Dragon House

by John Shors

  “Well, maybe tonight I’ll prove you wrong,” Noah replied.

  Iris nudged him with an elbow. “Do you know that I saw him sing once? In high school? He was in a play and he sang with a pretty girl.”

  “Really?” Thien asked. “Was he good?”

  “Actually, he was.”

  Thien looked at Tam. “Maybe elephants can fly.”

  Tam’s smile widened. “Maybe.”

  “Stop it, you two,” Noah said, relieved that Tam no longer looked to be in pain.

  Thien blew on the photo. “Oh, how beautiful you are,” she said, handing the picture to Tam. “Like a piece of the sky that has fallen down to us.”

  Tam saw herself and she smiled. “Dung look pretty.”

  “Not as pretty as you,” Iris replied, peering at the photo. “We’ll have to frame this and hang it in the entryway, so everyone can see our first student.”

  Qui, who’d barely taken her eyes off of Tam during the entire exchange, squeezed her granddaughter’s hand. “You are beautiful,” she said in Vietnamese.

  “Dung is so happy,” Tam replied, still looking at the photo.

  “Why?”

  “Because she has a family.”

  “Yes, she does. And so do you.”

  Tam nodded. A spasm of pain deep in her hips caused her smile to fade. But she didn’t moan. “I’m also happy today.”

  “You are?”

  “I like my family.”

  Qui squeezed Tam’s hand again. “And they like you.”

  “Can I go to sleep here?”

  “Of course, my precious child. Close your eyes if you’re tired.”

  Tam nestled into her pillows, pulling Dung to her chest. A horn sounded somewhere below. Even three stories above the ground, the buzz of traffic persisted, like static from a radio.

  Iris saw that Tam was falling asleep. “Thien,” she said softly, “maybe you could tell Qui more about our plans for the center. I’m going to talk to Noah for a minute.”

  “Of course, Miss Iris.”

  Noah rose awkwardly from his pillow and followed Iris to the far side of the roof. Iris leaned against the hip-high wall, studying the city below. “It makes me sick that we can’t help her,” she said. “Just sick.”

  “I know.”

  “Is there anything we missed? Anything at all?”

  Noah absently watched scooters gather at a stoplight, wishing that Tam could be fixed, that her parts were replaceable. “I don’t think so. Unless the new blood work gives us a miracle, she’s going . . . Tam’s going to die.” Noah’s own words seemed to weigh him down. He remembered carrying her through the rain, remembered how she’d clung to him as if he were her father. “I’ve got a friend in medical school,” he said, “and I e-mailed him about it. But I don’t expect good news.”

  “It’s not right,” Iris replied, glancing at Tam. “All she needed was treatment. But how could she receive treatment when she lives on the street?” She wiped her eyes. “Damn it, Noah. Why do we live in a world where little girls are allowed to die? With all our wealth, why does there have to be so much suffering?”

  Noah reached into his pocket and removed a flask of whiskey. He took a swallow and grimaced as it burned his insides. He suddenly needed the whiskey as much as he needed air. Without it he’d suffocate.

  “I once read Darwin,” Iris said, not looking at him. “His laws . . . they shouldn’t apply today. It shouldn’t be only the fittest who survive.”

  “Some things never seem to change.”

  “They should.”

  He nodded. “And they could. At least, I think so.”

  “How?” she asked, turning to him.

  “It’s just my opinion. Something I’ve thought about since Iraq.”

  “Tell me, Noah.”

  He sipped his whiskey, Tam still dominating his thoughts. “Well, try to imagine this. What if the trillion dollars we’ve spent in Iraq had instead been spent on something else?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “What if that money had been given to the world’s poor? If thousands of schools and hospitals had been built around the globe? If millions of people had been fed? Do you think we’d be hated then?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose not as much.”

  “That’s right. Because we’d be saving little girls like Tam. And people don’t hate a country that’s out saving little girls.”

  She remembered her father saying something similar. “What about the worst of them? Who hate us the most?”

