Dragon House (33 page)

Believing that she’d finally found a family, Tam kicked harder. She didn’t want to sleep. She wasn’t aware of the cancer gnawing at her bones. She’d been saved and nothing else mattered.

 

 

THE SUN HAD JUST SET, AND the sky looked like the inside of a giant orange balloon. Noah sat on a plastic chair atop the roof, staring at this balloon, which encircled the bustling, noisy city. Though the city moved in thousands of different ways, the balloon remained still, changing only as it slowly darkened. Even when the balloon had disappeared, having floated off to a different place, the sky didn’t completely blacken. The city’s infinite lights faintly illuminated the underbelly of the heavens, creating a strange twilight that would remain until dawn.

Noah took a long gulp from a Tiger beer. He savored the taste, licking his lips and listening to the symphony that was the city. Is it ever quiet here? he wondered, the endless beeps of scooters filling his ears. He’d grown accustomed to these beeps. They somehow comforted him, the knowledge that millions of people were nearby making him feel less alone. Noah had listened to Chicago and Kabul and Baghdad. But he couldn’t recall any of these cities sounding like this one. The beeps of the scooters resembled the calls of crickets on an autumn night. Only these crickets didn’t quiet as the night aged. They chirped until the sun returned to spread its colors, and then they kept on chirping.

The beer can was emptied. Noah reached for another, his pulse beating quicker than usual, his pockets containing a pair of airline tickets to and from Hanoi. Though Iris had enthusiastically approved of his idea of taking Thien to Halong Bay, the most famous of Vietnam’s sights, Noah still worried. Was he being too bold? What if she said no?

His back and stump ached, but Noah resisted the lure of a pain pill. He didn’t want his senses numbed when he asked her. He took another gulp of beer. The beer wasn’t much cooler than the night air, and he wiped sweat from his forehead. Like the noise, sweat always seemed present in the city. If he washed it off, it returned in a matter of minutes.

Noah finished his third beer and exhaled slowly. He wanted to wait longer but couldn’t. Thien would soon go to bed. She’d spent the late afternoon looking for an apartment for Minh and him, and had to be exhausted. And so he stood up and moved toward the ladder. Its rungs were stout and warm. He descended slowly, wondering if he’d ever grow comfortable with his prosthesis. Maybe when he was an old man and movement wasn’t so important.

He glanced in the dormitory and saw that everyone had gone to bed. Downstairs, Iris typed before a computer. Their eyes met. “What are you working on?” he asked, stepping toward her.

She motioned for him to leave. “Go, Noah. Ask her now. I was just in the kitchen, and she’s almost done cleaning up.”

“And you’re . . . sure about this?”

“Very. Now, get going before it’s too late.”

He turned and proceeded down the stairwell, moving even slower than usual. Sounds of Thien singing emerged from the kitchen. He stepped into it. Her back was to him, and he watched her scrub dishes at the sink. She wore a red shirt, white pants, and sandals. Her baseball cap was slightly askew, making her ponytail fall crookedly.

“Can I help?” he asked quietly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned and smiled. “Doing dishes? No, thank you, Mr. Noah. I will finish them.” She set a glass down. “May I get you another Tiger?”

“That’s okay.”

“Are you hungry? I could cut up a juicy mango.”

His smile was faint, but spontaneous. “Why do you always wear that baseball cap?”

“Because the sun is so bright, you silly man.”

“But there’s no sun now.”

She shrugged. “It is rising somewhere.”

“Maybe someday I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Why? Is this one too old?”

“No, no. It looks great.”

“Do women in America not wear caps? What do they do about the sun?”

He stepped closer to her, lifting a dirty plate and setting it next to the sink. “In America, people often stay inside. Women don’t usually wear caps.”

Thien nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information but unsure what to do with it. She wiped her hands on a towel and proceeded to peel a rambutan fruit, setting aside the hairy red skin. “Your seesaw was wonderful, Mr. Noah. Tam was so happy. What a gift that was.”

“You did most of the work.”

She offered him the white flesh of the fruit, which he took. “You were happy too,” she said. “And it made me happy to see you happy.”

