When Broken Glass Floats: Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge Paperback by Chanrithy Him

will be taken away from me. I dash down the stairs from the kitchen to the well. I quickly rinse the lake off my legs, then run back to the kitchen. The men are done, the kitchen empty. I want to look for Pa , but figure I have time to get a bowl of rice and soup to ease my growling stomach. With the bowl of food in my hand, I run looking for him in the house while shoving a few bites in my mouth. I see only Mak and my sisters and aunts.
    “ Mak ! Where did Pa go?” I ask, feeling scared.
    “They brought oxcarts to take your father and uncles.” Mak speaks softly as she sits on the floor folding clothes.
    I storm out, running down the stairs, one hand gripping my rice bowl, the other clutching the railing. I want to catch up with Pa , to see him again. I run to the path behind Kong Houng’s house, but he’s nowhere to be found. My uncles are gone, too. No oxcarts. No one there.
    My mouth no longer chews the food, but simply releases a sound of immense sadness. I run to the banana grove. I sink down onto the dirt. Only a moment ago I saw Pa, and now he’s gone . I wail, cupping my face, my agony, in my hands.
    Looking at the canopy of banana leaves, I beg, “ Pa , come back. Come back, Pa . Come back to your koon .…”
    With each breath, I plead for Pa to come back. No, it’s too soon. You left so soon. You didn’t wait for me. No, don’t leave.
    Never before have I felt so much pain inside my body. My chest, my eyes. My throat. My grief encompasses every cell, touches every limb, every organ. For Pa has never left me for more than a day. Never. Now he’s gone, and I have the deepest intuition that something is wrong.
    Along with sorrow come the companion emotions of frustration and anger. Only nine, I already find myself furious at the Khmer Rouge for taking my father away. I take my burning anger out on the banana tree. I tear at the wilted, papery layers along the trunk, yanking them away and striking the tree with my fist. I rage at the Khmer Rouge. I cry until I’m drained of tears, until my body is limp from exhaustion, in need of the beat-up tree. I lean against it, my head resting on my knees. I feel utterly hollow.
     
     
    Days have gone by since the Khmer Rouge took Pa and my uncles away. I’ve counted the days until Pa is due back, noting them carefully with pen and paper. I draw my own calendar, recording each day without him. A month, Mak told me, which was what the Khmer Rouge had told her. During the day I return to the orchard. I cry alone, calling out to Pa . Like the earth without the sun, I’m drifting in the dark, thinking of him, wondering where he is, what he’s doing. Whether he misses us, misses me.
    After the sun surrenders to the night, I’m still thinking of Pa . I’m no longer scared of the informant hiding below us. I sit on Pa ’s scooter, parked under the house where the informant used to eavesdrop on us. Holding on to the black rubber handles, Pa ’s last handprints, I’m connected to the world as it was when Pa was with us. As painful as it is, I journey back in time, revisiting the past as my wet eyes gaze at the tachometer, the red needle aligned at the zero mark.
    Zero. Our lives are at zero . Year zero.
    I reminisce about better times, when Pa took us out to restaurants and to the palace where the royal family lived. I remember nights in Takeo. Pa would wake everyone up for pâté sandwiches. He’d carry me from my bed to the dining table. He’d feed me until my mind woke up, then my eyes would open to find a platter of meats, cucumbers, and French bread. My memory speaks until it hurts. Until I break down.
    “Athy, why are you crying? Are you okay?” Chea comes to rescue me.
    “Chea, I miss Pa . I miss Pa very much.”
    “Stop crying, p’yoon srey . I miss Pa , too.”
    Chea reaches out and pulls me close to her. In her arms, I cry harder, letting out pain that I’ve hidden from my family. Chea hugs me tight. Her hand massages my head, a soothing touch that