  “The worst of the worst . . . we have to destroy. But we’d be better off helping the rest.” Noah shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable, glancing at Tam. “Remember that big earthquake in Pakistan? That killed thousands?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you think would have happened if the U.S. had pledged a billion dollars to help rebuild those cities? If Bush had flown over there and lifted a shovel and started to dig? Do you think so many Pakistanis would hate us today?”

  “No.”

  “Hell, no. They’d love us. We’d be heroes. At least to most of them. And the world would be a much better place. But that didn’t happen, because those cowards . . . those pathetic little cowards in Washington would rather drop their goddamn smart bombs than build schools.”

  Iris studied his face, having never heard him speak so much, or felt such passion in his voice. “You think it’s as simple as that?”

  “After you open your center, how do you think people around here are going to feel about Americans? They’re going to feel good about us. It’s as simple as that. And we had the same chance with the tsunami. It killed two hundred and fifty thousand people, many of them Muslims, and we really didn’t do that much to help.”

  Iris remembered seeing images of the tsunami on the television. Noah was right—the story had quickly gone away. “Why isn’t there . . . more outrage about what happened in Iraq?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because the lies keep coming. And people like me . . . we eat them up.”

  Iris moved closer to him. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of, Noah. You didn’t—”

  “I’m proud of those I served with. Of my friend Wes. I wish he were here . . . right now. He’d help us so much. He’d smile and he’d work. And he shouldn’t have died in Iraq. Not in that worthless Humvee.”

  “Did he believe in what he was doing?”

  Noah turned toward her, the scene of traffic below changing to a view of her face. “There’s nothing noble about how he died, Iris. He was blown to pieces. And his little boy . . . he’ll never hear his father’s laugh. He’ll grow up without him, never knowing how wonderful he was.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You know . . . all those goddamn politicians should see what happens when a smart bomb lands in a neighborhood. I saw that once.” Noah took another drink. “Jesus,” he muttered, remembering the mayhem, the sirens, the wounded woman frantically digging for her child—a lifeless child whom Noah helped pull from the wreckage. “If they were on the ground to see that . . . their thinking would change. And maybe little girls like Tam wouldn’t be left alone to die.”

  “Please don’t say that. About Tam.”

  He felt the whiskey numbing him but couldn’t stop himself from taking another drink. He needed to escape. “But most people don’t think like that,” he continued, glancing again in Tam’s direction, his mind never far from her. “I didn’t until I lost my leg. But I do now. And I wish that more people did. Because we’re going to bury that sweet little girl. Bury her before she ever had a chance to live.”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t want to bury her, Noah,” Iris replied, tears welling in her eyes. “Please tell me we won’t have to.”

  He looked skyward, wishing that he believed in miracles. “I think all we can do now is . . . make sure that her last days are good ones. Let’s try to give her some joy. Something to smile about.”

  “I’m so afraid for her.”r />
  “I know.”

  She swayed unsteadily. Her legs trembled. Her chest hurt. “Will you help me do that for her? Give her some joy?”

  “Of course.”

  Iris looked at Tam. “Will you also pray for her? Right now?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe in God. Or I hate him. I’m not sure which.”

  “Please, Noah. Please pray for her. Do that for me.”

  He saw the pain in her face, and he wanted to soften it. “I’ll pray for her,” he said, even though his prayers never seemed to be heard and he no longer asked for anything.

  Iris squeezed his arm. “Thank you.” She then closed her eyes and started begging for miracles.

  THE SLEEK NEW DEPARTMENT STORE WOULD have attracted customers in any city in any country. The white walls glistened as if covered in fresh snow. The mahogany floors were polished and partly covered with Oriental rugs. Piles of carefully folded sheets, blankets, and pillowcases rose like a city of fabric skyscrapers. Neatly dressed salespeople were eager to help hesitant customers. And tumbling from unseen speakers, Christmas music reminded shoppers of the joy of giving.

  After making sure that Tam was comfortably resting in the dormitory, Noah and Iris had spent much of the morning at Ben Thanh Market buying bedding for twenty girls. But Iris hadn’t liked the pillowcases available, as they were coarse and uncomfortable, so they’d driven to the department store and quickly filled her shopping bag.

