Dragon House (47 page)

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.

Of course, there are also massive numbers of street children in my home country, America. In fact, it’s estimated that one out of every four homeless individuals in the United States is a child. Groups like StandUp For Kids are helping these children. I am attempting to assist this national organization, which is run by volunteers and serves more than a thousand children every week.

The future of Vietnam, America, and the world depends on children, and I hope that we can all do something to ensure that we don’t leave children on the streets. That abandonment needs to be a thing of the past. It should have no presence on earth.

As always, I thank you so much for your support. Feel free to send me a note at [email protected].

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I COULD NOT HAVE WRITTEN
Dragon House
without the support and love of my family. Allison, thank you for your belief in this novel, and for your patience. You’ve worked every bit as hard as I have during this process and are deserving of at least as much credit. I’m blessed to have you as my wife, my partner, and my friend. Sophie and Jack, you’re our two little dragons, and I can’t wait to take you to Vietnam, and to watch you explore a world that you will only make better. To Mom and Dad, and my brothers, Tom, Matt, and Luke, I love you all and wouldn’t be who I am without each of you.

My wonderful editor, Kara Cesare, has always given me the support, encouragement, and feedback that I’ve needed. And I continue to be impressed by everyone I meet at Penguin. To my agent, Laura Dail, thank you for your guidance, kindness, and hard work. I always enjoy opening your e-mails, which seem to almost magically appear in my in-box.

I also am grateful for the help of Mary and Doug Barakat, Bruce McPherson, Amy Tan, David Axe, Allon Almougy, Shoshana Woo, Dustin O’Regan, Michael Brosowski, Robert Olen Butler, Karen Joy Fowler, Elizabeth Flock, Gregory David Roberts, David Oliver Relin, and M. J. Rose. To my brother-in-law, Jon Craine, thank you for drawing such a splendid map of Vietnam.

And of course, thank you, readers, librarians, and booksellers, for supporting me and all of my endeavors. Without you, my stories would not exist.

After graduating from Colorado College,
John Shors
lived for several years in Kyoto, Japan, where he taught English. On a shoestring budget, he later trekked across Asia, visiting ten countries and climbing the Himalayas. After returning to the United States, he became a newspaper reporter in his hometown, Des Moines, Iowa, winning several statewide awards in journalism. John then moved to Boulder, Colorado, and helped launch GroundFloor Media, now one of the state’s largest public relations firms.

John has been lucky enough to spend much of his life abroad, traveling in Asia, the South Pacific, Europe, Africa, and North America. Now a full-time novelist, John spends his days writing and going on family outings with his wife, Allison, and their two young children, Sophie and Jack.

John’s first two novels,
Beneath a Marble Sky
and
Beside a Burning Sea
, have been translated into more than twenty languages.

DRAGON HOUSE

JOHN SHORS

AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN SHORS

Q. What inspired you to write
Dragon House
?

A. For a long time, I’ve found Vietnam fascinating due to its history—which is dominated by its external conflicts as well as its internal ones. In part due to this fascination, I’ve been fortunate to travel extensively throughout the country. While exploring Vietnam I felt quite connected to its citizens, who usually went out of their way to make me feel welcome. I talked about peace with a man who once dug tunnels that were used to attack American bases. I listened to stories from people who endured tremendous hardships. Most important, at least in terms of
Dragon House
, was the fact that I interacted on a daily basis with some of the thousands of street children who are so visible in parts of Vietnam. I felt like the stories of these children needed to be brought to life on the page.