First They Killed My Father Part 6

December 1976

Time pa.s.ses by slowly. We are in the middle of our summer because the air is hotter and drier now. It seems to be about four months since Keav died. Though the family does not talk about her, my heart still weeps when I remember that she is no longer with us.

The government continues to reduce our food rations. I am always hungry and all I think about is how to feed myself. Each night, my stomach growls and aches as I try to sleep. Our family remains dependent on Khouy and Meng to bring us food whenever they can steal away from their camp to visit us. However, the Angkar keeps them so busy that they are unable to visit us as often as before.

We live under the constant fear of being discovered as supporters of the former government. Every time I see soldiers walking in our village, my heart leaps and I fear they are coming for Pa. They don't know that Pa is not a poor farmer, but how long will it be before they realize we are all living a lie? Everywhere I go I am obsessed with the thought that people are staring at me, watching me with suspicious eyes, waiting for me to mess up, and give away our family secret. Can they tell by the way I talk, or walk, or look?

"They know," I overhear Pa whisper to Ma late one night. Lying on my back next to Chou and Kim, I pretend to be asleep. "The soldiers have taken away many of our neighbors. n.o.body ever talks of the disappearances. We have to make preparations for the worst. We have to send the kids away, to live somewhere else, and make them change their names. We must make them leave and go to live in orphanage camps. They must lie and tell everyone that they are orphans and don't know who their parents are. This way, maybe, we can keep them safe from the soldiers and from exposing one another."

"No, they are too young," Ma pleads with him. Unable to stop my eyes from twitching, I roll over to my side. Ma and Pa become quiet, waiting for me to go back to sleep. Staring at Kim's back, I force myself to breathe regularly.

"I want them to be safe, to live, but I cannot send them away. They are too young and cannot defend themselves. Not now but soon." His voice trails off.

Beside Chou, Geak kicks and moans in her sleep, almost as if she senses impending doom. Ma picks her up and puts her down between Pa and herself. I roll over once more, this time facing Chou's back. I spy Ma and Pa asleep facing each other on their sides with Geak in the middle, their hands touching above Geak's head.

The next evening, while sitting with Kim outside on the steps of our hut, I think how the world is still somehow beautiful even when I feel no joy at being alive within it. It is still dark and the s.h.i.+mmering sunset of red, gold, and purple over the horizon makes the sky look magical. Maybe there are G.o.ds living up there after all. When are they going to come down and bring peace to our land? When I focus my eyes back on the earth, I see two men in black walking toward us with their rifles casually hanging on their backs.

"Is your father here?" one of them asks us.

"Yes," Kim answers. Pa hears them and comes out of the hut, his body rigid as our family gathers around him.

"What can I do for you?" Pa says.

"We need your help. Our ox wagon is stuck in the mud a few kilometers away. We need you to help us drag it out."

"Could you please wait for a moment so that I can talk to my family?" The soldiers nod to Pa. Pa and Ma go inside the hut. Moments later, Pa comes out alone. Inside, I hear Ma sobbing quietly. Opposite the soldiers, Pa straightens his shoulders, and for the first time since the Khmer Rouge takeover, he stands tall. Thrusting out his chin and holding his head high, he tells the soldiers he is ready to go. Looking up at him, I see his chest inflates and exhales deeply, and his jaw is square as he clenches his teeth. I reach up my hand and lightly tug at his pant leg. I want to make him feel better about leaving us. Pa puts his hand on my head and tousles my hair. Suddenly he surprises me and picks me up off the ground. His arms tight around me, Pa holds me and kisses my hair. It has been a long time since he has held me this way. My feet dangling in the air, I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap my arms around his neck, not wanting to let go.

"My beautiful girl," he says to me as his lips quiver into a small smile. "I have to go away with these two men for a while."

"When will you be back, Pa?" I ask him.

"He will be back tomorrow morning," one of the soldiers replies for Pa. "Don't worry, he'll be back before you know it."

"Can I go with you, Pa? It's not too far. I can help you." I beg him to let me go with him.

"No, you cannot go with me. I have to go. You kids be good and take care of yourselves," and he puts me down. He walks slowly to Chou and takes Geak from her arms. Looking into her face, he cradles her and gently rocks her back and forth before bending and gathering Chou into his arms also. His head high and his chest puffed out like a small man, Kim walks over to Pa and stands quietly next to him. Letting go of Chou and Geak, Pa stoops down and lays both hands on Kim's shoulders. As Kim's face crumbles, Pa's face is rigid and calm. "Look after your Ma, your sisters, and yourself," he says.

