A Boy Named Rindy, page 13
“What do you want?” His voice was stern. He didn’t seem in the mood for visitors.
Vuthy and I made our way to him, tripping through the muddy water.
“We're Vuthy and Rindy, remember us?”
“What are you doing here?” He came toward us, his arms out wide, a smile creasing his eyes.
Vuthy looked sideways at me, remaining silent, but I could feel him gloating.
“Things are not good with Khan, mteay’s husband. He’s a soldier in the Lon Nol army, but he’s not fighting right now.” I lowered my head, pulling my foot from the mud. “We’ve finished the jobs we were given, but we have nowhere else to go.”
“Mmmm,” Pou Kim murmured. "I see."
“We were hoping—hoping we could maybe work for you?” Vuthy began.
“Only for a place to stay and food, you don’t have to pay us.” I spit the words out quickly, the fear of him refusing clutching around my throat.
Pou Kim chuckled, slapping our backs. “You can help me with the rice then.” He waved us toward the bare patch of land where he had already begun the day’s work. “This is good fortune that you have come—maybe we can farm more land.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “That is, if the fighting doesn’t come too close and drive us away.”
I sagged in relief. He would let us stay.
Bending at the waist, I pulled gently at the first seedling, and it released itself from the saturated soil easily. Its tiny roots looked like white worms clinging to its stalk. Soon a I felt a stinging on my ankles and feet, and I found leeches tightly attached. I ran a fingernail along my skin, breaking their hold on my flesh, and went back to work, but they continued to reattatch and soon I ignored them. After getting a large bundle of seedlings, I tied it with a string and set it aside for gathering. We repeated this process a thousand times that day.
The sun sank behind the horizon of palm trees, casting a pinkish hue over the luminous green. We gathered up our bundles and placed them on the side of the road. There were hundreds of piles, and we carried them on poles across our shoulders to be transplanted in a paddy nearby. My back was stiff and my toes numb from where the leeches had sucked my blood, but there was nowhere else I would rather have been.
23
Bullets
“I can still hear the sound…” — Rindy
December 1974
We stayed and worked with Pou Kim for the following months. He was kind to us, buying rope for us to make our own hammocks with, which we hung beneath his stilt hut. When the transplanting came to an end, we worked for some of Pou Kim’s neighbors, helping them plow and fertilize their fields. Sometimes we heard the “tu, tu, tu” of machine guns firing in the distance, but we didn’t see any soldiers and rice planting ensured life. At night, Pou Kim talked late into the night with his neighbors. They talked of the fighting in Phnom Penh and the imminent defeat of Lon Nol and the rise of the Khmer Rouge and how they had begun to rival the dreaded Viet Cong soldiers. Who would win in Cambodia? What would happen then? Everyone had a different opinion, and sometimes the conversation erupted in yelling.
Some of the younger men even left to join the Khmer Rouge forces, as most of the villagers’ sympathies laid with them due to their loyalty to Norodom Sihanouk. Some agreed with Lon Nol because they hated the Vietnamese as hotly as he did. But I remembered the shot man on my route while working for Phala and feared the Khmer Rouge most of all. I kept my thoughts to myself, as no one would listen to a boy, but I wished all the armies would quit fighting and return home, so we could live in peace without the constant talk of war looming over the horizon.
When harvest time came, we still didn’t see armies marching through the rice paddies, so we continued to work. The sun burned hottest when the rain didn’t fall, and the rice had ripened from vibrant green into a golden hue. It swayed in the breeze, up to my armpits, its plump kernels bursting from each head. Hundreds of workers labored in the paddies around us, bent at the waist, hacking close to the ground with a sharp machete. We all swayed in the same rhythm; danced the same dance of rice.
After we chopped it down, we bundled it. It took a month before we began to extract the rice kernels. Laying a thick tarp on the ground, we stepped on the heads, rolling and crushing them beneath our bare feet or beating them against the beams that held the hut in the air. But they were not yet ready to eat. When thousands of golden kernels scattered the tarps, we laid them out in the sun to dry. Vuthy and I hewed out bowels in a log and charred the indentations with fire to make them smooth. When the kernels were dried, we crushed them with a stick into the bowls we hewed into the log, to make the outer shell release the hard white kernel inside. Last, we carefully scooped the rice into burlap bags.
