Free First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung

fascination overrides my fear of her.
    “Are there any doctors or anyone who can help her?”
    “There are no doctors anywhere. Go away! Aren’t your parents looking for you?”
    She is right, of course. I hear Ma calling my name and beckoning me to return. Luckily, my family is too busy boarding yet another truck to be angry with me. As Pa lifts me onto the truck, I notice two very thin middle-aged men in loose-fitting black pajama pants and shirts standing next to us. While one writes something on small brown pads of paper with his black pen, the other points at our heads and counts as we climb onto the truck. I find myself a seat where I can watch the countryside. Quickly, four other families clamber onto the truck and fill up the empty space in the middle. Once all the families are on board, the two men take their notes and count again, without smiling or greeting us. After they are finished, they get into the front seats with the truck driver and we begin to move.
    The truck rolls away from the waiting area and onto a bumpy narrow road crossing the mountains. The families are quiet and somber, the only sounds come from the branches brushing against the side of the truck and the slush of mud sticking to the tires. After what seems like forever, I become bored with the scenery and climb onto Pa’s lap.
    “Pa,” I say quietly, so the others cannot hear us, “the people at the place we just left, why were they there?”
    “They are waiting for the base people to come and take them.”
    “Take them like they’ve taken us?”
    “Yes. The men wearing black clothes are representatives from rural villages. At the waiting area, these representatives are given a list of names and people they are to take back to their villages,” Pa says quietly.
    “Those two men, are they our village representatives?”
    “Yes.”
    “Who are the base people?”
    “Shhh … I will tell you later.”
    “How come we left there so fast while all the others waited?”
    “I bribed someone with one of your Ma’s gold necklaces to put our names on a list so we could leave.” Pa lets out a sigh and is once again quiet. I rest my head on his chest and think how lucky I am to have such a father. I know Pa loves me. Back in Phnom Penh, in the movie theater, I would always demand the seat next to Pa. When a movie got scary, I would grab onto his arm, signaling to him that I was ready to hop on his lap. Pa would then lift me from my chair and plop me on his lap so that his body became my chair, his arms my armrest. It seems so long ago now. He seems so serious and sad, and I wonder if I will ever see my fun Pa again.

anlungthmor
July 1975
    I wake up to find that we have stopped and all the families are getting off the truck. The village representatives have a few words with the truck driver before he drives away, leaving us in the middle of nowhere. All around us, green mountain peaks jut into the gray sky. July is the midpoint of the rainy season; the air, though cool, is heavy and humid. Thick, tall trees with wide, green leaves and fat elephant grass surround us. I sit next to Chou and Geak on our small piles of clothes, listening to the sound of shrieking birds while the others stretch their bodies. A few feet away, Pa and the fathers of the four other families who came with us on the truck listen to the representatives as they give out instructions.
    “We have to walk from here up to the mountains,” Pa tells us. Pa picks up Geak and carries her on his back. Khouy, Meng, Keav, and Kim gather up our bundles of clothes and follow the representatives as they lead us to a small, hidden trail up the mountain. Chou and I hold Ma’s hand and trail behind the other families. I try to run to be up near Pa in case there are snakes or wild animals who eat young children in the mountains, but pebbles and rocks slow me down by getting in my flip-flops, forcing me to shake them out every few minutes. We hike upthe narrow path in silence. By