Chapter 2-1 - Brain Tumor
“Son!” Veayuk’s father called out, tapping his hand gently. “Are you okay?” Awakened from his reverie, Veayuk quickly replied, “I am fine.” His face paled, his vision blurred and dizziness was swirling in his head. Veayuk shook his head and blinked his eyes several times to recover from the sudden faint feeling.
“Are you still thinking about that dream of yours?” Veayuk’s father asked in a concerned manner, as lines of wrinkles creased his forehead.
“No,” Veayuk said haltingly, turning his face away from his father, in fear of being caught in a lie. “I was thinking about other things.”
“Are you sure?” his father probed further.
“Yes, I sure am,” Veayuk confirmed, nodding for emphasis.
“Are you hungry?” his father asked, as noon was approaching.
“Not very much, Dad,” Veayuk replied. He had no appetite. “How about you, Dad, are you hungry?”
“A bit. But we can wait until the train stops at Chhlong.” Veayuk nodded. Silence fell between father and son. Each was immersed in his own thoughts, and neither could detect what the other was thinking.
Is dad thinking about mom? This thought suddenly struck Veayuk. He had never considered the question before. How much does he love mom? He rarely talks about her since the day she passed away. Veayuk shook his head again, trying not to think about anything. Veayuk’s father was a private person. He kept his true feelings and opinions reserved and hidden from everyone. Never once had he opened his heart to his children. He habitually shouldered every possible burden by himself. However, being too private could be detrimental to a family relationship. He had distanced himself from his children, regardless of how many sacrifices he had made on their behalf. Veayuk had no way to surmise his father’s affection for his mother. Nevertheless, of one thing he was sure—his father had never talked about other women since his mother had passed.
Two years ago, Veayuk’s mother was suffering from a brain tumor. For a very long time, she had been bothered by constant headaches and unexplained nausea, which had led to vision problems. Her vision was blurred but she was reluctant to see a doctor, despite the persistent persuasion of her family. She always found excuses, saying that she had developed a headache because she was tired. She told her husband not to worry about her and assured him that she would be fine.
Veayuk’s mother always avoided doctor visits. She felt that her illness would worsen after seeing a doctor. Neither Veayuk nor his siblings knew the reason behind this feeling of hers. Presumably, Veayuk’s father knew, but he never mentioned any explanation. Sometimes, when the pain became unbearable, Veayuk’s mother would urge her cousin, who was a doctor, to prescribe medication for her headaches or nausea. According to law, a pharmacist is prohibited from selling medicine to patients without a prescription, unless the illness is not very serious. Nevertheless, the “not-very-serious” term was not clearly defined, and the root cause of her illness had not been properly determined, which left a gap of misunderstanding. Were her headaches serious or not serious?
A pharmacist caught selling medicine to a patient without a prescription from a certified doctor would be fined by law. In the worst case, the state could confiscate his license and close down his business. Consequently, most pharmacists were reluctant to offer any medicine to patients without a prescription, even if the person claimed they merely had a headache or the flu. Actually, healthcare in Cambodia is not very expensive. Most people receive a substantial subsidy from the government when they go to the hospital, especially civil servants like Veayuk’s father. Moreover, healthcare facilities are very modern and competitive with neighboring countries like Thailand.
Before long, the health condition of Veayuk’s mother had worsened. The prescription issued by her cousin only improved her condition for a very short time. When the medicine wore off, she again began to experience difficulty hearing. One day she was making her husband’s favorite dishes of stir-fried ginger with beef and hot and sour soup with freshwater fish for lunch when she collapsed on the floor, passing out. Fortunately, she had not yet turned on the gas stove; otherwise, the incident could have been much more serious. She was home alone at the time—her husband was at school teaching, her oldest daughter was at the hospital, the second brother was at his university, and Veayuk and his younger brother were attending class at school.
When Veayuk’s father returned home for lunch, he found his wife lying on the floor in their kitchen, clad in a dark gray cardigan. Crushed cloves of garlic were scattered around—half on the floor, half on the table. A knife, sliced beef, fish, onions, scallions, lime, and other ingredients were on the table next to a frying pan and pot. Veayuk’s father rushed her to the nearby hospital, an attractive two-story concrete building situated on a sizeable lot. East of the hospital was a small park with a man-made pond. Every morning, each patient would sit in his or her balcony to bask in the mild morning sunlight and enjoy the view of the park.
The doctor informed Veayuk’s father that his wife’s condition was advanced and would be difficult to treat. The terrible news pierced his heart like the impact of a sharp object. All the doctor could do was delay her last breath for a few more days. When Veayuk’s mother regained consciousness, she cried out for relief from the severe pain afflicting her entire body. She was shaking like a bird soaked by the night rain, cold and helpless. Her world was trembling.
