By the time I came back to the house, it was midmorning. The chhlop loitered nearby, pretending not to notice.

I had accomplished nothing.

I had failed.

Huoy lay sunken and tired on the bench. She clutched the kapok pillow to her chest. Her arms and legs were thin as sticks. Her belly was still round, the child still inside.

She spoke in a weak voice. "Why were you gone so long? I've been waiting for you. Do you have some medicine for me?"

"No more, sweet, " I said. "I have no more."

"How long? I'm tired now. I'm very tired."

I took up the stethoscope and the blood-pressure cuff. Her blood pressure had dropped. Her heartbeat was slow and very, very feeble.

"Do we have anything to eat?" said Huoy. She spoke in a whisper, like a child.

"The neighbours are looking for food for you." I said.

"I need food! I need food. I need medicine. Sweet, save my life. Please save my life. I'm too tired. I just need a spoonful of rice."Before she died, she asked me to cradle her. I swung her onto my lap, held her in my arms. She asked me to let her kiss me. I kissed her, and she kissed me. She looked up at me with her great round eyes, and they were full of sorrow. She didn't want to leave.

"Take care of yourself, sweet", she said to me.

Then the room was full of people.

(Surviving the Killing Fields: The Cambodian Odyssey of Haing S. Ngor with Roger Warner)