Pa walks away with a soldier on either side of him. I stand there and wave to him. I watch Pa's figure get smaller and smaller, and still I wave to him, hoping he will turn around and wave back. He never does. I watch until his figure disappears into the horizon of red and gold. When I can no longer see Pa, I turn around and go inside our house, where Ma sits in the corner of the room crying. I have seen Pa leave the house many times in Phnom Penh, but I have never seen her this upset. In my heart I know the truth, but my mind cannot accept the reality of what this all means.

"Ma, don't cry, the soldiers said Pa will be back tomorrow morning." I lay my hand on hers. Her body shakes at my touch. I walk outside to where my siblings are sitting on the step and sit next to Chou, who holds Geak in her arms. Together we wait for Pa, sitting on the stairs, staring at the path that took him away. We pray it will bring Pa back to us tomorrow.

As the sky turns black, the clouds rush in to hide all the stars. On the steps, Chou, Kim, Geak, and I sit waiting for Pa until Ma orders us in to sleep. Inside the hut, I lie on my back, my arms folded across my chest. Chou and Kim breathe deeply, quietly, but I do not know if they are asleep. Ma is on her side, facing Chou. She has one arm around Geak, and the other rests above Geak's head. Outside the wind blows in the branches, and the leaves rustle and sing to each other. The clouds part, and the moon and stars s.h.i.+ne and give life to the night. In the morning, the sun will come up and the day creatures will wake. But for us, time stands still that night.

I wake up the next morning to see Ma sitting on the steps. Her face is swollen and she looks like she has not slept all night. She is crying softly to herself and is miles away. "Ma, is Pa back yet?" Not answering me, she squints her eyes and continues to look at the path that took Pa away. "The soldiers said Pa would come back in the morning. I guess he's late. He's late, that's all. I know he will return to us." As I speak, my lungs constrict and I gasp for air. Fighting for breath, my thoughts race and I wonder what this all really means. It is morning and Pa is not back! Where is he? I sit with my siblings, facing the road, looking for Pa. I think up reasons why Pa is late returning to us. The wagon is broken in the mud, the oxen would not move, the soldiers needed Pa to help them fix the wagon. I try to believe my excuses and make them reasonable, but my heart is filled with fear.

Telling the chief we are ill, we receive permission to stay home. All morning and afternoon, we wait for Pa to walk back to us. When night comes, the G.o.ds again taunt us with a radiant sunset. "Nothing should be this beautiful," I quietly say to Chou. "The G.o.ds are playing tricks on us. How could they be so cruel and still make the sky so lovely?" My words tug at my heart. It is unfair of the G.o.ds to show us beauty when I am in so much pain and anguish. "I want to destroy all the beautiful things."

"Don't say such things or the spirits will hear," Chou warns me. I don't care what she says. This is what the war has done to me. Now I want to destroy because of it. There is such hate and rage inside me now. The Angkar has taught me to hate so deeply that I now know I have the power to destroy and kill.

Soon darkness covers the land and still Pa has not returned. We sit on the steps waiting for him together in silence. No words are exchanged as ours eyes search the fields waiting for him to come home. We all know that Pa will not return, but no one dares to say it out loud for it will shatter our illusion of hope. With darkness, the flies disappear and the mosquitoes appear to feast on our flesh. Ma holds Geak in her arms. Every once in a while, Ma's arms fan Geak's body to chase away the mosquitoes. As if picking up on Ma's pain, Geak kisses her cheek softly and caresses her hair.

"Ma, where's Pa?" Geak asks, but Ma only responds with silence.

"Go inside, all you kids, go inside," Ma tells us in a tired voice.

"You should come in with us. We can all wait inside," Chou says to her.

"No, I'd rather wait out here and greet him when he returns." Chou takes Geak from Ma and goes into the hut. Kim and I follow her, leaving Ma sitting on the steps by herself, waiting for Pa to return.