“It did?”

“Of course. I want you to be happy.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a good man. And good men should be happy.”

He looked into her eyes and was again surprised at how large and dark they were. Suddenly he longed to be closer to them, to see his reflection. “I . . . I wanted to ask you something,” he said, his voice softer, his heart thumping quickly.

“About the apartments? I tried so hard, Mr. Noah. Tomorrow I will look again.”

“No, not about the apartments.”

“No?”

“The other night you said that you want to take me somewhere beautiful.”

“I do. You should not see only the ugly parts of Vietnam. Our country is so lovely.”

Noah pulled the tickets from his pocket and placed them on the counter. “Can I . . . Would you let me take you instead?”

Thien glanced at the tickets, uncertain what he meant. She stepped closer, her brow furrowing when she saw that they were airline tickets. “Hanoi?” she asked.

He recognized her confusion and wanted to see it vanish as quickly as possible. “Not Hanoi, but Halong Bay,” he replied. “I heard it’s the most beautiful place in Vietnam, and tomorrow I want to take you there.”

“Halong Bay?”

“Is that okay?”

“Really? Really, Mr. Noah?”

“Do you want to go? With me?”

She smiled and stepped to him, hugging him tightly. “Of course. That would be wonderful! I have never visited Halong Bay and would love to see it.”

Noah felt all of her against him. Was she hugging him as a friend? As something more? “It’s an early flight,” he said, looking down at the top of her head. “We’d leave early and get back late. It’ll be a long day.”

“And our jobs at the center?”

He hoped that she couldn’t feel the speed with which his heart raced. “Iris said you haven’t taken a day off in weeks. It’s just fine with her.”

She looked up at him and suddenly her eyes were much closer to his. “I am so excited, Mr. Noah.”

“Please call me Noah.”

“Is it really true?”

“It is.”

“Thank you. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Of course.”

Nodding, she moved slightly away from him, though her hands held his. She glanced at the tickets, wishing they were already there, thrilled by the prospect of seeing the dragons, of traveling with Noah. “Do you know the story of the bay?” she asked, griping his hands tightly.

“No.”

“Do you want to hear it?”

“Sure.”

“Halong Bay means . . . ‘Bay of the Descending Dragons.’ ”

“Why do they call it that?” he wondered, enjoying the link of their hands and not wanting it to end.

“A long, long time ago, Vietnam was at war with China. And the Chinese were sailing across the sea to destroy us. A family of dragons saw our troubles and came to our aid. The dragons started spitting out giant pieces of jade. These pieces struck the sea and turned into thousands of islands, creating a barrier that the Chinese ships could not pass.” Thien paused, smiling.

“And what happened?”

“And the Chinese sailed home. And later, when there was peace, the dragons so loved the bay they had created that they flew down and decided to live in the blue waters. They still live there. When the bay is rough they are said to be swimming.”

“You believe in them?”

“Most certainly. And I think you will too. After you see what they did.”

A scooter passed by on the road near the window. Thien glanced at the window, and then her gaze traveled back to his face. She remembered how he’d smiled at the sight of the children on the seesaw. She had rarely seen him smile and had wanted to do so again. She’d longed to help with his pain. Never had she experienced such pain, and she’d have liked to take some of his suffering and make it hers. One person, she often thought, one good person, shouldn’t have to endure such misery.

“Thank you for my gift,” she said quietly, feeling the heat of his hand in hers.

“You haven’t seen it yet.”

“I know. But you are going to show me.” She squeezed his hand. “Good night . . . Noah.”

He felt her fingers leave his, and suddenly he was alone. “Good night, Thien,” he said. He watched her step back to the sink and then he turned. Behind him, he heard her start to sing as she again began to clean. Though he wanted to sit on a step and just listen, he climbed the stairs until he reached the roof, until her voice was but a memory in his head, swirling around and filling him with warmth.

THIRTEEN

Into the Light

T
hien awoke before the roosters. She was making fresh orange juice when she heard them announce the coming of dawn. She knew each of the three roosters—knew where each lived and recognized each distinct cry. Though most city dwellers despised the racket that roosters made, she didn’t mind. The noise reminded her of home, brought back memories of lying between her siblings on a thin mattress and moaning at the sound of roosters waking the world.

