Nine Days (9 page)

The more certain she sounded, the more dread I felt. Vietnam? That was a whole new proposition. It might look close enough when you’re looking at a map of the world, but as I recalled, Asia was a pretty big continent, and going to Hanoi would take us farther away from Washington. Farther from home. For a second all my middle-of-the-night homesickness came flooding back, even though the sun was rapidly gaining on us and another fine day was hatching.

Instead of one of us not speaking the language and a lot of people speaking English, we’d
both
not be able to speak the language, and probably almost no one would speak English. And would my credit card do any good? Did Vietnam even have ATMs?

I had no idea. I didn’t even know what Vietnam’s money was called. I hadn’t read the guidebook. I didn’t
have
a guidebook. I didn’t like the idea of going anywhere without a guidebook or local money.

“And we probably need visas,” I said. “What makes you think we can get visas?”

“The same travel agent who can get us cheap flights can get us visas, too,” she said impatiently.

She hadn’t told me anything about a travel agent who was supposed to get us cheap flights. But I didn’t stop to point that out. I figured she was talking about someone Radio Man had recommended.

“And why is he being so helpful with all this?” I asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Last night he wasn’t going to talk with us, ever. Now he’s helping us get visas into Vietnam? Why?”

She wheeled to face me.

“Maybe because he feels a little guilty about getting my father into this,” she said. “Maybe because he’d like to know what
happened too. Maybe he thinks my father is worth saving, and he thinks we can actually help—or have you ruled that possibility out, now that we’re getting close?”

That was a low blow. But I can’t say I really even heard it. I heard the words, but not so they really sunk in. I was following my own train of thought, hoping to catch her runaway engine.

“Ti-Anna, listen, even if your father did meet up with these labor leaders five days after calling you—”

“Six. One for him to get here, and then five more.”

“Okay, six days after calling you. And even if this guy in Vietnam can tell us where they met—even so, a lot of days have passed since then. What do you think has happened since?”

She spoke in a flat, low voice that was scarier than any yelling could have been.

“I have no idea, okay?” I’d never seen Ti-Anna like this—white, and furious, and near tears all at the same time. “I have no idea. That’s why I need to go and find out. That’s why I’m doing this. If you’re too scared to come along with me, fine. Just lend me the money for airfare. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

She turned and resumed marching toward Picnic Bay, which had come into sight below us.

“That is so unfair,” I said, running to catch up to her. “You know I’m not going to let you go on alone. And yes, I am scared! You should be scared too! This is scary! Unless I’m very much mistaken, even Radio Man was scared, though I certainly couldn’t guess of what.”

At that, I have to admit, I was close to tears.

Ti-Anna stopped and turned back toward me again, but this time her face and body seemed to lose that tightness, and she was—she was herself again.

“Ethan, I’m sorry,” she said. She hugged me, and for a while neither of us moved.

“Now I know what happens when you miss a meal,” she finally said. I started laughing, which gave me the hiccups, which only made me laugh more. Which made her laugh. We were a mess.

She sat down on a wide tree root off to the side of the trail. You could see down to the little bay, where a few fishermen were paddling around their fish farms, which looked like square rafts, under which they hung cages of fish, which I figured eventually ended up in the restaurants, which we also could see, a ways up the beach. There were a few people sitting up that way, some at a café, one in the shade of a bamboo grove, smoking a cigarette.

“Look,” she said. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. We have to figure this out together, and make our decision together.”

I was still standing on the trail, and she looked up at me, squinting into the sun. “And if you think it’s stupid to go, we won’t go.”

At which point I knew, of course, that we were going to Vietnam, if we could get there. From that point on I felt better about Ti-Anna. But the dread in the pit of my stomach—that didn’t go away.

The first ferry of the morning chugged into view, slowed toward the dock and threw its engines into reverse to ease into its berth. We boarded and took seats on the upper deck.

