Lucky Child Page 27

  “Go Bangkok, many stops, you no talk,” the guide instructed him. Again, Kim entertained a brief thought that he didn’t know these men and that if they were to kill him, no one would know about it. But he quickly cleansed his mind of the thought and climbed into the jeep. It’s too late to think now, he told himself and resigned to put his future in the hands of these strangers.

  For the next eight hours, Kim sat on the floor of the jeep while the captain drove, stopping only to buy food and use the bathroom. With his back against the green tarp, Kim took in only sounds and smells. As the sun speedily crossed over the sky, the roads turned from dirt to pavement and the sounds of cows in the fields to the sounds of cars. The sputtering exhaust from the traffic made the air hot and stale. Kim’s eyelids grew heavy with fatigue and his body became sore and stiff from all the bouncing. While the world moved forward, time stopped for Kim as he nodded into an exhausted sleep. When he came to again, the jeep had stopped and the captain was holding the tarp open for him. When he climbed out, Kim saw that they were out of the city. On the horizon, even though the sun was setting, the sky was still bright from all the neon lights. But where Kim stood, the streets were narrow, the houses were only one or two stories tall, and there were no neon lights in sight.

  “Wait, sit.” The captain pointed to a stall selling snow cones a few meters in front of them. “Long hair girl come.” The captain lightly tapped Kim’s right shoulder. “If tap, follow her.” And with that, the captain got back into his jeep and sped away, leaving Kim standing by the road alone.

  Kim obediently walked over to the stall and sat on the grass. For the next twenty minutes, he watched children run up to the vendor with their crumpled bills and leave with their blue snow cones. Kim stared at the fallen shaved ice, and his throat tickled from dryness and thirst.

  Then out of nowhere, a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to see a pretty, slender Thai woman with long braids. Kim exhaled deeply, deflating his chest of worries as his shoulders went limp.

  “Come,” the girl smiled.

  Kim nodded and followed her. As he tried to keep pace with her, he marveled at how a smile could still lift the heart, even in such strange circumstances. After another thirty minutes’ walk, the girl entered a one-story large concrete house. Again it struck him how blindly he trusted her—and everyone else on this journey. As he crossed over the threshold, he prayed that Pa and Ma would look after him and not let him die here. Moments later, all thoughts of his dismembered body being tossed into the garbage disappeared as he was greeted by a man speaking Chinese.

  “There are ten of us here now,” the Chinese guy said in a whisper as he led Kim into the kitchen where a bowl of rice and stir-fried vegetables waited for him. “Some guys have been here for many weeks; others like us have just arrived.”

  “How long will we be here?”

  “I don’t know. Like you, I am Khmer-Chinese and I don’t speak any Thai. Some of the others are Vietnamese, Khmer, and even Thai. The Thai guy speaks Chinese and tells us that the smugglers are waiting until they have at least sixteen of us before we go to France.”

  “France,” Kim repeated. His heart sank to his clammy feet. “I had hoped I was going to America. My brother wrote that he wants to bring me to America but that it’s easier to get into France. But he said he’d try.”

  “Ai, Kim. America is very hard to get into. Many people try and get caught. They come back twenty thousand dollars poorer.”

  “How much is France?”

  “France is easier to get into and it’s only ten thousand dollars.”

  Kim felt as if someone had taken his intestines and wrung them out like a piece of wet cloth.

  “Whoever sent for you has already paid five thousand dollars; when you arrive safely in France, the smugglers will get another five thousand.”

  “Ten thousand dollars,” Kim repeats. The number weighs heavily on his tongue and conscience. He knows that neither Eldest Brother nor Aunt Heng can possibly have that kind of money. And in Cambodia, Khouy, Chou, and Uncle Leang most certainly had to borrow money to support his journey. When he began, Kim didn’t know his dream was going to cost his family so much. At that moment, he vows to find a way to help his family when he gets to safety.

