A Slice of Life: Fostering Two War-Torn Youngsters After Losing a Child

By Brenda Marston Bligh

In mid-life, a year and a half after their son was killed in a senseless car accident, Brenda and her husband, David, considered becoming foster parents for the first time. Boran Sovan, age sixteen, and his younger sister, Sophea, age twelve, set foot in Boston September 16, 1983. Both had escaped the insane killing and holocaust of Pol Pot’s reign in Cambodia, arriving with other refugees at Logan Airport straight from refugee camps in Thailand. When Brenda and her husband met their new family members, their worlds collided, breaking apart and fusing together in new ways, tainted by incredibly sad and horrifying memories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781483499604

Book preview

1983.

Chapter

1

W E ARRIVED EARLY. LOGAN AIRPORT WAS QUIET THAT morning and there was little danger we would lose our two Cambodians in the crowd. The refugee-crowded plane was due at 8:55. With forty-five minutes to wait, my husband David, niece Krista and myself sat sipping second cups of coffee and nibbling at our Danish. Generally, Krista boarded at UMASS but visited us on weekends and vacation times since her parents worked overseas. Krista has always called me Bree because she couldn’t say Brenda as a toddler.

My mind seemed particularly blank that morning, just numb, my thoughts incoherent and drifting. No one tried to make conversation. I heard myself saying Boran Sovan. That’s a nice name.

David, who had been scanning the view through the huge windows of the terminal building at Boston Harbor and the new tall buildings across the water, turned, OH, Brenda! It doesn’t matter. That’s just a detail. Then he flashed a smile and patted my hand reassuringly. You worry too much.

Hey, Bree! Relax! OK? Krista piped up. She grinned at me for a moment over the top of her book.

Oh, I’m fine! No problem. Silly little things keep floating through my head. Their studied nonchalance had betrayed them. I recognized their need to be alone with their feelings on this momentous day which might change our lives forever.

I sipped my coffee, lit a cigarette and surreptitiously glanced at them: David, so intent, his broad shoulders hunched forward under his tweed jacket as he leaned across the table his thick dark hair with graying streaks at the temples, curls falling over that furrowed forehead almost into his eyes, eyes a penetrating blue etched with delicate lines of age, pain, and concern. He squinted as he looked toward the horizon. An air of serenity surrounded Krissy (Krista’s nickname). She sat gracefully, her long legs crossed, holding her book. Her soft blue eyes skimmed the pages lightly, her golden hair waving past her high cheek bones and on down over her shoulders. What a beauty! How nice that she had come back from college, all that way just to be here with us today.

A great shadow crossing over the huge window startled me as a plane went by.

Oh, my God! I burst out. Is that it?

No Bree. Wrong airline, Krista answered quietly. Don’t get spastic. It’s only 8:30.

Eight-thirty! Where are the United Church Service people? David, would you run out and look for them? I’ll go look at the gate; you check out the main lobby. Hang on Krista, we’ll be back in a few minutes!

We dashed off. No, they weren’t at the gate. I tore back to the lobby, crashing into David at the entrance.

Calm down, Brenda. Everything’s going to be all right, David said as he held my shoulders quietly for a second.

Sure, I know. But David, can you check the men’s can for John? I’ll look in the women’s for Lori and Malis I flew off again. No luck there. Slowly, I walked back to the cafeteria.

I looked at my watch. Eight-forty-three. Back at the table I sat down hard.

"No luck? I asked. Krista and David smiled, shaking their head slowly.

Maybe the plane’s late, I said.

No, Brenda. I checked, said David. It should be right on time, they say. I stared at them blankly.

O.K. We’re on our own then, I announced a bit more calmly, accepting the possibility that the UCS case workers might not be there to help us find our Cambodians. Here it was, the challenge! Well, let’s get out of here then and go wait at the gate. I managed a smile.

I settled down just outside the gate. David and Krista walked to the window chatting, with David pointing out the various buildings in Boston across the harbor.

See that building? No, over this way. Yes, behind that big one. That’s where I work, David said.

Dave, you must have a great view, Krista returned.

My God! How can they be so casual? I rummaged through my purse for another cigarette, lit it, and then pulled out a rumpled letter. That letter, which had arrived two months ago, in July, represented reality and certainty. I had carried that letter, with the information sent to UCS from Thailand, like a security blanket I smiled inwardly, opened the letter and skimmed it once more. It said, in part:

Boran Sovann - male - 17 years old - intelligent -strong personality - great survivor -can be pushy - delightful personality - talkative -possibly arrogant. Good looking - healthy.

Not much English.

Sophea Sovan - female - 13 years old -lived with Khmer (Cambodian) family in refugee camp. Not much English.

