Dragon House (46 page)

“Who?”

“You can’t . . . hurt me,” Noah replied, thinking about Wesley, wondering if they’d soon meet again. “You’re nothing.”

Loc swore, twisting his body, swinging the oar with all his might. The pain was like a bomb detonating within Noah. He couldn’t think or breathe or curse. The agony was too absolute, too overwhelming. He fought against the ropes that held him, writhing like a worm that had been chopped in half. As he fought, someone hit him repeatedly on the side of the head.

The oar started to swing again, but this time two men pulled Loc back, and the wood passed inches from Noah’s stump. He managed to open his eyes and saw that five or six newcomers were present. As he shuddered and groaned, he watched an older man speak to Loc. The older man was dressed in green pants and a white T-shirt. He seemed to be angry, pointing at Loc and then Noah.

Noah tried to follow what was happening between them, but his pain was too vast, and he began to black out. Again he saw the faces of those he loved. Past conversations reverberated within. He lost track of time and location. His Humvee had been blown up, he remembered. Where was Wes? He shouted out to his friend, but no answer was given. Oh, Wes, he thought, what have they done to you? Where are you? Is Thien with you? She is? Good. Tell her something. . . . Tell her . . . tell her I love her. Tell her . . . I’m sorry. She’ll have to watch the children alone. With Iris. You and Thien and Iris can watch them. Be their friend. Protect them. They’re so wonderful. But they don’t know it. They’ve been told they’re bad, they’re worthless. Tell them the truth, Wes. Tell them the truth until they believe it. You’ll be so amazed . . . at what you see . . . at what you feel. You’ll never forget it. Never. And remember . . . to tell her I love her . . . and that I heard her sing . . . one last time . . . at the end.

Noah felt someone shaking him. “Wes?” he asked, trying to focus his eyes. Someone was kneeling on the floor, untying his hands. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you . . . my friend . . . for coming back to me.”

Water was poured into Noah’s mouth and splashed against his face. He gulped, pulling the liquid into his aching body. He coughed up the water, holding his sides, aware of foreign words again in his ears. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he tried to understand the scene before him. To his surprise, he saw that Loc was still talking to the older man, who seemed as angry as ever. The man pressed his finger against Loc’s chest and then turned to Noah.

“Leave them . . . alone,” Noah whispered, thinking of Mai and Minh.

The older man stepped toward him, his open mouth revealing a golden tooth. “My nephew has told me about these children,” he said in clear, precise English. “Did you take them from him?”

“Take them?”

“Take them from him?”

“No. They . . . they came to me. To us.”

“Why?”

“To live . . . with us. At . . . our center.”

“And you paid him? Two hundred and fifty dollars for their freedom?”

“It didn’t work. But we tried.”

The older man stooped closer to Noah. “Tell me about this center. Why would children go there?”

“To leave.”

“To leave where?”

“The streets. To leave them. To escape. And . . . and to learn.”

“You take care of them? You teach them?”

“Me? I just . . . I built a playground. We made a seesaw . . . for sweet Tam.”

The man raised and dipped his fingers and wrist. “A seesaw? Like this?”

“Yes.”

“And did these children play on your seesaw?”

Noah shook his head, weakly spitting blood. “They tried. But . . . but he took them. He took them from it.”

The man rose to his full height, grunting. “My nephew,” he replied, “is weak. As weak as a blade of grass.” He turned to Loc and in Vietnamese said, “Your mother and I, we were left on the streets. We had nowhere to go. Nowhere! And do you know what became of us? Do you?”

“You—”

“We became thieves! We stole to survive, and she was only a child herself when she had you! And then she left us both because her shame was so great. She left us and now I’m sure she’s dead.”

“She didn’t—”

“Shut your mouth, nephew, or I’ll feed your tongue to the crabs!” The older man cleared his throat. “Maybe your mother could have been saved by something like this foreigner is doing. Did you ever think about that? Did you think about how I had to crawl through the gutter to get where I am? Through piss and piles of human waste! Do you have fish guts for brains? Where’s the money the foreigner gave you? Did you spend it all on opium?”

“It’s—”

“And you have the impudence to come here, having kidnapped those two children? You bring them to my city! Do you know how many police are looking for them? And you bring them here! And now the foreigner is in my factory! Half-dead? You dare to endanger me? My family? My wife and daughters? My son is no better than the ass of an elephant for bringing you here. His offenses are almost as great as yours.”

Vien stepped toward his father with his hands outstretched, his palms up. “Father, I didn’t mean to—”

“Silence! If I want to hear your pathetic voice, I’ll tell you to speak!” The older man turned again to Loc. “You put me in jeopardy for what? A pair of children? Have you sunk so low? You steal from me, a decade ago, and then you return. And when you return, police swarm about me like bees around their queen! Were you going to kill this foreigner in my factory? Without my knowledge or consent?”

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

T
hree 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.