The family sat down to eat. Rotha served the strange plants leaves in a broth and they all agreed it tasted horrible, it was too bitter. Fortunately, the chicken and tror bek went down well, and after supper, they packed away their meagre belongings for the next day’s move. The village’s noisy two-stroke generator went off at 8:00 pm., whereupon they went to bed.
Shouting and gunfire abruptly woke the family at sunrise.
Panic ensued, Tu, Rotha, and the boys went onto the balcony and saw a group of young Khmer Rouge soldiers marching through the village, firing AK-47s into the air and hollering at the villagers. They stomped to the dwellings, whose residents now stood either on their balconies or at the foot of their steps.
A girl, about the same age as Ravuth, came to the foot of their steps and yelled for them to come down and go to the village’s communal hut. She pointed her rifle at Tu.
“Immediately!” she screamed.
The family did as ordered and went to the communal hut along with the other frightened villagers, and commanded to kneel. A Khmer Rouge soldier, who looked around 18-years-old, walked to the front. The villagers gasped. Dragged along on a rope leash was Dara, a middle-aged villager who had gone into Koh Kong along with Tu and the others to sell trinkets the previous day.
“Dara’s alive, Rotha,” whispered Tu. “I thought they’d all been killed.”
With swollen cheeks and eyes, dried blood staining her lips and nose, Dara looked badly beaten. The villagers watched as the Khmer Rouge commander tugged her like a dog. The other Khmer Rouge paced back and forth behind the audience as their commander spoke.
He explained about Pol Pot: Brother Number One, their leader, and how the Khmer Rouge now controlled Cambodia, saying, “Every *Khmer citizen now belonged to Angka, (The Organisation.) You are our property and if you want to live, you must prove your value.”
He told them about their children’s role within this new order and would be trained and taught by Angka to become soldiers for the organisation and honoured by all. They would no longer need parents, as adults were menial workers, therefore beneath them. Angka would now be their family. The commander continued for over an hour with his well-rehearsed speech.
The terrified villagers listened but felt bewildered by this indoctrinated youth. Dara swayed as she struggled to stand up in front of him. Occasionally, the boy tugged at her rope, and she snapped back to attention.
Once the commander finished, he focused his attention on Dara and said to the villagers.
“This woman led us to you. She is weak and we do not accept weak.” He tightened the noose around Dara’s neck and dragged her towards him. Taking hold of the knot, he lifted her chin to extend her throat and sliced it open with a small sharp knife. Dara was too weak to put up any fight, and as sputum, blood, and air gurgled from her throat, she went limp. The commander threw her body to the ground, bent over, and wiped his knife on her clothing before sheathing it. He shouted orders to his soldiers, pointed to Dara’s corpse, and issued a stark warning to the villagers,
“Obey Angka or die!”
The villagers stared in horror as the other Khmer Rouge screamed at them to get their belongings and to meet back there.
The stunned villagers left the communal hut and went to their respective residences to pack, with the Khmer Rouge buzzing around the terrified families, hurrying them along.
Rotha, Tu, Ravuth, and Oun went into their hut. Tu spoke to Rotha, who, although shaken by the events, agreed with him. Tu, his voice quaking, told the boys
“You two need to escape and hide in the jungle. When we’ve gone, come back, and stay here. When we find out what is going on and when it’s safe, we can return for you,”
The boys, although frightened, agreed, and hoped it would only be for a short while.
Rotha looked outside, saw a Khmer Rouge walking away from their hut to check on another family, and she could not see any others close by.
“Quick, Ravuth! You go first,” she whispered.
Ravuth gingerly made his way down the steps and ran the short distance to the jungle, hiding behind the first clump of trees and looking back to await his brother.
He saw Oun at the foot of the steps, but marching towards him was a Khmer Rouge soldier, who stopped at Oun’s side. The boy waved his rifle towards Rotha and Tu, ordering them to come down immediately. Ravuth’s heart beat wildly and he hid behind the thick tree trunk.
The Khmer Rouge shouting faded, so Ravuth peered out. He saw his mother, father, and brother led away with the others to the communal shack. Realising that he had gone unnoticed, Ravuth skirted around behind the village, using the jungle trees and foliage for cover as he observed what was happening within the village.
The villagers stayed inside the communal hut for another hour before emerging and corralled outside the hut.
The Khmer Rouge went into the crowd of people and dragged out four elderly villagers. Ravuth hoped that they would let them remain in the village. He thought they would take care of him until his parents and Oun returned.
The commander smirked as his soldiers pushed the four elderly villagers to the ground and shot them in the head.
The villagers screamed as the Khmer Rouge pointed their rifles at the panic-stricken crowd, screaming. “Silence or die!”
The commander addressed the crowd, “Be quiet!” he yelled and waiting until he had their attention. “These people were old so cannot produce anything for Angka. Their lives are of no benefit to Angka and their deaths are of no loss.”
Trembling and afraid, the crowd appeared a dejected and broken group of refugees. They shuffled along the trail that led to Koh Kong to join the exodus of the rounded-up populace to be processed and sent to work camps.
The Khmer Rouge let the villagers carry their meagre belongings, which they would take off them at the end of their journey.
Two Khmer Rouge soldiers remained. Ravuth watched as they dragged Dara’s corpse from the communal hut and dumped it with the four others. Taking a can of gasoline from the generator shack, they doused a little over several of the shacks and the corpses. They giggled as they ignited the incendiary, setting fire to several huts and incinerating the bodies. These merciless, ruthless killers were teenage children, who showed neither emotion nor remorse. One soldier, having fun beating the heads of the burning corpses with a stick, looked up and saw movement in the jungle. He shouted to his comrade, who grabbed his rifle, and ran towards Ravuth’s hiding place and stopped.
“You imagined it. There’s nobody here,” said the youth.
“I’m sure I saw someone,” said the other, sounding indignant.
“Do you want to go further into the jungle and look?”
“Not likely. I don’t know what’s in there, maybe a wild animal. Come on let’s get back and catch up with the others.”
“Okay. Because you’re afraid, we will go,” mocked the other youth. They turned and ran back through the village and onto the track.
Ravuth trembled. He backed his way further into the thick foliage. The Khmer Rouge had been standing only inches from his face.
Ravuth returned to the village at sunset. He had been too afraid to move throughout the long, hot, humid day. Dazed and confused, he walked into the deserted village. Passing the smouldering corpses, he made his way to his home. Although the Khmer Rouge had burnt down some shacks and the communal hut, they had left his hut relatively unscathed. He went inside but nothing remained, having either been ransacked or took by his parents. Ravuth crouched down and wept. He stayed there throughout the night, wondering what had happened and what to do. Daybreak came, and as the room got lighter he saw the banana leaf box sticking out of a hole in a floorboard in a corner of the room. He realised that his parents must have been trying to hide it from the Khmer Rouge. He took the box and opened it. The strange