When Broken Glass Floats: Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge Paperback by Chanrithy Him Page A
Authors: Chanrithy Him
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softens my sorrow. It allows me to sleep, lying in the room beside my sisters, hugging Pa ’s shirt. I hug him in my mind as I inhale his odor from his shirt. I inhale it deeply and hungrily. I love Pa —words I’ve never actually uttered. I miss him; the way I would miss a piece of my own body. I am adrift.
One month has gone by. Still Pa hasn’t returned. Now the Khmer Rouge order Mak to a meeting with the other women whose husbands were taken away. At the meeting the Khmer Rouge ask everyone if they want to go to their husbands and work with them in an “office.” All of them say yes. Who wouldn’t want to be with their husbands? Mak wouldn’t. She tells the Khmer Rouge that she would rather stay in the village and work for Angka Leu . Mak would have told them otherwise if it weren’t for Som, whose husband had worked for Kong Houng before the Khmer Rouge “liberated” Year Piar. Som secretly came to Mak the day before the meeting and told her what to say. Even though there was no reason given, Mak obeyed, repeating her lines to Khmer Rouge leaders. Mak ’s intuition to trust Som’s words saves my family. In time, those women who volunteered to be with their husbands are taken away.
Walking in the village days later, Mak sees a man wearing Pa ’s shirt—a cream-colored short-sleeved dress shirt with one pocket. In this village of poverty, a simple office shirt stands out. Without fear, she follows the man and demands to know where he got it. Baffled by Mak’ s abrupt confrontation, he mutters that it has been distributed to him. Mak rages at the idea of someone giving away her husband’s belongings. Biting back her anger, she turns and heads to Som’s hut in search of the truth. Mak figures Som will know since her husband is one of the local people who now works for the Khmer Rouge who took Pa and my uncles to “orientation.”
Som whispers urgently to Mak , asking her to tone down her voice. In her hut, lit only by the rays of sun that sneak in, she confides to Mak , revealing what happened to Pa —a truth that shakes the core of Mak ’s already wilted soul.
Pa , Uncle Surg, Uncle Sorn, and the other men were not taken to an orientation. They were taken to a remote field outside Year Piar to be executed. Upon their arrival, they were unloaded off the oxcarts and forced to dig their own graves. After they finished, the Khmer Rouge cadres tied them up, then killed each one with a hoe. The bodies tumbled into the very pits they had readied to catch them.
“Your husband fought back while being tied up,” Som whispers. “He called them liars and traitors. They killed him right away.”
Mak ’s face gorges with blood, burning with sorrow and anger. The women who wanted to be with their husbands, along with their children and elderly parents, were also executed. Their bodies were buried in the empty field, but their personal belongings were brought back to Year Piar to be distributed among the villagers— Pa ’s belongings as well as my uncles’. Possessions of the dead passed out as a gruesome prize to the living.
Mak returns, telling us all at once. She is composed, unraveling the bad news carefully. There is no outward grieving, even as a family. Like other emotions, it must be tucked away. She delivers the news in a tone of resignation—relieved that Som has told her. There is no more wondering. And in a dull way, I am not surprised.
But inside, questions bubble up. More confusion than rage. What has Pa done to be killed this way? He has never been anything but a caring father, a responsible husband, and a devoted son. Contemplating it all, I’m first baffled by this senseless killing, rather than sad. In this era, the rules are twisted: having education is a crime and honesty doesn’t pay. What will? I wonder. I answer this question myself. I recall a Cambodian proverb that I heard grown-ups quote among themselves: Don’t give up on the winding road, but don’t tread the straight
One month has gone by. Still Pa hasn’t returned. Now the Khmer Rouge order Mak to a meeting with the other women whose husbands were taken away. At the meeting the Khmer Rouge ask everyone if they want to go to their husbands and work with them in an “office.” All of them say yes. Who wouldn’t want to be with their husbands? Mak wouldn’t. She tells the Khmer Rouge that she would rather stay in the village and work for Angka Leu . Mak would have told them otherwise if it weren’t for Som, whose husband had worked for Kong Houng before the Khmer Rouge “liberated” Year Piar. Som secretly came to Mak the day before the meeting and told her what to say. Even though there was no reason given, Mak obeyed, repeating her lines to Khmer Rouge leaders. Mak ’s intuition to trust Som’s words saves my family. In time, those women who volunteered to be with their husbands are taken away.
Walking in the village days later, Mak sees a man wearing Pa ’s shirt—a cream-colored short-sleeved dress shirt with one pocket. In this village of poverty, a simple office shirt stands out. Without fear, she follows the man and demands to know where he got it. Baffled by Mak’ s abrupt confrontation, he mutters that it has been distributed to him. Mak rages at the idea of someone giving away her husband’s belongings. Biting back her anger, she turns and heads to Som’s hut in search of the truth. Mak figures Som will know since her husband is one of the local people who now works for the Khmer Rouge who took Pa and my uncles to “orientation.”
Som whispers urgently to Mak , asking her to tone down her voice. In her hut, lit only by the rays of sun that sneak in, she confides to Mak , revealing what happened to Pa —a truth that shakes the core of Mak ’s already wilted soul.
Pa , Uncle Surg, Uncle Sorn, and the other men were not taken to an orientation. They were taken to a remote field outside Year Piar to be executed. Upon their arrival, they were unloaded off the oxcarts and forced to dig their own graves. After they finished, the Khmer Rouge cadres tied them up, then killed each one with a hoe. The bodies tumbled into the very pits they had readied to catch them.
“Your husband fought back while being tied up,” Som whispers. “He called them liars and traitors. They killed him right away.”
Mak ’s face gorges with blood, burning with sorrow and anger. The women who wanted to be with their husbands, along with their children and elderly parents, were also executed. Their bodies were buried in the empty field, but their personal belongings were brought back to Year Piar to be distributed among the villagers— Pa ’s belongings as well as my uncles’. Possessions of the dead passed out as a gruesome prize to the living.
Mak returns, telling us all at once. She is composed, unraveling the bad news carefully. There is no outward grieving, even as a family. Like other emotions, it must be tucked away. She delivers the news in a tone of resignation—relieved that Som has told her. There is no more wondering. And in a dull way, I am not surprised.
But inside, questions bubble up. More confusion than rage. What has Pa done to be killed this way? He has never been anything but a caring father, a responsible husband, and a devoted son. Contemplating it all, I’m first baffled by this senseless killing, rather than sad. In this era, the rules are twisted: having education is a crime and honesty doesn’t pay. What will? I wonder. I answer this question myself. I recall a Cambodian proverb that I heard grown-ups quote among themselves: Don’t give up on the winding road, but don’t tread the straight
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