[The following is an excerpt from Loung Ung’s amazing memoir about her experiences as a young girl who survived the Khmer Rouge atrocities in Cambodia during the late 70s. Here, the family has been forced into communal farms, producing large amounts of food which is then taken by the government as it is “property of everyone.” Unfortunately, despite the enormous amounts of food produced by the community, the Khmer Rouge continuously reduces rations to almost nothing, and many, many people die of starvation while surrounded by bountiful harvests and the cruel soldiers who guard them.]
Realizing we have to find a way to get more food, Pa somehow arranges for Kim to work at the chief’s house as his errand boy. The next night, Kim comes home with leftovers.
”The chief did not have any work for me to do so he tells me to work for his boys. The chief’s two boys are my age and they like me,” Kim answers. His mouth turns upward in an attempt to smile when we ask how his day went. “They boss me around and I always have to do jobs and errands for them, but look what they gave me! They said that from now on I can take their leftovers home!” We stare unbelieving at the rice and meat Kim displays on the table.
”You did a good job, little monkey [the nickname Kim’s parents have for him],” Ma tells him.
”Their leftovers are a feast! White rice and chicken. Look Pa, there’s even meat left on the chicken!” I yell excitedly, staring at the juicy shreds of meat still clinging to the chicken bones.
”Quiet. We don’t want others to hear us,” Ma cautioned me.
Hungrily, my siblings gather around Pa, our bowls in hand. One by one, Pa scoops up some rice and gives us a piece of bone. When it is my turn, he gives me the piece with the most meat on it, the breastbone. I walk over to the corner of the hut and proceed to pick the meat off until finally there is no more. Then I chew on the bones to get the flavor and bone marrow out. That night I go to sleep with a full stomach.
Over the next few weeks, Kim and the chief’s children become fast friends, and they allow Kim to bring us their leftovers every night. It is clear from the red marks on his face, cheeks, and legs that Kim suffers abuses from his new “friends” who spit at him and beat him. However, at ten years old, Kim knows he has to endure their cruelty to help feed his family. Each morning as he walks off to the chief’s house, Ma watches and whispers, “My poor little monkey; my poor little monkey.” In appearance, Kim is beginning to look more and more like a monkey. His black hair is sheared close to his head and thinned from malnutrition, exposing his large forehead. Brown skin stretches over his gaunt face, making his eyes and teeth appear to bulge, too big for his young body’s face. Though I lower my head as his black-clad figure disappears, I am grateful for the extra food he brings us.
My stomach knots each time I look at Pa’s face as he receives the food from Kim. Pa is now so thin that his face is no longer the shape of a full moon. His soft body is emaciated, making him wince when Geak tries to crawl onto his lap. The round belly that I once loved to wrap my arms around is caved in, showing his rib cage. Yet he always takes the last and smallest portion of the leftovers. He eats the food tentatively, as if forcing each bite down when his heart wants to spit it back out. At times his eyes linger for many minutes on the fresh bruises on Kim’s face, and he swallows even harder, trying to make the food go down. The pain on his face makes me feel such shame, but I am glad for my brother’s sacrifice. Each night, in my dark corner of the hut, filled with shame and with quiet tears, I suck and chew the chicken bones until there is nothing left.
Source:
Ung, Loung. “Ro Leap, November 1975.” First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. Harper Perennial, 2017. 63-4. Print.
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