Dragon House

by John Shors

  Sahn did his best to watch them go. Even with his crippled eyes, he knew that she was lovely, and that she loved the American. Are they doomed? he asked himself, thinking about the war, about how thousands of American soldiers were forced to run from their Vietnamese lovers. The soldiers had either died or escaped to America. And the women had remained, their fates usually unpleasant.

  Will it end for her in tragedy? Sahn wondered, hoping that it wouldn’t. She seemed so full of life and promise—a woman who could carry Vietnam into the future.

  “Be careful,” he whispered, trying to locate her scooter in the chaos, hoping that the past was dead and that this time the American would stay.

  MAI HAD NEVER BEEN IN THE back of a pickup truck. Under normal circumstances, she’d have enjoyed the experience. The wind would have caressed her face while the movement of the truck made her smile and laugh.

  As it was, she couldn’t have been more despondent. She sat next to Minh with her back near the cab, her feet bound together with electrical wire. Loc sat opposite them. He’d already expelled some of his rage, and Mai’s stomach still ached from where he’d struck her. She had wet herself immediately afterward and now sat in her damp shorts, wishing that she’d never been born.

  Mai no longer bothered to wipe her tears. They simply ran down her face and fell to her lap. Though she wanted to comfort Minh, she didn’t have the strength to even find his eyes. Better to simply sit and watch the landscape pass. She didn’t know where they were going, other than that they were headed north. She’d heard this bit of information as Loc spoke with their driver before they left. The men had laughed and smoked from Loc’s pipe.

  For the first time in her life, Mai wanted to use the pipe. Perhaps it would free her, if even for a moment. To be free for a moment would be worth most any price. She’d tried to find her own freedom by going to the center, tried her hardest, but freedom had again been taken from her. Maybe she’d never even had it. Whatever the case, she was once again a slave to her own fate. Freedom was a myth.

  Mai glanced at the swiftly moving cement, wondering what it would feel like to tumble from the truck. Would the bus behind them crush her? Would she drift away as Tam had? Would anyone but Minh cry for her?

  Wishing she knew what death felt like, Mai looked at the sky. It seemed to be a deeper shade of blue here, beyond the city. Maybe death was like that—a deeper shade of blue where she could be born again.

  AN HOUR INTO THEIR DRIVE, NOAH wished he had his bottle of pain pills. Though Thien was an expert at avoiding potholes and debris, the road was rough, and his back throbbed from the constant jarring. He tried to reposition himself on the thickly padded seat, but nothing helped.

  Noah scrutinized his surroundings, hoping that luck would befall him and he’d see Mai and Minh on Loc’s scooter. The man’s baseball jersey would be hard to miss, even in the midst of the chaos around them. Noah’s gaze darted about more haphazardly than he’d have liked, but he found it impossible to remain calm, despite his training. He thought time and time again about how Minh had reached for him, about the fear that must grip the children. And the knowledge of their fear fueled him with a sense of desperation so powerful that he felt more like an animal than a man. His instincts dominated his logic. His adrenaline demanded immediate action. He needed to find and protect Mai and Minh, no matter what the cost to himself.

  But finding them seemed impossible. Though Noah had seen many unusual sights over the past few years, he was unprepared for what he saw now. The highway leading north reminded him of some sort of bizarre, postapocalyptic world. Thousands of buses, trucks, cars, and scooters weaved their way forward, trailed by clouds of dust and exhaust. The vehicles carried anything the mind could conceive—water buffalo, streetlamps, teak tree trunks, marble statues of Jesus, and the occasional bundle of old artillery shells. Alongside the highway, endless tin stalls served the needs of travelers. Food vendors were plentiful, as were repair shops, temples, and giant steel drums that served as mobile gas stations. All of the shops and buildings were accessed by scooter rather than by foot. People simply drove up and asked for what they wanted. Occasionally, the stalls vanished and the jungle sprang forward. Hundreds of hammocks hung from serpentine branches and supported weary travelers who’d paid a nominal fee for the pleasure of resting.