Listening to Geak and Chou breathing softly, my eyes stay wide open. After he hid from the soldiers for twenty months, they finally found him. Pa always knew he couldn't hide forever. I never believed he couldn't. I cannot sleep. I worry about Pa, and about us. What will become of us? We have taken our survival for granted. How will we survive without Pa? My mind races and fills my head with images of death and executions. I have heard many stories about how the soldiers kill prisoners and then dump their bodies into large graves. How they torture their captives, behead them, or crack their skulls with axes so as not to waste their precious ammunition. I cannot stop thinking of Pa and whether or not he died with dignity. I hope they did not torture him. Some prisoners are not dead when they are buried. I cannot think of Pa being hurt this way, but images of him clawing at his throat, fighting for air as the soldiers pile dirt on him flood my mind. I cannot make the pictures go away! I need to believe Pa was killed quickly. I need to believe they did not make him suffer. Oh Pa, please don't be afraid. The images play over and over again in my head. My breath quickens as I think about Pa's last moment on earth. "Stop thinking, stop or you'll die," I hiss to myself. But I cannot stop.

Pa told me once that the really old monks could leave their bodies and travel the world as spirits. In my mind, my spirit leaves my body and flies around the country, looking for Pa.

I see a big group of people kneeling around a big hole. There are already many dead people in the hole, their bodies sprawled on top of each other. Their black pajama clothes are soaked with blood, urine, feces, and small white matter. The soldiers stand behind the new group of prisoners, casually smoking a cigarette with one hand, while the other holds onto a big hammer with clumps of hair sticking to its head.

A soldier leads another man to the edge of the hole-my heart howls with agony. "It's Pa! No!" The soldier pushes on Pa's shoulders, making him kneel like the others. Tears stream out of my eyes as I whisper thanks to the G.o.ds that the soldier has blindfolded Pa. He is spared from having to see the executions of many others. "Don't cry, Pa. I know you are afraid," I want to tell him. I feel his body tense up, hear his heart race, see tears flowing out from under the blindfold. Pa fights the urge to scream as he hears the sound of a hammer crack the skull next to him, smas.h.i.+ng into it. The body falls on top of the others with a thump. The other fathers around Pa cry and beg for mercy but to no avail. One by one, each man is silenced by the hammer. Pa prays silently for the G.o.ds to take care of us. He focuses his mind on us, bringing up our faces one by one. He wants our faces to be the last things he sees as he leaves the earth.

"Oh Pa, I love you. I will always miss you." My spirit cries and hovers down over him. My spirit wraps invisible arms around him, making him cry even more. "Pa, I will always love you. I will never let you go." The soldier walks up to Pa, but I will not let him go. The soldier cannot hear or see me. He cannot see my eyes burn into his soul. "Leave my Pa alone!" My eyes dare not blink as the soldier raises the hammer above his head. "Pa," I whisper, "I have to let you go now. I cannot be here and live." Tears wash across my body as I fly away, leaving Pa there by himself.

Back in the hut, I slide next Chou. She opens her arms and takes me in. Our bodies cradling each other, we cry. The cool air chills the beads of sweat on my skin, making my teeth chatter. Beside us, Kim holds on tight to Geak.

"Pa, I cannot bare to think that you struggled for breath lying on top of the others in that hole. I must believe the soldier took pity and used one of his bullets on you. I cannot breathe, Pa. I am sorry I had to let you go." My mind swirls with pain and anger. The pain grows larger in my stomach. The pain spasm convulses as if it is eating away my linings. Turning on my side, I dig my hands into my stomach and squeeze it violently to make the physical pain stop. Then the sadness surrounds me. Dark and black it looms over me, pulling me deeper and deeper into it. And then it happens again. It is almost as if I am somewhere else for the moment and I simply black out the part of me that feels emotion. It is as if I am alive but not alive. I can still hear the faint noise of Ma's m.u.f.fled cries outside, but I do not feel her pain. I do not feel anything at all.

Ma is up before anyone else the next morning. Her face is all puffy, her eyes are red and swollen shut. Chou gives Ma some of the very little food we have left, but she will not eat. I join them on the steps, daydreaming about our lives back in Phnom Penh when I was happy. I cannot allow myself to cry because once I do I will be lost forever. I have to be strong.