Possible relationship difficulties. Haven’t live together in a long time. Boran Sovann lived in Children’s Center in camp. Got more attention there. Sophea Sovan got less attention living with Khmer family. She may need a lot of attention. They may resent living in the same home. Time will be needed for the relationship to develop and grow. Possible behavior may include them not talking to one another.

Foster family needs to not feel responsible for the lack of relationship and be able to allow much space for resolution to take place. That could mean accepting the fact that they may spend little time talking with each other and may seem distant from each other.

Projected time of arrival: two weeks. All very well, but I wish they’d told us more. Two weeks. Two weeks! That would have been ideal. In July, I had the whole Summer’s vacation ahead of me. Now I have my whole Fall teaching schedule starting in only four days. Can’t put it off, need the money. We’ll just have to establish a lot of confidence in a short time. I’ll just take them with me when I teach piano. And poor old Orangemobile - creepy old auto - is on the fritz, too. Well, the garage promised it back by Monday.

Krista and David sprinted toward me.

I think this is it Brenda, David puffed as he arrived. Just rolling up now!

Oooops! Davy! It ran by. Wrong one, Krista laughed. Hey, Dave, you’re on edge, too. David snorted good-naturedly and returned to his vigil with Krista.

Once more I rummaged in my voluminous pocketbook. Where was the list? Let me check again. My hand finally emerged clutching my catch-all notebook. I flipped through the pages. Did Lori say they liked broccoli? Where is it? Oh, Lord! Someday I must organize this mess.

Looking up, I noticed a young woman standing nearby a gate which had previously been deserted. She carried a clipboard, and glanced about expectantly. With a look of exasperation she approached me.

You aren’t from Catholic Charities are you? she asked.

No. Sorry, I replied.

Well, I’m supposed to be meeting these refugees and driving them to New Hampshire and their social workers and the interpreter aren’t here yet, and I just don’t…"

It’s OK, I heard myself reassuring her. We’re in the same boat. No one’s shown up from United Church Services yet, either.

Well, the plane’s already in and I just don’t…

It is? I gasped. So that had been our plane after all.

Sure, she said. There they all are, way over in the back.

We squeezed up against the grill, peering at a glassed-in enclosure. We could make out twenty or so Cambodians seated quietly inside.

Come on David, Krista! They’re here! I yelled back to the two at the window. Then I called excitedly to the two uniformed airline personnel behind the grill.

These kids came halfway around the world to get to us. Our agencies aren’t here yet. Can you let us in to greet them?

The guards hastily opened the gate, ran our pocketbooks through the metal detectors, and ushered us into the enclosure.

Young Cambodians sat in groups, talking quietly. An older man stood in the middle of the room, scanning papers and apparently trying to sort things out. A group of Americans encircled him, asking questions.

I’m looking for Boran Sovan, I said. The man nodded but did not answer.

Boran Sovan. B-o-r-a-n S-o-v-a-n, I spelled out the name. I’m his foster mother. The man returned a weak smile, held his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness. I turned to David and Krista.

Come on. We’ll have to find them ourselves. I began to walk among the groups of Cambodians, calling softly, Boran Sovan. Boran Sovan. Does anyone know Boran Sovan?

Suddenly I noticed a boy listening intently, his dark eyes fixed on mine. He stood up slowly. Quickly I crossed the room. Boran…are you Boran Sovan? I asked, eyes still locked on his. He nodded yes, offering me his hand. I grasped his hand in both of mine and shook it, holding tight. Boran flashed a dazzling smile, disarming me altogether. We beamed at each other, a split second of peace and joy.

Krista and David joined us. I turned to include them and found Tevy at my side. Tevy was a pretty late-teenage Cambodian girl who had come the previous year to live with a foster family in the nearby town of Hancock. Evidently, the usual welcoming committee was arriving.

I tell Boran you his new mother, Tevy reported with a shy smile. I know Boran back at refugee camp, Thailand, she explained.

Oh,thanks, Tevy. Thanks so much, I said. The social workers Lori, John and Malis aren’t here yet. I reached for Boran’s hand as he spoke with David and Krista. Boran, Boran where is Sophea? I asked urgently. Boran gestured to his right.

There, a few feet away, sat a scrawny little Cambodian girl, crouching in her seat, head bent, clutching her knees. Her eyes were dull with misery, her black hair hanging in disheveled clusters around her gaunt face. She peered at us unsmiling, still holding her plastic airsickness bag tightly.

I caught my breath sharply, then sighed in commiseration. Kneeling in front of her, I touched her clenched hand gently, stroking it softly. You feel sick, don’t you? I said quietly.

