Survival in the Killing Fields by Haing Ngor Read Free Book Online Page A

oranges for all of us from the
kitchen, while her cousins chattered. The other girls were no match for her.
    The classes came to an end as the exams approached. Chang My Huoy was going to return to Kampot. After the last class I lingered for a few minutes in the doorway, holding the pay envelope in my
hand. The family had treated me well. I wasn’t in a hurry to go. In Phnom Penh, I had nobody to go to.
    At last I pedalled off through the warm, quiet streets. A Honda 90 motorcycle passed me, pulling a trailer with a cargo of firewood, the noise of the sputtering engine gradually trailing off in
the distance. There were few cars. I stopped by a roadside vendor, bought a piece of peeled sugar cane and sat down to chew it.
    From a nearby restaurant came the shouting of a high-pitched and unmistakable voice. It was the Royal Father, Sihanouk, giving a speech on the radio. He was a familiar presence. Several times a
week he took the microphone of the government radio and talked about whatever was on his mind. Once he started he went on excitedly for hours about the honour and the role of the country.
    Tonight the Royal Father was telling us about the dangers of the war in Vietnam. He said Cambodia mustn’t get caught between the American imperialists and the Vietnamese communists.
Cambodia must remain politically neutral, he said, an island of peace and prosperity. An ‘island of peace’ – that’s what he always called it.
    Cambodia was the envy of its neighbours, he went on, a highly advanced country. Famous throughout the world. We Cambodians were too intelligent to get involved in the Vietnam war. We were a
superior race, better than the Vietnamese and the Thais. After all, he shouted, we were the descendants of the builders of the mighty Angkor Wat, the most beautiful monument in the ancient world!
We were fortunate to live in such a marvellous country, one of the most enlightened and progressive countries in all Asia!
    All of a sudden in the middle of his speech the streetlights went out. The light bulbs inside houses and the strings of coloured bulbs decorating the restaurants went out too, all at the same
time. Another power failure. They happened all the time, and we were used to them. Because of the unreliable power, most radios were battery run, and the radio station generated its own electrical
supply. So the Royal Father’s voice continued without a break.
    He went on shouting in the darkness, but I stopped paying attention. Soon the dim yellow glow of lanterns and candles appeared in the houses. A sputtering of motors gave way to a steady throb as
the large restaurants started their private generators, and their coloured lights shone once again.
    If the Royal Father said Cambodia was an advanced country, I supposed he was right. If he said we were lucky to be Cambodian, he was undoubtedly right about that too. But tonight the issues of
national pride seemed remote and unimportant. I hadn’t said an extra word to Chang My Huoy. She hadn’t said an extra word to me. When she wore her hair up, it lay coiled over the nape
of her neck. When she let her hair down, it fell thick and soft to her waist.
    We had been teacher and pupil. Very correct.

3
Romance and Coup
    It was a year before I saw her again, and then only by coincidence. She was walking along the waterfront by the confluence of the rivers with an armful of books. ‘Hello,
luk
teacher,’ she said shyly, her face lighting up with a smile. I got off my bicycle and walked beside her.
    In her home province, Huoy had passed the exam for which I had tutored her. Then she moved back to Phnom Penh to begin training to become a teacher herself. Just now she was returning from a
meeting in the Chadomukh conference hall near the Royal Palace. She said maybe I could help her with an assignment, since I was in medical school. She was supposed to make some drawings of human
anatomy to use as teaching aids. I said I would help her. Did she have drawing