To his dismay, Loc could recall nothing more of the night. From the potency of the sunlight streaming through the room’s only window, he knew that midday was near. His time with her was over; it was after the hour that she was obligated to be his. He cursed her. He cursed himself. The pleasure boat, the woman, and the perfectly refined opium had cost him most of his money.
He studied the contours of her body and felt himself growing aroused. Could she still be groggy? Could I take her again? He reached for her, his stained fingers squeezing her flesh. He must have squeezed too hard, for she rolled away from him. “Come here,” he said, his voice cracking, his mouth dry.
She blinked repeatedly. She reached for her cell phone, which lay on the bed. Her brow furrowed when she saw the time. Putting her hand against a nearby wall to steady herself, she rose.
“I said, come here,” Loc repeated.
She pulled on her skirt and high boots, glaring at him. Though her stance was unsteady, she dressed as quickly as possible.
He picked up his pipe. “Let’s smoke.”
“It’s gone. Remember?” She flicked open her cell phone and typed a text message, her fingers moving as if they were independent creatures. “Don’t ever call us again,” she said. “I don’t sleep with water buffalo.”
Loc would have beaten her, but as he started to move toward her, he recalled that she was protected by men who were much more powerful than he. To beat her would prompt his death. “You won’t always be with them,” he said, knowing that she’d age and would one day be on the street.
“We’ll see about that,” she replied, putting on her sunglasses. She turned and opened the door. Her high-heeled boots seemed to echo against his skull as she walked to the deck.
Loc rubbed his aching head. He looked for his clothes, the mirrors playing tricks with his mind. Finally locating his pants, he counted what remained of his money. He could find only a handful of nearly worthless dong notes. He threw the bills at his reflection, cursing loudly. He hated himself then, hated the world and everything in it. All that mattered to him was opium and women. And right now he had neither. His pipe was empty, and he’d been scorned by the most beautiful woman he had ever touched. She’s laughing at me right now, he thought, wanting to break the mirrors before him, to destroy his reflection.
The boat suddenly shuddered, and Loc fell sideways on the bed. Realizing that the boat had bumped against a pier, he began to gather his belongings. He dressed awkwardly, not ready for such movements. To his surprise and delight, he saw what resembled a small brown rock on the floor. He hurriedly picked it up, inspected it, and then set it in the bowl of his pipe. He held his lighter against the flake of opium and sucked on the pipe. The opium began to glow, releasing its smoke.
Loc felt the drug enter him. It filled his lungs like some sort of magical serpent. This serpent divided itself into a million smaller snakes that sought out other parts of his body. Soon he felt as if he were being lifted off the bed. Floating upward, he was unaware of his extremities, of any sort of pain. He exhaled deeply, air suddenly a gift, something sweet to be savored.
Voices called from above. Loc wasn’t sure what had been said, but knew it was time to leave. He finished dressing, hid his pipe in his sock, and gathered his money. The door swung open slowly, pushed by his fingers, which didn’t feel the weight of the wood. Nor did his feet sense the stairs beneath him. He was outside his body—a spirit that used a physical form to move but wasn’t attached to that form.
Loc soon drifted on the streets. His mind wandered, resting in familiar and undiscovered places. He wondered if this floating world was one of many, longing to stay in it forever. His thoughts and emotions and experiences were magically connected. He heard the voices of his parents and wished they hadn’t left him to the streets. He remembered what he’d done with the woman. And he pictured the one-handed boy and knew that he had to steal this boy. With this boy beside him, he’d never be without money, without the means to drift into new worlds.
As Loc drifted, he began to plan, unsure how he would steal the half boy, but sure that he’d do it.
TAM HAD NEVER MUCH CARED FOR sleep, but recently she’d had no choice but to close her eyes and succumb to the profound weariness that dominated her body and mind. She didn’t understand why she was so tired. She wanted to talk with Little Bird, to comb Dung’s hair, to do so many things. But her body allowed her only short windows of time through which she could pursue her desires. Otherwise, she simply couldn’t keep her eyes open. And closing her eyes was also the only sure way to stop her pain. The medicine helped, of course. But it had limits.
And so Tam spent her days and nights drifting in and out of sleep. In that sense she was like the sun when a storm was threatening. Most moments she was engulfed in darkness. Occasionally the clouds parted enough so that she was able to shine her light on the world around her. The fact that most of this world wasn’t aware of her light didn’t bother her. She needed only her grandmother.
Qui understood how and why Tam drifted between light and dark. When her granddaughter slept, Qui either cleaned the dormitory or lay by Tam’s side. She wasn’t interested in anything else. Out of courtesy and gratitude she spoke with Iris and Noah, and she was kind to everyone else. But she sought out conversations only with Tam.
As Qui waited patiently for Tam to awaken, she thought about the elephant that Noah and Thien had made. They’d shown it to her an hour before and explained that they wanted Tam to ride it. The sight of the seesaw had filled Qui with warmth. She’d managed to momentarily hold back her tears, touching the painted plywood as if it were some sort of religious relic. Understanding the significance of their gift, Qui had grasped the hands of Noah and Thien, and then her tears had fallen.
