1975

 

Chapter 1: A New Foe

‘Twas an eventful evening...an evening that would soon decide our fate as a family and would determine our future. I was only but a child facing a threat much greater than I.

 

I sat upright on the floor. I was surrounded by knitted blankets and any other fabrics my mother could find. My family was poor, just like the others in our small Cambodian village. I was awoken by the crackling sound of a tree falling, or so I thought; it didn’t sound quite like it at all. I promptly ignored it, as downed trees were commonplace; I passed them on the way to the market and on the way to school. My presumptive nature had yet again led to my dismay. Maybe I could’ve saved him, yet I chose to be ignorant.

Soon I heard someone knocking about our door. I ignored it and allowed the knocking to grow faint. Wandering merchants in my town were like the insects buzzing around our bedroom: irritating, persistent, and for some odd reason, always trying to rob you of your food. But why would anyone be going door to door at such a late hour? That’s a question I should’ve asked myself.

The knocking returned. This time it was pounding. “Open this door!” demanded an unfamiliar voice. Creaking and squeaking, I could hear the boisterous sound of our deck bending under immense weight. Whoever it was certainly wasn’t alone. Quickly, I scooped my baby brother up and hid him in a small box. The worn cardboard box rustled as I set him down, ចាន់ណា branded on its side. Curiously, I peeled back the curtains ever so slightly.

The moon shone dimly upon seven armed men perched upon our deck, their red checkered scarves engraved within the folds of my mind. The men beat the door as if it were a drum. It wouldn’t be long before our weak wooden door would come falling down like the tree from which it came.

I could tell they were growing impatient by the way they grunted angrily. “Final warning!” announced one of the furious soldiers. Now there were two drums being beaten. The first, the door. The second, my heart. The house fell silent; only the hollow chirps of crickets filled the air. Soft winds carried the evening’s stiff yet humid air across the land and through the cracks and crevices of our home. I held my breath in anticipation as mother nature whistled a somber tune.

Minutes had gone by. Nothing. With the little courage I had, I went to investigate. Little did I know, the fire of genocide was being kindled, soon to erupt into a raging flame. I climbed down from the windowsill and prepared myself for what felt like a stealth mission. My young mind failed to grasp the severity of the situation, as it always did. A muffled wail snuck its way out of the container it had been stashed in. My head swiveled around in search of the presumably frightened cry. My eyes landed on a worn cardboard box. I had nearly forgotten Chamroeun, my baby brother. If I was going to venture past the comfort of the empty door frame that failed to guard our bedroom, I wasn’t going to do it alone. I peered inside the box. Relieved to see him, I comforted my baby brother until his shrieks turned into sniffles.

Chamroeun in one arm, I crept through the empty door frame. I could hear the men talking amongst themselves. Fear began to set in. What if I am caught? What if they kill us? I was about to find out. A sinister hiss warned of danger as it snuck through the air, promising our demise. With a great roar, the front of our humble home was torn apart by the teeth of a great behemoth. Smoke ran rampant throughout our home, starving me of fresh air. Feet stomping, weapons in hand, the men invaded. Like vultures, they stole any item of value as if they were scavengers. We had nothing, yet they managed to thieve the things most dearest to our hearts: my Taa’s bowl and the only photograph of my Yeay before she passed away.

That night was as clear as the starlit sky which blanketed the earth. I peered around the corner, catching the bandana clad militants in the act. One of them scanned the room with wandering eyes until he fixed them upon the bowl. Moonlight shone through the window, reflecting off of the intricate designs Taa had masterfully painted onto the bowl’s ceramic face, which caused it to glisten, piercing the darkness of the room. The carved date, 8/12/74, hid itself on the bowl’s curve. It was one of Taa’s best, yet one of his last artworks.

 The man reached for the bowl greedily; his jet black hair escaped the bandana wrapped around  his head. Time stopped dead in its tracks. My youthful eyes absorbed the chaotic scene. The rising smoke, Chamroeun’s cries,  and unbeknown to me until that moment, my petrified mother balled up in the corner. I watched as one of the soldiers shot his hand at my mother, leaving a discolored bruise on her bronze face, sending her head to the floor. One hand after the other, he snatched her long dark hair, lacing his fingers in its beauty. He pulled on her hair as if it were rope. She looked up at him, eyes wide in fear. Looking deep into her eyes, he grinned. Face contorted in malice, clawing her scalp, he raised his fist over his head like the monster he was. I let out a helpless cry, pleading for my mother’s safety. Within seconds, she was unconscious. A yelp escaped her lips as she took the final blow.

