by John Shors
She moved beside him, her hand seeking his. “And do you think that we can find them?”
“We’re going to find them.”
“We have to, Noah. We have to bring them back where they belong.”
He sighed, turning so that he faced her. “Let’s try to get some sleep.”
“I agree.”
“But one last thing.”
“What?”
He thought of her wading through the water, leading him forward. “I was proud . . . really proud of you today. You brought us here. So let me take the risks tomorrow.”
“I do not—”
“I’m taking the risks, Thien. And then we’ll bring Mai and Minh back to Saigon. And everything’s going to be just the way it was meant to be.”
SIXTEEN
Reunion, Separation
The unfinished hotel complex had already been overrun by the jungle. Vines, shrubs, and flowering weeds stretched toward the sun from corners and cracks of concrete structures. The abandoned project was massive in scope and size. Villas and restaurants, swimming pools and shops were all unfinished skeletons. It was as if, having poured a trillion pounds of cement, the builders had no materials remaining for walls and amenities.
From the third floor of the main hotel, Mai and Minh looked out at the South China Sea. Waves tumbled upon a deserted beach. Gulls hovered amid a constant breeze. To the north, the jungle stretched, complete with its own green waves and swells. Nha Trang lay a few miles away in the opposite direction—a collection of high-rise hotels and a harbor boasting hundreds of brightly colored fishing boats.
Not far from Mai and Minh, in the center of the unfinished room, Loc and four other men took turns sucking on Loc’s pipe. Though Loc wore his stained baseball jersey, his friends were clad in new motorcycle pants and jackets. Their shiny black leather outfits seemed out of place in the ragged room, as did their short, stylishly spiky hair and their perfect white teeth.
Standing at the southern end of the room, a boy kept his eyes on the road leading toward the project from the city. Mai guessed that he was a lookout. The boy had been allowed one drag of the pipe, and Mai had watched as a strange smile had dawned on his face.
Now, as the boy stared toward the distant hotels, Mai listened to Loc tell his friends about how he’d duped Noah into giving him two hundred and fifty dollars to let Minh and her go free. The men chuckled at Loc’s tale, smoke escaping their mouths like exhaust from revving engines. Loc spoke about Mai and Minh as if he owned them, as if Noah could no sooner take them away than leave with Loc’s jersey and sandals.
As Mai listened to boasting and laughter and opium being smoked, she tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She didn’t like how several of the men looked at her, stealing glances in her direction while the others smoked and chuckled. Doing her best to avoid their stares, Mai watched the sea and pretended not to be frightened. She couldn’t fool Minh, though, and he gripped her hand, speaking to her with his touch even if he didn’t dare use his voice. Minh had once again gone silent, the way trees cease to move when a storm is gone.
Mai tried to stay strong. She didn’t want to cry in front of the men. She sensed that tears would betray her, putting her in even greater danger. And so she imagined that she and Minh were staying in a beautiful new hotel and were looking out from a glistening balcony toward a sea that they’d soon feel. They were going to search for shells, to glue them around the border of a mirror and make something pretty.
She sensed a man behind her, the smoke from his lungs rolling over her. She didn’t glance up but gripped Minh’s hand tighter. The man loomed over her, his shadow falling onto her lap. She continued to stare at the sea, tears forming even though she tried to keep them in. He spoke to her, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t turn. She wanted to cry out for help but could only stare at the sea and pretend that she was swimming. The water was warm, and she floated in it like a branch tossed into a canal.
The man put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it as her tears tumbled to the dusty floor. Mai started to lean away, toward the abyss below. He laughed at her, leaning so close that she could smell the scent of opium on his breath. Where are you, Father? she asked as the man traced the line of her jaw. Why did you leave me so alone? Why? Why? Why?
Though her father didn’t answer, Minh did. He stood up swiftly, as if a scorpion had crept beneath his leg. All eyes fell on him. Even Mai’s. Minh hurried a few feet away and lifted up a thick piece of wire. After pointing at the men, one by one, he proceeded to etch a grid into the concrete floor. The grid was seven rows across and six rows down. He drew an “x” in the middle square at the bottom, and then handed the wire to the mustached man who’d touched Mai.
“He . . . he wants . . . to play . . . Connect Four with you,” she said weakly, wiping away a tear, finally understanding what Minh was doing. “He’ll play you for a dollar.” She stood up and, improvising, added, “He’ll play . . . against everyone. A game for five dollars. All of you against him.”
Loc set down his pipe, smiling. “Try to beat the half boy,” he said, motioning for his companions to play. “He’s good, I warn you. But a half boy shouldn’t beat four men.”
The mustached man took the wire from Minh. “Make it ten dollars,” he said, moving toward the grid.
Unsteady on her feet, Mai held on to a piece of steel that jutted from the concrete. She watched the leather-clad men gather around Minh. Though they’d been smoking opium for an hour and probably couldn’t write their own names, Mai worried about Minh. If he lost, Loc would have to pay the men. If he won, they’d be angry and even more dangerous. Mai knew that Minh had no choice but to win, as Loc probably didn’t have ten dollars. And Minh would win. But the men would want another game. And when that game was over, or when five games had ended, the men would look back in her direction. The mustached man would come for her.
