The Rent Collector

Sang finds some literature of her own, a pamphlet entitled Sy Mao’s Advice for Growing Rice. What interests Sang, however, is that someone has written “and children” (105) underneath the title, giving the text a different meaning. Sang thinks this is very funny and explains it to her mother, who asks, “Do two written words turn ordinary instructions into literature?” (106). Sang is unsure but explains that “the two added words cause [her] to look at the ordinary sentences differently,” which is, Sang explains, “magical” (106).

Sang shows the document to Sopeap, who says that “[w]ords […] are not only powerful, they are more valuable than gold” (107). Sang is unsure, but Sopeap explains: “Words have built and lost fortunes, Words have saved and taken lives. Words have won and lost great kingdoms” (107). She even quotes Buddha, who said that the “words we utter should be chosen with care, for people will hear them and be influenced by them for good or ill” (107).

Sang then asks why Sopeap, who understands the power and value of words, lives at the dump. Sopeap responds, “Words are also like ropes […] We use them to pull ourselves up, but if we are not careful, they can also bind us down—at times by our own doing” (107). Sang does not understand what Sopeap means, but she does later share with Ki that Sopeap thinks he is right to stand up to the gangs. Sang makes him promise, however, not to end up like Captain Ahab, who “dies in the end” (108).

In their next lesson, Sopeap brings Sang Sarann, a beautifully illustrated children’s book about a Cambodian girl. This story, Sopeap tells Sang, “comes from a rather distinguished family of stories—sisters, if you will, that deserve discussion” (109). Sarann is the Cambodian version of Cinderella, and Sopeap explains to Sang that the story “can be found in hundreds of versions all over the world, in every country, continent, and culture” (124).

Sopeap tries to get Sang to understand that “[p]eople living on distant islands of the seas, isolated from all other civilizations […] also have their own Sarann stories as well” (125). She and Sang discuss why this might be, and Sopeap argues “that as human beings, we are born to hope” and all humans share “the desire to believe, to look forward to better days, to want them, to expect them” (125). Sopeap points out that this raises additional questions: Where does this desire come from? Is it genetic? Is it “a survival mechanism?” (126). Sopeap, however, thinks it goes deeper, arguing that humans “keep writing the same plots, with the same characters, teaching the same lessons” because “the original idea [is] so intrinsic, inherent, and ingenious, so fundamental to our existence, that we can’t help but be drawn back” (126). Sang does not quite grasp what she means, and Sopeap continues to try to explain:

‘Stories teach us not to give up hope because there are times in our own journey when we mustn’t give up hope. They teach endurance because in our lives we are meant to endure. They carry messages that are older than the words themselves, messages that reach beyond the page’ (127).

Sang responds by asking why Sopeap gave up teaching, before asking about Sopeap’s religious beliefs: “[Do you] believe that our ancestors care about us, that they watch over us?” (127). Sopeap wants to believe this but cannot always bring herself to do so because some stories do not end happily. This she claims is the “paradox”: We cannot take stories literally because we will be disappointed. However, if we do not take “these stories literally, if we treat these tales as simply entertainment, we miss the deepest, most life-changing aspects of the stories. We miss the entire reason they even exist” (127-28).