They write in the paper book Peter Pond give us. Me, I try the letters, but mostly I draw. Picture of my new life in America. Airplane. Peter Pond Mercedes. Eight-track cassette player. Big bowl of fish-head stew, big pile of fry ants and Chuckle candy every day.
Peter Pond is back in America now, but he send us new American clothes. Hat, glove, long pant, coat. All the kid look at this strange clothes and poke it and wonder how it work and play with it, laughing how strange America must be. But I can tell they also a little jealous.
Small flower is blooming now. Little cup, yellow, with tiny drop of water in it throat. All over the place. Cover the field, the rice paddy, the hill. Never before did I see this flower, I think. Is it only growing now, now that I’m going to the US?
I am volleyball king now in this camp. Jumping so high, like frog, I fly higher even than the net. Small guy like me, big deal to jump this high. Big deal also that I can spike. I hit the ball so hard, it fly off the dust; no one can touch it. All the kid want me on their team. Just like before I’m a little bit famous. Me and Sojeat and Ravi, we run this place; we volleyball star, we the only kid going to the US. Even Missus Gotobed, she can’t tell us what to do. Always she make a sour face at me now, always she watching me with squint eye, like she think she can take away my good luck. She’s the boss of this place, but she can’t scare me. I already know what it feels to have real enemy. Khmer Rouge, Vietnamese soldier. Crabby old lady is nothing to me.
Today I hit the volleyball so hard it fly over the fence into the tent city. Missus Gotobed not looking, so quick I hop the fence, like cricket, pop over to get the ball before anyone can take it. Rumor going around that adult have volleyball team over there; they will steal our ball. But not if I can be fast.
All the kid looking, Sojeat, he click his tongue on his teeth. Lately, all the time he mad at me, telling me, “No tricks or we won’t go the US. You get in trouble, Arn, we all get in trouble.” But he’s just a kid, not soldier like me, just a schoolboy, spoil and also a little conceited, so I show him I don’t care what he say.
I run down this alley in the tent city, grab the ball, and start to run back. A voice call me from behind, a voice that know my name. “Little Fish,” the voice say, “is that you?”
I know this voice, I know it from when my life is bullet and blood and jungle and smell of rotten flesh, and I run from it, like wind I run; I don’t look to see where it come from. I run, trip on my own feet, going so fast, jump the fence, throw the ball at Sojeat, and keep running, all the way back to my tent, where I get in bed, pull up the cover, and hide.
That night, Sojeat come to our tent, make a howl sound with his mouth. “What wrong, Arn?” he say to me. “You see a ghost?”
I tell him my stomach is bad. This the truth. My stomach, my gut, now is tie in a knot. I know that voice. It know me, too. Me, the volleyball king; me, the most popular kid in this camp; me, the one Peter Pond choose to live, to go to America—that voice know who is the real me.
Kid who kill, who push people in the grave, who cook human flesh.
No volleyball for me anymore. Only study. Study English. Study number. I sit only near Ravi now, though, not Sojeat. Sojeat, he make a smirk face, ask me how is my stomach. But I don’t answer. My nose in the book, now I pretend only thing in the world for me is studying.
New word I learn now: see Judy run. Run, Judy, run. New name I also learn: Jabba the Hut. Also, this hairy soldier cover in fur like a dog, I think is call Wookie.
Sojeat, he watch me all the time now. With careful, squinty, study eye, like when he work a math problem. Hot day, I go to the pond, he watch. Lunchtime, I get in line, he watch me. Even I go to the latrine, he watch me. This guy, he always have an eye on me now because he know my secret. He hear Sombo call to me; he know I used to be Khmer Rouge.
He can tell on me, tell Missus Gotobed about me, tell the other kid; and I don’t get to go to the US.
But Sojeat a smart guy, not just book smart. He also know I’m Peter favorite. And he know if I don’t go the US, maybe he doesn’t go either.
He’s smart. But me, I’m smarter. You can say maybe I’m a little bit like Angka, like the pineapple with a hundred eye, because me, I’m watching him, too.
I hear Sombo voice now all the time. “Little Fish, is that you?” At night I hear it in my dream. In the day I hear it every time we stand in line for meal. Food line, it goes very near the fence, so now, some day I skip the meal. Or I go very early, very late, when no line is there.