  The highway was being rebuilt in places and often detoured around projects powered by both modern-era heavy equipment and oxen. To Noah’s surprise, Thien didn’t follow traffic but drove directly through these undertakings, sometimes weaving in and out of vast earthmoving machines as if their scooter were an ant scurrying among turtles. She took such shortcuts whenever possible—driving on the wrong side of the highway if oncoming traffic was light or moving into the wakes of speeding buses that cast all other vehicles aside.

  Noah kept expecting her to stop for a drink, for a moment’s respite, but she drove on, stirring only to adjust her cap against the glare of the sun. He wanted to ask her to let him drive but knew that he could never make such rapid progress. Mai and Minh needed her to remain where she was, as she could best close the gap between the two groups. The scooter might as well have been an extension of Thien’s hands and feet. She and it weren’t separate entities, but one—an agile creature that he found to be almost magical. Thien slowed and darted and turned a second before obstacles or opportunities presented themselves. She anticipated the behavior of the traffic as if she were a boxer in the ring, constantly jabbing and defending.

  “How do you do it?” Noah asked after she held the side of a nearby truck as it moved toward them, threatening to send them careening down an embankment.

  “Do what?”

  “Drive like this.”

  “This? This is easy. Just wait until it gets dark. Then the driving will be difficult.”

  SAHN SAT UNCOMFORTABLY IN THE PLASTIC chair. He’d always preferred to stand, but since the American woman had offered him a seat, he had accepted her gesture. He now sat upright, with his arms crossed upon his chest. He stared at the empty playground, noting the seesaw, wondering where they’d put his swing set. The young grass was taller than when he’d last seen it. In another week it would need to be cut.

  He watched the blur of the foreigner emerge from the kitchen. She handed him a bottle of mineral water, which he took but didn’t taste. While most of the young people in the city drank filtered water, Sahn had grown up on tap water. Even if it was full of chemicals and parasites, he’d continue drinking it. Water shouldn’t come from a plastic bottle, he reasoned, hating how the containers littered the city.

  Iris sat beside him. “I feel like we should be doing something else,” she said, tapping her foot, her eyes bloodshot. “Isn’t there something else we could do?”

  Sahn studied her. “I already call police in all major cities,” he replied, wishing that they could talk in Vietnamese.

  “But you said they can’t always be trusted.”

  “Some can. Some cannot. That is why I tell your friends to go.”

  She leaned closer to him. “But what about Ho Chi Minh City? Should we be looking here? Maybe they’re still here.”

  Normally Sahn would have been irritated with anyone who asked such questions. But she’d told him about Tam and Qui, and he let her comments pass without rebuke. “Loc no stay here,” Sahn replied, carefully setting the bottle on the ground. “But if he do this, then I hear about it. And I catch him.”

  “You really think he’ll take them to Nha Trang?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why? Why are you so sure?”

  “As I say before, he from there. He know people there.” Sahn didn’t tell her that these people were dangerous—criminals who dwelled in the underworld, growing rich by smuggling opium. Sahn’s hope was that they’d stay far away from Loc, understanding that he’d kidnapped the children, and not wanting him to draw attention to themselves.

  Watching Sahn intently, Iris wondered where his thoughts lay. She knew he wasn’t tel
ling her everything. What’s he hiding? she asked herself, trusting him but wishing that he’d tell her more. Is he worried about Noah and Thien as well? Should I be back at the police station? Why in the world am I placing all my faith in him?

  Iris ran her hands through her hair, her emotions raw. She still ached from the deaths of Tam and Qui, and now that Mai and Minh had been kidnapped, it took all her remaining strength to try to rally her thoughts around bringing them home. Her only solace was what Noah had told her—that Loc needed them, and therefore he wouldn’t hurt them.

  “May I ask you something?” she said, still not used to his blank stare.

  “Depend on question.”

  “What’s to stop this from happening again? What if another child is taken?” She wiped sweat from her brow, feeling as if she were suffocating beneath her own perspiration. “I came here to house and educate children. Not to protect them. I don’t know how to do that.”

