Where the Sea Takes Me

by Heidi R. Kling

  “And this is Deni,” Tom began. “We met in an unbelievable way. Remember when Andy and I helped out a bit at that pesantren in Indo after the tsunami? Well, this one here struck quite a friendship with him—this is Andy’s kid, Sienna…helluva girl. Like a daughter to me, so treat her well.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Sienna. Wow you look…”

  “Just like my mom? I know. People are always saying that.”

  “She was a beautiful, dedicated woman. Much admired.”

  “Thanks,” I said, wishing I could have seen them together. “Did you work with her?”

  “I did.”

  I waited for her to add more but she didn’t.

  “How’s your father?” she asked instead. Petite with long black hair, her features were similar to those of other Cambodian women I’d seen, but she was put together in a specifically French way.

  “He’s good. He’s remarried.” I shrugged the last part like what can I do?

  “To Vera Lane. You remember Vera?” Tom chimed in.

  “Of course. Vera. How is she?”

  “Well. She’s Vera,” I said, then paused. Vera had been cool about this whole trip and backing me up about Deni was nice. “I mean, she’s good. She’s Vera. She’s herself. Uh.”

  Tom bellowed. “Quit while you’re under water, kid. Vera is fine. She’s happy to be with Andy of course. But the stepmom thing, hard to adjust to for the kid. Can’t blame her. But also, poor Vera, following up Hope is not an easy task.”

  “No one can follow up Hope,” I said, my tone snappier than I intended.

  “Except maybe her mini-me,” Tom said affectionately elbowing me.

  “Well. That’s…okay. That’s nice.”

  “It’s too bad Vera and Andy couldn’t make it, but we are glad you are both here. Deni and Sienna, my assistant Amelie is about your age. She’s training to be a nurse.”

  Amelie, with a razor-edge haircut, green eyes, and Southeast Asian features was intimidatingly cool and incredibly beautiful. She looked like a model. In a white nurse’s jacket, she eyed me, then looked from me, back to Deni and back to me, as if wondering what our deal was. “Hi,” she said.

  “Amelie’s father, Hunt, runs the swim program. He’s Australian and her mother is Cambodian.”

  “Do your parents know my dad, too?”

  “Yes. GMO docs are an incestuous bunch,” Amelie said, flicking her eyebrow like, tell you later.

  Bonding move. Nice.

  “Yeah I know. My dad married a fellow counselor, as you are clearly hearing too much about now. Sorry.” I shrugged. “You know family dynamics.”

  “All too well unfortunately,” she said. “And I see you all look cozy, too?” She looked at me and Deni. “Next-gen antics?” she said with a laugh that I couldn’t tell was more friendly bonding, or a little judgy. I chose to assume it was former.

  “Oh,” I started to explain…but how much should I explain? “We, uh, know each other from the orphanage in Indonesia.”

  “Interesting. An Indonesian orphanage doesn’t exactly sound like a place for shenanigans.”

  Deni looked at me and I blushed.

  Shenanigans. That was a good word for it.

  Thank goodness Dr. Chhim was all business and got us back on topic. “Thomas, the clinic is swarmed today. I’m hoping you can help me out for a few hours, take the histories and narratives of some of the new patients, and med check the current ones?”

  “Your wish is my command, Dr. Chhim,” he said with a deep, dramatic bow. “Sienna is all set to teach the swim lessons.”

  “Excellent. The program is excited to have you, Sienna. How many students can you fit into a day? Our lessons tend to be one hour.”

  I nodded. “One hour is my normal length. Usually no more than three per group. For safety.”

  “Groups of three sounds fair,” Dr. Chhim said. “Some of the children are very anxious. They are scared of trying new things. They are scared of the water. How do you feel about handling that aspect of it?”

  “Good. I get scared kids at home, and it’s just a matter of easing them into it.”

  Tom and Dr. Chhim shared a look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s more than a child fearing the water. These girls suffer from extreme PTSD. They’ve been through things you cannot imagine. They are scared of anything new, and they don’t like being touched, so you’ll have to be extra patient,” Dr. Chhim explained.