Sophea’s thin hand pulled back. Her body shrank deeper into the chair. Clearly, this was not what she wanted. Tevy spoke a few words to her in Khmer. Sophea did not respond. She stared at me for a few seconds and then lowered her gaze again and buried her chin in her parka. I smiled, patted her knee, and withdrew. Sitting down quietly in the chair next to her, I looked at David. He had seen all this. Instinctively, he stood back, just smiling kindly at Sophea.

Krista and Boran were standing together, smiling and trying to communicate. Krista laughed with a nervous giggle and tried a few words. Glad…glad you’re here, she began, then giggled. We are happy….happy, she repeated, that you are here.

A feeling of helplessness engulfed me. What could I remember of all that reading I had done, all those articles and orientation manuals we had read over the past few months? Was there anything to guide me at this very minute? Bits and pieces came to mind: your tone of voice, your gestures and your expressions convey your welcome, even though they don’t understand your words. Yes! Something can bridge this gap. Come on, lady. Courage!

Slowly and deliberately, I leaned to the left, swinging my arm lightly around the back of Sophea’s shoulders. She did not recoil. I patted her shoulder gently. She shuffled in her chair a bit, then leaned very slightly toward me and let her head rest softly on my shoulder. A feeling of great warmth spread over me and slowly our two bodies sagged downward in relaxation. Sophea unclenched a hand from her knee and let it fall on my thigh.

David walked behind us and laid his broad warm hand on my shoulder. Good job! he whispered.

Thanks, I whispered back.

Hurried footsteps and gay voices heralded the arrival, finally, of the caseworkers, Lori, John, and Malis, along with a group of young Cambodians who had come to greet the new arrivals.

Sophea and I parted. It was all right. We had shared our first moment of trust. I stood and David and I greeted the caseworkers with handshakes and hugs. Everyone talked at once.

We got stuck across town.

We couldn’t get through the tunnel.

Oh, where are they?

Is this Boran?

Boran stood greeting them, hugging some young Cambodians that he recognized from the camps in Thailand. My eyes rested on Sophea. She sat still, just watching the milling throng. Suddenly her hands shot out. A flicker of a smile crossed her face. A slight Cambodian girl darted across the floor and enveloped Sophea in her arms. Oh, Thank Heavens! She knows someone. Who is she? I asked.

That’s Yi, said Malis. She lives with me. She knew Sophea in one of the camps.

I watched while Sophea and Yi chatted rapidly in Khmer. Yi sat down on the floor, her hand on Sophea’s knee. Sophea sank backwards, relaxed. She rubbed her left ear, her eyes dull again. I knew the gesture well from my own small infants.

Poor tired baby, I whispered. My attention began to fasten on her and her clothes. How incongruous! Well-worn rubber flip-flop sandals on broad brown feet, thin emaciated bare legs, a rumpled scotch plaid pleated skirt, a navy-blue winter-weight parka complete with a fuzzy lined hood squashed against her neck and hair.

Malis! She must be roasting in that big parka! I exclaimed. Please come help me. You are still going to be our social worker for Boran and Sophea, aren’t you?

Of course, Brenda, Malis replied in her clipped Khmer accent. We walked over and sat down on either side of Sophea.

Tell her I’m afraid she must be very hot in that jacket. Would she like to take it off? Malis translated. Sophea spoke only a few words.

She says she can’t do that, Malis reported.

Well, ask her why not? It must be eighty degrees in here, I continued. Malis and Sophea talked back and forth once again I gathered Malis was trying to persuade Sophea to take off her jacket. After a few interchanges, Sophea’s head dropped. She shuffled her feet below the chair in embarrassment, and mumbled a few more words in Khmer. Malis smiled solicitously.

Oh, my poor Sophea! It’s all right, she said in English.

What is it, Malis? What’s wrong? I asked anxiously.

She says she was very sick on the plane, and also she had a bloody nose and her blouse is all stained. She doesn’t want you to see it. She’s afraid you’ll be angry or disgusted.

Oh, my Lord! I said briefly and reached for her. Circling Sophea in my arms, I held her tight and kissed the side of her head. The admonitions from the manuals crowded into my mind. Never kiss a Cambodian child. Their parents don’t. Never touch a Cambodian child’s head. I held on tight. I didn’t give a damn! This poor child who had gone through Hell most of her short life and come halfway around the world to seek a new life should know that her new mother was not turned off by vomit and a little bit of blood. My instincts paid off. Sophea turned, gave me a fleeting smile and unzipped her jacket. The blouse, revealed, wasn’t half as bad as I had anticipated. Malis and I helped her off with the rest of the jacket. She settled back a little more comfortably.

I looked about for a minute with that mini-crisis over for the time being. What else is going on? There was Boran still in the midst of a circle of well-wishers and old friends. What a handsome diplomat! Dealing with aplomb, smiling and chatting. He moves with ease and grace.

