Free In the Shadow of the Banyan by Vaddey Ratner Page B

landscape, he explained that the closer lights probably came from barges and fishing boats and those farther away from small towns and villages along the shore. In the dark, even the lights looked lonely and forlorn. I couldn’t imagine there being anything out there except those lost-soul preats, and now it felt likely we were being sent to join them.
    Before us loomed the silhouette of a wooden boat as big as a house. This type of craft, Papa said, was used for transporting livestock, which was why it looked as it did—cavernous and windowless. Now it would transport us. “Don’t worry,” he reassured us. “It’ll be just a few minutes.” Looking at the coffin-like monstrosity, I didn’t think I could bear even a second inside.
    On deck stood several Khmer Rouge soldiers holding torches crested with bright orange flames and coiling black smoke. The smells of burning tar and hay filled the night’s air and, even though the river was right in front of us, I couldn’t smell it. The odor of fire, of burning, overwhelmed all others. Shadows and lights skimmed the surface of the water, entangled in one another’s folds and grasps, like water sprites fighting in anticipation of their nightly feed.
    Once again we had to line up. The soldiers did not speak, just grunted and shoved. They seemed younger and more closemouthed than those we’d met coming out of the city. During our trek across the island, they had hardly spoken even to one another, let alone us. A door, riddled with moth-shaped holes where the wood had rotted out, swung down from the belly of the boat like a tongue sticking out of a gaping mouth. A couple of Khmer Rouge soldiers guarded the entrance, one wielding a long-barreled gun, the other a torch with its tar-smoked flame. One by one people trudged past the lit entryway and disappeared into the dark within.
    When our turn came, Papa rolled up his pants legs and, with me in his arms, waded through the water to get to the wooden gangplank. Mama and Radana stuck close behind, followed by the rest of our family.At the door, the soldier with the gun stopped us, the tip of his weapon brushing against Papa’s arm, barring us from entering. “What’s this?” he demanded, eyeing the metal brace on my right leg.
    “My daughter needs it for support,” Papa told him.
    “Is she crippled?”
    Indignant, I blurted out, “ No. ”
    The soldier’s eyes flashed at me. I lowered my face.
    “She had polio,” Papa explained.
    The soldier looked at him. “Throw it in the water.”
    “Please, Comrade—”
    “Take it off and throw it in the water! It’s a piece of machinery!”
    “But—”
    “The Organization will cure her!”
    It seemed to take forever, but finally Papa got the brace off and cast it into the water. It sank like a toy ship. Now, I thought, I’d never walk like Mama. I had always hated the brace, but knowing I’d lost it, I wanted it back. At least we got to keep my shoes. The soldier moved his gun away and let us through.
    Inside the boat it was dark, except for a small kerosene lantern that hung from the middle beam high above our heads. I couldn’t breathe. It smelled of rotten hay and manure, as if we’d just stepped into the belly of a cow instead of a boat. Cages, crates, buckets, and bales of hay lay scattered on a wooden floor stained with dark patches. We found a spot near a large wire cage, the kind used to transport chickens and ducks. Papa moved the cage to one side and Big Uncle covered the floor with clean hay for us to sit. There was no possibility of escape. Up high on either side, small round openings, like slatted moons, lined the otherwise windowless walls. They provided the only glimpse of the outside world. I kept my eyes on them.
    The last person entered. The door slammed shut, a giant mouth closing on us. No one would hear us again, I thought, panicking. No one would know we existed. I opened my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs.
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    “Feel