By the third day, we all know that what we feared most has happened. Keav, and now Pa, one by one, the Khmer Rouge is killing my family. My stomach hurts so much I want to cut it open and take the poison out. My body s.h.i.+vers as if evil has entered it, making me want to scream, beat my hands against my chest, and pull out my hair. I want to close my eyes and blank out again, but I don't know how to do it at will. I want my Pa here in the morning when I wake up! That night I pray to the G.o.ds, "Dear G.o.ds, Pa is a very devout Buddhist. Please help my Pa return home. He is not mean and does not like to hurt other people. Help him return and I will do anything you say. I will devote my entire life to you. I will believe you always. If you cannot bring Pa home to us, please make sure they don't hurt him, or please make sure Pa dies a quick death."

"Chou," I whisper to my sister, "I am going to kill Pol Pot. I hate him and I want to make sure he dies a slow and painful death."

"Don't say such things or you will get hurt."

"I am going to kill him." I do not know what he looks like, but if Pol Pot is the leader of the Angkar then he is the one responsible for all the miseries in our lives. I hate him for destroying my family. My hate is so strong it feels alive. It slithers and moves around in the pit of my stomach, growing bigger and bigger. I hate the G.o.ds for not bringing Pa back to us. I am a kid, not even seven years old, but somehow I will kill Pol Pot. I don't know him, yet I am certain he is the fattest, slimiest snake on earth. I am convinced that there is a monster living inside his body. He will die a painful, agonizing death, and I pray that I will play a part in it. I despise Pol Pot for making me hate so deeply. My hate empowers and scares me, for with hate in my heart I have no room for sadness. Sadness makes me want to die inside. Sadness makes me want to kill myself to escape the hopelessness of my life. Rage makes me want to survive and live so that I may kill. I feed my rage with b.l.o.o.d.y images of Pol Pot's slain body being dragged in the dirt.

"As long as we don't know for certain that your pa is dead, I will always have hope that he is alive somewhere," Ma declares to us the next morning. My heart hardens at her words, knowing I cannot allow myself the luxury of hope. To hope is to let pieces of myself die. To hope is to grieve his absence and acknowledge the emptiness in my soul without him.

Now that I have accepted the truth, I worry about what will happen to Ma. She was very dependent on Pa. He had always been there to make things easier for her. Pa was raised in the country and was accustomed to hards.h.i.+p. In Phnom Penh, we had live-in housekeepers to do just about everything for us. Pa was our strength and we all needed him to survive, especially Ma. He was good at surviving and knew best what to do for us.

I hope Pa comes to me again tonight. I hope he visits me in my sleep and meets me in my dreams. I saw him last night. He wore his tan military uniform from the Lon Nol government. His face was once again round like the moon and his body was soft. He was so real standing next to me, big and strong like he was before the war.

"Pa!" I run to him and he picks me up. "Pa, how are you? Did they hurt you?"

"Don't worry." He tries to soothe me.

"Pa, why did you leave us? I miss you so much it hurts my stomach. Why didn't you come and find me? Pa, when will you come and find us? If I go to the orphanage camp will you be able to find me?" I rest my head on his shoulder.

"Yes, I will."

He's my pa, and if he says that he will find me, I know he will.

"Pa, why does it hurt so much to be with you? I don't want to hurt, I don't want to feel."

"I am sorry you are hurt. I have to go." Hearing this, I grip his arms tighter, refusing to let go. "Pa, I miss you so much. I miss sitting on your lap like I did in Phnom Penh."

"I have to go, but I will look after you always," Pa says softly, putting me down on the ground. I hold on to his finger and beg him not to leave me.

"No! No! Stay. Pa, stay with us. Please, don't leave. I miss you and I am scared. What will happen to us? Where will you go? Take me with you!"

Pa looks at me, his eyes brown and warm. I reach out my hands to him, but the farther I reach, the farther away he moves until he fades away completely.

My body fights to sleep when the sun s.h.i.+nes through our door to tell us it is morning. I want to stay asleep forever just so I can be with him. In the real world, I don't know when I will ever see Pa again. Slowly, I open my eyes with Pa's face still lingering in my vision. It is not the face of the gaunt old man the soldiers took away but the face of the man I once thought was a G.o.d.

It was during our trip to Angkor Wat that I first thought Pa was a G.o.d. I was only three or four years old then. With my hand in Pa's, we entered the area of Angkor Thorn, one of the many temple sites there. The gray towers loomed large before us like stone mountains. On each of the towers, giant faces with magnificent headdresses looked out in different directions over our land. Staring at the faces I exclaimed, "Pa, they look like you! The G.o.ds look like you!" Pa laughed and walked me into the temple. My eyes could not leave those huge round faces, with their almond-shaped eyes, flat noses, and full lips-all of Pa's features!