Just then Krista popped up at my side.

How’re you doing, Krista?

OK, Bree, she said with a sidelong glance at Sophea.

Sophea looked away. Her feet squirmed in the rubber flip-flops.

I think she’s a little shy or distressed right now. I explained. Let’s give it some time.

Sure, Bree, Krista said, leaning over to give me a peck on the cheek. Sophea looked at us for a moment. Then her attention was caught by Yi, Lori’s 10 or 11-year-old Cambodian daughter, who whirled about in circles in front of us, expressing her delight at all the boisterous greetings.

Picture time, picture time! Lori announced brightly, holding her camera high for all to see. Oh, my. What a time for pictures, I thought, with Sophea so miserable.

Lori’s gestures and words worked like magic. Everyone gathered about the bench that Sophea sat upon. She had not moved from that seat since we arrived. From her appearance, I doubted she had the energy to do so. Sophea put her jacket back on and sank back in her seat as the others jammed together on the benches on either side of her. Some stood behind her with David, Krista and myself. I put my hands on Sophea’s shoulders.

The camera snapped. Cambodians love having their pictures taken. Pictures are very precious to them. Lori confided to me, as the young people shifted around Sophea’s seat, some leaving while others eagerly took their places. You can’t imagine how much these pictures will mean later, she went on. I didn’t fully understand the import of her words at the time.

They’ll change so fast, Malis put in. Really, you won’t believe it!

Change? Change so fast? I just wanted to get to know them. I don’t need to have them change fast. Picture time was over for the moment. I turned to Lori and asked, Do you think they’re hungry?

No, we shouldn’t feed them yet. We’ve got the ride home and they may get car sick. We can find a drinking fountain right now. That’ll be enough, Lori replied.

Oh, right, I said. I had forgotten about that; they’re not used to cars.

Hey, Brenda! Shouldn’t we get the show on the road? David whispered in my ear. It’s 10:15 already.

Sure, I answered. If I can get Sophea unglued from that seat. She hasn’t moved from it yet. I think it’s her home in a storm. Let’s see what I can do. I sat down quietly next to Sophea and put my arm around her again. We’re all going home now. To our house, I said calmly and deliberately. We have to ride in our car. Sophea looked at me solemnly. She did not respond. Feeling helpless once more, I glanced up for Malis. Oh help, Malis! Can you translate? I don’t think she can understand anything I’m saying yet.

Sure, Brenda, Malis responded. She sat down on the other side of Sophea and began speaking rapidly in Khmer. OK, Sophea? Malis wound up.

All the others were standing now, sensing that the time had come to leave. Malis reached across to me. She understands now, she said. I told her we were all coming to your house. I think she’s ready now. Malis and I stood up slowly. I reached for Sophea’s hand. She grasped it and reluctantly stood up, too, clutching her skirt at the waist with her other hand.

Oh, Malis! It’s twice too big for her! I exclaimed. Sophea looked at me sheepishly. I knew she had understood the gist of my comment. She looked down in embarrassment. I bent down quickly to reassure her. It’s OK. We’ll get you a new one very soon, Sophea, I said very slowly and quietly, hoping she could grasp my meaning. She smiled fleetingly. Perhaps she had understood the ‘OK’ at least. I put my arm around her and we began to walk with the others toward the gate.

David walked behind, carrying the two tiny plastic bags which made up their luggage. Krista, Tevy, and Boran walked ahead. Boran carried a slim plastic shopping bag marked ICM. Over his arm hung a green parka, identical to Sophea’s except for the color.

At the parking lot, we had to make decisions. Who would ride in which car? We needed someone who could speak both Khmer and English in our car.

Malis, will you come with us? I asked.

No, I have my own car, Brenda. You take Tevy with you. Krista can come with me, she answered.

Sophea was still glued to my side, my arm around her shoulder, her arm tightly wound around my waist. I could feel her skinny little arm inside the big parka. Her head was almost buried in my armpit. Well, right now we’re a unit! I said. So, I think we’d better sit up front with David. Tevy and Boran can sit in the back.

Malis spoke briefly to Sophea in Khmer. Sophea nodded and drew out the plastic airsick bag from her left pocket.

Good, just in case you need it. I said slowly to Sophea. We parted long enough to climb into the car, then Sophea leaned towards me and I put my arms around her again. As David started the car and backed up, I craned my neck to look back at Boran.

Tevy, how’s Boran doing back there? I asked.

OK. Tevy returned. He say he have little headache some.

