The Rent Collector (13 page)

“We are reading a condensed version today,” she says, “but even so, I suspect it will take us two days. The story was written by an American named Herman Melville and was translated by Khun Chhean.”

Other than one or two Cambodian authors whose names have sounded vaguely familiar, the author’s names for the stories Sopeap brings are meaningless to me. She insists that will change.

Since I am new to learning and still trying to grasp the depth of the stories we read, on occasion Sopeap will explain what is going to happen beforehand, so that when I come to relevant passages, my brain will click and whir, my eyes will light up, and I will make her feel as though she is doing an adequate job.

“In this tale today,” she begins, “some say Captain Ahab represents evil as he seeks revenge. The white whale, on the other hand, is said to represent good.”

“Does everything always have to mean something else?” I ask before we get started. Who knew that literature was so tangled and complicated?

“That is a wonderful lesson, Sang Ly. Remember it.”

“What was it again?” I ask, not certain to what she was referring.

She repeats it for me. “In literature, everything means something.”

We open the pages and read.

*****

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world . . .

*****

It takes four days instead of two to read the shortened version of the whale story, but these are four of the most exciting mornings I’ve spent at the dump—and they have helped take my mind off of Maly. The story ends in a valiant battle between the captain and the whale.

Captain Ahab is a consumed old man, bent purely on revenge for a deed his enemy committed long ago (if you must know, the whale bit off his leg). His words and actions are vicious, and even in his final moments, as he harpoons the animal from his sinking boat, Ahab cries, “
 . . . to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee.
” Yet in spite of his coarseness, Ahab is not completely repugnant. Wretched, certainly, but also consumed by a misguided desire for revenge.

Likewise, the white whale, which Sopeap reminds me represents good, isn’t a pure creature either. Though he wins the battle—I presume signifying good prevailing over evil—he also kills the captain and his crew (except for the young man telling the story), an act far from benevolent.

Throughout the story, Sopeap’s observation bounces back and forth in my head—
everything means something.
I can’t help but consider Ki. He seems bent on revenge, perhaps to a small degree the same as Ahab. Yet Ki is a good man, a wonderful provider and husband. The question I keep asking is:
Is Ki Ahab or the whale?
It’s uncomfortable because if Ki is not the whale, if he’s more like Captain Ahab and his crew, I’m worried. Ahab and his crew all drown.

“Can you help me understand what this story says about dealing with evil?” I ask Sopeap with real intent.

“Can you be more specific?”

“How are we supposed to react to evil in our own lives? Should we battle, as Ahab and the whale? Or, is it better to steer clear and mind our own business, like people tend to do in the dump? What about Maly, for example? We helped her get away, but the gangs are still here—and they only get worse.”

Perhaps because my teacher is educated and knows so much about literature, I expect a reasoned, deliberate answer. Instead, her glance darts back across her shoulder.

“If you are certain you are facing evil,” she says, “and not ignorance, you must, if you can, destroy it before it destroys you!”

I have come to know Sopeap well, to read the emotion in her face, to understand her body movements and her quirks. When she twists her watch, she’s impatient. When she throws her left foot to the floor harder than her right, she’s angry. When she purses her lips and turns her head away, she’s trying not to smile at something I’ve said that she finds funny. As she tells me now that I must destroy evil, a new emotion creeps across her face, an emotion that I have never seen in the woman in all the time I’ve known her. When she speaks about evil—true evil—the emotion that gathers in Sopeap’s face is fear.

I don’t mean to belabor the point, but I need to be sure I understand.

“I tell Ki that I’m learning about words and stories to help our family. He says he’s protecting our family with his knife. Who is right? Which is best, protecting with words or with his knife?”

She is instant, certain, and solemn, and there is no misunderstanding her meaning.

“Fight ignorance with words. Fight evil with your knife. Tell your husband, Ki, that he is right.”

Chapter Fourteen

While I wait for Ki near the shelters, on my own I find literature—at least I think so. The paper is stuck between two tattered magazines and I almost toss it aside. The title reads
Sy Mao’s Advice for Growing Rice.
It’s not the title that intrigues, but two handwritten words beneath. I read the page aloud so Mother, holding Nisay nearby, can listen.

*****

Rice is the most important crop in the world. These tips will help you raise your rice properly.

Growing rice is challenging but not impossible. It takes patience, care, and a tremendous amount of work.

Even though rice adapts to many environments, it needs plenty of sunshine, water, and nutrients to thrive.

Rice comes in many varieties—brown, black, white, and red—including long-grain (slender), medium-grain (short and fat), short-grain (nearly round), sweet, sticky, and more. All varieties are good.

The secret to growing rice that thrives is to provide a proper environment. Clean out all noxious elements that may harm young plants. Use plenty of healthy organic matter.

