Never Fall Down: A Novel (12 page)

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, jumping 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.

Daytime getting shorter every day now, cold at night, almost like Denmark. We get up very early in the morning now every day, 4 a.m., do chore, chop wood, work the ABC with Shirley. Then one day Peter say it time for us to go to school. Never I been to a real school before. Ravi and Sojeat, they been before, so they only a little scare; but me, I’m terrify. This school is call “high school.” All teenage kid, maybe five hundred. All white. We the only speck of brown in this big bowl of white rice. The teacher hold up a thing call globe, and point and say, “Cam-BO-de-ah. That where these kid from. Cam-BO-de-ah.”

The kid, they stare at us, mouth open, then I hear a sound like bees buzzing. All this kid talking at once, all like giant cloud of bee. We wear our mall clothes—khaki pant, tie, and shirt—very proud; but these kid also wearing bad clothes, like jean, torn and patch, and the girl in tight shirt, and I wonder if maybe these kid poor, maybe we the only rich one. Also, in the hall I see them kissing. This private thing they do in public, and I look away, scare, like maybe these kid are bad, like prostitute.

This high school building also confuse me very much. Lotta door everywhere, long hall, short hall, everything look the same. So I go by accident to the girl latrine. They scream and point at me like maybe I’m criminal. So I run out, very sweaty, and I see Sojeat watching and also laughing with these American kid. Why he didn’t help me? I have this angry feeling about Sojeat. And all day I hold it in. All day I also have to pee very bad, but I hold it till we get home.

Next day the teacher, she assign one of the cool kid, football player, he call, to take care of me. Big kid, shoulder like mountain, to show me where to go. I feel relax finally with this big guy for protection, and I take his hand so he can show me the way. But quick he shake me off like my hand have shit on it. So I follow him, walk behind, bee voice buzzing everywhere; but no way I can keep up with his long leg. I look for Doug, maybe Kate, or Ravi, to show me the way but see only this guy’s mountain shoulder going down the hall away from me.

One word I hear all the time:
monkey.
Sound of bees buzzing mostly, but always I hear this word
monkey.
I ask Doug one night what it mean, and he show me; he jump and scratch under his arm, go
eek-eek,
but I understand already. These kid at high school, they think I’m like animal.

Inside my heart, a bad feeling grow. Like tiger growling, like a big anger, like I have when I was soldier, and I think: if they don’t stop, I will hurt these American kid. I will show them what animal is.

Peter all the time obsess with Cambodia. Go to meeting all the time about it, tell us boy we now gonna speak about Cambodia to the United State. He give us a speech, make us learn it word by word, and one day say, “Okay, guys, no school today; we going on adventure.” We drive a long time in the Buick, Ravi and Sojeat in the back, reading school book, English book, me up front singing rock ’n’ roll on Peter radio. This is how I learn English. The other two, they read the book, get good grade in school; me, I sing along with American kid. “Copacabana,” “Betty Davis Eyes,” Bruce Springsteen—they my favorite.

At this meeting we wear our stiff mall clothes and speak Peter speech, not really knowing what the word mean; and after, one little girl, she come up to me and give me a dollar. “For your country,” she says. This little girl, blond hair, curl, like painting in church Peter take us to, picture of angel; and I take her dollar and very careful I fold it in my pocket. To send to Runty.

And we all smile, all teeth, big, big, big and get our picture in the paper.

Couple days later, we in the newspaper again. This time bad news. Somebody setting fire in this New Hampshire, burning three barn, and the newspaper mention us, new kid from Cambodia, wonder if maybe we did it.

That day at lunch, big football player kid and other kid, also very big shoulder, they make a circle around me, light match in my face, ask me if I like fire. All of them light match, flick lighter, and point at me; and I know they think I made this bad fire, and so I use the curse word Kate teach me. “You a fucker!” I tell them. And they laugh and laugh, a sound very high, very crazy; and I think now they the one that sound like monkey.

Inside my head I talk to them. You don’t know what I can do. Before, I shoot guys like you. All my muscle, I need to hold back so I don’t do what this tiger in my heart is telling me to do: kill these kid.

At night I fall asleep, dreaming I can’t find the bathroom. Running through the jungle, through the high school, looking everywhere for the bathroom, and now kid from high school in my Cambodia dream. Big football player, kid who light the match, he come into my dream. I make him kneel on the ground, hand tie behind; and I have ax in my hand, and now this ax is hitting over and over, hitting this kid till now his head like only hamburger on the ground.

I try now to go back to sleep, think about all the good thing here in this good place, this rescue place call New Hampshire, United State, and think: after all the thing I been through, now being rescue is something I also have to survive.

Special class for me now. ESL, it call. Special teacher. Pat her name. Every day the other kid go to class, even Sojeat and Ravi, they go to regular school. Sojeat tease me; he call me stupid. This ESL, it in a small room, like closet almost, room with only Pat and me. All day she try to teach me this English. Try to make my mouth work this strange way. Tire, my tongue is tire; my tongue like asleep at the end of one hour. But all the time she push hard, make me learn more word.