  “Sienna can teach anyone. She is great with children,” Deni said.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly.

  “It is true,” Deni said.

  Deni’s declaration of faith didn’t seem to help Dr. Chhim’s reluctance. “Amelie will help you.”

  I eyed Amelie who looked annoyed in a I thought you were here to help me, not the other way around way.

  “I probably don’t need help,” I said. “I worked with the kids in Indonesia, and back home some of the kids were really nervous. I’ve even worked with autistic kids and—”

  “It is a different population than you’re used to working with, Sienna,” Dr. Chhim said. “I know you helped out at the orphanage and those kids are afraid of water, but these girls are experiencing quite a different form of anguish. It’s PTSD, but because they have been sexually violated, some at very young ages, they are scared to speak of it. Many have been shunned by their villages after leaving with the men who took them, so they have no place to return to even if they are better. The stigma, culturally, brands them for the rest of their life. It’s absurdity. It’s not the girls’ fault of course.”

  Her shoulders tightened, and her eyes flashed with anger.

  “These girls were taken against their will and made to do terrible things, yet they are treated like they’ve done something wrong. One of the walls we’re up against is getting their families to understand that the girls aren’t ‘stained’ because of forced trade.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply they weren’t suffering.”

  “No, it is fine. I just want you to be prepared. It is a big responsibility. You are a member of the care team now, not just teaching lessons. Swimming is just the backdrop of what you are really doing, which is helping to rebuild their broken spirits.”

  Whoa.

  I hadn’t thought about it that way. Would I be able to do this? My experience compared to what these girls needed was practically nonexistent. I wasn’t a therapist.

  “Sienna will be fine,” Tom said, gently resting a hand on Dr. Chhim’s shoulder. She seemed anxious and shaken up herself.

  She sighed under the weight of his support. “Thank you, Thomas. I didn’t mean to doubt you, Sienna. I just want to make sure you understand that it won’t be easy.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  Now I sure did.

  “Surely you’re making some headway with the girls?” Tom asked.

  She sighed. “The challenges are big. Sometimes I feel we’re running in circles, scrambling over one wall, and then a new one is in front of us.”

  “Pop a mole,” Tom said, gesturing like his hand was a hammer and he was hitting invisible nails down. I knew what he was referring to, but the rest of his audience clearly did not.

  “What?” Deni asked. Amelie glanced at her phone, checking the time. Surely, they were all busy and wanting to be done with us and on to their busy days.

  “You know that game? You pound one mole down, and another one appears from another hole. BAM! BAM! Frustrating.”

  She nodded, but it was obvious she had no clue what he was talking about.

  “It’s a dumb game. Don’t worry about it.” I flashed Tom a look.

  “His analogy makes sense though,” Amelie said. “Every time we fix something a new problem pops up.”

  “That’s what I was saying in the hotel, too.” I turned to her, really wanting her to like me and to see how serious I was about helping them
. “These disgusting guys need to be caught and prosecuted before they can hurt other kids. I get the whole model of helping them once they’ve been hurt, but how about preventative measures? Stopping them in the act before they ruin these girls.”

  “You’re from the Wild West. You get it.” Amelie’s fierce green eyes met mine, and for a moment I felt that hopeful bond between us growing, so I continued down the same track.

  “The hotel we’re staying at is known for sex trade,” I said. “I don’t understand why they don’t shut it down or get the perps right then and there. Catch them in the act.”

  Amelie pounded her small fist into her other palm. “It is corrupt as all hell,” she explained. “The traders bribe the local police.” She growled. “It’s so frustrating.”

  “Amelie,” Dr. Chhim said. It wasn’t quite a chastisement, but it definitely was a warning. The way she said it made me think Amelie had outbursts of her own that needed Dr. Chhim’s attentions.

  Amelie’s sharp shoulders sagged, and her white nurse’s coat slipped off her arm exposing a tattoo or something I couldn’t quite catch. Part of a flower maybe?