  Over the next few days, more and more people arrived until they had their group of sixteen men. For the next twenty days, while the world woke and slept to the journeys of the sun and moon, the sixteen spent their time quietly watching TV and playing cards in small, cramped, windowless rooms. Some residents would occasionally disappear to seek privacy in whatever space they could find to dream their dreams, while others swung their arms wildly like winged birds and leapt like frogs for exercise. With the exception of the cook who made their meals every day, the host and his team of counterfeit passport maker, tailors, and shoemakers, the residents never saw or met anyone from the outside world. To make sure that they stayed a secret, the host padlocked the door from the outside each time he left the compound.

  On day twenty-one, the host arrived with armfuls of custom-made suits of many colors, winter coats, and hats.

  “It’s time to go to France!” the host announced in Thai. The Thai man translated it into Chinese, and Kim translated it into Khmer. The residents clapped with restrained excitement.

  “Here are your fake passports and suits.” The host walked around the room and handed each resident his papers and clothes.

  “I’m Malay!”

  “Singaporean!”

  “Chinese!” Kim exclaimed with glee and opened his fake passport to the picture page. In it, he wore the same blue suit the host had just handed him.

  “I’m also Chinese,” his friend shared with a laugh.

  “Settle down.” The host calmed them with his upright hand. “You leave in an hour so go gather your things!”

  The next two days, Kim lived as if he were a spirit while the world around him moved at fast-forward, breakneck speed. From the compound, a van picked up its well-dressed passengers in their winter coats and took them to the airport. Outside the windows, the scenery changed from residential homes to tall shiny buildings jutting up into the sky like crystals. At the airport, a middle-aged man met them and quickly got them through security as a tourist group. On the plane, while the clock moved backward at thirty-five thousand feet above sea level, the residents slept their way to Russia and woke only to change planes to Germany. In Germany, they disembarked and covered their rumpled suits with their thick winter coats to go through customs. Since they were ostensibly traveling together as tourists, the guide did all the talking for them. Kim noticed the sweat leaking out of the guide’s pores on his balding hairline. But before long, the customs officer stamped their passports and let them through. They passed through the gate with nothing to declare, not even the smallest of travel bags.

  Outside the world felt like one big freezer as cold air blasted at Kim’s face and hands. He tilted his head to the falling snow as the flakes melted into his skin.

  “Falling ice,” he murmured before the guide rushed him into yet another van.

  All the next day, the group slept off their jet lag in a damp, cheap motel while the sky covered the city in pure white powder. Soon after the sun fell behind the horizon, a car and new guide arrived to pick up Kim and three other Khmers. While the stars sparkled brightly in the dark sky, the car drove all evening to reach the border of France at two A.M. Kim and the other “tourists” pretended to sleep while the guide talked to the customs officer.

  When Kim heard the customs officer leaf through their passports, he knew the officer was also staring at their faces. He concentrated to still his facial muscles and calm his breathing. Under his coat, his hands were damp and cold.

  “Thank you, officer.” The guide shifted the car into gear and the car jerked forward. “Stay still and as you are,” the guide warned them. “The customs officer may still be looking at us.”

  Kim maintained his position and exhaled and inhaled
deeply. The air flowed richly into his veins and lungs, making his head light.

  “You’ve made it. I know it’s been a long journey for you all. Welcome to France.”

  Kim fought to control his shakes as his body finally released the stress, worry, and anxiety of the past six months.

  When Kim finishes his story, I am filled with guilt for not knowing it already. As if sensing my shame, Kim says playfully, “I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve shared the complete story with anyone!” He begins to laugh.

  “Yes, especially when it sounds better than an action movie.” I giggle and look at him gratefully.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Kim, Hung, Aunt Heng, Uncle Lim, and I spend our hours walking, laughing, and talking more about Cambodia, Chou, Khouy, and the family. Every few blocks Uncle Heng stops us to take pictures of the city and our reunion. While he takes his time directing and positioning us through his viewfinder, I stare at Kim. His face is fuller, his eyes are softer, and small lines traverse his forehead like a map of his life, deepening around his mouth. As the sunlight softly illuminates his face, I see that Kim is no long Ma’s little monkey but a full-grown man.