Make certain your plants have plenty of room to grow. Stay close to remove sprouting weeds. Trying to care for too many plants at one time can be difficult and tiring.

While rice does best in certain environments, sometimes you have no control over natural conditions. Don’t worry. Rice has an uncanny ability to tolerate both drought and flood.

Sometimes rice is planted in a nursery bed and then moved later to a garden. Other times, rice is sprouted right in the garden itself. Both methods work. The advantage of direct seeding is that you reduce transplant shock to the young and tender plants.

Above all, never take your rice plants for granted. Every plant is important. Care for them properly and they will grow to be mature, tender, and strong.

Good luck.

Sy Mao

*****

At first glance the page appears to be nothing more than simple advice for gardening, and so, naturally, Mother is confused at my giggles.

I explain. “Though the page claims to be instruction for growing rice, beneath the title, someone has written the words ‘
and children.
’ The title now reads, ‘Sy Mao’s Advice for Growing Rice
and Children.
’ ”

Mother is not following, so I try a different approach. “I’m going to read it again, but when I say
rice
or
plants,
in your mind think instead of
children.
”

As I read, I pause each time the word
rice
shows up, giving her time to grasp the new meaning. She is soon smiling as well.

Knowing that I’ve been in search of literature, she asks the same question I’m thinking. “Do two written words turn ordinary instructions into literature?”

I think through the question carefully, as Sopeap would expect, before I offer an answer.

“I don’t know if it becomes literature,” I say, suddenly feeling uncomfortably like the teacher. “I just know the two added words cause me to look at the ordinary sentences differently. And quite honestly, I find that to be magical!”

*****

Sopeap must know that I’m excited because after I pass her a copy of
Sy Mao’s Advice for Growing Rice,
I bounce around like a schoolgirl.

“This illustrates a lesson I’d planned on bringing up tomorrow,” she says. “However, now is as good a time as any. Words, Sang Ly, are not only powerful, they are more valuable than gold.”

I pause. Doubt must show in my features.

“You hesitate?” she asks.

“Well, yes,” I say, “gold pays for food, clothing, rent—everything. What do words buy?”

“When you take your child to the doctor, how do you explain your son’s illness so the doctor can offer help? Will all the gold in the world communicate what is wrong?”

“I guess not,” I answer.

“How then does he know?”

“I tell him—”

“Precisely . . . with words. You use words. While gold may pay the doctor’s bill, words have already helped save the child.”

She doesn’t quit there. “If you want to tell your husband how much he means to you, what do you do? Do you give him gold?”

“He would no doubt prefer that.”

“If you gave him garbage trucks filled with gold, you would give only empty riches. To convey true love, Sang Ly, you whisper . . .”

She waits for me to fill in the answer. “Words.”

“What words? What would you say to him?”

“I guess I would say,
I love you.
”

“Three words, Sang Ly, three simple words that communicate more, mean more, than worldly riches. Words provide a voice to our deepest feelings. I tell you, words have started and stopped wars. Words have built and lost fortunes. Words have saved and taken lives. Words have won and lost great kingdoms. Even Buddha said, ‘
Whatever words we utter should be chosen with care, for people will hear them and be influenced by them for good or ill.
’ Do you understand?”

“I think so, except for one thing.”

“Yes?”

“If words are so powerful, why do you—an educated woman who is able to speak and write many words—why do you live at Stung Meanchey?”

It is a long time before the teacher speaks. “Words are also like ropes,” she finally says. “We use them to pull ourselves up, but if we are not careful, they can also bind us down—at times by our own doing.”

“Are you saying you
choose
to live at Stung Meanchey?” I ask.

Often, when I raise an uncomfortable topic, Sopeap answers with a question. She says it’s the sign of a good teacher, that it makes a student reflect. I think it’s a sign of a teacher avoiding a difficult answer.

This time is no different. “Sang Ly,” she replies, “don’t we all choose to live in the dump in certain aspects of our lives?”

*****

When I tell Ki Lim after dinner that Sopeap spoke about him, he throws back a glance of immediate disgust. “This ought to be good. What did my favorite teacher say?”

“She said that you were right.”

“What?”

“You heard me—though I worry about how proud you are going to be now.”

I have his attention. “Right about what?” he asks.

“That if we face evil in our lives, we should defend ourselves, stand up and fight, not tolerate it. She said there is no way to stop true evil but to destroy it.”

“When she agreed with me, was she drunk?”

“I don’t think she’s drinking as much anymore, at least not before she comes to teach.”

It takes Ki a minute to digest the notion:
Sopeap agrees with him on something.
While his shrug reads,
it’s really no big deal,
the contentment radiating in his face screams,
I told you so.

“Now that I’ve mentioned it, you have to make me one promise.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t be Captain Ahab.”

“Who’s Captain Ahab?”

“He’s a guy who fights a big whale.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“He dies in the end.”

Chapter Fifteen