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28 4 A massive rainstorm came and refreshed everything. Afterward, the sun returned with a heat so strong that rainwater evaporated into a thick fog blanket that covered Siem Reap. A humid breeze riffled the coconut and banana trees. Through the early morning haze, a rainbow glowed in the distance. Birds sang. Surrounding me were the scents of war: gunpowder, cordite, and burned things. A coconut tree was blown in half. Branches were stripped off other trees. Shattered tree trunks littered the ground. Stillness pervaded the scene. Except for rooting piglets and sows, the road was deserted. I considered our next meal. Even the thought of chasing pigs tired me out; I could stun a hen with my slingshot, but not a pig. Besides, I thought, chicken tastes better. It would have to be chicken today. Norane and I had been out several times to forage, but the other children had been cooped up for almost three weeks. This morning it was quiet, like it had been yesterday. Although we hadn’t heard a single shot in the past twentyfour hours, Mother refused to let my little brothers out, not even to the outhouse . After hearing much pleading and repeated promises to stay nearby and to run home at the first sound of gunfire, Mother very reluctantly agreed to let my brothers play outside. The boys rushed to climb the guava tree in the yard. I stepped out cautiously. “Don’t go too far. Take care of your brothers,” Mother said, peering through the window. I waved in acknowledgment. Framed by the window, my mother looked small. She’s a lot thinner, I thought. Her once rounded face was now narrow and pale, her puffy eyes sunken, and her hair unkempt. I had seen her cry when she thought we were asleep. I picked a guava fruit from a branch below my brother Nosay and bit into the crunchy sweetness. The fragrance reminded me of my home next door—the Shocks and Surprises Angkor Wat and Domdek SHOCKS AND SURPRISES 29 house we’d vacated. I thought of returning to get some of my things. Our home was only a short walk away. Still, I was afraid to go alone. Besides, Mother would be angry with me. Frustrated, I sat on a tree trunk and cried. My brothers went back inside. I rose to go in behind them. Around the other side of the house I glimpsed men wearing black pajamas and holding guns. They were headed our way! I ran inside and locked the front door, giving Norane a silent head signal to get out of the house. He pulled our little brothers out through the back door. Everyone else tensed up. “What’s going on?” said Mealanie. “Hide, they’re here!” I said. “They’re here, they’re here!” I fought to catch my breath. “Who’s here?” Mother asked, walking to the front door. I whispered: “Youn! Vietcong! Khmer Krahom!” She couldn’t understand me. Trembling, I pulled her arm until she stepped back from the door. Outside, Norane and my little brothers hid in the banana grove. Everyone in the house was quiet. As I motioned for them to follow me out through the back door, the front door shook from hard, pounding blows. Everyone froze. I shuddered as I recalled trading our chickens for aspirin. They’ve come to get me and Norane, I thought. The loud pounding on the door shook the house. We huddled in a corner, afraid to move. I waited for them to kick the door down and rush in. “Open up, now! We know you’re in there!” a man called out in Khmer. Mak Ah Chhay’s littlest kid began to whimper. I held my breath. She covered his mouth with her hand. “We’re friends,” said another voice from the door. “We’re here to help you. Please open up!” We huddled even closer together. Then, from the banana grove, my brothers cried. I tried hard not to go in my pants again. The armed men entered through the back door casually. “Good morning, folks. We didn’t mean to scare you but we need to talk to you all,” said the first man to enter, his rubber-tire Ho Chi Minh sandals tracking mud on the floor. He spoke slowly, clearly. “Everyone in the area is being asked to move away from the fighting.” He sounded almost polite with his loud, broken southeastern accent.1 “We need...

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