  In that moment of stillness while waiting for the shutter to click, I realize that my motto of living life to the fullest, of not missing a single moment, and making every minute count had been all about me and had involved only me. As I look up at Kim, I finally understand that the unconditional joy and happiness I’ve been seeking to drown out the pain and sadness is an illusion. For no matter how seemingly great my life is in America or France, it will not be fulfilling if I live it alone. I know now that Kim wants the same thing out of his life that Meng, Khouy, and Chou do. Yet somehow they’ve all seen the truth behind my motto sooner than I—that living life to the fullest involves living it with your family.

  26 khouy’s town

  1993

  Chou gazes at the new picture Kim has just sent from France. In it, Kim and Loung stand on a beach with blue-gray water lapping behind them. Kim wears a big smile, a brown T-shirt, and blue jeans and looks straight into the camera. Next to him, in her blue shirt and black pants, Loung poses sideways like a model. Chou stares at her full face and long, beautiful hair and swells up with pride. In his letter, Kim tells her about their trip to Monaco and how well Loung is doing in school. Chou’s smile fades a little when she again finds no letter from Loung herself in Kim’s package of medicines and clothes. Carefully, Chou puts the new picture on top of the others and folds the cloth corners over them. She then places them gently in her crate of sarongs and shirts.

  “Ready to go?” Pheng asks, and takes the crate from her.

  “Yes.” She slides off the bed and drops her feet to the ground. When she stands, her five-month-pregnant stomach pushes out against her shirt.

  “The children are already in the truck,” Pheng tells her.

  Chou follows Pheng outside to where their old rusted truck sits in the front yard. In the dust-covered truck bed, boxes and crates of their pots, pans, silverware, hammers, hoes, mosquito nets, and clothes are stacked tightly together. In the small spaces left empty, their neighbors busily nudge in bags of rice and dried corn.

  “Chou, Pheng, go in health,” a man blesses them, as more friends and villagers gather around the truck.

  “Thank you all for your help with packing and moving,” Chou says. In the past week, their neighbors have already helped send Uncle Leang and his family off to a bigger village, and now they are there to see the last Ungs off.

  “I pray for your good business, and to keep your children safe and happy,” another neighbor tells them, as others loudly repeat their best wishes and prayers.

  “Thank you, thank you.” Chou touches the women’s hands while Pheng and the men finish tying ropes across the truck bed.

  “While we’re gone, our good friend here,” Pheng puts his hand on their next-door neighbor’s shoulder, “will watch our land for us. So you all better be careful what you do to our land or there’ll be trouble!” Pheng half jokes. “We hope not to come back, but if we do, we’ll still have a place to live.”

  “Pheng, Chou, you’ll always have your land in the village!” one of the villagers yells back as Pheng and Chou climb into the front seat where their three children are waiting.

  “Ma-ma.” Two-year-old Chang reaches for her. Chou takes Chang out of her big sister’s arms.

  “Let’s go to our big new house!” Pheng announces and the kids cheer him on. As Pheng smoothly shifts the gears, Chou smiles proudly at her self-taught-driver husband. With a push of his right foot, Pheng commands the car forward, its wheels digging up dirt and grass as the villagers wave their goodbyes.

  Chou stands Chang up as her other kids clamor around her to look out the opened window. As the truck takes them away from Krang Truop, Chou stares back at her hut. She sees her adolescence spent collecting water, chopping wood, preparing meals, and braving Khmer Rouge attacks. By the time the truck reaches the bend in the road, Chou smiles at the memories of her life, their survival, and the births of her children.