  “Your friend? With the leg? He can no protect them?”

  “His name is Noah.”

  “He no protect them?”

  “I don’t know if he’ll even stay.”

  “Then you must find someone. Someone strong to protect them.”

  Iris closed her eyes, unable to imagine searching for a security guard. She had too much to do without the additional burden of hiring another key person. The mere thought of it seemed to worsen her headache. She’d started to rub her brow when an inspiration struck, and she opened her eyes. “What about you?” she asked. “You could be that person.”

  “Me?”

  “Why not? You know the area. People respect you. No one would bother the children with you around.”

  Sahn wasn’t someone who was easily surprised. But Iris’s words caused him to bend toward her, as if he needed her to repeat them. He had assumed that she’d want somebody young and strong for the job, perhaps another foreigner whom she could speak with easily. Sahn had always believed that he’d be a policeman until someone discovered the truth about his eyes. And then his career and his life would be over. He’d find a tall bridge and start the search for his family. But now, with the American woman’s words lingering in his mind, he wondered if another fate might be possible. Could he watch over these children? Could he stand in the shade and listen to them play? Wouldn’t that be a better fate than walking the streets on his aching feet, looking for criminals he couldn’t see?

  Iris saw that he was torn and pressed home her point. “Please,” she said, leaning toward him. “I just . . . I can’t do this and worry about their safety. It’s too much. And the children deserve to live somewhere safe. They need to have someone watching over them.”

  “But I old.”

  “You’re not old.”

  Sahn twisted in his chair, wanting to tell her certain truths, but having never confided in anyone, he didn’t know what to say. “This is not . . . It is not good idea.”

  “Why not? I can pay you. I’ll figure out the money. I’ll get it from somewhere. Please. Mai and Minh . . . they’re out there. All alone. Because I couldn’t protect them. Please help me protect them.” Iris thought about Mai and Minh being held against their will, and her vision blurred. She turned from him, wiping her eyes.

  Sahn allowed her to regain her composure. “You . . . you must understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “In the war . . . Americans kill my family. And then I kill Americans.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Those are terrible times.”

  “I know. I’ve seen what they did.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you can still help me. Today. We’re talking about today, not something that happened decades ago.”

  Sahn nodded, glad that she didn’t hate him because he’d killed her countrymen. But what about my eyes? he asked himself. I must tell her about my eyes, and when I do she’ll no longer want me. Very well. I won’t lie to her. If I lied, and a child was hurt, then I’d be no better than the men I’ve sent away.

  “Won’t you please help me?” she asked, wanting to reach for his hands but holding back.

  “There is more.”

  “What?”

  “My . . . my eyes,” he said, his heartbeat speeding up. “They hurt in war. I no see well. No one know this. Only you.”

  “But you’re a policeman. How can you do that and not see?”

  He stiffened. “I see a little. And I listen. And people tell me many thing.”

  Iris ignored a fly that landed on her shoulder. “If you’d been here earlier, would Mai and Minh have been taken?”

  Sahn pursed his lips, needing to ask himself the same question. If I’d been on the playground, would Loc have dared to show his face? No, he wouldn’t have. He’d have stayed far away, and the children would be safe. “No,” Sahn finally responded. “If I here, they safe. If you always keep my eyes secret. If you tell people, then children no safe.”

  “Then I won’t tell anyone. Never. Only you and I will know.”

  He sighed, still surprised by the conversation, and not knowing what to think. Could he work for an American? Would his parents forgive him? Though he knew that he’d be happier here, protecting and listening to children, he wasn’t sure what to say.

  “We could get you better glasses, you know,” Iris said, still tapping her foot, desperately wanting his help. “You could go to a doctor, in secret, and he could look at your eyes.”

  “New glasses?”

  “Why not try to see better? For the children’s sake. Do it for them.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t you want them to be safe? To learn and grow and be safe? Isn’t that why you come by here almost every day? Why you’re sending those four girls to me? You pretend it’s only to take my money, but you’re really looking after the children, aren’t you? You see them as . . . as the future of your country and you want to help them.”