The people who’d been at the café got on right behind us. Then I noticed the guy who’d been squatting in the bamboo grove lift himself off his haunches, grind his cigarette butt into the dirt and stroll over to the ferry. Buzz cut, leather jacket; he stepped casually aboard as the gate closed.

I didn’t say anything. Ti-Anna would chalk it up to imagination, hunger, fear. And maybe she’d be right. I didn’t feel sure about anything anymore.

We watched Lamma Island get smaller and smaller and then closed our eyes, side by side, smelling the ocean and hearing the gulls. For a minute I tried to pretend everything was normal, and I got the feeling Ti-Anna was doing the same. If we get through this alive, I thought, I will come back to Hong Kong someday and ride this ferry for no reason but the fun of it. With Ti-Anna, hopefully.

Filing off at Central was like getting slammed back into the
twenty-first century, back into the hubbub of bankers and students and office workers hurrying and scurrying from one important meeting to the next.

We headed toward the main Star Ferry pier. I was ready for breakfast; Ti-Anna was anxious to find the travel agent. As a compromise we’d agreed to take the ferry back to Kowloon and then get something to eat, before finding the office.

But an irresistible odor came wafting our way from a peddler’s cart between the two piers.

I was about to make the case that a pre-breakfast snack of fried dough and hot soy milk would not violate the terms of our compromise when I saw the man in the leather jacket, strolling ten or twelve yards behind us.

There was something frightening about his face. When I tell you he had a scar through his upper lip and running up one cheek, I know you’ll think I’m making it up. Cheesy, right? Maybe he got it at central casting with the leather jacket.

But what was chilling wasn’t the scar. It was the stare. As in: I’m not going to pretend, and what are you going to do about it?

I got in line at the fried dough cart, to Ti-Anna’s exasperation, but when I explained under my breath what I had seen—what I thought I had seen—she didn’t make fun of my runaway imagination.

She glanced his way and said, “Let’s find a bench and see what he does.”

By now even I had stopped feeling hungry, but we bought our snack anyway and sat. The guy, his jacket now slung over one shoulder, sat a hundred feet away and watched us with contempt.

“Now what?” I said.

“Let’s lose him!” Ti-Anna said. “We can’t have him following us to the travel agent.”

I almost wished she had dismissed my fears as paranoia.

“Okay, first of all, we’re not positive he’s following us,” I said. Even as I said that, I knew it was wrong. The guy had lit a cigarette, cupping his lighter from the wind, and was eyeing us through half-closed eyes. “And second of all, how?”

“If he follows us onto the ferry, we’ll know for sure,” Ti-Anna said. “And we can hop off just as it’s leaving.”

We watched a couple of ferries load and depart. There was, in fact, no way to “hop off.” Over the decades they had built this ferry into a pretty efficient system, and they tended to make sure the gate was closed before setting off.

These were big ships, almost like old steamboats, except without the paddle wheel. Two stories—green lower deck, white above—with eight lifeboats on top, inside decks, outside decks, the works.

“The only way,” Ti-Anna mused after observing a couple of departures, “would be to climb onto that side and then jump back on the pier as it pulls out. Late enough so that he can’t follow. And early enough so you don’t fall in, of course.”

My contribution to the plan: “You can’t be serious.”

It’s not like the Star Ferry company had never thought of people doing this, and they obviously didn’t think it was a good idea. There was a railing all along the pier, so there was in fact no place to jump to.

But she was serious, so we were serious, and so—off we went.

We each still had our Octopus cards—that’s what they call their transit fare cards, for some reason. We tossed the fried dough into a trash bin and made our way through the throngs onto the ferry. I didn’t look back but somehow I knew Leather Jacket was behind us. And then, sure enough, there he was. On board.

We stood near the side, and as the boat started pulling out we both hoisted ourselves onto the rail and—one, two, three—jumped.

Ti-Anna landed cleanly on the pier railing, balanced for a split second and jumped forward. I slithered down the outside, caught myself, but couldn’t get a grip to climb back over.

For an instant I was frozen to the spot, the boat pulling away, the dark waves way beneath me. In that instant I saw Leather Jacket staring at me from the boat with a bone-chilling hatred, as if willing me to drop into the depths.