Lotta word have this one sound I can’t make:
th. Thanks, think, thunder.
Also this sound in the middle of some word, some very important word, like
bathroom
. Very important sound, this
th
. But we don’t have this sound in Khmer. So my tongue can’t do it. But Pat, she say it over and over and over. Get close to my face, closer and closer she get; her tongue, she show it to me, pushing on her front teeth, like she gonna eat me. And I spit her. Right in the face, I spit.

She jerk away from me, and I think: okay, now she gonna hit me; but she only leave the room, tear in her eye. And I think: why I spit at this person, only one trying to help me? Why I’m so bad? Why?

Something call snow here. It fall from the sky like sugar, like tiny flake of sugar, this beautiful thing out the window; it make me very sad, so sad, I just walk out the school and walk all the way home. So quiet now in this snow, like pillow on the world, and every step I think of Mek, how he say paradise is the place where sugar fall from the sky and no kid is hungry; and this snow, it land on my eyelash, wet, like tear.

One teacher here in short pant; he teach the kid to play game. Crazy. In America they have teacher for everything, even to teach kid to play. In Cambodia, kid know how to play, no grown-up to teach them. This game here, it’s soccer. I know this game; I know this from home. I even play it one time with Khmer Rouge. So I get the ball and I run and run—so little, I can go in out the big hairy leg of American kid—till I kick it hard, and it fly in the net. Like in volleyball, like spike, like anything I ever try to do, I do it to get attention, to get a little famous. Also I do it to show I can behave good and have something I can give. I can do it, kick the ball more hard than other kid, run faster than other kid, because maybe I want it more bad. And now I’m a little bit famous. This morning, I’m monkey; this afternoon, hero.

Now the soccer teacher, he say I can be on the team; and on the bus on the way home from school, now the other kid are nice to me. Sojeat, he lean over and whisper to me. “They think you hero. But I know what you really are.”

At lunch one day, big cafeteria, lotta noise, a ponytail teacher, music guy, he call my name, and I think: uh-oh, trouble now from this guy, too. “Arn,” he says, “I have a present for you.” And he hand me it. Small wooden flute. Song flute, like back in Cambodia.

I don’t know how to play this thing, but I take it; and one night when the studying is too hard, I go out in the wood behind the house, and I try a little bit to get to know this flute. Another night I go down into the laundry and try. But, like magic, it know me. From my finger, from my mouth, the flute charm out the song, the old song from Cambodia, song I know in my soul. Love song, ancient like the famous temple of Angkor Watt, they live inside me; and when I close my eyes, they come, a little bit of Cambodia, like smell of jasmine and lemongrass, ginger and cardamom, floating in the air, in this place, this New Hampshire.

Getting a lot of attention now; Peter lotta time take me out of school to go to speak to church group, to government office, to see VIPs. Ravi and Sojeat say they don’t like this speeching. Sojeat, he say he only want to be in school every day so he can get good grade and be a doctor. And Ravi, he like America kid, not want to talk about bad thing, only fun thing. So Peter don’t make them speech.

But I see they feel a little bit envy, because now all the time I get attention. I want to talk; they don’t. And Peter own kid—Doug, Kate, Donna—they don’t care about Cambodia, but I can see they have envy, too.

But for me, performing is something I know like old shoe, like my family used to do; now I’m onstage also, and now people applause me and give us money for Cambodia. And I think: maybe this can be how I pure my heart from all the bad thing I do; maybe this is why I survive, to get money for Cambodia. And finally, this hunger I feel all the time when I see other people family, this hunger, finally I think it can get fed.

One night, nice candle dinner. Dish and cloth and candle and pray. Peter out of town, meeting someplace; now all the time Peter goes to meeting, meeting, all for Cambodia, he says. And Shirley has a little sad in her eyes, a little lonely maybe for Peter, a little envy maybe he spend all his time on Cambodia. So I brag a little; I tell her how I score a goal again at soccer team so maybe she can be proud and not so sad, like how she smile when Sojeat, he shows her A+ on his paper.

And Shirley, she smile and say good, very good, but a little distract, and look to the front door like maybe Peter will come in. And then Sojeat, he lean over to me and whisper in my ear. “You Khmer Rouge,” he say. “You Khmer Rouge; you kill my mother, my father.”

And then inside me, like before, in battle, something goes electric. I jump to the table like flying, standing, my feet on this cloth, this dish, standing like giant, and all the plate crashing, the glass breaking, and the little sister, Kate, she screaming and crying. I hear this, but my mind now is a tunnel, all black. I see only Sojeat face, all the proud and conceit go out of it now; and he scare, like baby, like people at the mango grove waiting for the ax to crack, like first guy I ever shoot, so surprise still grinning, like old lady in the toy village right before I kill her.