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Carol DeMent
Education
BA, The Evergreen State College, 1983
Teaching Certificate 1984
MPA, The Evergreen State College, 1993
Masters in Oriental Medicine, 2000, NW Inst. of AOM
Biographical Note
Peace Corps, Thailand 1985-1987; Refugee Center 1988-1993; Grantwriter 1993-2000; Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine, 2000 to present
Publication Type
Fiction
Scholastic
Academic Research
Latest Publication Title
Saving Nary
Publication Excerpt
An uneasy silence fell in the little cabin. Phally’s eyes were wide and darting, her nostrils flared, her body taut, all betraying the swirl of thoughts that Khath knew must be racing through her brain at this moment, searching for some way out of this situation. Soon, she would begin to bargain with him, as people always did in the interrogation cells of the Khmer Rouge. Hadn’t he done so himself? Resisted, bargained, begged to no avail. In the end, his death was postponed only because he had skills his jailers needed. He himself had seen the note scrawled in the margins of that day’s prisoner list by Comrade Duch, the commander of Site 21. Next to his name, seven words that settled his fate. “We can use him. Keep for a while.”
Everyone else on the list had been transported to the killing fields for execution. He knew about the open pits at Choeung Ek, filled with the bodies of the doomed, separated by a light dusting of lime. He’d been taken there one night to fix a generator that powered the floodlights illuminating the activity of the guards as they clubbed the prisoners one by one, then kicked the bodies into the pits. The roar of the generators muffled the screams of the dying so those waiting their turn in the small sheds nearby would not become crazed with fear. The executions were always performed at night, casting eerie shadows that masked the violence. Shadow puppets, enacting an epic tale.
He could have refused to do the work the Khmer Rouge assigned to him. He could have chosen death instead. But they would have found someone else to fix the machines. And despite the daily horrors of his life at Site 21, he had still wanted to live for the sake of someday finding his daughters. Khath’s gaze fell upon his hands, knuckles white from their deathlike grip upon the wooden bar from the door. Skilled hands, forced to labor for the Khmer Rouge, to keep the lights burning as they tortured and killed. What did that make him? How much innocent blood was splashed upon his own hands, by association? Sweat broke out along Khath’s hairline, a wave of nausea mixed with of revulsion swept through his body, building into a rage that hammered against his temples.
The quiet in the cabin was broken by the rasp of ragged panting. Startled, Khath realized the dog-like sounds were coming from him. With a cry, he swung the bar at the neatly arranged counter, scattering the ropes, the wire, the pliers. “These are just tools,” he screamed. “Tools, for repairing the cabin.” He pointed to the wall. “A shovel,” he cried. “For digging, not for killing. An ax to cut wood. I am not like your husband. I am not Khmer Rouge.”
How did Evergreen help you in your career?
Evergreen honed my writing and my critical reading skills, and exposed me to a vast array of literature and non-fiction. I got a great undergrad. education at TESC!