Lucky Child by Loung Ung Page A

back burns, and her calves are tight from the long journey. But she does not complain. She knows that the life of a poor villager is always filled with aches and pain from hard labor. With no doctors or access to medicine, a villager will seek an herbalist for a specific potion or concoction only when the pain becomes unbearable. Often, the herbalist does not know if the potion will help the pain but charges for the service anyway. And with rice—the country’s currency—so scarce, Chou decides to ignore her pain.
    When she finally arrives at the hut, the sun is low in the horizon. Their wooded home is cool, as the trees take in much of the dampness in the air. Chou stiffens her neck muscles and gently lowers her chin toward her chest, allowing the pile of wood to fall off her head. As the wood crashes to the ground, Chou hurries her body, feet, and toes out the way. She picks the krama off the ground, shakes off the splinters and dirt, and wipes her face and neck with it. Then letting loose her thick curly hair, she runs her fingers through it and digs them into her scalp, giving it a good, long hard scratch. Without shampoo or soap, dirty hair, lice, and dandruff are also facts of village life. Chou twists her long hair into a bun again, secures it with a rubber band, and sighs. Because they did not havetime to collect water from the pond today, she will have to wait until tomorrow for a shower.
    Coming up behind her, Cheung drops her wood and walks to the water jug. Quickly, she splashes a handful of water on her face and hurries off to meet her friends to catch fish for their dinner. In a rare moment of tranquillity, Chou stands quietly and watches Cheung’s figure walking briskly away. The image of her faded black pants and shirt walking away reopens the scars in Chou’s heart. But before her thoughts can drift to find the reason for her sadness, three-year-old Kung wraps her dirty, tiny hands around Chou’s legs.
    “Che Chou,” Kung calls her, using the Chinese title meaning big sister Chou.
    “Let go of my legs. I’m not going anywhere,” Chou laughs, her voice high and hoarse.
    “Che Chou, play with me,” Kung implores, her eyes round and smiling, her hands gripping tight onto Chou’s legs.
    “I have no time to play. Go play with your sister.”
    “Play, play, play!” Kung pleads, jumping up and down, her hands extending up to Chou.
    “If you don’t stop I’m going to get mad.” Chou pretends to glare at Kung and walks toward Mouy, who sits on the ground, happily gurgling to herself. Chou scoops one-year-old Mouy up in her arms and hugs her to her chest. Then she leans her face in, presses her nose against the child’s cheek, and rapidly sucks in air through her nostrils to give Mouy a Cambodia kiss.
    “I want kiss her!” Kung reaches out to Mouy.
    “Your nose is flowing with mucus. You can’t kiss her,” Chou tells Kung as she gently puts Mouy down. Seeing her chance, Kung dashes to Mouy, wraps her arms around her, and shoves her nose in Mouy’s cheek. When she is done, Chou looks at her with disgust before turning her attention to the green mucus streaking across Mouy’s cheek.
    “Chou,” Aunt Keang calls out. “Watch the kids and make dinner. I’m going to help with the planting.”
    “Yes, Aunt.” Chou knows that with farming, there’s always a lot of work to do and the family needs every available hand to work. And thus, before Aunt Keang leaves the hut, Chou is already busy stocking woodinto a neat pile. As she works, Chou feels grateful to be part of their large family and takes great care not to get into fights or cause Uncle Leang and Aunt Keang to be angry with her. When they speak to her, she listens and honors their words as if they were from Ma and Pa. During meals, she serves them and their children first, before herself. In return, Uncle Leang and Aunt Keang treat her with kindness and tell her often that they love her as if she is one of their own. Yet even with all