Dragon House

by John Shors

  Loc bowed his head. “No, Uncle. Only a beating.”

  “I don’t believe you! You spew lies, as always. Well, I’ll never hear your lies again. You’ll never foul my city again.” He turned to two men behind him. “Take him out to sea. Far, far out. Let him smoke his precious opium. Bowl after bowl of it. Then see if he can swim to shore.”

  “Please, Uncle!” Loc said, falling to his knees. “We have the same blood! My mother—”

  “Take him!”

  “She wouldn’t—”

  “Take him now, damn you!”

  The two men moved toward Loc. He tried to fight them, but both were highly trained bodyguards, and they beat him into submission in a matter of seconds. He moaned as they dragged him away, begging for mercy. His uncle didn’t look at him, didn’t even seem to hear him. Instead the older man stepped toward Noah, motioning for one of his other bodyguards to pick up Noah’s prosthesis. The man put it on Noah’s lap.

  “Can you understand me?” Loc’s uncle said in English.

  Noah tried to bring him into focus. He still wasn’t sure why Loc had been beaten and dragged away. “Yes,” he finally whispered, spitting out more blood.

  “Tell no one what happened here today and you will live.”

  “What?”

  “You understand? No police. Never. You found the children and you went back to Saigon. You never saw me or my son or this place.”

  Noah silently repeated the older man’s words, trying to understand. “You . . . you’re going to . . . let me go?”

  “If you promise to say nothing.”

  “I . . . I promise.”

  “If I hear of anything . . . anything at all told to the police, you will die.”

  “I understand. I won’t . . . say anything. Ever.”

  Loc’s uncle bent lower. “Go. Build your center. Build it well, and teach the children well. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can save the children. Before they give up. Before they become . . . men like me.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Go, then.”

  Noah nodded, his head pulsing with pain, his heartbeat in his ears. He reached for his prosthesis and, grimacing in agony, reattached it to his swollen and bleeding stump. He tried to stand but couldn’t put any weight on his stump and started to fall sideways. Two men grabbed his arms before he toppled. They carried him from the warehouse. Outside, Noah had to close his eyes. He’d never seen such bright light. It temporarily blinded him.

  The men opened the back of a van and pulled out his scooter. They helped him onto the seat. One of them took the key, inserted it, and pressed the start button. They then left him alone. Mustering his strength and his will, Noah gently twisted the throttle. The scooter accelerated effortlessly, and, squinting, Noah eyed the road as he drove slowly up a hill.

  Before long he was on the main highway that led away from the airport. No other traffic existed. He looked for Nha Trang but didn’t see it. There were only mountains and the expanse of blue water.

  The scooter wobbled when Noah closed his eyes, but he managed to bring himself back into the present. He thought about Thien and he wanted to be near her. He’d never wanted anything so much. Spitting out more blood, he increased his speed. The wind began to tug at his hair. The pavement blurred beneath him. Though pain continued to almost overwhelm him, he didn’t dwell on his misery. He was alive. He would see Thien again. Tomorrow he’d touch her face. He’d feel his lips against hers. And he wouldn’t be alone.

  His love for her was what kept him going. He should have pulled over to the side of the road and passed out. But he didn’t, because that would only increase the time he was away from her.

  As he crested a hill and saw Nha Trang, he envisioned those he loved. Through some sort of miracle, they hadn’t been taken away. The stranger had given him life, handing Thien back to him just as he’d been saying good-bye to her, when the thought of their separation was like a sword piercing his soul.

  “Why . . . why did he save me?” Noah whispered, trying to remember the older man’s words.

  Though the words escaped him, Noah believed that a miracle had happened. In Baghdad, a part of him had been killed, and that part would never fully return. But in a warehouse outside Nha Trang, he had been given the chance to live. He’d seen his death looming and suddenly realized that his life did matter. And the story of his life hadn’t yet been written. Yes, the future would contain pain, a pain that would test him again and again. But he was no longer afraid of such misery. It was a part of his life, but would be outweighed by the good. Thien would stand beside him, as would Iris and the children and his family back home. And one day, when he was old and again facing death, he wouldn’t think about the pain, the suffering, the black parts of his life. He’d think about the good parts, about those he loved, about what he’d done. These things would define his life, things that had been given to him, not things had that been taken away.