When we finished, Pou bought extra food from the market: pork, vegetables and prahok—fermented fish paste—to celebrate. We prepared for a feast.
“How long did the rice take from start to finish, Pou Kim?” Vuthy asked, adding rainwater to the pot.
“About six months from planting to harvesting.” Pou Kim scooped rice with his hands from one of the bags into a pot to boil. “Now that it’s all harvested, we’ll need to prepare the soil to do it all over again when the rains come. If the armies don’t come before then.”
We had all grown used to searching the horizon for the black uniforms of the Khmer Rouge or the green colors of the Viet Cong or Lon Nol soldiers, but so far, bare paddies lay as far as the eye could see. The sound of gunfire had increased, but we had grown used to it. War was with us while we worked the dance of rice. We all felt a strange tension. It caused us to constantly look over our shoulders, but we couldn't stop or it would mean starvation.
I shook my head, dislodging those thoughts, because tonight was for feasting. I grabbed a squash and a machete, using the log I was seated on to chop against.
“Why don’t you get a wife to cook for us Pou?” I thought joking might lighten the mood. “So, we can just sit back in our hammocks after working all day.”
Pou’s face grew serious, and I squirmed. I hadn’t meant to offend him.
“I once had a wife.” He leaned forward, placing the pot on the stones over the flame. “But she died while having my son. My son died too.”
“I didn’t know, Pou, I’m sorry.” I lowered my head, ashamed I had carelessly brought up such a painful memory.
“I came to work with your aupouk shortly after it happened. Then I found out his wife, your mteay, had left too. It felt like we all had lost someone. You three helped me with my grief.”
I looked sideways at Vuthy. He remained silent. “You helped us during that time too. Aupouk often forgot about us until you came to remind him. He never wanted us after they got divorced, you know.”
He nodded and looked up. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but your aupouk did love you.”
“Why did he leave us with Chidaun then? He promised—he promised he’d come back for us.” I was surprised at the heat of my words as I stared into the shifting and sparking fire.
Pou was silent for a while. “Have you ever seen a dog that’s been hurt?”
I nodded. Cambodia was full of stray dogs that people beat and threw rocks at.
“Are they friendly to you if you try to get close?”
I shook my head. “They snap and snarl.”
Pou nodded, looking deeply into the fire. “Hurt just keeps hurting.”
I nodded, understanding his meaning. That was just the way in Cambodia. Hurt people hurting others was what I had seen in my family. My chidaun had hurt my mteay, by forcing her to marry someone she didn’t want to. My mteay had hurt my aupouk by leaving him. My aupouk had hurt me by leaving me.
I looked up at the sky, wondering if there was anything beyond it, anything that truly controlled the endless cycle of death and life. What could possibly fix a world so full of hurt if we just kept reincarnating into it again and again?
That night, before drifting off to sleep, a memory I thought I had forgotten flittered across my consciousness. It was a picture of the man in the clouds on the pamphlet the boy had given me, the one who told me about Mr. Thach’s Jesus. I wished I hadn't dropped that pamphlet so carelessly, while walking along the road.
After the harvest season, when the rice is cut and the farmers are not flooding their fields, the water recedes. Throughout the year, small silver fish swim through the paddies and spawn in the shallow water, feeding on all the bugs that thrive there. But sometimes, huge catfish swim from the canals too. I wanted to catch one of these, so I dug a big hole in the paddy on the farthest end of Pou’s field, then went to check it every morning to see if a big fish had found refuge there.