Well, tell him we have to drive about an hour or so, and then we’ll be home, I returned. Sophea squirmed in my arms and snuggled closer. We had just turned onto the highway and were picking up more speed. I sensed her fear, and held her more tightly, stroking her arm. David, let’s not go too fast, I said. This is all new for them and….

I’m only going forty-five, Brenda, David interrupted. My God, we’ll get killed if I go any slower!

OK. Sure, I know. They’ll just have to get used to it, I guess, I replied, shifting in my seat to make myself feel more comfortable to Sophea. Sophea rested drowsily on my chest. The little plastic bag dropped from her fingers to the floor. David reached for it. Don’t bother. I don’t think we’re going to need it, anyway. Look at her. She’s just about asleep, poor baby. I bet she didn’t sleep at all for those three days coming here. Boran seems to be in great shape, though. Listen to him chatting away back there! David smiled and nodded.

My thoughts drifted back to the last meeting of the foster parents in our district. A medley of comments drifted through my mind.

She slept for the first three days. Well, I mean practically, of course. Sure, she got up to go to the bathroom and to eat, but then she just went right back to bed. I finally called Malis. I thought she was sick or something.

Oh, no, that wasn’t the way with us. He wouldn’t sleep at all that first week. We were totally exhausted. Finally we just went to bed and let him rattle around.

No kidding! Well, with us, she was always asleep when we were ready to go somewhere. You know, grocery shopping, the drug store, or anywhere, even. But then I couldn’t get her to bed ‘till one o’clock every night.

"Then there’s the water. I don’t know how they do it! Water, water all over the place. I swear they must stand on the basin and splash water from head to toe every morning!

I stood it the first week but then I’d had it! He never used the shower curtain!

Well, don’t expect them to sleep in a bed. All they had over there were mats on the floor.

Don’t be surprised if you find footprints on the toilet seat. They never had plumbing over there, just a hole in the ground to squat over.

Well, most of these kids don’t know about plumbing at all.Watch out for what goes down the toilet. Some of them use it like a trash can.

You have to watch out about electricity. They’re not used to it. And, you have to teach them about the stove. They’ll leave the burners on.

She left the iron on. When I found it, a big hole was scorched in the top of the ironing board. God! I was so upset!

Oh, sure. There are good things about it. Hey, we’re still in it, aren’t we? It’s just that you should know.

The car slowed down. David made the righthand turn onto Route 111. I came to with a start. Sophea was still dozing.

Tevy, can you tell them we’re almost there? I said. In about ten minutes or less. And Tevy, tell them they’ll be meeting my mother, her name is Grandma Scotkey but we call her Sweetie since the kids couldn’t say Scotkey.

We were driving through Harrod now. David had taken the scenic route and we were passing the Harrod School. The bells were ringing in the chapel tower. Students dotted the campus, going to and from classes. It must have been noon. Sophea perked up at the sound of the bells.She sat up and stared at the scene, then turned and we smiled at each other.

Tevy, would you tell them that I teach there? Tell them I teach piano lessons to some of the students. They might as well know that I work and can’t always be at home. Tell them I’ll bring them with me next Thursday when I start lessons. Tevy explained in Khmer.

Boran, he wants to know, does he go that school?

Tell him no, Tevy. That school costs lots of money to go to, I said. Boran and Sophea will go to public school, like you do.

By now, we were passing through West Harrod, turning onto the little bridge over the river. I felt a tremor go through my innards…excitement…as though I was bringing home a prize, a special surprise gift.

We’re almost there! I announced brightly. We drove up the hill. That’s our barn on the left. My voice escalated, as I sighted our old colonial looming ahead to the right. And here we are!

Chapter

2

D AVID MANEUVERED THE CAR INTO THE CROWDED PARKING area. The others had beaten us home, since we had elected to drive so slowly. The door burst open and Grandma Scotkey rushed out with open arms.

Oh, my dears! I thought you’d never get here! she exclaimed while others poured out behind her. What took you so long? Oh, where are they? Are they all right? she continued as she hurried towards us. We climbed out of the car.

That’s Grandma Scotkey, I managed to call out before first Boran and then Sophea were swept into her arms and hugged, patted and rehugged noisily.

Oh, you’re here at last! Oh, the darlings! Oh, they must be so tired! Ooooooh! Look at that smile! Boran had dazzled Grandma Scotkey with his broad grin. Sophea drew close to me and looked at the ground. Oh, isn’t he handsome, Grandma Sweetie whispered to me, then went on aloud. Well, this poor dear little girl!· What’s the matter, Brenda? She doesn’t look very happy.

I think this is all a bit overwhelming, I managed to squeeze into the barrage. She’s still feeling sickish from the plane, and a bit shy, too, so….