Now, as Tam stirred and moaned softly, Qui stroked her granddaughter’s brow. She gently pushed her hair out of her face. An eyelash lay next to Tam’s nose. Qui carefully picked up the lash. She studied it closely, her gaze sweeping up and down the perfect black curve that had once protected Tam. Qui wished she knew where her daughter was. If she did, she would tape Tam’s lash to a card and mail it to Hong. Perhaps then Hong would see the lash, sense the beauty of Tam, and hurry to her. Why, Hong, why don’t you come home? Qui silently asked her daughter. Why have you abandoned your precious girl?
“Little Bird?”
Qui glanced up from the lash. “Yes?”
“What are you looking at?”
“I . . . I’m looking at a piece of you.”
Tam smiled, not seeing the lash, but happy with the response. “I dreamed again about flowers.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. But they were purple. And I swam in them.”
“What a fine dream.”
“It was.”
Qui’s fingers joined with Tam’s. “A surprise is waiting for you, my sweet child, my beautiful child.”
“A surprise?”
“Can you climb on my back?”
Holding on to her doll, Tam wrapped her arms around Qui’s neck and managed to pull herself up. “Where are you taking me, Little Bird? Did Momma come?”
Qui put her arms behind her, so that her hands met beneath Tam’s bottom. “No, your mother’s still working. She can’t do more than send money and her love. But there’s something wonderful waiting for you outside. Now, hold on.”
“I’m holding.”
Glad to have Tam atop her again, Qui grunted as she stood up. How far have I carried her? she wondered. Have we walked enough to circle the world? Qui didn’t know much about the world but had heard that there were endless deserts, snowcapped mountains, and vast, gleaming cities. She’d have liked for Tam to see snow. Surely it would have made her laugh.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Qui turned toward the playground. Outside, everyone seemed hard at work. Noah was nailing long pieces of wood together. Iris and Thien were planting flowers along the fence. And Mai and Minh held watering cans, giving the grass a drink. Thi
en was the first to spot Tam and Qui, and stood up and walked toward them.
“Are you ready for a ride?” Thien asked Tam in English.
“What?”
“Come and see what Mr. Noah has built for you.”
They all stopped what they were doing and proceeded to the far end of the lot, where the seesaw sat. The side bearing the elephant was heavier and rested against the ground.
“Didn’t you want to ride an elephant?” Thien asked, smiling.
At the sight of the seesaw, Tam’s eyes widened. She’d ridden a seesaw once and remembered pushing with her feet and sailing into the air. Little Bird had been on the other end, and they’d laughed until their bellies ached. That seesaw had been nothing more than a steel pole with a seat on each end. The seesaw she saw now was so different. The profile of an elephant’s head rose almost as high as Mai’s shoulders. The elephant had big black eyes and a pair of tusks that were the color of clouds.
“We saved the first ride for you, Tam,” Iris said.
Noah saw Tam’s smile, and he remembered what it was like to be a boy. He helped Iris lift Tam from Qui’s back. Tam held her doll against her. She giggled softly as they placed her within the elephant. Knowing that the elephant was heavy, Noah said, “Mai and Minh, why don’t you get on the other end?”
“Sure, sure?” Mai asked, glancing at Qui, thinking that she might like to try.
Qui smiled, a gap in her teeth revealing her pink tongue. She could see that Minh was eager to ride the seesaw, and so she gestured for the two children to climb on. “Please go,” she said in Vietnamese. “I’ll be so happy to stand and watch.”
Minh set down his watering can and straddled the opposite end of the seesaw, which didn’t yet have anything attached. He wondered if Noah would create the back of an elephant or the face of another animal. He hoped for another animal. Minh was happy to see the elephant, happy that a man with one leg could build something so wonderful.
“Don’t jump too high,” Iris said to Mai, worried that Tam would fall.
“No, jump high,” Tam replied, giggling softly, trying to push her end up from the ground.
Noah saw that she was struggling and grasped the elephant’s ear and lifted. The seesaw rose upward, and Tam laughed. Mai and Minh reached the bottom and kicked against the soft soil. The elephant and Tam plunged down, and she shrieked in delight.
“My stomach dropped!” she said in Vietnamese, pushing with her feet against the ground. Noah lifted and the seesaw swayed in the other direction.
“So did mine!” Mai replied, laughing.
Minh smiled, gripping the bar in front of him and pushing with his feet.
“I didn’t know elephants could jump so high,” Thien said.
Tam watched the world rise and fall. She’d rarely seen things move so fast, and she urged her elephant onward. Gripping her doll with one hand and the seesaw with the other, she kicked and pushed and laughed.
After a few minutes, Noah stopped the seesaw. “Do you want to ride with Tam?” he asked Qui.
Not needing to be asked twice, Qui moved behind her granddaughter. Instead of holding the bar in front of her, Qui put her arms around Tam’s waist. Noah waited until everyone looked secure and then he pulled up on the elephant’s ear.
Qui enjoyed the feeling of soaring, of reaching new heights. She watched Mai and Minh propel their side off the ground and laughed as she and Tam dropped. “What an elephant!” she said into Tam’s ear.
Tam grinned. She hadn’t run since she’d been sick, and she’d missed it. Her elephant ran now, and she giggled. She saw Mai and Minh laughing, and this sight caused her giggles to intensify. Suddenly she couldn’t stop laughing. She laughed with each breath, and her bones didn’t ache, and she didn’t long for her mother. She simply laughed as any child might. And she felt so lucky then. She heard Qui behind her, saw the smiling faces around her, and she knew that she was loved. And more than anything else, Tam wanted to be loved.
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.”