Desperate to escape him, Mai stepped forward, her legs as weak as if she’d walked twenty miles. “Minh’s never . . . he’s never been to the beach. If you win, you get ten dollars. If Minh wins, we get five dollars and a trip to the beach. A trip right away.”
Loc turned in her direction. “What? Ten dollars against ten dollars! That’s the bet! Nothing else—”
The mustached man held up the wire, thrusting it toward Loc’s face. “It’s not your bet to make!”
“But she’s with—”
“Don’t come to my city and tell me what to do! Cousin or no cousin, I’ll stick this through your tongue. Or have you forgotten what my father wanted to do to you?”
Loc, taller and broader than the other man, stood his ground. “Make it six dollars . . . and a trip to the beach.”
“Done.” The man hacked. “And next time you visit . . . don’t let me smoke your poppy if it’s been scraped from the hoof of a Cambodian water buffalo.”
Loc stuck his pipe in his sock. “The half boy’s waiting. Play him.”
Her heart still thumping wildly, Mai watched the men bend over the grid. Loc’s cousin was the last to drop his gaze toward the floor. Holding the wire like a dagger, he glanced once more in her direction, hacked again, and pushed Minh aside so that he could eye the markings at their feet.
THE SENSATION OF HEAT WAS WHAT finally woke Noah. Light from the low sun angled under the umbrella and coated his flesh with warmth. He and Thien lay against each other—her chest touching his back. Immediately after opening his eyes, he felt her presence behind him. Moving slowly, he turned, wanting to glimpse her as she slept. He’d never seen her face so close and marveled at what he interpreted as perfection. Her skin was unlined, so smooth he wanted to touch it with the tips of his fingers. Her lips, while cracked from the long journey, were full and seemed to be drawn into a faint smile, as if she were dreaming of something pleasant. As far as Noah could tell, Thien wasn’t wearing makeup of any kind. A small blemish on the side of her nose was uncovered. Her eyelashes weren’t enhanced with artificial length and thickness.
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Noah was studying her long, black-as-night hair when she opened her eyes. She took a deep breath, smiled, and rose slowly to a sitting position. “What . . . what were you looking at?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“You.”
“Me?”
“I was watching you sleep.”
She smiled again. “Was it boring?”
“Not in the least.”
“Did you sleep?” she asked, brushing sand from her arms.
“I liked . . . lying with you. Even in the rain. In the cold.”
“I know.” She touched his knee, remembering how he’d put his arm around her. “Thank you for keeping me warm.”
He started to reply but noticed someone approaching from behind Thien. A woman had hung what looked to be pots from either end of a bamboo pole that she balanced on her shoulder. “What does she want?” he asked.
“Breakfast,” Thien replied. “I am sure that she is selling breakfast.”
“Shouldn’t we leave? Mai and Minh might be nearby. We should start looking.”
“Yes. In a moment. But better to eat something first. And maybe she has seen them.”
The woman walked to their umbrella and knelt to the ground, lowering her wares. She spoke in Vietnamese to Thien, gesturing toward her pots, her smile revealing several missing teeth. She nodded, opening one pot and pointing to dozens of closed shells.
“Do you like scallops?” Thien asked Noah.
“Sure.”
Thien spoke to the woman, who smiled and removed a wire lid from the top of the other pot, which contained a metal rack above glowing coals. She put ten of the biggest scallops atop the rack.
“It will just be a minute,” Thien said, retying her ponytail and slipping her cap into place.
“Ask her where we should look.”
Thien handed the woman twenty-one thousand dong, which was a thousand more than the price of breakfast. “May I ask if you’ve seen two children?” she said in Vietnamese. “A girl and a boy. They might be here, begging on the beach. The boy is missing a hand. He doesn’t talk. The girl does all the talking for him.”
The woman used a pair of tongs to turn over the scallops. “Are they running from someone?”
“They were taken by someone. Someone very cruel.”
“And they beg? Nothing else?”
“They play games for money.”
The tongs continued to poke and prod. “I haven’t seen them,” replied the scallop seller. “Not that boy and girl. Mind you, there are dozens like them on this beach. If your boy and girl are in Nha Trang, you’ll find them here. Stay close to the water and you’ll find them.”
“Do you—”
“Don’t ask around too much, dear. This city is better for answers than questions. And people will talk. Maybe the wrong people. Just open your eyes. And see that boy and girl before whoever took them sees you. That’s the trick.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you from Saigon?”
“I live there now.”
“And him?”
“He’s American.”
The woman smiled, using her tongs to set the opened shells on a folded piece of newspaper. She speared a scallop with a bamboo chop-stick and handed the steaming morsel to Thien. “I remember when the Americans came,” she said, preparing to give Noah a scallop. “I was a girl. Living in Saigon. They rode in big trucks and they gave me so many sweets.”
“Oh, that scallop is delicious.”
“It ought to be, dear. My husband brought these in last night. As far as men go, he’s not bad. He once found me a pearl. And he finds enough scallops that I’ve never had to sell it.”
“I hope you never have to.”