  Sahn had never experienced someone looking inside him with such power. “Yes,” he replied, incapable of saying anything else.

  “Then help them. Help me. Please. You can work here and you’ll be doing such good.” Iris saw him hesitate, and when he looked away she couldn’t help but cry, “Do you understand . . . that if you’d been here . . . Mai and Minh wouldn’t be missing? They’d be safe. With us. Instead they’ve been taken. And I don’t know what’s going to happen to them. I just don’t. They’re gone and I couldn’t protect them. And they shouldn’t be alone out there. All alone and afraid.” Iris took several deep breaths, trying to gather herself, feeling nauseated as she thought of Mai and Minh.

  Sahn didn’t see her tears but heard them. He heard her sorrow and concern, and he knew that they were real. Though she was American, though her countrymen had killed his brothers and sisters, she cared for his people. She was good and pure, and he realized at that moment that he’d help her for as long as she wanted.

  Sahn stood up. “It time to find them,” he said, blinking at the sunlight, at the wetness within his eyes. “Together we go find them.”

  MINH WATCHED THE SUN SET OVER vast rice fields. The sunlight shimmered atop the water, green rows of rice stalks creating lines that separated the golden water into uniform rectangular shapes. Occasionally, marble tombs stretched above the water, surrounded by irises and other flowering perennials. Farther to the east, whitecapped waves rumbled toward an unseen shore. Minh had never seen the sea and wondered about its turbulent nature. What made the waves tumble? Why did they never stop?

  He’d have liked to know the answers to such questions. He wished he could read, or that someone, perhaps Noah, would tell him these things. Then someday, maybe he could sit beside the sea and understand why it seemed so impatient.

  Minh hoped that Mai would look at the sea, but her eyes remained downcast. He watched her tears drop to her lap. She’d been crying for hours, crying for so long that he wondered how her body had any water left for new tears. The strong, indomitable Mai he’d known for
so long was gone. The streets had worn her down as if she were nothing more than the heel of an old shoe.

  Throughout the drive, Minh had risked a beating by reaching over to hold her hand. He’d tried to give her strength and hope. But her fingers had been lifeless against his. And she hadn’t met his gaze, only continuing to stare at her bound feet.

  Minh had wanted to scream at Loc when he’d punched her in the stomach. Mai had doubled over, weeping, her shorts dampening as her bladder emptied. Minh had understood her pain, sorrow, and humiliation. He’d felt those same emotions many times before. He knew what it was like to feel alone and afraid, to sit in the sun and think that you were suffocating—as if you were being held underwater.

  Mai and Minh had saved each other often during the previous few years. When he’d felt helpless, her laughter had carried him to brighter places. And when her laughter was absent, his gentle touch had restored a smile to her face. But now, as the sun fell below the treelined horizon, Minh could do nothing to raise her spirits. She seemed beaten, as if she’d fallen to the ground too many times to rise once more.

  Looking above, Minh saw clouds gathering in the darkening sky. The clouds appeared more ominous here than they did in the city. The sky was rife with them, and he wondered if it would soon rain. He didn’t want rain to fall, as a downpour would only further discourage Mai.

  Risking another beating, Minh glanced at Loc, who sat in the middle of a truck tire, his back propped up by an old sofa cushion. Loc’s head rolled from side to side with the movement of the pickup, and Minh realized that he’d fallen asleep. Wanting to stop Mai from crying, Minh squeezed her fingers. But she didn’t move. More of her tears fell, and Minh desperately wished she’d talk with him. He knew that she needed to talk, to release her frustrations. She couldn’t keep them all inside, the way he could.

  Minh nudged her, hoping that she’d finally whisper to him. When she didn’t respond, he looked again at Loc, who was now snoring. Certain he was asleep, Minh touched his sandal against Mai’s ankle. As she knew, before they’d left for the center, he had cut a slit into the back of this sandal and had wedged their fifteen dollars deep inside. This money represented their future. With it they could escape Loc forever.