One day at lunch Missus Gotobed, she see me hide in my cot and yell at me, chase me out to the food line. She pinching my ear, pinch, pinch all the way to the fence. Where I see Sombo.
On the other side of the fence, Sombo stand, wearing normal clothes, looking straight at me.
Missus Gotobed, she still pinch my ear like she have a prize, like she now will show everyone that the famous volleyball king, really, he’s killer.
Sombo, he look at me very happy, his eye crinkle with tear, but I give him a blank face. Like I can’t even see him, like he not even there. He look confuse now, confuse and maybe also a little sad. One minute goes by, then two, then Sombo, he give me back a blank face. Then he turn around and walk away with another guy.
Missus Gotobed, she also walk away. But I can hear her click the tongue. Also, I can hear Sombo friend talking. “Is that the kid?” the other guy says. “The kid who can play music blindfold?”
Sombo shake his head. “No,” he says, “must be someone else.”
That night I lie in bed and thank Sombo in my head. One more time, I tell him, one more time, you save my life.
Peter Pond send a message. In one week we leave for America. He also send a package of Chuckle candy, twenty-dollar bill US, and important paper to carry on the trip.
The other kid now very sad, sad or mad, not look at me, not ask to play volleyball. At night, I sneak to their pillow and put the Chuckle underneath. And early in the morning, when I can’t sleep, I walk by the fence, but never do I see Sombo.
Last night in camp, we say good-bye to all these kid. All crying very hard, and we crying very hard also. “You so lucky,” they say. “You get to go to United State. All good thing there, free. Food and clothes and car and Coca-Cola. You so lucky.” So I give each kid one American thing, some thing Peter send us: hat, shoe, jacket. Ravi, he have a soft heart, so he also give away his clothes. Then finally Sojeat, guy who always need to be better than me, he give away all his thing, too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AT THIS AIRPORT, BANGKOK, IT CALL, WE SPEND OUR AMERICAN money. Almost all of it, twenty American dollar, we spend on ice cream.
And oh, now my stomach is pain, again like snake is twisting inside my gut. And fever now, too, and diarrhea and shaking. I only want to cry and scream; but if the airplane people, they see I’m sick, they won’t let me go to the United State. So I hold it all in, stand straight like stick; but all the thing in the airport spinning, the floor is the ceiling, the loudspeaker voice right in my ear, and sweat in my eye. Sojeat, he look at me angry because he know I can ruin this big thing for him. But Ravi, he hold me up under the arm so I can walk to the plane. And the two of us, we smile at the ticket lady, all teeth, big, big, big; and she not even notice, just take the ticket and we get on the plane.
This plane is like big movie theater, row and row of chair, maybe three hundred people inside, all push and talk Thai language, all family, mother and father and kid, and we just three kid by ourself, three kid with big badge on our chest that say peter pond usa. And then the plane, it shake, shaking like me, like so scare. And it run very fast and all the people screaming and the plane, it tip up in the front and push me back into the seat, push my head back; and the skin on my face, on my cheek, is pull back, like in a smile. Because now we are flying.
Sojeat, he grab the best seat, the one by the window; but Ravi, now all of a sudden not so shy, he wrestle his way to also see out the window. And now we all are very excite, jumpi
ng on the seat, push and shove but in happy way, because we are going to America. Finally, the airplane lady who is the boss of this plane, she say settle down, and she tie us to the seat.
A little while later, the other boy fall asleep, but I need very quick to get to the latrine. Diarrhea and now vomit, too. Everything coming out of me, everything from Cambodia leaving me now. And so in this tiny flying latrine, stink like shit, I make a holy moment and say good-bye. To my family. To my friend. To Mek. To Runty. To all of them I say good-bye and say also, “Wait for me. I will come back for you.”
The plane, now it land in a place call Denmark to get more gas, so we go outside the plane for one hour. Bright sun, all people with yellow hair, blue eye, skin like see-through. And very cold, this Denmark. Never in my life I feel cold like this. Not even in the jungle at night; this kinda cold is different, is pain.
Other people have hat, coat, scarf—all the thing Peter sent us that we give away to other kid. Shoe, too, we even give the shoe, so we freezing in this Denmark. Bare feet on the ground make us hop like cricket. And all the people, they look at us like maybe we crazy.
