Spice. Robert A. Webster

      -Chapter One-

      Rotha peered out of the hut’s doorway. She smiled, pushed strands of black hair behind her ears, went down the wooden steps, and over to her sons. “Ravuth, you and your brother go get the *tror bek for supper,” she said.

      The teenager looked up from where he and his younger brother sat playing and groaned.

      “Now, Ravuth,” said his mother, wagging her finger.

      “Okay, come on Oun,” said Ravuth standing, and holding his brother’s hand they headed towards the jungle.

      The air felt humid and Ravuth wiped his arm across his moist forehead. He turned back towards the village and looked up at the Cardamom Mountains. “I wish I was a bird and could fly above the mountains, it would be cool up there,” he said, smiling at Oun.

      The year was 1975, and unbeknownst to the secluded village, Cambodia was in turmoil. The country was at the end of a war but the beginning of a nightmare, leading to a period of genocide affecting every Cambodian.

      Pearls of perspiration now trickled down Ravuth’s face. The sores on his hands stung pitilessly as the salt in his sweat rubbed against the worn handle of his machete. Once again, he lifted his aching arm and hacked into the foliage. His thirst raged and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, but he had to keep going for the sake of his younger brother.

      “We’re lost, aren’t we Ravuth?” The fear in Oun’s voice made it tremble.

      Ravuth glanced back at the small dirty face behind him. It was his fault they’re lost, and should never have wandered off the trail. His mother told him repeatedly never to leave the recognised paths, but he thought he knew better.

      The boys knew the jungle surrounding their secluded village where their family had lived for generations, living off the diverse plants and animals found around their jungle domain. Collecting fruits and vegetables from the jungle was a daily task that the teenage Ravuth and his younger brother, Oun, had carried out for years. The route was always the same. However, today the boys decided to explore and maybe discover a new area that may contain more vegetables.

      Ravuth and Oun had been roaming around lost for over an hour in this dense, unforgiving undergrowth. With his last ounce of energy, Ravuth hacked through a thick vine and the two boys emerged into a glade. Ravuth smiled, “We’ll be fine,” he said with a jauntiness he didn’t feel. “We can rest here and then retrace our steps.”

      “Look at that Ravuth,” said Oun, pointing to a strange plant nestling between small rocky outcrops. “And look at that hole near the rocks. It could be a cave entrance.”

      The boys went over to the plant and Ravuth bent down and peered into the cave.

      “What’s in it? How big is it?” Oun asked.

      “I don’t know, It’s dark so I can’t see far inside,” said Ravuth with his head and shoulders inside the cave entrance. “I can squeeze in and look.”

      “No way,” said Oun panicking, “Let’s just go, we don’t know what’s inside.”

      Ravuth, heeding his younger brother’s warning didn’t enter and stood.

      Oun’s attention then shifted to the plant, which he uprooted. The top of the plant was a gold-coloured round bulbous seed pod with a corrugated disc top. Its long slender stem surrounded by large green leaves appeared similar in shape and size of Chinese lettuce with a small, carrot-shaped white root. “I’ve never seen this plant before, what is it?” Oun asked and handed the plant to Ravuth.

      “I don’t know, I’ve never seen one either. I will take it home, mother will know. Perhaps it tastes good,” he said, sniffing the plant’s top.

      From what his parents taught them at an early age about identifying poisonous plants, Ravuth knew the plant was safe to eat. “It tastes bitter,” he said, chewing a leaf and grimacing, “Maybe it will taste better cooked.”

      Suddenly, they heard several twigs crack and the surrounding foliage shook. The boys felt terrified as a young male tiger crashed through the undergrowth and stopped several feet away from them.

      Indo-Chinese Tigers roam the jungles surrounding the Cardamom Mountains. They distanced themselves from humans as much as possible as they considered them annoying and did not appear as if they would taste good. However, two of these small beasties had disturbed this tiger’s favourite sunshade spot.

      Ravuth stuffed the strange plant into his pocket and he and Oun raised their machetes, pointing them at the young tiger.

      The tiger growled and paced back and forth in front of the boys.

      Back away slowly,” Ravuth ordered with every muscle fibre, every sinew alive and ready to react to the moment.

      While watching the tiger pace around growling and looking at them with disdain, the terrified brothers backed away towards the thick undergrowth.

      With the humans away from his cave entrance, the tiger walked to it, cocked his leg, and sprayed his domain with his scent. He glanced at the boys and then crawled into the cave.

      Ravuth and Oun watched the tiger going into the cave and rushed into the jungle.

      Stumbling through jungle terrain for twenty-minutes, they came upon a clearing covered in familiar vegetation. They stopped, caught their breaths, and smiled. “Tror bek! Great, I know where we are now,” said a relieved Ravuth.

      “Good, let’s just get some and go home,” said an even more relieved Oun.

      The bedraggled boys reached their village late in the afternoon. They expected to receive a scolding from their mother. Instead, they noticed that all the villagers gathered inside the large wooden communal hut in the centre of the village. Confused, Ravuth and Oun sneaked past the large hut and went home. They knew that their father had gone to *Koh Kong early that morning to sell his trinkets and did not expect him back until the following day. However, when they reached their wooden stilted shack, they saw their father’s bicycle outside. They went up the steps, walked inside, and saw a square black canvas bag on the table. Unsure what was happening, they put the strange plant along with the vegetables into a bowl and headed for the communal hut.

      “What’s happening?” asked Oun.

      “I don’t know. I am confused too. Why’s father home so early and I wonder what’s in that bag on the table?” Ravuth asked.

      The brothers made their way to the large communal hut. From the doorway, they saw their mother sitting on the floor. Their father, with tears running down his grimy face and with a look of terror, addressed the shocked looking villagers. Ravuth and Oun sat on the floor beside their mother.

      “What’s wrong mother, why does father look so afraid and covered in scratches, and why is he speaking to everyone as the village chief instead of Ren?” asked Ravuth. He looked at his frightened mother, who whispered,

      “Ren’s dead and your father’s telling people about what happened in Koh Kong, so be quiet, and listen. He’s almost finished and we will explain to you later.” Although afraid, Rotha tried to appear calm for the boys’ sake.

      Bemused, Ravuth looked around the gathered villagers. Ren’s children huddled around their weeping mother on the opposite side of the room, consoling one another, along with other families whose relatives had not returned. Ravuth and Oun had missed most of what their father had told the villagers, but seeing the faces of those present, they realised that it must be something serious. Once finished, their