The Elves and the Shoemaker (Cambodia Edition)

Yesterday I returned home to find my apartment much cleaner than when I had left.

At first, I thought I must have tidied up more than I had remembered. After a careful  walk through, however, I saw that my woven entry mats had been washed and hung over a chair arm to dry, the kitchen mats had been cleaned as well, and when I inspected it — the mop on the front porch was damp. My garbage can was emptied and the giant cardboard box of recycling was cleared and returned to the kitchen.

At first, I thought that perhaps Pek had just emptied the garbage (as he sometimes does, bless his heart) but I could tell that the floors had been washed and the chairs straightened with extra care. It was all done subtly, respectfully, and left there without explanation. I kept thinking of the Grimm’s Fairytale of The Elves and the Shoemaker, and realized that the mystery cleaner would of course had to have been Pek.

Pek with the neighbor's baby, in his chair across the street (of course). Photo Credit: Kieran Ball (former tenant and Kiva Fellow)

Why did Pek clean up our apartment? What did we do to deserve this? This would have been an effort that took Pek a few hours, at least. Not to mention that the recycling box probably weighed as much as he did and that he’s permanently stooped over, making sweeping and mopping difficult. Yet, I knew it had to have been Pek. I was holding back tears when I realized just what Pek had done, only out of kindness, and for no clear ulterior motive.

In the last few months, Pek and I have exchanged many home signs, stories and smiles, and despite the obvious cultural, lingual, and age barrier, we have formed a friendship. I give him bags of soda and beer cans after a night on the porch with the Kiva Fellows. He thanks me and puts them in a big garbage bag in his yard downstairs, for when the man comes to collect recycling and he can sell it off for profit.

I gave him a few articles of clothing left behind by the previous tenants – just some pants and tops, and a free cotton T-shirt I was given from a competing microfinance bank.

When Carson was gifted with soda drinks during her research here, I gave them to Pek, knowing he would appreciate it. When we had dried Khmer food in the kitchen that Jeff and I didn’t eat, I brought them down to Pek, along with several containers and jars like I’d seen his family clean and use in the past.

Pek and Kieran on our porch. Photo Credit: Someone with Kieran’s camera

Jeff will hand out some fruit or vegetables when he returns from the market – a mango, a mangosteen, some oranges or a carrot.

In return, or perhaps independent from these gestures, Pek continues to watch over Jeff and I with unfailing care. He waters our plants every day, coming upstairs around 730 am with an old paint can, filled to the brim with water. When he comes later in the morning, and I’m scrambling to get ready, he tells me my motordriver is here and points downstairs and laughs.

Sometimes I notice that my dustpan from sweeping the porch has been cleaned out when I return home, or that the dishes have been stacked neatly by the side of the sink after Pek has collected ice.

When I walk up to Jenn’s motorbike outside the house, Pek tells me to hold my purse close and tests the seat first to make sure its secure. He points to the pegs and tells me where to put my feet on the bike (even though I’ve done it dozens of times).

Each day, Pek wheels out Jeff’s bicycle and puts it by the front gate — inside, in the shade — for Jeff to ride to work. When Jeff returns in the evening, Pek brings the bike in at night before he goes to bed, locking it securely inside his house. On the weekends, when the bike is out in the yard for hours at a time, Pek covers it with his krama to protect it from the hot sun.

When Jeff leaves for the weekend, Pek will ask how many days he’s gone for the weekend, and he knows not to worry about the bike. When I went to Sihanoukville this past weekend, I told Pek how many days I’d be gone, waving goodbye as I walked out the gate with my backpack, and holding up 2 fingers for the two days I’d be gone.

When I come home from work, I like to run into Pek and exchange some signs before I head upstairs or to dinner. He’s always full of stories, though I’ll admit I can only understand about half of them. He’ll tell me about fires, about break ins, about weddings and about how much the neighbors paid for their new motorbike.

My House Elf. Photo Credit: Kieran Ball

This morning when I was getting ready to leave for work, Pek shuffled in and mimed that he had dusted and swept my house the day before. I kept giving him the Khmer sign of thank you, thank you. Pek proceeded to flick on and off the lights and tell me he’d change the two bulbs that are out. (How he’ll reach the high ceiling, I’m not sure – probably with help from a nephew.) He told me I was missing the padlock on the back door (which I had used to lock my bike), and waited for me to fetch it. Watching as I replaced the lock, Pek gave me a big smile and shuffled back to the kitchen to collect his ice. I went back to the front room and scooped some of my shortbread cookies (which I made for Maxima last night) and put them in a ziploc bag. I walked back to the kitchen and gave them to Pek, explaining that they were to eat. Then, nearly late for work, I walked out the front door and left it and my gate open, knowing Pek would lock up.

I’m really going to miss Pek when I leave.

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