  Neither Iris nor Noah had spoken much. Both were upset about Tam. Uncharacteristically, Iris didn’t smile at passersby. Noah repeatedly reached for his whiskey flask, despite a sense of lethargy that rendered him senseless to nearly everything but misery. At one point Iris snapped at him for bringing the flask, angry that young shopkeepers might see him drinking. Noah had taken a sip after her rebuke.

  Iris paid for the pillowcases and stepped from the air-conditioned store into the tropical sun. One world was so different from the other. Beads of sweat appeared almost instantly on Noah’s brow. He wiped them away and walked to Iris’s scooter, where he lashed her purchases to a rack behind the seat.

  “Be careful with those,” she said as he pressed down on the pillowcases.

  “Do you want them to fly away?”

  “No, but I don’t want you to ruin them either.”

  “I’m not ruining anything.”

  “Really?” she asked, loosening the straps.

  “And if money is so short, why’d you buy silk pillowcases?”

  “Because I want those girls to get a good night’s sleep. Isn’t that obvious?”

  He leaned down to rub his aching stump. “Obvious? No, it’s not. But I’m glad that you’ve got it all figured out.”

  Iris was about to respond when a whistle sounded to her right. She glanced toward the store’s entrance and saw a security guard who appeared to be holding a boy by his ear. The boy didn’t struggle, though he rose to his tiptoes. A girl started yelling at the security guard. As she yelled, a box tumbled from the boy’s hand, red and black plastic pieces scattering.

  Turning to Noah, Iris said, “Isn’t that—”

  He saw what she saw, and the sight of Minh in pain caused Noah to hurriedly limp forward. “Stop!” he shouted, reaching out, soon looming over the security guard.

  The local looked up and spoke angrily in Vietnamese. He released his grip on Minh, who was pulled from danger by Mai. As the guard continued to rant at Noah, Iris arrived and stood protectively in front of the children. “What happened?” she asked Mai.

  “We only ask customer to play game.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Sure, sure. Nothing else.”

  Noah swayed unsteadily on his good leg. “Why did you grab his ear?” he asked the guard, his voice loud, his anger over Tam’s illness threatening to overwhelm him.

  “You in Vietnam,” the guard replied, standing his ground. “You speak Vietnamese!”

  “I’ll speak whatever I—”

  “That’s enough, Noah,” Iris interrupted. “We need to leave. Now.”

  Noah glared at the guard, aware of the children’s tears. “You don’t ever touch them again. You hear me?”

  “Next time I call police,” the guard replied. He turned toward Mai and Minh and spoke in Vietnamese, his voice much louder than the nearby traffic.

  The children lowered their heads, avoiding his eyes. He continued to lecture them, then kicked one of the game pieces into the street. Before Noah could respond, the guard stepped back into the store.

  A taxi nearly ran over the piece before Noah managed to retrieve it. Minh stooped to collect the remainder of the pieces while Iris held Mai’s hand. “What did he say to you?” Iris asked, wiping a tear from Mai’s cheek.

  Mai shook her head slowly. “He . . . he say all street children the same. He say . . .”

  “What? What, Mai?”

  “He say we all garbage. Should be put into a dump forever.”

  “Oh, Mai, you know that’s not true,” Iris said, hugging Mai while Noah moved beside Minh.

  Mai thought about sleeping next to garbage, about eating garbage. She wondered if the guard was right. “He say what he believe. Not first time we hear this.”

  Iris dropped to her knees. “You speak two languages, Mai. You’re smart and you’re beautiful. And just because you’ve lived on the street doesn’t mean that you can’t do wonderful things.”

  “She’s right,” Noah said. “She’s right and he’s wrong.”

  “No, you wrong!” Mai replied, tired of trying to run from the truth. “You say I do wonderful things. What? You think I become doctor or movie star? Or maybe I be president? That man . . . he right. He say only what everyone think.”

  “We don’t think that,” Noah said.

  “What I care what you think? Maybe you gone tomorrow, go back to America. That man, he here always.”