  Noah felt the wind draw tears from his eyes, pulling them back into his hair. Reaching the highway that led south, he turned into heavy traffic, not slowing his pace. He got behind a fast bus, dodging potholes, remembering how Thien had done the same. The sun warmed him. The sea was beautiful and endless.

  He twisted the throttle back, passing the bus, moving closer to home.

  EPILOGUE

  And Night Turned to Day

  Three weeks later, Iris stood in a corner of the playground and chatted with a high-ranking city official. The man was kind, his words welcome. But Iris wasn’t really listening. Instead her eyes feasted on the scene before her. The playground was filled with twenty girls who had moved into the Tam Tran Center for Street Children. The girls, ranging in age from seven to twelve, cautiously explored the grounds before them, taking turns on the seesaw, rising and falling on Sahn’s swing set, and climbing to the top of a wooden fort that Noah had built.

  Iris nodded to the man, smiling when appropriate, thanking him for his support. She wished him well and turned away, pretending that she had something important to oversee. As she walked to the back entrance of the center, she continued to gaze in wonder at the playground, thinking about the bare lot that Noah had so painstakingly transformed. Where there were once only dirt and cement chips, grass and tree saplings now rose. Where trash had once collected, a swing set brought smiles and laughter.

  Standing not far from the swing set was Sahn. He no longer wore his police attire, though Iris had bought him a green uniform so that he might look official. With his back to the fence, he appeared to watch the scene before him. Of course, Iris was aware that even with his new glasses, he couldn’t see much of the activity, but she could tell by his faint smile that he was listening to everything. She’d come to understand him well and knew that he was proud to watch over the children and delighted in doing so. He might not talk about such pleasures, but she knew he felt them. He was easier to read than he realized.

  At the base of the fort stood Thien and Noah. They’d been nearly inseparable since Noah’s return. He had been badly beaten, and she’d spent several days at his side, tending to his battered stump and listening to his ideas for the playground. Since then, they had often worked together after she finished her duties in the kitchen. She’d painted his fort, singing softly, peeling her tangerines. Almost every day they’d gone on errands together, taking the scooter to bring back fresh fish and produce. Though the trips had lasted longer than they once had, Iris was pleased by the delays. Thien and Noah deserved time alone with each other. Their love was obvious and beautiful, and Iris felt lucky to witness it.

  Guiding several of the newcomers around the playground were Mai and Minh. As she often did, Iris marveled at how much they’d recovered from their ordeal with Loc. Minh talked as much as Mai, studying with the girls, often teaching them how to play games. He lived with Noah in an apartment near the center. Each night they’d depart together, often dribbling a basketball that Noah had
bought. Sometimes Thien accompanied them, but usually it was just the two of them. They spoke while one of them bounced the ball. Iris knew Noah was teaching Minh about the ocean. Minh’s fascination with it seemed endless. In the short time since his return, he’d become a bit of an expert on the sea and the creatures that dwelled within it.

  As Iris watched Mai and Minh help the other girls, she smiled, stepping inside the center. She still couldn’t believe it was complete. Though they’d missed their Christmas deadline, no one seemed to care. More than thirty adults were present for the grand opening, and Iris had spoken to all of them. Many had made donations of money, time, or materials; and expressions of support and encouragement were unanimous and abundant. These people were helping her plan for the center’s future, providing her with the expertise and resources that she’d once dreamed of possessing.

  Iris moved into the kitchen, wanting to see the entire center, to revel in what had been accomplished. Tables seemed to sag beneath the weight of the food that Thien had prepared. There was nothing extravagant, just piles of fruit and croissants that rose between bouquets of fresh flowers. Music played from a small radio that Thien had purchased with her own money.