When morning dawned, I swung from my hammock and set off. I looked over my shoulder when Vuthy called and waved to me, who hadn't awakened yet when I left. I waved back, calling for him to join me, but he shook his head and climbed atop one of Pou Kim’s water buffalo instead, which he liked to ride for fun. The morning was still groggy and steamy, barely yawning itself awake. The water was cool on my bare feet and ankles, so I began to run. I stopped every few feet to search the water with my hands, hoping I would find a fish or two. No luck. I continued, until I had walked nearly a mile to where most of the water lay in pools across the stubbly ground. There was an elevated road that boarded the opposite end of the paddy, backed by trees, but I didn’t know what was past it. We had heard bullets coming from that direction, but today, all was quiet. I searched the fields in both directions, I appeared to be the only one out today.
When I reached the hole I had dug, I plunged my hands into the muddy water. To my delight, something slippery brushed them. I couldn’t get a good grip on it, so I continued to search the brown water, plunging my hands deeper, but again coming up empty. I plunged them in again, feeling the smooth skin of the fish, and I clamped my hands around it. It felt big, and I couldn’t wait to pull it into view.
I grappled with it, trying to secure a good enough hold to lift it into sight, but it was slimy and kept flopping around. At last, I pulled out a catfish that was as long as my forearm. I inspected its snake-like head and slender body, almost tasting the delicious and spicy soup that it could make.
Rising to my feet, I began to walk back with my prize when a dull thud erupted behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I saw four men walking down the road flanking the paddy, toward me. They wore the muted green uniforms of the Lon Nol army and carried the black guns I had seen Khan with. I stared, wondering why they were walking through a muddy rice paddy at sunrise, when one raised his gun to his shoulder and shot.
I ran, the fish flopping at my side.
A bullet landed several feet away from me, burrowing into the mud. Then another, closer than the last. I ran faster, my mind screaming with the realization that the men were aiming at me! Another thud sounded. Another splash. A bullet whizzed past my ear and dove into the ground, splashing me with mud. Panic clouded my vision, as I sloshed through the water, my legs caked in mud. My foot caught on something sharp. Ripping it free, I continued to run, and the guns continued to fire. They rippled through the air like laughter. They were getting closer. I lunged face-first into the mud, but there was little to conceal me.
I looked over my shoulder, and the soldiers were following me into the paddy, their knees bobbing up and down as they waded through the canal. What did they want? Why were they trying to shoot me?
I looked toward Vuthy. I still had a half a mile to go. He stood staring in my direction, still mounted on the water buffalo.
“Rindy.” His voice cracked in panic.
"Get off there!" I screamed.
Pushing myself from the ground, I lunged forward, crouching low as I heard the bullets darting into the mud all around me. I winced with each one, expecting to feel metal pierce my flesh at any moment.
With each shot, I blinked back the memory of the dead man’s eyes, staring blindly into mine. With each splash of mud, I saw the blood oozing out of his lifeless body. With each second that passed, I smelled the stench of his flesh. He was coming for me, trying to pull me into the mud with him. I could feel his fingers curl around my bare toes as the cool mud splashed my legs.
I ran faster; my eyes locked on Vuthy who had dismounted and stood next to the mud-caked water buffalo. I had almost made it to safety. I could see the terror reflecting in his eyes. I was almost to him. The bullets continued to sound, but they had begun to thud behind me. I had made it.
“Run for the hut, Vuthy. Get Pou Kim!” But he wouldn’t move. He just stood there, frozen to the mud, until I reached him and pushed him toward the hut. We ran the remaining yards toward the open door, where Pou stood with his hands on his head. We lunged up the ladder and into the shadows of safety with our chests heaving. Every inch of my frame shook uncontrollably.
“What have you done to have the Lon Nol soldiers after you?” Pou screamed at me, as he threw the door closed behind us.
“I was only collecting my—my fish,” I stammered, realizing I had dropped my prize in my flight. “Then they started shooting out of nowhere.”
“Why would they shoot at you?” he mumbled, pulling back the rice sack that covered the window and peering out.
“Here they come.” He growled.
I stood frozen to the bamboo floor, but my pulse danced in my clenched palms. I could see a glimpse of an eye, a green uniform, and the black barrel of an M16, approaching through the floor. Pou cracked open the door.