With tears in his eyes, Veayuk’s father begged the doctor to relieve her pain. He couldn’t bear to see her crying like a wounded animal, struggling to escape from a predator. The doctor gave her an injection to stabilize her condition and induce sleep. At least she was feeling relief for the moment. After she fell into a slumber, Veayuk’s father and the doctor left the room and the doctor excused himself to go check on other patients. Before he left, he assigned a nurse to look after Veayuk’s mother and immediately report to him if there were any issues. Veayuk’s father thanked the doctor and sat down on a chair next to the door of her room.
As soon as the doctor walked away, Veayuk’s father began crying hopelessly. The woman he loved mightily with all his heart would soon be departing the life she shared with him and their children. He wasn’t able to cope with the idea of her leaving them so soon and so suddenly. He could not imagine life without her and selfishly wanted to hold onto her, in spite of the fact that she was suffering great pain. He was unsure how to explain his feelings to his children, who would soon be returning home from school and expecting to see their mother. It was difficult to imagine a family reunion without her.
Should he tell his children that their mother is on a very long leave from home to cure her illness? He thought to himself. Would they believe him and accept his explanation? What if they asked to visit their mother where she was supposedly staying? Could he continue to lie to them?
Thinking about his children caused him further heartache, as if a sharp nail was piercing his chest to suck out his blood. The pain was unbearable and inexplicable. As his world became hauntingly dark and cloudy, he felt as if he would collapse at any moment. He was broken. Pressing his palms together, Veayuk’s father prayed for a miracle to save his wife, hoping that God would hear his prayer. He then entered a telephone booth near the hospital entrance, dialed his office number, and explained to his colleague about his wife’s serious condition. He requested coverage for a few days while he remained at the hospital.
Viewed through the transparent window, Veayuk’s mother appeared very pale. Her face was emotionless and exhausted, with no flush of color. She seemed to have aged ten years since the moment she fell unconscious. As she lay in bed, she seemed to have lost her purpose in life. Her will to survive had gradually slipped away and she could no longer hold on to life. Her time had come…her karma was determined. The God of Death was calling her to join him and she was destined to do so.
As his wife rested in her hospital bed, Veayuk’s father left to pick up his sons from school, which was his usual routine. He made a right turn and slipped into heavy early-evening traffic, full of commuters leaving work and school. There were no motorbikes in the capital, only bicycles. Regulations restricted motorbikes to the outskirts of the city in order to minimize traffic accidents, traffic jams, and pollution. On the other hand, the mayor had increased the availability of public transportation such as buses and trains to accommodate the increasing demand of city residents. The capital had expanded in the last five years as a result of an influx of people from all over the country for education, work, trade, and tourism.
The sun was setting along the Chaktomuk River, which literally means the Four Faces River. This river merges with the Mekong and Tonle Sap Rivers in front of the Royal Palace. The setting sun illuminated every rooftop, tree, flower, road, river, and boat, creating a golden landscape as beautiful as a painting made with painstaking strokes. With his left hand on the steering wheel, Veayuk’s father reached out his right hand to turn on the car radio, and George Michael’s 1984 single, “Careless Whisper,” was in its second verse. This song was very popular in the West as well as in Cambodia. Following Careless Whisper was the 1983 release of “Club Tropicana,” from the album Fantastic by British pop duo Wham!. Finally, Herman Hupfeld’s 1931 version of “As Time Goes By” filled the airwaves. Though he could not appreciate the full meaning of the songs, the soothing music put Veayuk’s father at ease for the time being. At home, he usually listened to Sin Sisamuth, Soh Matt, Mol Kamach, Ros Sereysothea, or Pen Ran, the popular 1960s-70s Cambodian pop singers. He owned most of their record albums. Ms. Ros Sereysothea, born in 1948, was his wife’s favorite singer. Her song, Penh Chet Te Bang Muoy, meaning “Only You That I Love,” always captured her heart. With a pot of steaming jasmine tea and Chinese biscuits, the two of them would usually sit side by side on the couch every Saturday evening after dinner and listen to the national radio program airing 1960s-70s rock’n’roll until late into the night.
Foreign music found its way to Cambodian ears mostly through foreign trade, particularly with America, France and the rest of Europe. The music became popular in Phnom Penh nightclubs and so Cambodian musicians started to incorporate foreign music trends into their songs to appeal to young audiences. Music classes popped up like mushrooms throughout the city, offering lessons on drums, guitar, and vocals, to name a few. The young generation of the time became infatuated with music and being able to play a guitar and sing songs in English made a man look cool.
