The Rent Collector Read Online Free PDF

speak. “Absolutely,” I say.
    “Is your husband . . . Ki Lim . . . is Ki okay? I heard he was . . . injured.” She stumbles around her words, as if they are drunk with her.
    I am not certain what she is asking. Sopeap has never cared about Ki—or anyone—bleeding or not. Before I can answer, she mumbles the real reason for the visit.
    “May I buy this book?”
    She is holding Nisay’s book, raising it toward me, as if I may have forgotten what happened on the night she stumbled away with it clutched in her hand.
    “The book is yours. I told you that when you were . . . ” I don’t know how to finish without offending. Her interruption saves my awkwardness.
    “How much?”
    “No. Sopeap, I gave you the book.”
    It’s as though I am speaking a strange language and she can’t comprehend my meaning. Seconds pass before she processes the notion.
    “Thank you.” The phrase thank you coming from Sopeap Sin is about as common as fresh air at Stung Meanchey. What she says next only compounds my puzzlement.
    “I will mark your rent for this month as paid in full.”
    I choke, stumble, and then grab at my ears. Sopeap Sin, the Rent Collector, the greediest person I have ever known, has never been concerned about our well-being, and she has certainly never forgiven any rent.
    And then I realize I must be dreaming. I bite my lip—it hurts. I glance around the room—it’s our home at the dump. Surely, if I were dreaming, I’d be living in a place nicer than this.
    “That is kind,” I finally reply. “It will help us out a great deal.”
    She lingers, as if she has more that needs to be said. “The other night . . . I was . . . I had been drinking. I don’t remember much . . .”
    It is my turn to interrupt. “Sopeap, there is no need to explain.” My words lie. I desperately wish to understand. More important, I wonder if now is the right time to pose my question. I take so long debating with myself that she assumes we are finished and turns to leave. She is three steps away when I call out.
    “Sopeap?”
    She pauses, pivots, waits. “Yes?”
    “Will you teach me how to read?”
     
    *****
     
    “I don’t like it, Sang Ly. It’s just not right.”
    I had expected Ki Lim to be excited. Can’t he see that if I learn to read, I can teach Nisay, and then, perhaps, our son can follow in better footsteps? Our only other hope is to enroll him in one of the NGO charity schools when he gets older, but there are thousands of destitute Cambodian children and very few openings. As a mother, I need a greater hope than that.
    “Fine. If not me, then she can teach you,” I say.
    This irritates Ki further. “Don’t be foolish. I dig through stinking garbage every day just so we can eat!”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just . . .” How do I explain? “Ki, if we don’t give Nisay every possible chance to do better . . .”
    Ki sighs, and I can’t tell if it’s a sign of disgust or surrender. “I just don’t like our son being around Sopeap Sin,” he adds. “She’s a witch, and I don’t trust her.”
    I wait to tell Ki about Sopeap’s conditions. He would never understand. I’m not sure I understand. After he leaves, I revisit in my head the conversation I had with Sopeap.
    “Why? Why do you want to read?” she had asked, obviously a bit unsettled by my request.
    I should have been prepared with a quick reply, but I wasn’t. And to make matters worse, Nisay, who was sound asleep on the floor, awoke with a start and began to holler. Then I realized he was my cue.
    “I need to be able to teach my son to read stories, like the book you hold in your hand . . . for his sake.”
    “Is that why you gave me the book? So I would teach you to read?” With every word, her tone hardened and I questioned my judgment in asking.
    “No, I . . . well, yes, yes, I did. I saw how much the book meant to you and I hoped that you’d see how important reading will be