We go back to the plane now, running to get away from this cold; and the people—the guy who drive the plane, the lady who give the food—they give us thing—shoe, coat, itchy thing call sweater—and I have a feeling that it true what they say about the US, that white people are nice, very kind. Give you lotta stuff for free. And the lady, they pat me, the touch nice and gentle and soft, and I feel shaking because never has a girl touch me like this before. And I tell them, “Thank you,” and “Let the Force be with you.”
New York. The plane driver announce that soon we be in New York. I don’t know any other word he say; all language like spitting and chewing talk to me, but New York, I know this word. A thousand people standing there waiting when we get off the plane, all family hugging, crying, waving, like holiday. We not see Peter for two month, and we not seeing him now. We wonder if maybe he forgot about us. But then he push to the front of the crowd, his face very sweaty; and in this place, so many Americans, very tall, we see Peter, not such a giant like in Thailand.
Peter car is big. Buick, he says, better than Mercedes and also with eight-track cassette player. I ask him if this his own car, and he say yes. And I think: okay, we rich now!
He is happy, too, and want to show us America. He say a lot of thing, point out the window, but only Ravi and Sojeat know this English word he saying. One word he say is McDonald. We going to see his friend McDonald to get something to eat. We get there, and this guy, McDonald, is wearing a hat made of paper and a nice face and so I try my English with him. “Rice,” I say to McDonald. “Rice, please.”
He look at Peter and laugh. “Rice,” I say, very loud now. “Rice.” And now Peter laugh and this guy laugh and lotta people laugh. And Peter says no rice here. No rice in America? No one tell us this before we leave Cambodia. No rice. How we gonna live?
Then Peter says a word I hear before: hamburger. He get us kid each a hamburger, and we copy how he bite it. Terrible taste, like shit, and chew like old shoe. Only one thing is good: sauce on top. This sauce in little shiny envelope. I eat one, two, three, four of this sauce call ketchup, as much as I can fit in my stomach.
Driving, driving long time to get to Peter house, and many time I have to ask him to stop the car so I can vomit this ketchup. But what can I say? Only thank you; thank you for the hamburger, thank you and thank you again.
Peter mother house is big, like mansion, a hundred room, and she is old and shrivel and have a hatchet nose like Peter, and we call her grandmother; but she not smiling to us very much.
She put us in a room with a big bed, big enough to fit all three boy, and close the door. Outside we can hear her voice, Peter voice, a little bit fighting; but we think only of this big bed, very high off the ground, with cloud on top for sleeping on, white fluff fabric, soft and thick and perfect for jumping. So I jump in the air and flop myself on the bed, like doing flip in the pond. And we all do it then, jump and flop and wrestle; and we play this way a long time, because in this house it nighttime but for us it feel still like the day, the best day ever in our life.
Then Peter come in and scream at us, his face storm cloud face now, very red, little spit flying out his mouth, screaming very hard. I don’t know what he’s saying, but I jump in the bed, pull the cover and hide; but outside I can hear he still yelling. I think: why he all of sudden like this? Back at the camp, Peter used to love us very much and give us book and Chuckle candy, and now he’s screaming and hate us.
Big mistake, I think, coming to the US.
Next morning Peter come and say, “Okay, guys, let’s go.” He’s happy again. Last night he’s so mad, now he’s “Let’s go, guys,” and I think: this guy, why he change his mind so quickly? He take us in his Buick to a place call the mall, all kinda clothes, you put in the cart for free. Peter give us all new clothes—pant and shirt and shoe—and now I think: okay, lotta free stuff in the US; maybe not so bad here after all.
We all copy Peter: we take everything we want—hat and sock and candy and spray that smell good, like flower—and then a policeman stop the cart, and Peter yelling at us again, taking away all this good stuff we pick for our cart. “You don’t do that!” he yell. “You don’t do that!” Hard to understand this place, America. Hard, too, to understand who is this new Peter.
My mood going up and down now, fun time at the mall, new clothes, lure me to feel happy, then Peter yell at us and we get sour, make sour face again. Peter want to take a picture in the new clothes, and we smile, big, big, big lotta teeth; but soon as he finish, our mood sour again. And he say no picture of that bad face.