  The stairwell had been completely painted, and images of colorful parrots on tree limbs graced the walls. Iris climbed higher into the tree, noting patches of sky above. She entered the classroom next, surprised at how quickly it had come together. A painted map of the world dominated the largest wall. Tables and chairs were abundant. In the far corner, a pair of tall bookshelves comprised her library. She’d gathered almost five hundred books, many purchased by the sale of her signed first-edition novels. Several publishing companies where Iris had friends had also made donations. The books were new and written in either Vietnamese or English. The children had opened them with what Iris believed to be awe. For their whole lives, they had seen other children go to school. They’d dreamed of going, of being normal. But they’d never had the chance until now.

  The dormitory looked as she would always remember it. The clouds that she and Thien had painted were as wondrous as ever. Qui and Tam’s rainbow brought tears to her eyes, as did the sight of Tam’s bed, which Mai now used. The previous night was the girls’ first in the room, and Iris had been surprised to find several sleeping on the floor. Apparently their beds were too soft.

  Iris climbed the ladder leading to the roof. She smiled at the sight of the garden that Noah and Thien were building. Noah, Sahn, and several volunteers had tied a chain to a wooden rowboat and, standing at the side of the roof, had pulled the boat to the top of the building. Noah and Sahn had filled it with dirt, and Thien had planted row upon row of seeds. Tender sprouts now emerged from the dark soil. Thien planned on teaching the children how to nurture the young plants.

  Moving to the edge of the roof, to where she could see the playground, Iris watched the scene below. As the children hurried about, she recalled scattering her father’s ashes around the playground and, later, repeating the process alongside Noah, Thien, Sahn, Mai, and Minh as they spread the ashes of Qui and Tam beneath the banyan tree that Noah had planted. Tears had been plentiful at that moment, just as they’d been when a portrait of Tam had been hung beneath her name on the front of the building.

  A child laughed below, and Iris smiled. She realized then that she had never felt as fulfilled as she did at that very moment—not when she’d graduated from college, or when she first fell in love, or when she’d seen her byline in major newspapers. Of course, those were important moments, moments she’d cherish. But they were nothing like what she felt now. The laughter that found her ears, the sights that she so readily consumed, were gifts piled at her feet.

  Footsteps sounded from behind her and Iris turned. Mai stood alone, smiling. “Why you here?” Mai asked, lifting up her foot to pluck a small stone from between her toes and her sandal.

  “Oh, I just . . . I needed to see it all,” Iris replied.

  “Me think you just tired of talking with so many people.”

  “Well, that’s true too.”

  “Why do big people just stand and talk, while children play? Sure, sure, big people have more fun if they play too.”

  Iris shook her head. “We can play too, Mai. Just wait. We’ll rent a bus, and we’ll all go to the beach. Then you’ll see us play.”

  Mai smiled. “Do you know what I call you? When I speak with Minh?”

  “I have no idea. What?”

  “Iris the Great.”

  “Oh, I’m not great. Just ask my old boyfriend. He’d tell you a story or two.”

  “He must be so foolish, Miss Iris. Like an elephant who worries about a fly. But I glad that you no go with him. Because then you come to us.”

  Iris took Mai’s hand. “I’m glad too.”

  Noah’s voice rose from below. Mai and Iris watched as he pushed a girl high on a swing. She laughed and shrieked, and some of the other children paused to see her soar. Iris noticed that most of the adults had also turned in the girl’s direction. Many seemed to be momentarily entranced by her glee, perhaps reminded of their own childhoods.

  Next to the fence, not too far from the swing, Iris saw a girl sitting by herself. “Mai,” she asked, “is that Long?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “Just okay.”

  “That’s all?”

  Mai took Iris’s hand. “We go down and cheer her up. Sure, sure?”

  Iris smiled. “Sure, sure. Let’s do that.”

