhere in the region. It appeared that most of the people who were slated for execution were those whom the Khmer Rouge authority deemed unproductive, or they were suspected of working for the previous regime. So, to keep a low profile, Ta Plaok told me to avoid going into the village so that I would be out of sight from the Khmer Rouge’s vigilantes. As a gesture of help, Yeay Nhong, who had just been forced by the Khmer Rouge’s Angkar to relinquish her large home to be used as communal dining hall and lived on a small plot of land about half a mile from the village, agreed to take my little brother, Buntha, under her wing by having him help her son look after her cows. Hence, no one was around in the village. We all were out and about doing works for Angkar every day.
Administratively, Ponlear Chey Village was divided into three groups. Each group was overseen by a headman. We were living in Group 2 while Aunt Muoy and her husband were living in Group 3. Out of the three groups, Group 1 was the most unfriendly place for new people to be in, for it was overseen by a callous man named Choy who had the least sympathy for new people. Of all the new people who lived in his group, about 2/3 had been sent away for execution. We were sort of lucky to be dropped off just a few houses away from that brutal man.
***********
As we were making the grave’s mount, I noticed that the man’s eyes were fixed on a frog Oss caught in a pond earlier and hanged it on his waist’s band. After we finished making the grave’s mount, the man thanked us profusely. Afterward, in a rather hesitant voice, he asked Oss if he (Oss) would skin his frog now and give him the discarded frog’s head, skin, and stomach’s contents. Oss agreed to the man’s request, and, as soon as he got the frog’s head, skin, and stomach’s contents, the man built a small fire, wrap the frog’s head and stomach’s contents in its skin and toss it in the fire. A few minutes later, he picked it up and ate the whole thing. Oss and I were dumbfounded to see the man actually eat the frog’s skin and stomach’s contents. If we didn’t see it with our own eyes, we would not have believed it. Seeing how hungry and desperate the man was, Oss decided to give him the frog as well. I also gave him a few snails and crabs which I had caught in a stream earlier and kept them in a small pouch. At that point, it was late afternoon; thus, we said goodbye to the man and the little girl and went to herd our water buffalos home. That day, we went home empty handed without any wild critter to supplement our diet. However, Oss and I did not feel bad at all, for we knew that we had done something right to help a desperate man.
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