“You house a Khmer Rouge spy.” One of the soldiers hissed.
“There are no spies here,” Pou Kim retorted, opening the door to reveal Vuthy and I. “You were shooting at a boy.”
I heard their fists clench around the stocks of their guns, as they motioned for Pou to exit the hut. He stepped out, his movements uncertain, yet obedient. I could hear a few other soldiers going down the road, likely to our neighbors. What did they want?
“Spies are everywhere.” A soldier climbed up the ladder and entered and stared at Vuthy and I, our legs caked in mud. His eyes were black; his gaze relentless. He shuffled through Pou’s meager belongings, taking some riel and several bags of rice, before exiting.
“What about those inside?” one of the soldiers asked.
I melted into the thatched wall, as I hid behind the open door.
“They’re just kids—let’s go.” Their boots shuffled through the dirt. I peered out the window, my heart pounding with each step the soldiers took as they walked away with Pou Kim. The barrel of their guns, pointed at his back.
24
Enlist
“At that time the war was full blown, and they were getting closer to the main cities.” — Rindy
The next day
I sat staring into the shadows of the hut until the sun began to sink, Vuthy beside me, silent. My foot, which had been sliced in my flight, had finally stopped bleeding. I must have caught a hoe blade, forgotten in the mud. The old blood had mixed with the dried mud, encasing my skin and making me itch. At some point, I fell asleep, escaping fear. But my skin began to itch so terribly that when I could stand it no longer, I got up to scrape the mud off my body. It was dark outside except for a sliver of moon.
Not daring to venture to the canal, I walked to the water bucket. Splashing my face in the warm liquid, I scrubbed until I didn’t feel the roughness on my skin any longer. With my head lowered, dripping into the bucket, I heard a noise coming from behind the hut. Where was Vuthy? I had left him inside. I froze, heart pounding as I imagined the soldiers hiding there, waiting for me to emerge before dragging me off. The idea that I had gotten away from them so easily suddenly seemed too good to be true.
What if they really do think I’m a spy?
Sneaking into the hut, I crept toward the back window, careful to tread lightly. Vuthy stared at me, eyes wide. The noise grew louder, then stopped. Crouched beneath the window, I tried to quiet my quivering breath to listen, hoping all would return to silence.
Scrape, scrape, scrape. The noise started again, like digging in packed dirt. Had one of the soldiers returned to kill me? I pinched my eyes tightly, trying to breathe normally. Then the noise stopped. I waited in breathless silence, wondering what to do next. Minutes passed before I summoned up enough courage to creep up the wall and peek out. I was certain I would look into the eyes of a Lon Nol soldier, holding a gun to my face. My hair stuck to my forehead as my body broke into a cold sweat. Raising my eyes just past the windowsill, I peeked out. My heart pounded. My knees felt weak.
To my relief, I met the nose of the water buffalo, which hadn't been tied up. He rubbed his horns on the beams of the stilt hut. Laughing and embarrassed at my irrational fear, I reached through the window and grasped the rope tied to the ring in its nose and hooked it inside, just to make sure it didn’t go anywhere. It was comforting to know it was there. Collapsing onto the dirt floor beneath the window, I escaped in sleep, exhausted.
Pou Kim returned the next morning before sunrise, and I woke to him slurping rice porridge.
“They determined I'm not a spy.” Pou sighed, the sleepless night showing on his grim features.
Vuthy and I sat beside him. He handed each of us a bowl. I stared into mine.
“Did they hurt you?” I squeaked. “If I had known they were out there, I wouldn’t have gone to fish.”
“Apparently they were out patrolling and saw you, crouched in the rice paddy holding something that looked like a gun.”
“It was a fish—a huge catfish. They all must be half blind.”
“Well, most of the Khmer Rouge soldiers are boys only a little older than you. But I suspect they just wanted to steal from me and make a scene. I saw them taking rice from our neighbors too.”
We sat in silence for a while.
“Did they hurt you?” Vuthy asked this time, as Pou hadn’t answered before.