  Since the first Khmer Rouge raid of their village, Chou had wanted to leave. Uncle Leang, who originally moved the family far away from the growing Bat Deng, had hoped the trees, forests, and their farming skills would keep them safe if the Khmer Rouge were to come back to power. In his mind, the Khmer Rouge killed the city people but let his family live because they were good farmers. But as the years passed, it seemed less likely that the Khmer Rouge would rule Cambodia again. And while the bigger towns thrived in relative safety, it was the rural villages that continued to suffer from the random raids.

  After the first attack, the Khmer Rouge soldiers came back almost every week to steal from them. For Chou, these weekly raids left her anxious, paranoid, fretful, and unable to sleep. After a few months, the Khmer Rouge moved to terrorize another village but, for Chou, the fear they once again instilled in her had stayed. And even when the dogs were quiet through the night, Chou slept badly and dreamed of the soldiers kidnapping her husband and children. When she awoke, she kept her children close to her. Pheng agreed it was time for them to move, but they had no money or land to move to.

  Then Meng visited and changed their lives. With the money he gave them, Pheng was able to buy an old truck. For many months, Pheng left the house before sunrise and drove from village to village. Along the way, he stopped whenever he saw people and told them about his taxi service. Since he was the only person with a truck in the surrounding villages, word spread and his business thrived. So every day, he climbed into the front seat alone and by the time he arrived at his destination, his midsize truck was packed body to body with people. After he dropped off his first load of passengers, a second group loaded their rice, chicken, vegetables, corn, and other goods on the truck and headed back to their village, perched on top of their supplies. When they’d saved enough money, Pheng and Uncle Leang pooled their funds to buy a bigger truck. Through the day and into the late night, Pheng drove back and forth until his eyes were too tired to focus and his body too stiff to sit up. Soon, they had extra money to buy an old motorbike.

  “Morm is very excited for us to move near her,” Pheng says, breaking Chou’s train of thought. “Now she’ll have everyone nearby—Second Uncle, Second Aunt, and Amah.” With the money Aunt Heng and Eldest Brother sent to Amah, she was able to buy her own piece of land and a little house for her, First Aunt, and her daughter to live in.

  “At Amah’s age, she needs her peace and quiet away from all the great-grandchildren.”

  “She won’t get much ofthat. How can she, since her place is just one house over from Khouy’s?” Pheng chuckles. Chou laughs thinking about Khouy’s five rambunctious kids.

  From the connections he had made with the villagers and farmers from his taxi business, Pheng learned about their farms and what they grew. Then before the harvest season began, when the villagers were too busy with their farms to travel, Chou and Pheng drove from village
to village checking out farms of watermelons, pumpkins, and potatoes. If the produce looked good, they negotiated a deal on the spot to buy the entire crop. When the produce was ready, Pheng and Chou hired a few people to help them pick the ripe fruit. While Chou oversaw the workers and picked fruit herself, Pheng sold their products to vendors and delivered them to the markets.

  In their partnership, Pheng makes the deals, but it is Chou who holds the money and pays all the workers and vendors. As their business grows, Chou also walks tall and proud because she discovers that even without schooling, she understands numbers and can quickly work them out in her head. In her hands money grows, and after a season people have come to respect her not as Pheng’s wife, but as an excellent accountant.

  As Pheng steers their truck around large holes and mounds of dirt in the road, Chou watches the rice fields and green ponds. The sun beats hot rays onto the roof of their truck and warms the children into drowsiness. Soon Hok is asleep against Chou, and Chang breathes softly in her arms. Pheng lowers Eng onto a bag of towels in the middle seat and lifts the child’s legs onto his lap. As Chou’s arms grow tired and the children’s hot bodies make her shirt stick to her sweaty back, she dreams about their new home.

  When they arrive at their new wooden house, Aunt Keang, Khouy, and his family are standing in front of it to greet them.

  “Second Brother, Sister-in-Law, Aunt Keang,” Chou says.