After the success of Drakkar Band, which was formed in 1967, many groups of musicians formed bands. There were four members in Drakkar— two guitarists, one drummer, and one bassist. Their songs, mostly about youthful love, were influenced by the Latin rock of Santana as well as U.S. hard rock bands. Among the musicians, Mol Kamach was Veayuk’s favorite—especially his song Chuob Knea Pi Nak, which means “When We Both Were Together.” Mol Kamach had a sweet and enchanting voice—the kind of voice one never tired of listening to—and always reached the hearts of his fans. The more you listened to his music, the more you wanted. It was like an addiction, and every time Veayuk played Mol Kamach’s collection of songs, he would press the rewind button on his Sony Walkman so he could listen repeatedly.
About half an hour later, Veayuk’s father reached his sons’ high school. Veayuk and his youngest brother, Puthi, which means ‘knowledge’ in English, were standing next to the school gate along Norodom Boulevard under a big trabek prey tree, a rare crepe myrtle with pink flowers all along its branches. As he parked and waited in front of the school gate, two kids, hand in hand, strolled past his car. They were talking about something funny and he could detect wide grins on their tiny faces. Seeing them reminded him of his children. Would they be able to smile and lead a normal life if their mother were away on a very long leave? Veayuk’s father mused further. Someone said, ‘The secret of happiness is having something to do, something to look forward to, and someone to love.’ Will I be able to find happiness in the future? Unable to find adequate answers to his questions, tears began streaming down his face again. His body felt unnatural. His brain was malfunctioning like a car that stopped when its owner shifted gears and accelerated when the brake was pressed. Though he was lost in grief, the world continued to move forward and would not stop to wait for him to recover.
Veayuk spotted his father’s car from a distance. With his right hand slung over Puthi’s shoulder like comrades-in-arms, Veayuk led his younger brother toward their father. Veayuk loved his brother very much and took Puthi along with him everywhere. Veayuk was two years older than Puthi and tried to protect his younger brother from any bullying. Because of Veayuk’s athletic accomplishments and sturdiness, not many people in school dared bully Puthi, the brother of the school’s superstar.
“Dad’s car is over there,” Veayuk pointed to the car parked nearby. “Are you hungry, kiddo?”
“I’m starving, brother,” Puthi responded, hands holding his stomach. “How about you? But…”
“I’m starving too,” Veayuk said, smiling at Puthi. “Today’s practice used up all of my energy. I wonder what mom is making for dinner?”
“But what?” Veayuk continued, remembering that he had interrupted Puthi.
“But, could you stop calling me ‘kiddo,’ please?” Puthi looked straight into Veayuk’s eyes.
“Why? You are only a 13-year-old kid!” Veayuk mocked him.
“And you are a 15-year-old kid!” Puthi fired back at him. “Should I call you ‘kiddo’ too?”
“No, I’m not,” Veayuk replied. “I’m not 15.”
“Yes, you literally are,” Puthi continued challenging Veayuk. “In case you forgot, check your birth certificate!”
“Alright, I’m 15. But I don’t look or think like a 15-year-old. Remember I’m a member of the adult volleyball team. Don’t you know that! So, I’m not kid like you.”
“So you are an old kid!” Puthi laughed.
“Whatever, kiddo!”
“Please, brother, stop calling me ‘kiddo,’ Puthi begged wth a pitiful look in his eyes.
“Why?” Veayuk inquired. “Why don’t you want me to call you ‘kiddo?’ What is wrong with that term?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that word. I just don’t like it. It makes me look weak when my classmates hear you call me that,” Puthi explained.
“Ha ha, I see,” Veayuk laughed at his brother.
“I haven’t finished yet,” Puthi continued. “Another thing is that I want to be like you. Most kids at school respect you, despite your young age.”
“So, you want them to respect you too, don’t you?” Veayuk repeated after his brother.
“Yes,” Puthi nodded, peering into his brother’s eyes.
“But why?”
“I don’t know why. I just feel happy when someone shows respect to me. Don’t you feel the same way?”
“Puthi,” Veayuk said with a serious look. “It’s not about me calling you ‘kiddo’ and causing others to disrespect you. Even if I stopped calling you ‘kiddo,’ do you think people would automatically start to show respect for you?”
“I don’t know,” Puthi said.
“It’s about you,” Veayuk reassured his brother. “It’s about your behavior and your actions towards others. If you show them that you deserve their respect, people will voluntarily show respect for you despite your young age. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”
“Kind of,” Puthi said, still trying to decipher what his brother just said.
“Good, kiddo,” Veayuk said with a smile.
“Bro!” Puthi exclaimed.
“I’m kidding. Let’s go. Dad is waiting,” Veayuk pointed to his car parked by the corner.
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