Arrested
“It’s one of those things that’s a wound.” — Rindy
May 1968
hut shift, stirring me from sleep, and I rolled from the wall toward the door. Aupouk undid the latch and creaked open the door, pausing before descending the ladder. The sun burned through the sky, smearing it in orange and red flames. Then the door closed, and I was left in darkness. But the memory of the sky still stung my eyes, and it chased the rest of sleep away. I pursued Aupouk and the blazing sky.
Slipping down the ladder, I jumped past the last few rungs and my feet landed softly in the dirt below. I wove my way through the rows of growing sesame plants, which were about as tall as me. Their pods, which once held pink, tube-like flowers, were growing crispy, and I knew we’d be breaking them open to remove their tiny seeds soon.
In the light of early dawn, the land surrounding our hut, growing with various plants, wasn’t a place I feared. I imagined that every plant knew me and the leaves and branches reaching out to touch me as I passed were giving me their blessing. I noticed Aupouk ahead, pulling the water buffalo toward the Sangke River that snaked along the dirt road a few hundred yards from our stilt hut. Not wanting to follow him and the lumbering beasts, I busied myself trying to get a banana.
I spied a large cluster, just turning yellow, and reached as high as I could. But I wasn't tall enough, so I searched for something to stand on. Spying a stack of logs beneath the hut, I carried several over and stacked them, before trying again. Climbing onto my precarious platform, I reached as far as I could when a commotion sounded through the trees. Curious, I followed the sound. The water buffalo had made a small path through the underbrush with their coming and going to the river. I followed it and lowered myself to my stomach, inching closer to the road bank.
“I’m not going anywhere!”
It was Aupouk’s voice, cracking in frustration.
“I don’t know what I’ve been accused of, but I live back there with my family, I’m not a part of the rebel forces.”
Being careful to stay hidden, I saw several men wearing green uniforms surrounding a group of men who looked to be their prisoners. I crouched closer to the earth. They held black machine guns, pointed at my aupouk.
“That’s a likely story for a communist gorilla,” a man growled around his cigarette butt. “I heard in the village that these parts are crawling with you.” He spat motioning to his comrades.
Aupouk stood like a tree in the road, gripping the ring of one the largest water buffalo, the muscles on his arms bulging.
“At least let me return my livestock to my home.”
“No! Fall in line. I have no problem shooting revolutionaries and their sympathizers. Or their families.” The man poked his gun into my aupouk’s chest. “Get moving!”
I burrowed my face in my arms. What should I do? Would they let him go if they saw me so they knew he was telling the truth?
Aupouk’s words played through my memory. "…other times you need to know when to lie still because you’re no match."
Crack! Crack! Crack!
I curled my arms over my ears, my whole-body trembling at the sound. Did they shoot Aupouk?
Soon the ringing in my ears gave way to the crunching of boots on dirt. Lifting my head, I watched as they marched my aupouk away. The three water buffalo were shot, dead on the road. Their blood mingled with the red dirt.
Backing into the underbrush, I fled.
I reached the clearing where the stilt hut lived, but something was different in the air. It no longer felt like the comforting place it had always been, for it was deserted except for a few chickens pecking the ground. I ran. Is anyone here? Mteay? Kiry? Vuthy? Climbing up the ladder I peered into the dark room. No one. I curled up on my mat and cried myself to sleep.
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Voices drifted up from below. The door stood open to the midday sun, and I crept toward it.
“I’ve asked around. He’s being held in Battambang.”
I knew the voice—Khan. I crawled to the place on the floor where I could see through the bamboo.
Mteay stood below, hanging wet clothes on a string hung from the leg of the stilt hut to a banana tree. Ly, her newborn baby, was tied to her chest, her black hair barely peeking from the folds of dull fabric. Vuthy chased the chickens. I pressed my face against the bamboo, trying to see farther.
“I don’t understand.” Mteay’s voice shook.
“Apparently, he is being held for questioning. He’s been accused of being a communist leader.”
Khan’s bare chest and sandaled feet came into view. He stopped just behind Mteay. I squirmed. I had never seen them alone before. I remembered the taunting look on Khan’s face and the anger in Aupouk’s voice as they talked about Mteay. My stomach lurched with the feeling of a million flies swarming.
“I don’t know all the details.” Khan’s voice crackled with an eagerness I didn’t understand. “I learned that the police believe he contributed to the communist ideology that’s being spread through Cambodia.”