“That would be a nice surprise,” the woman replied as she organized her wares. She stood up. “Stay here for two days. If you don’t find them in two days, they’re not here. I’ll also poke around. Come back to this spot tomorrow, at this time, and find me. I may know something.”
Thien thanked the woman and watched her walk toward a distant pair of beachgoers. “Here,” she said, handing a scallop to Noah.
He ate it quickly, eager to start searching, envisioning Mai and Minh and what they might be enduring. “Do you think . . . they think we’ve abandoned them?”
“I do not know. They have always been abandoned. They probably think that we are no different.”
“We need to find them. Soon.”
She nodded. “I will drive. You look. If we see them and can get them to our scooter, let them sit between us. Put Minh on your lap and I will speed away.”
“Speed away?”
“You have never seen me drive fast.”
“And you could drive fast with four people on the scooter?”
“If we find them, and Loc starts to chase us, I will drive like the wind. So please hold on to them.”
Noah ate his last scallop. After she finished hers, he offered her his hand and helped her up. “Do you know something?”
“Do I know . . . what?”
He started to lead her toward the scooter. “In Iraq, we saved some people. Some people worth saving. And that felt good.”
“We are going to save Mai and Minh.”
“But we also lost some good people. And they’re never coming back. And if something goes wrong . . . you run. You get the police. Don’t wait for me.”
“No, Noah. We are together. We are a team.”
Stopping, he turned toward her, raising the bill of her cap so that he could kiss her forehead and then her lips. She put her arms around him and he felt the press of her body against his. “Don’t worry, Thien, about leaving me behind. I’ll find you.”
She traced the scar on his forehead with her fingers. “I do not want you to get hurt. You have been hurt too much already. So I will stay by your side. I will protect you.”
“You can’t—”
“I will not leave you. I am not afraid.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Maybe. But did you see Tam . . . when she was dying?”
“Yes.”
“She was so brave. She hurt so much, but she was so brave.”
“I know.”
Thien watched the waves tumble, wondering if Qui and Tam were still together. “Mai and Minh are brave too. They are alone and they have no one. All they want is to go to school, to be safe, to be children. Is that too much for them to ask?”
“No, it’s not.”
“They only want to be happy.”
“They will be happy.”
“Mai wants to paint with me. I promised her that we would paint together.”
“Iris showed me the rainbow.”
Thien sniffed, her eyes glistening. She thought about painting with Mai, about how a girl who lived in filth wanted to create something beautiful. “Mai and Minh . . . they are the dragons. They are the ones who will look after us, who will make the world a better place. And I will give everything I have to bring them back. Just as I will do anything to protect you.”
He kissed her, tasting the salt of her tears. “Then don’t get hurt. Your smile, your songs, those are the things that protect me. Do you understand?”
“How . . . how do they protect you?”
“Because they take away some of my pain. Better than any drug. Better than any drink. So don’t get hurt. If you care about me, if you want to protect me, then you can’t get hurt.”
She nodded, rising on her toes to kiss him. “Soon I will sing to you again. Just to you. And then you will see Mai and Minh, playing on the seesaw we built. And there will be other children. And they will laugh, and run, and learn. And we will be so blessed.”
His lips touched hers and he pulled her closer, feeling her, adoring her. “You . . . you saved me, Thien. And I think . . . I know I’m falling in love with you.”
“Please do not stop.”
“I won’t.”
“Because I feel the same.” She glanced at the city. “And now we
are going to save Mai and Minh—the dragons who have been stolen from us. No matter what we have to do, we are going to save them and bring them home.”
TO IRIS, THE OFFICE SEEMED LIFELESS, though Sahn sat in the chair next to her. She’d never felt so alone, not even as a little girl, when her father didn’t return as promised. At least then she had her mother and her books. Now she had no one, and her books seemed only to tell lies, to fashion worlds and people who suddenly seemed so trite. Had her favorite writers ever really suffered? she wondered. Had they watched a child die? Had they walked the streets and seen people on the cusp of starvation or insanity? Did they have any inkling about the true nature of the sorrows that they brought to life on the page? Maybe, maybe not, she thought. Certainly some novels had made her cry. So maybe those authors had suffered. Maybe they knew about the ache of loss. Or perhaps they were simply good storytellers, able to create emotions and thoughts that they’d never experienced.
Whatever the case, Iris wished that she could find solace in something, whether books or work or memories. But she couldn’t. Tam and Qui were dead. Mai and Minh had been kidnapped. Everything that she’d wanted to accomplish was in danger of being destroyed. Her father’s wishes, and her own dreams for the center, would be meaningless if Mai and Minh weren’t found. Nothing could ever replace the hole that their disappearance would leave in her. She would go on, of course. She’d open the center. But it would always be a hollow place for her, a place of haunting memories and unfulfilled spaces.
Having not slept all night, Iris sipped some strong tea. She pinched her thigh, trying to rouse her sluggish mind. “We should call the station again,” she said, turning to Sahn.
He opened his eyes, dragging his thoughts back into the present. “What you say?”
“Can you please call them again? Maybe something’s changed.”
“I speak with them three time already.”
“Please? Please make the call.”
Sahn sighed. “Once more. But then we wait for them to call here.”