  She caught me looking at it and pulled the sleeve back up. I wondered why she was involved in this cause.

  “Fine,” Amelie said. “But if they’re working here, they should know what we’re up against.”

  I was suddenly even more curious about Amelie.

  Why was she so passionate about this subject?

  Deni, ever the diplomat in professional settings offered with a grin, “We are here now, and while we cannot fix everything, we will try and help these girls. Can I interview them for my film?”

  Dr. Chhim adjusted Amelie’s sleeve as she answered Deni’s question. “If they are willing, yes.”

  “You might focus on the swimming first, Deni,” Tom suggested.

  “And so you know, we serve many children for many reasons. Adults, too,” Dr. Chhim added.

  “Swim lessons aren’t only for girls who’ve escaped the sex trade?” I asked.

  “We offer them for all poor Cambodian kids but find being in the water is especially healing for the victims. Many Cambodians do not know how to swim. In fact, drowning is the leading cause of death for children over one year old in Cambodia. A friend of mine, a Brit who teachers here, started a swim program because of this death rate that often goes unreported due to the victims never being taken into the hospital. In general, we are non-swimmers.” She flushed, glancing at Tom before looking back at me. “I must confess, I don’t even know how to swim. My friend is after me to learn.”

  “It was the same in Indonesia,” Deni added. “Why so many Acehnese drowned when the tsunami came. We use the sea for work, not only play.”

  “The numbers here are astounding. There are more child drowning deaths in Cambodia than from HIV/AIDS, malaria, dengue fever, and traffic accidents, yet it is a simple thing to fix—if we can get to the populations and integrate it into their lives,” Dr. Chhim said.

  A problem I could help fix.

  Compared to trying to save those girls, teaching them to swim felt manageable. “Where are the swim lessons?”

  “There’s an Olympic-sized public pool here in Phnom Penh—they even have a swim team that races in the Mekong River.”

  “Ooh, the Mekong River? We were reading up on that on the plane,” I said.

  “We want to see these junk boats, you call them?” Deni said.

  “Junk boats. Yes.”

  “You should definitely do that while you’re here. It’s touristy, but super cool. Make sure you sit on the top of the boat,” Amelie said. “Angkor Watt is the bomb.”

  “Thanks.” I looked to Deni like put a pin in that idea, and we held each other’s eyes like here goes.

  You and me.

  Adventure time.

  Chapter Twelve

  The pool was huge, with concrete stadium seating climbing up to the sky.

  Storm clouds shifted above us, darkening. Foreboding.

  “Well, hello there,” a tall, attractive, very fit man about my dad’s age said in a thick Aussie accent. I liked him instantly.

  “You must be Hunt? Or Mr. Hunt? Dr. Hunt?”

  “Unlike the rest of the gang, I’m just a civilian. Call me Hunt. You must be Sienna, Andy and Hope’s kid.”

  Andy and Hope.

  “Yes. I’m Sienna.” I reached out to take his hand. He took it, shaking it enthusiastically.

  “And you met my daughter, eh?”

  “Yep. She’s going to help me.”

  “Great! Hope she didn’t give you too hard a time?”

  “She was…fine,” I said.

  I wasn’t going to lie. She was definitely not the warm and fuzzy sort. In the small changing room, she chucked a one-piece swimsuit at me like it was a dirty rag, and after sizing me up and down said, “That should work. You might want to rinse it off first. I don’t think it’s been washed for a while.”

  She carefully pulled an obviously clean black suit out of her bright orange bag and slipped into it.

  “Oh. Thanks for the warning,” I said, eyeing the wrinkled swimsuit.

  She didn’t look at me or respond. “Meet me at the pool. Don’t be late.”

  O-kay.

  “She’s not very friendly with strangers,” Hunt explained in his fabulous Australian accent.

  “Why?” I asked, wrapping the large white towel around me tighter as the hot wind picked up.

  He looked at me as if surprised I asked, but then shook it off. “I’m sure she’ll tell you. Besides, she’s more growl than bite anyway.”

