Dragon House (41 page)

“Free?”

“The way you sing. How you’re always peeling fruit and asking me if I want some. How you pour whiskey into my lemonade. You just . . . you seem to understand me. And I’m not easy to understand.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I think that . . . I’m falling for you.”

Thien rested her head against his back for a moment, repeating his words in her mind. “Do you care for me,” she asked, “or the thought of me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are an American in Vietnam. You are hurt and . . . longing to feel better. Maybe you want to fall for a Vietnamese girl. And so you are.”

“But I didn’t want to fall for anyone, Thien. I wasn’t looking for that. But that’s what happened. And it happened because of you.”

She rose slightly and kissed his neck. “You are too hard on yourself. Much too hard.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are good. And you are brave. And you should not forget these parts of yourself.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Thanks.”

“And once we find Mai and Minh, once they are safe, then we will have time together.” She felt him lean back against her, and she wrapped her arms tighter about him. “Please be careful, Noah, once we find them.”

“I will.”

“I care for you also. And you have been hurt enough already. And when we take Mai and Minh, Loc will want to hurt you.”

“I’ll be careful. Believe me, I don’t want to get hurt either.”

“Good.” She kissed his neck again, and the rain fell harder.

“I feel like we’re swimming.”

They crested a hill and saw lights twinkling in the distance. “Nha Trang,” she said, wiping her eyes to see better.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Noah increased their speed. Soon the road flattened and broadened, and a median separated flows of traffic. From the middle of the median carefully cultivated hedges created an endless line of green. The city resembled a miniature Saigon. The shops, the signs, and the sights were all the same. But unlike Saigon, Nha Trang seemed to sleep.

The road curved eastward, and soon they drove only a few dozen feet from the sea. Waves crashed rhythmically, reminding Noah of the sound of distant explosions. He didn’t know where to drive and, seeing that no one was out, decided that they should rest for a few hours before daylight. He proceeded to what seemed to be the heart of the city—a line of modern hotels that appeared to almost lean over the beach toward the sea. Opposite the hotels sprawled a park that sparkled from thousands of Christmas lights. Noah drove into the park, stopping at the very edge of the pavement. After turning off the scooter, he took Thien’s hand and slowly led her forward, past immense banyan trees that were inundated with lights. His prosthesis was even harder to move than usual, though he paid it less heed than usual. At the beach, large umbrellas had been shut and stuck from the sand like giant needles. Noah opened one as far as it could go.

“Why did you not go to a hotel?” Thien asked, as she sat on the damp sand.

He moved beside her. “Because I knew you’d want to see the ocean. Even in the rain.”

Leaning toward him, she kissed his forehead. “Thank you for . . . falling for me,” she said, smiling. “It makes me happy.”

“I want to make you happy.”

She turned toward the silent city. “Are you scared?”

“Of Loc?”

“Of not finding Mai and Minh.”

He lay back on the sand to take the burden off his back. Fortunately, the umbrella was big enough to protect him if he bent his knees. “They’re here,” he said, wiping his eyes. “If this is his hometown . . . like Sahn said . . . then Loc’s brought them here.”

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

T
he 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.

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?”