Free Never Fall Down: A Novel by Patricia McCormick Page A

They say yes, they kill your brother. Then they kill you, too.
    Always, with a kind voice, they say to each other, comrade this, comrade that. One day you are comrade. The next day corpse.
     
    New prisoner coming to the camp all the time. No hiding them anymore. Now the Khmer Rouge take them right through the square. Tie together, head low. They beat them in front of us so we can see what happen to people with bad character. Always the Khmer Rouge watch us, all the time. They watch to see if you show any emotion to the victim. You do, they kill you.
    One time, a boy in my group, he see his sister come to the square. The sister see him, too. But she look away. Pretend not to know him. Because she understand he can be kill just for being her relative.
    The Khmer Rouge, they hit the prisoner, one by one, with the stick while they make us watch. Now it’s time for the boy sister. I hold his hand very tight, squeeze it hard. They hit her with a stick, hit the head, the shoulder, the leg, and each time I squeeze his hand so he can’t cry out. She hold her head high, then quick she go down, no more life in her, and very slow, very quiet, I lead him away.
     
    A new soldier is guarding the band now. The old one, he fell asleep one time during practice and the head guy saw. We never see that guard again.
    The new guard, we all afraid of him. Even Mek. He turn pale as soon as this guy come to our building. This new guy, he’s big, tall, his eyes little, like shark. And all the time watching me. Watching everyone, but looking specially at me, like he know something bad I did.
    One day after practice, he tell me to wait behind. The other boy, they so scare, they can’t even look at me. Siv, he look maybe like he’s gonna vomit. These boy I steal food for, these boy I protect, they want to cry but can’t show it. I tell them it’s okay. I say, “See you later,” even though we don’t know if maybe we never will see each other again.
    When the kid are gone, Mek, he beg this soldier, “Kill me, I’m old. But leave this boy alone.” But the soldier, he just tell Mek to scram. And me, I tell Mek scram also, using almost angry voice. “Remember what I tell you,” I say to him. “If you don’t live, the kid in the band can’t live.” Then the soldier push Mek out the door.
    “Kneel on the floor,” he tell me. Then he tie his red-and-white-check scarf over my eyes. It’s all dark now and quiet, very quiet inside this scarf where I wait to die.
    “You think you pretty good, don’t you?” he says. “You think you’re a good musician, right?”
    No answer is the right answer for this question.
    “So play,” he says.
    I can’t see anything inside this scarf, but this guy, he hand me the bamboo stick. “Play,” he says. “Let’s see you play now.”
    I think again of the old man who taught me to play. I think of all this practice, three times a day, every day, and I know I can do this. I let the stick fall, and one ping sound, then one more, then many, many more, so fast it’s like this instrument, it’s playing itself.
    When I finish, he pull the scarf away and tell me to go. No look on his face. He just keep watching me all the way back to the temple.
     
    When I come to Mek building that night he look afraid, like he see a ghost. He pinch me, pull my hair to make sure I’m real boy. Then he grab me and hold me close. We go to sleep like before, like father and son; but I think in his nightmare, Mek is crying.
    The next day, the other kid, they look at me like maybe I have magic. They touch my arm like maybe this magic will rub onto them; and Siv, the big, simple guy, he drop the flag and pick me up in his arm, almost crushing my bone.
     
    Next day, I flirt a little with the kitchen girl and take one handful of rice, not even cooked, from the sack. I do this all the time now, so not even too sneaky this time, just put it in my pocket.
    I see this new guard watching me across the way, very suspicious. But I make