  “She did growl earlier in the office.”

  “Course she did.” He grinned. “You know, you look a lot like your mum. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Never,” I said, trying to hide my smile.

  “Ah! First time for everything isn’t it!”

  Hunt was the more attractive Australian version of Big Dr. Tom.

  How did jaded, intense Amelie spring from him?

  “Let me know if you need any help with the Sheilas. Or with the other one, too.”

  Clearly, he meant his daughter.

  “Your students might be a little difficult at first, but I’m sure Sophany—I mean Dr. Chhim—filled you in on that?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You’ll be fine. I can see already you have your mom’s instincts and grit.”

  “You can?”

  “Aussies can read people like books.”

  I smiled. “Duly noted.”

  “These…traded girls, they…clearly have issues. Rightly so. Just don’t feel badly if they don’t respond right away. Use your instincts. Use your people skills. Think beyond what you’re doing, and you’ll be okay.”

  Shielding my eyes from the sun glaring through the clouds, I winced at his words: traded girls.

  His eyes clouded over. “You can’t strip away innocence without taking away happiness, too.”

  He headed off toward the group of Cambodian children he was teaching. They looked between five and ten or so. They were waiting on the other side of the pool with another adult. They must be non-victim kids.

  I watched them, thinking how fortunate they were to be normal. As if not being a victim was a good enough reason to be considered “normal.”

  Perspective was funny like that.

  The girls he was working with, all healthy looking, petite Cambodians with dark hair, dark eyes, and in matching one-piece swimsuits, splashed about happily before swimming off with Hunt to practice freestyle.

  I watched the healthy, happy, innocent girls practice with their coach until Dr. Chhim approached with three girls who looked entirely different than the ones in the pool.

  “Hello, Sienna. Here are your girls.”

  Three girls, one shyer than the next, stared at the ground.

  “Girls, this is Sienna.”

  Only one looked up at me, the smallest one.

  “Hi!” I said, way too cheerfully.
“I’m Sienna. Are you ready to go into the water?”

  Please be ready.

  They didn’t look at me.

  They didn’t answer.

  “They are a little…shy,” Dr. Chhim said, looking at me like I told you.

  And traumatized.

  This might be much harder than I thought.

  “It’s okay,” she encouraged as I tried to refrain from imagining all the horrible things done to these girls. Atrocities that turned them from the carefree kids like the ones in the pool to these ghost-like wisps next to me. “You’re doing fine.”

  Was I? I urged myself to continue, offering in a cheerful, upbeat voice. “If you’re up for it, today we’re going to learn to blow bubbles. Bubbles. Like this. In the pool.”

  I demonstrated in the air.

  Dr. Chhim translated.

  One girl, about my age, one about sixteen or so, and the smallest of the three—she only looked about twelve years old, which sickened me to the core as I imagined the horrors that had been committed upon a girl so young—asked Dr. Chhim a question.

  “What did she ask?”

  “She wants to know, ‘What is bubbles in the pool?’”

  “Oh! Like this.” I crawled down beside the pool, stuck my face in the cool water, and blew bubbles. The youngest girl giggled. The older, more serious one, nodded.

  Progress.

  I decided to do one better and jumped all the way into the pool, dipping my face under the water that smelled strongly of chlorine, and blew a stronger and longer series of bubbles. They watched from the bench with curious looks on their faces.

  “Okay? Bubbles? Do you want to try?”

  “Bubbles,” said the girl who looked around seventeen, with long black hair and a beautiful face. She tucked a swatch of straight hair behind her ear exposing a jagged scar running down her cheek.

  I could only imagine how she got that. Breathe, Sienna, breathe.

  “Bubbles. Yes. You want to try?”

  Dr. Chhim translated and the girl came over and looked over the edge of the pool.

  “This is Daevy. Her name means ‘moonlight.’ Cambodians are mostly Buddhist and named for beautiful phenomena’s in nature.”

  “Hi, Daevy. What a beautiful name.”