Several hours later the walking nightmare began. All city inhabitants, including Lien's family and even hospital patients, were forced into the three major avenues and herded towards the countryside under the watchful eyes of Khmer Rouge soldiers, many of whom were even younger than Lien. Residents left behind homes, businesses, restaurants, and cinemas, carrying away only the barest necessities: in Lien's case a blanket. In the chaos and crush that ensued, she and her brothers were separated from the rest of their family, and the three have not seen them or their hometown since.
During the next four years Phnom Penh and other Cambodian cities turned into ghost towns. Lien, Ty and Van (her other brother) toiled in labor camps in the countryside, fulfilling Pol Pot's (the Khmer Rouge leader's) vision of a peasant farming nation. The Khmer Rouge were hostile and brutal against the people who had lived comfortably in the cities while they had struggled and fought in the jungles for a new Cambodia.
Lien recalls that by virtue of their young ages (10, 11, and 17) and sparrow-like proportions, she and her brothers were able to survive within the regime that tolerated only non-threatening individuals with "blank" or "uncorrupted" minds. Execution followed any display of intelligence, education or disgruntlement and eavesdropping was used regularly to ferret out individuals and families who posed a potential threat to the new order.
The three siblings slept on dirt floors. Woken each morning before sunrise, they were shepherded to distant work fields, just to keep them tired. Independent canting was punishable by death; laborers were fed communal "meals"--always boiled water with a countable number of rice grains. Lien and her brothers quickly adapted to their new lifestyles because they were too delirious to do otherwise. Weak from overwork and malnutrition, they could only focus their attention on food and day-by-day survival. Together they conjured up imaginary servings, as if the words alone could nourish them. While a nearby campfire or a scent in the air triggered memories of childhood meals. Lien says she actually grew to believe: "If I have one good meal, I fall down on the ground and die happy."
The regime prohibited familial affection. When Lien requested permission to pick a mango from a nearby tree, the guard made her vow that she intended to eat it herself and not to bring it back to the camp to share with her brothers. After taking a few bites of the unripe and bitter fruit, she handed the remaining portion over to the guard to prove that she did not, as she puts it, "love too much."
The terror which confronted Lien and her brothers was more phantom than graphic, since few people were actually executed before civilian eyes. But the three recall clearly: the sudden and permanent disappearances; people's belongings strewn along roadsides; the distinct, revolting stench of corpses which wafted into the camp from the neighboring woods; and the rumors and stories passed along by chance witnesses of the Khmer Rouge's but cheering.
ONE WEEK BEFORE THE Khmer Rouge takeover Lien had acted as bridesmaid at a girlfriend's wedding. The ceremony took place on a sunny morning as friends and relatives arrived with presents and money-filled envelopes. Instead of the traditional pink Cambodian dress, the bride wore a western-fashion, white, wedding gown. At the reception afterwards, the guests plowed through cakes and cookies and drank tea and Coca-Cola.
In a labor camp a couple years later, Lien spotted the bride-in-white's mother by the sound of her voice; she had withered beyond recognition. The woman sadly but tersely informed Lien that the girl had died, along with her new husband. The bride had been premonitory in her choice of attire: Cambodians customarily don white for funerals.
In December 1978 the Vietnamese launched a massive invasion of Cambodia, by then renamed "Democratic Kampuchea." Cambodians welcomed the conquest of their homeland by their historical neighboring enemy, just as they'd embraced the Khmer Rouge only a few years earlier, Lien credits the Vietnamese with rescuing her from certain death: the flux and confusion accompanying the incursion allowed her and her brothers to escape one night across the reedy, mountainous border into Thailand. Behind in the camp they left a cavernous pit, which Lien had learned was to be a mass grave for the workers.
During the following two years the three siblings lived inside refugee camps in Thailand and the Philippines. Although they were no longer terrorized, they continued to sleep in the dirt and catch colds while less hardy escapes succumbed to the squalor and despair. Some refugees gobbled down food with a hunger that caused shrunken stomachs to burst. Lien watched one man groan and writhe after eating several bowlfuls of rice; he died that evening in his sleep, by his wife's side. According to Lien, he had simply become "too hungry."
THROUGH THE WORK OF an American refugee resettlement organization, Lien and her brothers were brought to the United States a year and a half ago. Now ages 18, 19, and 25, they live under church sponsorship in a small clapboard house in a New England sea town. There are bicycles on the porch, a struggling tomato plant in the yard, bright white T-shirts on the clothesline, and a fully stocked refrigerator in the kitchen. During the summer months they bicycle everyday past candy and clothing stores to their coffee shop jobs. During the rest of the year the boys attend the local high school, where Van is an A student.
Despite appearances, however, the three have not resumed their former lifestyles. With their backgrounds, it should be easy for them to fall into the American rhythm--Lien's idea of fun remains unchanged: "Four, five friends, go to movies." But she and her brothers must contend with the isolation imposed by their past trials and their flawed English. On top of it all, Ty and Van endure daily harassment and ridicule from their schoolmates.
If is ironic that our society, which has developed its degree of strength and magnanimity from immigrants, should mete out so much ill will to people who have been cruelly mistreated and who have no other home. Perhaps, as Americans, we take our own comfort for granted, and therefore find it difficult to relate to victims. Most of us, after all, enjoy the luxury of waking up from our nightmares.
"What a quiet life our family has been leading," said Gregor to himself... But what if all the quiet, the comfort, the contentment were to now end in horror?