Mrs. Ouk

By Bunkong Tuon

 Mrs. Ouk wakes up before her husband and goes to the kitchen.  She puts a cup of rice into the pot and washes the rice with faucet water before putting the pot on the stove.  She places a salted perch in a hot frying pan.  Mrs. Ouk turns to the coffee machine on the sink table and presses its automatic brewing button. She goes back to the pan and flips the perch over.  She looks at the clock on the stove.  He has 20 minutes more.  She hurriedly takes the lid off the pot and lets the water simmer for five minutes until the rice is soft and tender.  She puts the dish of rice, the dish of fried perch, and a cup of coffee, in front of Mr. Ouk's empty chair.  She hears water running in the shower upstairs.   

In the bathroom Mrs. Ouk examines herself in the mirror as she washes her face.  She notices the pouches beneath her eyes, the wrinkles at each corner of her mouth, the speck of gray curving above her ear lobes. In the quiet solitude of dawn, her lips tremble as she pulls up the toilet seat.  She remembers that horrid face starring out from the mirror at her: the soft hands clasping her once-womanly face, with egg-shelled eyes lost in their own solitude.    

In the kitchen Mrs. Ouk takes a seat next to her husband.  She watches him add sugar and milk to his cup of coffee.

            "What?" Her husband asks.

            "Nothing."

            "Aren't you eating?"

           "I'm not hungry."

           She looks out the window. The light of the morning sun slowly climbs across the horizon, making early shadows of buildings and trees.  A few cars are backing out from driveways.  The neighborhood cat finds the Ouks' trash bin.  Mrs. Ouk notices its tail wagging over the side of the can as its head burrows deep in the trash container.  Mr. Ouk makes a clanking noise with the spoon against the plate.

           Mrs. Ouk turns to him.  "All done?"

           "No."

           She looks at the man in front of her.  He is not the man she married, the man who hid a few grain of rice in his pocket for her during the Khmer Rouge's regime.

 "Honey, another letter came last week.  Her daughter is terribly sick; she is asking us for $100.  I know it's much but we have to do something.  I feel responsible for her." 

 "I know, but what can I do?"  Mr. Ouk puts down the spoon.  "Listen, this is America, not Cambodia.  I have to work to keep what we have.  The rent.  The phone bill.  The electricity bill.  The car insurance.  They don't know that!  Over there, if they have a house they're all set.  They don't have to pay anything!  The cow feeds on the grass.  The pig on porridge.  Here is not like that!"

 "She's your sister-in-law.  Her daughter is your niece too.  They need the money to buy medicine.  Chuntea knows no one outside Cambodia but us.  We are her last resort, please."

 "My hands are tied."  He gets up taking the plate to the kitchen sink.  Mr. Ouk takes his briefcase on the table near the microwave, "You write back to her.  Tell her that we suffer here too.  Tell her that America isn't heaven.  There is no such thing as the harvest time, as New Year, as Pjoam Benn."

 He straightens his tie, goes over to the table, to finish his cup of coffee.  Mrs. Ouk gets up, walks to the window, and watches his Camry easily joins the flow of morning traffic.           

When the children are up Mrs. Ouk has on the kitchen table for them a carton of milk, orange juice, and a box of Captain Crunch cereal.  She calls out in English to the living room, "Henry and Monica, turn off the TV.  Breakfast is ready."

She watches the children eat their breakfast.  She hears the noise of the television from the living room.  She gets up to go to the living room to turn off the television.  She opens the refrigerator but forgets what it was she wanted.  She sits back and watches her children eat.  

                "Mommy, can you tell Henry not to bother Carla and me."

                "I didn't do anything, Mommy!"

                 "Yes, you did."

                 "What?"

                 "You follow us.  You want to do whatever we want to do, that's what!"

                 "I get lonely.  I need someone to play with."

                 "You two please stop it.  I have had enough this morning. Finish your breakfast and get ready for school."

 Mrs. Ouk walks the children to Grant Elementary School.  She holds their hands when crossing the streets.  She smiles and thanks the cross guard when they safely reach the other side of the street.  At the playground she watches Monica run off to look for Carla in a crowd of her peers, with Henry following behind his big sister.

 Mrs. Ouk takes a seat on the bench and watches other parents drop off their kids near the busy intersection.  After the 8 O'clock bell rang and the kids are in class, Mrs. Ouk sits on a swing observing how one of her feet, then the other, burrow in the sand, as both of her hands grip the chain to keep herself from falling.   

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