“Why? How could they think that?”
“You know how he always parades about as if he has authority? It comes from his time in the temple.” Khan chuckled. “The people in the village know him and his ideas. He’s always spreading ideas and new ways of doing things; it’s no surprise they believe he contributed to the unrest in the village.”
“How long will he be kept there?”
Was it fear I heard in Mteay’s voice or something else? It didn’t tremble anymore, but she talked as if she were snatching each moment before it passed. Khan closed the distance between them, placing his hands around my mteay’s waist, hiding her from my view.
“This is our best chance.” Khan’s voice was in her ear.
Confusion buzzed around my thoughts. Why did Mteay allow the stranger to be close to her when she almost always seemed to avoid Aupouk’s touch? I wanted to shout, startle them from their closeness, but my throat was tight and my mind fuzzy. I said nothing but slunk back to my mat as they continued to murmur below.
“Why don’t you let Aupouk touch your face?” I blurted out later that evening when we were alone. It felt good to get the burning words off my tongue. She sat nursing Ly by the evening fire. “Is it because of his rough hands?”
“I never wanted to marry him.” She didn’t look up, her words coming easily. “Years ago, my mteay made me marry him. Your aupouk used to be a monk and is well educated in both the Bali and Sanskrit languages.”
“My mteay loved that he was a religious man.” She smirked. “He was fifteen years older than me. I was just a girl and didn’t want to get married. My mteay dragged me to the temple, but I screamed the whole way.” She paused, her voice disappearing like smoke into the night air. “I do not love him.” She stared absently into the fire. “I never have.”
Satisfied with her answer, I continued to eat my rice. Although her words sunk like burning embers into my stomach, they were not surprising. It felt both good and bad to have them hang in the air between us.
“Love is not a necessary part of marriage in Cambodia.” She looked up through the fire, her eyes black, tearless. “It’s like salt, you can dump it in or leave it out—without ruining the texture.”
During the day, I didn’t fear the jungle—I found refuge there. To escape the absence of Aupouk, I spent the next few days exploring, careful not to venture too far into its heart so I could still find my way home. I made a fort of large banana leaves on the edge of the bushes and smaller trees at its border. I shaped it like an egg and only had enough room for me. I crawled in, shutting the flap, and it cast a green hue over me.
The rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The rain was about to come. Would my shelter keep me dry? I decided to find out. Crawling in and pulling the flap shut behind me, I waited out the storm. The angry sky poured. I lay there listening to the voice of the rain rippling on my leaf roof. At first it was hard and loud, but became lighter and quieter, eventually satisfied with its wrath. I watched a drip sneak across a banana leaf and follow its center downward before dripping onto the earth, pulling the colors of my green world with it. I did get a little wet, but I was still proud of my creation. It stood secure, despite the darts sent down from the sky. I watched the drips until they made my eyes heavy with sleep.
When I woke, the air was cooler and clean. I needed to return home and get some food. The landscape looked bright and new from my green cave, and the earth made sense to me then. The sky poured out its rage when the earth was tired and hot, to cool it down and make new life rise through the rough spots. I appreciated the sky. Even the water on the leaves reached out and clung to me as I walked past. They must have known I needed to be washed clean too. Everything was quiet, except the sound of my own feet. My stomach rumbled. Would Mteay be making rice yet?
When I reached home, I called out, hoping I hadn’t missed the evening meal. Searching the familiar scene, I spied two legs swinging from the edge of the stilt hut as I approached.
“Rindy!” Vuthy sang as I climbed the ladder and sat beside him.
“Where are ma and Kiry?” I asked, looking into the darkening room.
“Mteay l-l-left, took Kiry. Said stay here.” I investigated his three-year old face, seeing the innocence and lack of fear. “Said wait for you.”
I looked around the stilt hut while an acid sensation ate at my stomach. The spot on the bamboo where Mteay usually slept was bare, and her few belongings were gone. Instead, a sat alone in the shadows. I opened it and found three heaping scoops of rice. I picked up the pot and stared at its contents in my hands. Is this all we have left in the world?
I pulled up the ladder and latched the door, laying down on the bamboo slats, pulling Vuthy close. I tried not to let Vuthy see my tears, because I had to be strong now. The world that had just been bright and clean, had turned gray, dripping onto the edge of the window. Vuthy was asleep on my arm. The sky was crying again, so I did too.