Then everyone was yelling, and Ti-Anna was pulling me up and over, and I was tumbling and picking myself up and running after her as fast as I could possibly run. Which was a lot faster than I had ever run before.

We didn’t stop until we were off the pier and three or four blocks away. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure the police would be able to track us by picking up the beat. Ti-Anna was bent over, hands on knees.

“You okay?” she gasped.

My palms were scraped, my pride was hurt and I was scared out of my wits. Otherwise I was fine, as far as I could tell.

She gave me a big grin. “I think we lost him,” she said.

I couldn’t believe we had pulled it off, but we did seem to be in the clear.

“Thanks for saving me,” I said.

She shrugged. “I keep forgetting,” she said. “You’re not at your best before breakfast.”

We agreed it would make sense to avoid the Star Ferry—preferably forever. Fortunately, Hong Kong’s subway goes under the harbor, so we found a station and rode a few stops into Kowloon, getting off far enough from the harbor that we couldn’t possibly bump into anyone who might be looking for us.

As we emerged up the escalator, the first thing we saw was a McDonald’s. We walked in, no debate. Even Ti-Anna chowed down. I pushed thoughts of home from my mind.

I felt better with a couple of Egg McMuffins in me—and, yes, they did taste exactly the same, though there were a couple of more intriguing things on the menu, like shrimp burgers and a burger with pork, cabbage and teriyaki sauce, which I promised myself I’d try the next time. If there was a next time.

I felt even better when right after breakfast we found a currency exchange store and got hold of some Vietnamese money—dong, they turned out to be called. And I felt better still when we found a bookstore with an English-language section not far from the currency store, and I bought an excellent guidebook to Vietnam.

“Nothing beats having a good guidebook in your backpack,” I told Ti-Anna. “Except maybe having a good map.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose it’s preferable to a biography of a war-mongering American general who spent most of his life killing people who look like me, in one country or another,” she said.

A low blow. But I let it pass, since I had, to be honest, been regretting having stuffed MacArthur in my pack. So far I hadn’t had a lot of down time for reading.

We stopped at an Internet café, where we tried to find out something about the people Radio Man was sending us to. We didn’t get a single hit for the guy he said acted as go-between for Ti-Anna’s father, which gave me one more thing to be nervous about. What if he didn’t exist, and Radio Man had made up some name just to get us off his back?

On the other hand, the woman he’d run onto the beach to tell us about, Anna Sydney, turned out to be real—an American running the Southeast Asia office of something called International Justice Mission, which, according to its website, helped people in poor countries where the local police often helped only the rich. They would try to rescue, or encourage the police to rescue, kids who got sold to work in salt mines or carpet factories or brothels. It sounded like noble work, though we couldn’t figure why Radio Man would have given us the name of someone who seemed to have nothing to do with China.

We updated and reprinted our parental “permission” letters. They explained that we’d been delayed and were catching up to a school trip to Hanoi, and thank you for every courtesy. I know, there’s no excuse for forging anyone’s signature. But by this point, we were so past excuses for anything that I hardly worried about that.

Or, put it this way: I was worried about so many things that this one barely made my list. Had Ti-Anna’s father really gone to Vietnam? What could have happened there to keep him from ever calling again? What would Ti-Anna do if we got to Vietnam and couldn’t find out? Or found out, and the answer was something terrible?

That last one worried me most of all—a lot more than forging my mother’s signature.

Of course, we didn’t talk about any of that. We did what we needed to do, step by step.

We found the travel agent, if you can call her that, in what I
guessed passed for suburbs in Hong Kong. It took us a long time to figure it out on the map, and even longer to ride to nearly the end of one of the subway lines. Then we had to walk past one big apartment complex after another, their balconies spilling over with plants and birdcages and bedding hanging out to air.

On the sixth floor of one of these buildings that looked like every other building was an apartment door that looked like every other apartment door: the address Radio Man had given us.