Back in the car, Peter give us a piece of paper and say learn this. He tell us, word by word, we need to learn this thing for meeting at his church. Sojeat, of course, he learn it right away. Ravi, I think he learn it too, but too shy to say out loud. Me, I just try to copy Sojeat. Long time driving, then finally Peter stop the Buick and we get out. Lotta white people on the grass, all smile at us, a little happy, a little scare also. They touch the new mall clothes we wearing. Stiff feeling inside these clothes, with tie and belt and hard shoes, like wooden, our toe all trap inside. No bell-bottom, but we proud still to have new clothes.
Then Peter make a speech, long speech, but all the time the white people, they stare at us. Sometime with sad face, sometime mouth just hang open, sometime whisper behind the hand; but always they look at us like never before they saw kid like us. Now Peter give us the microphone.
“Speak in the microphone,” Peter say. “Speak it, one or two word.” Sojeat, for first time in his life, he gets shy, says he don’t want to be first. Ravi, he terrify, too, and I see Peter looking like a little bit mad. So I take it; I hold the microphone like I see Elvis do, like the Beatle, and I say something from the paper Peter give us. I say I am happy to be here in the United State.
And all the people clap. They applause us for a very long time, and I have this feeling deep in me that I like this. I like this sound. Very much.
Only I been in the United State two day, and already I’m a little bit famous.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SURPRISE TO US, OTHER KID ALREADY LIVING AT PETER HOUSE. White kid. Peter own kid. One name Kate, one name Doug, one name Donna, all same blue eye as Peter. And a woman—Peter also have a wife, name of Shirley, a little bit old, like she can be Peter big sister, maybe. These kid, they shake our hand, say, “Welcome to America,” but I can see in their eye a little bit worry, same look as on Hong mother face when he ask if I can come with them on the train, like afraid that maybe not enough food for everyone.
But inside is lotta food. Banana, orange, other fruit in bowl, just sitting out to take, not even hiding. We have a formal eating—good rice dinner, fancy plate, candle, and praying. After, me and Ravi and Sojeat, we sneak some of this fruit in our room, put it under our pillow, and save for later, maybe. But we can’t wait; we eat some right away, our
belly stuff and round, and also we play with the peel: we throw it back and forth like game. Before we go to sleep, we open the window and pee outside, fun thing to do, to see how far the pee can shoot. Also we afraid maybe this American latrine, this power toilet, will suck us down.
One, two, three day we live here, eat formal, rice every meal, work the ABC with Shirley. We teach Doug, Kate, and Donna how to play volleyball, how to spike, and they teach us good new swear word in English. And at night we lay our cheek on this soft pillow and listen for sound of nothing here in the dark, here in this New Hampshire, no sound at all, only the sound of this house groan a little, holding all these people inside.
One morning Shirley come in our room and yell at us very hard. She goes bazooka, all this banana peel in the room, smell bad like latrine; and I think: okay, now we get sent back to Cambodia. In the living room, she fight with Peter, crying voice and also shouting, word I can’t understand; but Ravi tell me what she say. “Not my idea to bring these kid,” she say.
We packing our stuff—all our clothes from the mall, ABC book—when Peter come in and say we have to have a meeting. And all of us, me and Ravi and Sojeat and Peter kid and Shirley, we all have to sit together for long meeting where we talk about what we did bad and make new rule. Also me and Ravi and Sojeat , we get new chore, like chop the wood; and I think: uh-oh, I hope this New Hampshire not gonna be like Khmer Rouge time, hard work all the time, new rule every day, long meeting every night.
In the daytime is this new life in America. Chore. Okay, I don’t mind. Because also lotta good food, big soft chair call “couch,” TV show, Duke of Hazzard, about American kid with fast car. At night, though, when all the house is asleep, Cambodia kid come to my mind, starving kid, kid like corpse, kid I left behind, orphan like Runty. Kid who die in battle, blood, brain, intestine all over. Also I see the face of people I kill myself, woman who grab my ankle and call me Khmer Rouge. And I sweat like fever and squirm so this heavy American blanket tangle and trap me like vine in the jungle until finally I get up and go sit by the window, waiting for the sun to come up and daytime to begin again.