Waking up I try to hold on to these images of Pa even as we resume our lives without him. Ma returns to the field, working twelve to fourteen hours a day and leaves Geak behind with Chou. With Geak toddling after us, Chou and I and the other children work in the gardens and do menial labor in the village. It has been over a month since Pa was taken away. Ma seems to have recovered and is trying to get on with her life, but I know I will never see her truly smile again. Sometimes late at night, I am awakened by the sound of Ma sobbing on the steps, still waiting for Pa. Her body slumped like an old woman, she leans against the door frame, her arms wrapped around herself. She looks out into the field at the path Pa once walked, crying and longing for him.

We miss him terribly and Geak, being so young, is the only one able to vocalize our loneliness, by continuing to ask for Pa. I am afraid for Geak. She is four years old and has stopped growing because of malnutrition. I want to kill myself knowing that it was I who stole the food from her mouth that one night. "Your pa will bring us lots of food when he returns," Ma tells Geak when she asks for Pa.

The soldiers come to our village more and more often now. Each time they leave, they take fathers from the other families. They always come in pairs-though never the same pair twice-with their rifles and casual excuses. When they come, some villagers try to hide their fathers by sending them off to the woods or having them be conveniently gone. But the soldiers wait, standing around the chief's house, slowly smoking their cigarettes as if they have all the time in the world. After they finish the pack, they walk to their victim's hut and loud cries and screams from inside follow. Then there's only silence. We all know they feed us lies about the fathers coming back the next morning. Still there is nothing we can do to stop them. No one questions these disappearances, not the chief, not the villagers, not Ma. I hate the soldiers now as much as I hate the Angkar and their leader, Pol Pot. I etch their faces into my memory and plan for the day when I can come back and kill them.

There have been rumors in the village that Pa was not killed in a Khmer Rouge ma.s.s execution. Rumors spread that the soldiers made Pa a prisoner on a faraway mountain and tortured him every day. But he survived and escaped to the top of the mountains. The soldiers, hunting for him, have not have been able to catch him. People pa.s.sing by our village say they have seen someone fitting Pa's description. They tell tales of Pa forming his own army, trying to recruit more soldiers to fight the Khmer Rouge. Upon hearing these rumors, Ma's face lights up and her eyes s.h.i.+ne once again with hope. For a few days, she walks off to work with a little more life in her step and even twelve hours later the glimmer of a smile is still on her face. At night, she continuously fusses over our appearance, wiping the dirt off our faces, combing the knots out of our hair. She believes the stories wholeheartedly. "If he has escaped, it will not be long now before he comes searching for us. Until we know for sure of his fate, we must never give up hope." Once again, she devotes herself to sitting on the steps waiting for Pa's return.

Ma (right) and her sister.

Pa, at right, with his military friends.

My mother, Ung, Ay Choung.

My father, Ung, Seng Im. I always thought his face looked like the stone faces of the G.o.ds at Angkor Wat.

Left to right: My mother (holding Keav), Meng, Khouy, my grandmother, my aunt, and Uncle Keang.

Left to right: Meng, Keav, Ma (holding Kim), Khouy, and Uncle Keang.

Left to right: Kim, Keav, Khouy, Meng, Chou, and Ma on a family trip to Angkor Wat.

My brother Khouy. I always perceive him to be so hard and sad. He rarely smiles, so I treasure this happy photo.

Left to right: Me, Chou, Kim, and Keav.

Left to right: Me, Chou, and Keav.

My father is wearing the plaid s.h.i.+rt, smiling.

Chou and me (right), 1975.

Two pictures of Kim superimposed together.

Kim, Ma, Geak, me, Chou, and Khouy. The only surviving picture of Geak.

Meng, me, and my sister-in-law Eang, on our first day at the refugee camp in Thailand. We had just gotten off the boat at Lam Sing, 1980.

Khouy (top row, far left in black) and family gather at Grandfather's gravesite in Cambodia on the day we set aside each year to remember our ancestors, 1988.

Chou and her husband, Pheng, 1985.

Chou, with her family on an outing.

Khouy, his wife Morm, and their family, 1991.

