“Channa, bA-a kao-ao moung man?” I ask the younger of my host sisters.
Blank stare.
I try again, using the negative. “Channa bA-a OT kao-ao moung man?”
“Khnom ot yul A.” She says, not understanding. She is sitting still, uncharacteristic for her usual vigor. I say it again. Slower, louder, pointing, acting, in English, in Chinese.
”…Bong!!!” Channa shouts, calling Pisey, giving up on me.
“Pisey, Channa bA-a kao-ao moung man?”
“Oh,” Pisey says, laughing. “She always wears clothes, Hanna.”
Blank stare from me.
Channa is dying laughing, rolling on the floor, laughing.
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