Oh, yes, yes, of course, Sweetie continued in a lower voice. Oh, they must be so tired, she whispered as we walked towards the house. Really, I mustn’t talk so much. It probably grates on her nerves. I know how it can be when you’re not feeling well, she continued sotto voce.

Now, Sweetie, relax, I interjected. You’re fine. They’ll love you! It’s just all so new for them, I explained more calmly. You know, they need to get used to things. I reached over and gave her a hug. I hated to see any of her wonderful exuberance quashed.

Well, the others have all been here quite a while and I was just worried about you. What about their luggage, David? Don’t they have some bags?Sweeties voice began to rise again.

It’s all here, Sweetie! David answered with a smile as he held up the two tiny plastic bags.

Remember, Sweetie, I told you they bring nothing but what’s on their backs. I said quietly.

Well, I know, but they probably want to change. You know, after three days in the same clothes, she went on.

Sweetie, it’s all right! First things first, I said. Let’s go in the house and we’ll worry about that in a while. I’ve got to get a few things settled now. Where’s Malis?

People were milling around on the lawn and in and out of the door. Confusion reigned. Sophea was glued to my side, greeting our dog, Tammy, who had emerged from under her favorite bush and came up to us wiggling and wagging. I looked for Boran. I spotted him standing near a little group of young Cambodians who were laughing and chattering in Khmer. He was standing apart, just peering up and down at the house with a dazed expression.

Come on, Boran, I yelled, waving my arm. Let’s go in the house. I pointed at the door. He walked over slowly, still surveying the house. Sophea and I jammed through the doorway together, still a tightknit unit. Sweetie, David and Boran followed.

Well, there you are! I heard Helen’s voice corning from the kitchen. It’s about time! The party’s nearly over! Helen emerged from the kitchen to greet us in the entry room.

Thank God you’re here, Helen! Is everything OK? I asked.

Helen nodded, and then smiled at Boran and Sophea. Welcome, she said.

This … is…Helen, I said very slowly. She…comes… sometimes…to…help..me…with…the…house. Boran and Sophea stared back at me solemnly.

Can they understand you, Brenda? Sweetie asked, giving me a skeptical glance.

No, but there’s only one way to go, and that’s to start saying things, I said abruptly.

Well, I guess, but…. Sweetie voice drifted off. She shrugged her shoulders, and gave me a wan smile. I knew the full impact of the communication problem we faced had swamped her for the moment

Would they like something to eat or drink? Helen offered. Well, let’s go in the kitchen and see, I answered. We thronged towards the kitchen just as the outside kitchen door opened and Yi, Malis, the case workers John Nichols and Lori Dewitt and others I hadn’t yet met swarmed in from the back lawn. More greetings. Pandemonium took over again. I managed to cross the few feet to the kitchen table, pulled two chairs out, sat Sophea in one and beckoned Boran to the other.

Malis…Malis…help! I need you! I shouted across the room.

Sophea sat up straight, looking all about her at the surroundings. She peered out the window and spotted the rose garden. Her eyes were bright and alert, her mouth curved in a slight smile. Boran gazed upward at the cathedral ceiling and the beams laden with old wine bottles and baskets. Slowly he lowered his eyes to the table. Cupping his forehead in his hands, he slumped, resting his elbows on the table. Malis made her way to us.

Malis, do you think they’re hungry yet? Or maybe they’re thirsty? I asked.

I’ll ask them, Brenda, she replied. She spoke to Boran and Sophea. Boran muttered a few words and then lowered his head to the table, letting his hands flop on either side. Slowly he turned his head so that his cheek rested on the table. His face was expressionless. His eyes stared blankly.

Oh, he’s exhausted! I cried. All those years of waiting and the trip here. It’s just been too much!

He says he’s got a terrible headache, Malis commented quietly.

Aspirin, Brenda, where’s your aspirin? Helen exclaimed and dashed to the sink for a cup of water.

Will he take it? I asked.

Oh yes, I think so, Malis replied and began stroking Boran’s back gently. I called to my mother who was chatting with John and Lori.

Sweetie, would you get some aspirin? In the medicine cabinet in the john. Second shelf. I reached across the table and softly patted Boran’s outstretched hand. His big eyes turned up at my face for a moment and then back again into his unfocused stare.

Try orange juice, I said to Helen who was hovering with the cup of water. I think he needs some energy.

He won’t like it, Brenda, Malis commented quietly.

He won’t? Why not? I asked in surprise.

Is it frozen?

Yes. Don’t they have oranges over there? They must!

Yes, but you see, in America they grind the outside up in it. What do you call it? The rind?

They do? I laughed. I never knew that!

Yes, they put some of that in. Cambodian people don’t like it when they first come, she explained. Do you have any coke?

Oh, sure….Helen, it’s at the back on the left, I said.