My world went dark...an overwhelming sense of hopelessness dawned upon me. I gazed out of the window. My mother’s lifeless body hung from the grasp of the disgustingly cruel men. Not far from where she lay, a defaced man laid on bloodsoaked grass in front of his home. Crimson crawled from his cranium, escaping his lifeless body sprawled out on the grass. The disconcerting scene swirled around my mind like a stew being brewed in a blisteringly hot iron pot. Overwhelmed, I passed out. The rest of that night was a blur, my mind hollowed by the horrors I had witnessed.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: The Grieving

 

          Golden rays blessed the deep ocean blue sky, adding to its cloudless beauty. The humble giant tucked itself under the covers of the rolling grass hills before me, waving to the moon and the stars, which would soon take its place, just as I would under the covers of my own bed, telling my mother goodnight. Rising and falling, mountains loomed over slithering waters, winding and turning across the precious landscape to the east. Mountain dew dampened the rough soles of my feet, adding to the familiarity of the comforting Cambodian wilderness.

It should’ve been impossible for someone to be so woeful while surrounded by such an angelic sight. Although my surroundings kissed my eyes with elegance, my soul wept, longing for the irreplaceable warmth of my mother.

I stared blankly into the darkening sky, my world growing dim with the vanishing light of the Sun. The wind whispered across the landscape, sending a chill through my body, causing the blades of grass to sway rhythmically as if they were listening to mother nature’s hymn. Accompanied by the whispers of nature, a comforting voice whispered, “It’ll be alright. One day, who knows when, everything will return to normal.” I said nothing. The voice continued, “Life has its bumps and cracks just as the winding road to our village does. It’s something you must adapt to and overcome. You’re strong, Chann.” A calloused hand brushed my shoulder accompanied by an arm which wrapped itself around my small body, restoring the warmth of my body. Ignoring their presence, I continued to stare blankly into the evening sky.

“You aren’t upset with me, are you?” Confused by the strange question, I turned to face him. There sat my brother, dirt etched across his bronze face, which shone gray in the moonlight. At a loss for words, I swung my arms around his broad shoulders. His long matted hair grazed my ear as he embraced the hug. Filled with relief, I allowed myself to let go, to relieve myself of the past and focus on the present. Passionate tears flowed from my eyes like scenic rivers which laid below mountainous terrain rolling across the landscape and reaching for the heavens.

A brief yet meaningful, “I miss you,” escaped my lips. The puzzle pieces of my shattered world began to fall into place once more. I hadn’t seen my brother in what felt like a lifetime. If it hadn’t been. Deep emotions of sorrow, joy, and relief churned in my young mind, planting seeds which germinated in the fertile soil of my mind, which would later blossom to create a new man who walked with his head high and his feet planted firmly in the land of his people, with a mind as sharp and refined as the blade of a sword. 

“I won’t ever leave again.”

“Promise?” said I, in distrust.

“Of course.”

My brother wasn’t one to stick around for long. He was always traveling somewhere far from home. Whether it was for work, or for adventure, he never stayed in one place for too long. Of course, I didn’t think his visits were long at all.

He reached for the back pocket of his soiled blue jeans. Large holes were scattered across them, leaving his bruised legs exposed. He slipped a mango from his pocket, large and ripe. It’s lime skin soaked up the moon’s glare. “For you. I picked it from a tree on my journey. I couldn’t help but snag it for later,” he offered as a slight grin grew across his face. I felt the smooth skin of the mango as I accepted his gift. Juicy and rich, liquid flowed from the fruit as I took a hearty bite into its face.

A muffled, “Thank you,” found its way out of my stuffed face.

He chuckled, “You’re welcome.”

Within seconds I had turned the rich fruit into a mere pit. The juices soaked my filthy shirt, leaving my chin and neck stained orange. Soon we both laughed. I looked quite silly afterall. Our laughs broke the silence of the night and filled the air, hearty and pure. The gloominess deep within me was vanquished.

“I assure  you, Chann, we will find her and make those evil bastards pay for the damage they have caused,”  boomed my brother. A storm of determination brewed within him. It was infectious; soon I had caught the courage he preached.

Under the cover of night, a new battle had found its roots upon that moonlit hill within us. A battle for vengeance. A battle which encouraged the seeds of determination and prosperity to persevere through soil unfit. A new enemy had revealed itself...The Khmer Rouge.

 

 

 

 

-Judah J.