Kim, his wife Huy Eng, their daughter Nancy, and a friend's son, 1998.

Meng, in the center, talking with friends and family during his 1995 trip to Cambodia.

Wat Ta Prom, the temple where my father told me the G.o.ds live. Photo Sally Strickland.

Chou, me, and Meng's two daughters, Victoria and Maria. This photo was taken in 1995 when I visited Cambodia with Meng and his family. It's the end of the trip and Chou is seeing us off.

Me and a little girl selling goods on the street at Angkor Wat. Photo 1999 Michael Appel.

Weeks pa.s.s after we hear the rumors about Pa and still he has not returned. I know Ma misses him and believes he is alive somewhere. Eventually, she stops waiting for him and tries once more to resume her life. Time pa.s.ses slowly without Pa in our lives. Even with our own ration of food, our survival depends on our older brothers bringing more food to us each week. When Khouy gets sick, coughing up blood, we are forced to fend for ourselves. Khouy is a strong young man, but he pushes himself too hard at work. His work consists of constantly loading and unloading one hundred kilograms of rice onto trucks to be sent to China. Meng also cannot come because the soldiers are keeping him busy with work. We are all very worried for them both.

Life is hard without Pa. People in the village look down on Ma because she is not good at field work. It is too dangerous to have friends so she does not talk to anyone. The villagers also look down on her white skin and often make rude comments about lazy white people." To my surprise, Ma becomes a hard worker and is surviving without Pa. On the days when Ma is a.s.signed to work with fifteen other village women fis.h.i.+ng for shrimp in nearby ponds, I go with her, leaving Chou behind with Geak. My job in the group includes fetching water for the shrimp catchers, helping untangle their nets, and separating the shrimp from weeds. Though hungry, we are not allowed to eat the shrimp we catch because it belongs to the village and must be shared with all. If anyone is caught stealing, the chief can publicly humiliate her, take away her possessions, and beat her. The punishments for such acts are grave, but our hunger does not allow this to stop us from sometimes stealing.

"Loung," Ma calls me. "I need some water, come here." She stands up and wipes her brows with her sleeve, leaving a trail of mud on her face. Scooping a coconut sh.e.l.l of water out of the bucket, I run over and hand it to her. "Here," she whispers, "give me your hand fast while no one is looking." Ma turns around and takes another careful look at the others to make certain we are not being watched. She quickly gives me a handful of baby shrimp as she takes the water cup from me. "Quick, eat them while no one is looking." Without hesitation, I shove the raw crawling baby shrimp into my mouth, sh.e.l.ls and all. They taste of mud and rotten weeds. "Chew quickly and swallow," Ma tells me. "Now, you look out for me while I eat some. If anyone is looking, call me." I see Ma in a very different light now and have more pride in her strength. Somehow, one way or another, we find ways to stay alive.

ma's little monkey

April 1977

It is two years since the Khmer Rouge rolled into Phnom Penh with their trucks; four months since the soldiers took Pa away and Kim became head of our household. It has been almost a year since we last heard from Meng and Khouy. New Year's has come and gone, making us all a year older. Geak is now five, I am seven, Chou is ten, and Kim is twelve. Now head of the household, Kim takes seriously Pa's words for him to look after us. At dawn each morning, he wakes before us and runs to the town square for our work a.s.signment. At the hut Ma gets us girls up and spends a few minutes with each of us. Before she is done combing Geak's hair and was.h.i.+ng her face, Kim is back with the day's instructions. As I slowly rise from my slumber, he is already telling Ma where to go. After Ma's left for the fields, we all walk to the community garden together with Geak clinging to Kim's back. Though Kim's face looks like a monkey more than ever, Ma has not called him by this nickname since they took Pa away. Now he is only Kim to us.

A few miles down the road from our village there is a cornfield. We have had a good rainy season this year and the corn is ripe for picking. However much we fear the punishment for stealing, our desperation is too strong to stop us. "Why not, Ma?" Kim argues. "We work morning, noon, and night planting these crops and now that they are ripe we're told we can't eat them. We are all starving."

"It is just too dangerous, Kim. You know what the soldiers will do to you if you get caught."

"Ma, we are starving to death. Many people are dying in the village. Yet the government trades our crops to buy guns to kill more people."

"Shh ... don't talk so loud. It is a crime to speak against the Angkar. If the soldiers hear you they will take you away and kill you."