  “But—”

  “And today we have no games. Minh win nothing. And tonight, how we give five dollar to Loc? If we no give him five dollar, he hurt us.” She thought of Loc pressing her face into the water, and her tears increased.

  “Who’s Loc?” Iris asked, again wiping Mai’s face.

  “No one. Everyone.”

  “Who is he, Mai?”

  “He big man. We pay him five dollar each day. He protect us. But he also hurt us. I very afraid of him. Sure, sure, I am.”

  Minh moved to Mai’s side, offering her his stump, which she grasped.

  “Where do you sleep, Mai?” Iris asked.

  “Under bridge. In basket.”

  Iris stood up, placing her hands on Mai’s shoulders. “Would you like to live with us? In our center?”

  “But your center only for girls. I never leave Minh.”

  “But we could find another center for Minh. We could—”

  “No!”

  “There must be someplace he can—”

  “No!”

  Noah saw the pain in Mai’s face and was reminded of his own sufferings. “Wait,” he said, as she turned away. “What if . . . you lived in the center and . . . and Minh lived with me, in a nearby apartment?”

  Mai wasn’t sure that she’d heard him correctly. “With you?”

  “That’s right. Maybe he could study with you, but live with me. At least for now.”

  “But Loc. Sure, sure, he be angry. He look for us.”

  Iris glanced at Noah, thinking of the man who’d threatened her. She’d told Noah about the man, and wanted to tell the policeman. Now it sounded as if they had two such men to worry about.

  “I’ll handle Loc,” Noah replied.

  “You no understand,” Mai said, seeming to shrink. “He hurt us if we no pay.”

  Noah took a step closer to her. “Then we’ll pay him. We’ll find him and give him enough money to leave you alone.”

  Mai dropped Minh’s stump and took Noah’s hands in her own. “You can do this? No lie? You can pay Loc, and I can stay in center, and Minh can stay wi
th you?”

  “That’s exactly what we’ll do,” Iris said. “And you can do something for us. Something important.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a girl in our center, a very sick girl. You met her. Remember? You can be her friend. You can learn at our school and be her friend.”

  Mai had never been asked by an adult to do anything other than earn money. At first, she didn’t know how to respond. Then she thought of living at the center, of helping the sick girl, of Minh staying with the nice American. And these thoughts, which were gifts almost beyond her ability to imagine, prompted her to smile. “Thank you,” she said, squeezing Noah’s hands. “Thank you so much.” She wiped her face of tears and grinned. “And Minh thank you too. Later you see. He let you win game and then you know how happy he is.”

  Iris wiped away a tear that Mai had missed. “We need you, Mai. You can help us. You really can.”

  “Sure, sure?” Mai asked. “We stay with you? We no worry about Loc?”

  “Sure, sure,” Iris replied, smiling.

  Noah looked into the store. “Let’s go in there. Let’s buy you a pretty dress. We’ll show him who you really are.”

  Mai’s grin wavered, but Minh moved toward Noah and nodded, eager to see Mai in such a dress.

  “For me?” Mai asked. “But . . . but maybe dress too pretty.”

  Iris glanced at Noah, surprised and pleased by his idea. “Every girl needs a pretty dress, Mai. Especially if she’s going to make a new friend.” Iris put her arms around the children. “Let’s go find you both something,” she said, moving toward the store. “And then we’ll take you home.”

  As Mai answered excitedly, Noah turned about, looking for a man called Loc, wondering if the man could be bought. Most people could be bought. But what if Loc wasn’t such a person? What if he came for the children?

  Noah reached for his flask and took a small sip. He didn’t want a confrontation. But Mai wanted to laugh. And Minh wanted to learn. And Noah was going to take whatever steps necessary to let them do both.

  NIGHT HAD NEARLY FALLEN BY THE time Noah and Thien drove toward the bridge, which was in a putrid, rotting part of the city. Squat buildings loomed like old tombstones over the rutted street. Half-dead trees sprouted from planters alongside weeds and lonely flowers. Iron gates protected the wares of filthy shops, enclosing engines, axles, bricks, and vats of oil and diesel fuel.