Survival in the Killing Fields by Haing Ngor Page B

say a word. He didn’t know what to do. His daughter-in-law had insulted him by pushing him over. His son had stolen from him. But
perhaps he felt it was better to have a son steal from him than anyone else.
    A month later my father called his own meeting. All his children were there, except for Pheng Huor, who was his number-two son, and the number-one son, the slow-minded one, who had argued with
my father and left the family. There were six of his sons and daughters in the room, all grown, and all married except for me. On a plate were twelve crumpled pieces of paper. We each chose two.
Written on the inside of each piece of paper was the licence number for a twenty-five-hundred-gallon gasoline delivery truck. The trucks were ours now. So were the delivery contracts, the business
connections and the employees. My father had begun giving out the inheritance.
    Delivering gasoline turned out to be an easy way of making money. We ran our trucks in cooperation with each other, Pheng Huor included. Before long, I took my profits from fuel, added them to
my savings from the part-time medical jobs and bought into the ownership of the obstetrical clinic where I worked. Tacitly, Pheng Huor and I made our peace. I respected him for his ability as a
businessman. He respected me for speaking out against him. He never cheated me and we never quarrelled again.
    I was able to run the fuel business, work two medical jobs and go to medical school because of Huoy. She had her own job, as a schoolteacher, but she kept my accounts and watched over my
employees. We both worked very hard. She had to overcome her shyness to give orders to employees. She got frustrated adding long columns of numbers together when she was tired. But all in all she
was better at business than me. I continued to be the hotheaded one, losing my temper when government officials asked for bribes. She calmed me down and told me when we had to pay and when we could
get out of it.
    Together, Huoy and I made far more money than we had ever dreamed of. We began eating in restaurants every night. I bought a Mercedes. I bought Huoy French dresses, gold bracelets, diamond
earrings. I paid the rent for her apartment, which was only right, since we were going to get married. Our only worry was that we didn’t know when the wedding was going to be.
    Papa had nothing against Huoy, but according to his beliefs a prospective daughter-in-law had to prove her worth. So Huoy and I sacrificed our long lunch hours together to try to change
Papa’s mind. At noon every day Huoy went over to my parents’ house to make desserts for their lunch. If my father wasn’t feeling well, Huoy rubbed his neck or the small of his
back.
    My father just ate the pastries, accepted the back rubs and ignored Huoy. He had many servants. Huoy was just one more. He also had many relatives who had come to Phnom Penh and were trying to
ingratiate themselves. Papa was a rich man, and everyone wanted something from him.
    From all over Cambodia, from the towns and the far countryside, people were flooding into Phnom Penh. The original population of six or seven hundred thousand had doubled, and
it was on its way to doubling again. The newcomers built huts of corrugated sheet metal or cardboard or thatch. They begged on the streets or took work as servants or labourers at absurdly low
wages. If they had relatives in Phnom Penh they moved in, five or ten to a room, or else borrowed money. My father had dozens of relatives show up at the door. His brothers and sisters came from
the town where they were born, Tonle Batí, not far from Samrong Yong.
    The most persistent visitor was his half sister Kim. She asked my father for a loan so she could set up a new business. My father gave her the money readily. It was the duty of family members to
support one another, especially in these times. It also gave my father face to be the one the others relied on.
    Aunt Kim could smell money – she was