The crowd was thinning out. Sensing that Boran needed a little space and less noise, most of them spilled outside, others drifting into other parts of the house. Yi and Sophea were giggling by then, Yi tugging at Sophea’s sleeve.

Can Sophea go out? Yi asked me, grinning while she pulled Sophea half out of the chair.

Sure, if she wants to, I said, looking at Sophea. Do…you…want…to…go…out? I asked her deliberately while pointing out the window. Sophea giggled.

She wants to! Yi announced as she finally succeeded in uprooting Sophea from the chair. Sophea looked at me timidly.

OK, I said. Bye..bye. I waved. She smiled and let herself be dragged out the kitchen door by Yi. Grandma Scotkey arrived, bearing aspirin.

Oh, look at him! she exclaimed. Poor boy! He looks just like a sleepy little boy right now. I looked at Boran. She was right. Our debonair world traveler looked about ten years old.

Sensing our eyes on him, Boran shifted his position and turned his head face down with his forehead on the table.

Come on, Boran, said Malis, then continued in Khmer except for the word aspirin. Boran sat up and took the aspirin and sipped some water. Helen bustled up with a cold wet washcloth. Taking advantage of Boran’s upright position, she plunked the cloth on his forehead without a word. Boran responded with a fleeting smile, then slumped down and let his head rest on the back of the chair, eyes closed. He reached up and held the compress to his head.

Ahhh…he gasped and gave an enormous sigh of relief.

OK, I said. Things are looking up.

Malis and I stood for moment looking out the big window at the scene outside. Little clusters of people, mostly Cambodians, were scattered over the lawn. Some of the boys had climbed an old apple tree and were snatching for apples amid shouts and laughter. They threw the apples down to their friends’ eagerly outstretched hands. Some stuffed the apples in their pockets. Others stood eating two at a time, alternately, one in each hand. Still others were tossing them back and forth in a game of catch, laughing uproariously. Another group stood watching one skillful youth who was juggling three apples adroitly. He tossed them higher each time, till suddenly he lost control. One apple landed with a splot on a rock nearby. Those around the boy bent double, roaring with laughter.

Grandma Scotkey appeared with her camera. She was fumbling with the film. Stopping for a moment, she peered out the window with us.

Oh, I’ve got to get a shot of this! Grandma Scotkey exclaimed. But I can’t get this damned film in. I’m all butterfingers! Sweetie adjusted her glasses and resumed her struggle.

Yi’s happy to have Sophea, Malis said, smiling as she looked out the window at them.

Sophea doesn’t look so shy now, not with Yi. Look at her go after Yi. They’re both full of it, I laughed.

Brenda, surely there are some other little girls for them to play with? Grandma Scotkey piped up.

No, not Khmer. Not in this area, Malis answered thoughtfully.

There just aren’t many of them left, Sweetie. I explained. You know - I told you. They killed all the children who weren’t either babies in arms or old enough to work. You know, back in Cambodia under Pol Pot. I glanced at Sweetie. She sucked in her breath and clapped her hands over her mouth.

Oh,..that’s right, she cried. Oh, how could they? How terrible!" She sat back limply for a moment.

Yes, Brenda, Malis said sadly. You’re lucky to get Sophea. I don’t know how she made it through.

Suddenly, Grandma Scotkey recovered and said briskly, Well, I’ll get this damned thing together and we’ll go out. She attacked the camera with renewed vigor and in a few moments I heard a loud snap.

There it goes! Grandma Scotkey sang out. I knew I could get it! Malis, Sweetie and I stepped outside, nearly stumbling over Yi and Sophea who were still giggling and flailing around on the ground. Sophea sat up abruptly and peeked up at us with a worried expression.

Oh, she thinks we don’t approve, I said. Quickly, I bent over to give Sophea a reassuring pat and a smile. Grandma Scotkey sat down in a lawn chair and held her camera to her eye, waiting for just the right shot. I sat down on the ground next to Krista. Quite a change, since the airport, Krista commented, gesturing toward Sophea.

Yes, I answered. She seemed to perk up as soon as we got here, but Boran’s a wreck, tired to death; we gave him some aspirin. He’s in the kitchen with Helen, just resting with a cold compress on his head. I think he needs peace and quiet. Hey, where’s Dad? I haven’t seen him since we got home.

Oh, he’s in the family room talking to Lori and John, something about private school for Boran.

Oh, my God! We can’t handle that, too! I said, jumping up. I’d better get in there and see what’s going on! I dashed inside to the family room. David, Lori and John sat talking quietly together. I sat down in the rocker. David was summing up.

Well, we could wait and see. Who knows? It’s really too soon to tell. Maybe we could get an interview and show Boran around the Academy, anyway, he said.