After Thien had prepared breakfast for everyone, she went outside and swept the stone path in the playground. The children had made a mess the previous day, when they’d enjoyed the seesaw for so long. She was pleased to see the muddied stones, the trampled grass. These sights told her what she wanted to know, that children had played and laughed in a place that she’d helped build.

Thien had already cleaned the playground and first floor of the center when the sun began to gradually illuminate the sky. As she had worked, she’d hummed quietly, her voice mirroring the mood of the morning. She had mused about Noah. So much of him is locked away, she’d thought. That bomb didn’t take only his leg. It took his hope, his joy.

Thien had realized that she hoped to discover the parts of him that had been stolen. She didn’t know if this longing was because she wanted to see all people happy, or if it was more than that. Did she want him to be happy because he was with her? Because she cared about him? Because she was a source of his joy?

Such questions had echoed in Thien’s mind while she’d worked. She had asked herself how she saw him, and what she wanted. She worried about falling for him, as she knew that in all likelihood he’d vanish in a few months. He would leave Vietnam and possibly never return. And when that happened she’d be hurt. The issue was—how much pain was she willing to endure?

Now, as Thien walked upstairs, she pushed thoughts of Noah aside. She wanted to ensure that the center would be fine in her absence. She worried about Iris having to tend to everything. It didn’t seem right to leave her without help, no matter how tempting the invitation. What if her American sister needed her and she wasn’t there?

Thien stepped into the dormitory. Mai and Minh appeared to have recently awoken. Still in their pajamas, they were playing a game of Connect Four on the floor next to their bed. Mai laughed, trying to remove a game piece that she’d dropped down the wrong slot. Minh blocked her fingers with his stump while attempting to place his own piece and win the game. Managing to slip his piece past Mai, Minh threw his hand up in the air, smiling while Mai giggled.

At the other end of the room, Tam lay in her bed. Qui sat beside her, gently combing her hair. Thien said hello and was surprised when Tam didn’t return the greeting. Making conversation with Qui, Thien glanced repeatedly at Tam, not liking the pallor that seemed to have seeped into her face. She looked as if she’d eaten old meat. Worried for her, Thien reached down, picked up Dung, and placed the doll in Tam’s hands. “I’m going to be gone for today,” Thien said, looking from Qui to Tam. “Will you please rest so tomorrow I can watch you more on the seesaw? No one can make that elephant jump like you. And I want to see him jump.”

Tam might have nodded. Thien wasn’t sure. Qui continued to comb her granddaughter’s hair. “She’ll ride tomorrow,” Qui said, doing her best to smile.

“Do you need anything?”

Qui shook her head and held up a postcard. “Do you know what came in the mail yesterday?” she asked. “A postcard from Bangkok. From Tam’s mother.”

“Really? May I see it?”

“Of course.”

Thien held the postcard before her. The card depicted downtown Bangkok and carried a Thai stamp. But Thien was certain that the card had never been mailed from Thailand to Vietnam. It was too clean, too crisp. She glanced at the back and saw barely readable handwriting. Words spoke of a mother’s love for her daughter, of how that love was as wide and deep as the sea. Thien didn’t have to wonder who’d written the card.

“You’re lucky to have such a loving mother,” Thien said, tucking the card between Tam’s arm and the sheet. “And she’s lucky to have you. We’re all so lucky to have you, Tam. You’re our first student and soon you’ll learn so many wonderful things.”

“Thank you,” Tam whispered, closing her eyes, weariness overcoming her.

Thien realized that Qui was trying to hold back tears. “She’s so brave,” Thien whispered, gently squeezing Qui’s arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so brave.”

Qui nodded, watching her granddaughter, almost unaware of Thien. Not wanting to intrude, Thien said good-bye and slowly walked away. She felt weak and had to hold the handrail as she descended toward Iris’s office. She entered the room and saw Iris working at her computer, typing numbers into small boxes. The windows of the room were shut, and beads of sweat covered the back of Iris’s neck.