  And so Mai and Iris descended the many stairs. Soon they were outside. Several other city officials complimented Iris on the center. She also passed Sahn and greeted him in Vietnamese, pronouncing the words just right, as he’d taught her. He nodded and said something that she didn’t understand. But I’ll learn, she thought, moving ahead.

  The girl—eight years old, if Iris remembered correctly—sat next to the fence and looked at her feet. Iris and Mai moved to each side of her. “Would you mind if we sat down?” Iris asked, speaking slowly, trying to recall how well Long understood English.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to play with the other children?”

  “No.”

  Iris nodded. “That’s all right. Maybe Mai can tell you about what we do here. She’s lived here almost a month.”

  Mai edged closer to the smaller girl and began to speak in Vietnamese. Iris listened to her, proud that she wanted to help Long. Iris knew that Mai had been saved. Just as Minh had been. Not all the children would be successfully rescued. Iris had already resigned herself to that. But Mai and Minh had been saved from the streets, from where fate had so cruelly cast them. And if they could be saved, so could others.

  Iris leaned against the fence. She looked around the playground and knew without doubt or reluctance that this place had become her home. She loved its sounds, its sights. And she felt a beauty here, something she’d never sensed before. She wondered if what she felt was what the great writers had tried to portray. She’d read their words and been moved to tears by them. But what she felt now wasn’t what had been described to her. It wasn’t just happiness, or love, or contentment. It was a sense that the human spirit wanted to soar. Despite all the suffering, pain, betrayal, and ugliness of life, the human spirit couldn’t be easily beaten, easily caged. That was why Minh was laughing with Noah, why Mai spoke to the little girl as if they were lifelong friends. That was why Tam and Qui had gone forward together, holding hands, loving each other even as their hearts slowed and ceased to beat. And that was why her father had returned to a land that had once tormented him.

  Iris understood. She glanced at Mai. She smiled. And then she closed her eyes and listened.

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve been lucky enough to do a lot of traveling. A time existed, after I graduated from college, when I taught English in Japan and then back-packed around Asia. I had little money and tended to stay in rooms that cost a few dollars a night. With nothing more than a
couple sets of T-shirts and shorts in my backpack, I visited places such as Vietnam, Thailand, Nepal, India, Indonesia, Hong Kong, and Korea. Some of these countries I grew to know quite well. I’d find a cheap room, rent a scooter, and explore as much of an area as possible. Sometimes my future wife or my friends were with me, though I was often alone.

  I saw so many beautiful things throughout these adventures, sights such as the Taj Mahal, the Himalayan peaks, and white-sand beaches unspoiled by humanity’s touch. But I think that I witnessed the most beauty within the street children I encountered. These children seemed so similar, country to country. They were out at all times of day and night, selling their postcards, their fans, their flowers. For many nights in Thailand, I played Connect Four with a boy who wasn’t older than seven or eight. Some travelers told me not to play with him, convinced that his parents were nearby and were sending him out at night to work. But I never saw his parents, and one night I spied him sleeping on a sidewalk, a piece of cardboard his bed. I don’t think I ever beat him in a game.

  Throughout these travels I met hundreds, if not thousands, of children who lived on the street. Sometimes they were sick or had a physical deformity. But most of them were simply homeless—abandoned into extreme poverty. Bright, eager, and unafraid to laugh with a stranger, they taught me so much. I owe them so much.

  It is my hope that Dragon House will be a success, and out of that success something good can happen. I plan on donating some of the funds generated from my book to an organization called Blue Dragon Children’s Foundation. This group works with children in crisis throughout Vietnam. Blue Dragon offers disadvantaged children a wide range of services and support to help them break out of poverty, forever, by getting them back to school and helping them achieve their best.

  To my delight, officials at Blue Dragon want to someday open a center for street children in Ho Chi Minh City. I know the immense good that such a center would provide, and in some small way I hope to be a part of this movement. So, thank you, dear reader, for supporting me. Your support allows me to aid this wonderful organization, an organization that sits quite close to my heart.