Well, OK. I guess we could give it a try, I conceded. "But you should see Boran right now. He looks like a little kid. He was so poised all the way home. Now he looks like a very worn out little boy resting his head on the kitchen table. I don’t think he’s 17 years old. He’s not that much taller than Sophea.

Oh no, he can’t be that old! Is that what they said? Lori asked in surprise.

Well, that’s what that office paper reported. You know, the one you sent me in July, John, I answered.

Well, they don’t know over there, John replied. No one knows. They have to guess. The kids don’t know their own ages. They were too young when their families were destroyed. Anyway, because most of them were half starved and suffering from extreme malnutrition, it makes it terribly hard to determine how old they are.

Let’s look at the I-94 forms, Lori suggested.

What’s that? I asked.

They’re very important! That’s all they have to identify themselves in this country, Lori said solemnly. Let’s see, Boran had them in that plastic bag, that thing that looks like a shopping bag marked ‘I.C.M.’ Put it in a safe place! It also has medical information. Don’t lose it!

Oh, dear! I’ll go find it! I dashed off to the kitchen. I found Helen alone out there, wringing out the dishcloth at the sink."Where’s Boran? I asked.

Oh, he got up, gave me the compress and went outside with the others. I guess he’s feeling better!

I snatched the I.C.M. bag off the table and arrived back just in time to hear John saying, Well, you know the old rule of thumb. Take the stated age and give or take three or four years and you have a pretty good idea of the child’s age! We all laughed.

Well, if you really want to know, it’s even worse than that! Lori exclaimed. In Cambodia, a child’s age is counted from conception, not from birth, and also, everyone turns a year older on New Year’s there, regardless of when they were born. So, it’s pretty complicated and hard to pin down."

Huh, how strange! David said.

Well, different, anyway. John smiled as he looked at our puzzled faces. A child born three months before New Year’s day, he continued, would be considered one year old on New Year’s Eve and two years old the next day. But to us, the child would still be three months old.

John, this is a bit much for me. Let’s start over again. How old do you think these kids are? I asked. Hey! Maybe they’re twins! I added with a laugh.

Here, let’s look at the I-94 forms, Lori said, reaching for the plastic bag. That’s what we’ll have to go by, no matter what age they really are. OK, here it is. Boran’s birthday is 12/31/67. That makes him 15 now.

But they said he was 17, I started to say.

Lori interrupted, Here’s Sophea’s birthdate, 12/31/70. So she’s 12, officially.

You mean they were born the same day? December 31? What an awful day for a birthday! Just after Christmas!

December 31 means they have no idea when the child was born, John cut in. We have quite a few children in our program with 12/31 as a birthdate. The government just decides for them. It’s easier to make them a year older on our New Year’s.

Oh, Good Heavens! Do we have to stick to that? I asked.

Oh, no! You can celebrate their birthdays any time you want, but officially, for school and Social Security and all that, you must give the dates from the I-94 forms, Lori explained. David and I exchanged baffled looks. I rolled my eyes at the ceiling and then burst into giggles.

Hey, Dave, we never had it so good! I exclaimed. Not only did we get two at a time, but we got to pick their sexes, and now we get to pick their exact birthdays! What more can you ask? We all laughed again.

Lori, David managed to ask. They are sister and brother, aren’t they? Or what choices do we have there? More laughter. We were ready to release pent-up anxiety and strain. Lori pulled herself together first.

No, no, David, she answered. They really are sister and brother."

Just then Krista appeared in the doorway with a worried expression on her lovely face. What are you guys so hilarious about? Bree, it’s getting cold out there! Boran’s shivering and Sophea’s sitting on her feet to keep them warm. Sweetie wants to take pictures of us all.

OK, Krista, I answered quickly. I’ll be right there. We stood up and filed quietly into the kitchen and out the kitchen door.

Where’ve you been? Grandma Scotkey called over to us. I want to take a family picture. Come on over here by the roses. Right in that little patch of light. Come on, Boran. Yes, you too, Krista. I want all five of you together.

Oh, I’ll get my camera. I want a shot of this, too! Lori announced. We huddled together, arms around each other.

Now, remember! Cheese everyone! Grandma Scotkey sang out as she posed, eye to camera, ready for the shot. Oooops! Oh, dear! she complained as the bottom of her camera dropped to the ground We all broke into fits of laughter.

Sweetie dropped the rest of her camera on a lawn chair with an expression of exasperation, and threw her arms towards the sky in a mock gesture of despair. Again, we roared with laughter.

Malis ran up to me. Your mother is a real ham, Brenda, she said. "Sophea and Boran love her! She’s been telling them about her cat, and how he washes the dishes for