The Unwanted

by Kien Nguyen

  With Can Senior's permission, the man in the red shirt pulled the jumper cord to start the engine. His partner held the control bar connected to the generator and steered a steady course. The boat shrieked loudly. Its sharp keel rode the water like a sea horse. Soon, the island was left behind. Before us, the sea opened up its immense embrace, rocking the vessel in all directions. The rain was falling hard, making visibility impossible. Soon we were all drenched. Seeing that I was shivering, Mrs. Dang held me closer.

  At the stern of the boat, the scar-faced man pulled another plastic sheet from under his seat and handed it to Van's sister, urging her to cover herself against the rain. She took it from him shyly.

  In the tense atmosphere we rode for almost an hour. Finally the clouds parted and the moon, once again, showed its sallow face over the turbulent sea.

  The scar-faced man shouted to Can Senior, “Listen to me and don't shoot! I need to feed the engine some fuel. She is getting empty. The gas can is over there.” He pointed to a large tin-coated iron container lying next to the axes.

  “No,” Can Senior replied.

  “Please, listen to the engine's sound. She will stop in a few minutes if we don't feed her.”

  Can Senior warned him, “Fine, but do it slowly so I can see you. Stay away from the hatchets. If you do anything suspicious, I will not hesitate to shoot.”

  The prisoner nodded and reached for the container. The tank seemed heavy; he had to use both arms to lift it up and drag it across the desk. He turned his back to Can Senior as he moved slowly toward his seat. Suddenly, he tripped on a piece of wood on the floor and fell forward. Still holding the container, he swung his arms a hundred and eighty degrees, whirling to face Can Senior. The tank of fuel in his hands flew through the air like a flash of lightning.

  “Be careful!” Can Senior screamed out.

  To our shock, the scar-faced man burst out laughing and looked at us triumphantly. The fuel container was locked in his fingers and dangling over the edge of the plywood gunwale above the dark sea. He winked at Can Senior, waving the tank back and forth. “Shoot me, if you dare. This can will end up in the bottom of the ocean, and so will you when the boat's out of gas.”

  “What in hell are you doing? I thought we had a deal,” Can Junior blurted, standing up with clenched fists.

  “What deal? You wounded one of my men, abandoned two of them in the jungle, and then kidnapped us. What kind of deal is this?” He ordered the man in the red shirt, “Stop the engine.”

  “No,” Can Senior yelled.

  His partner pulled a switch. The boat shrieked one last time before it came to a halt. Alone in the ocean, it rocked from side to side.

  Can Senior raised his pistol. “I guess I have no choice but to shoot you and take control of the boat.”

  “Proceed if you will. I am not lying about the gasoline.”

  “We'll take our chances.”

  The scar-faced man pointed his finger upward. Somewhere beyond the clouds, the sky glittered faintly with stars. “Follow that star,” he said. “Do you know its name? The fishermen call it the North Star. We were supposed to go west to reach Nhatrang.”

  He waited for the effect of his words to sink in, then continued. “But we didn't. We have been traveling north all along. You asked us for a ride, Mr. Leader. So we are taking you on one. And now, we are running out of gas. So either you drop the gun or pull the trigger. Just do us all a favor and make up your mind, before I make up mine.”

  Some of the women moaned with fear. The children began to cry. Can Senior stood up. The tip of the gun shook slightly in his hands. “Shut up!” he screamed at them.

  “Drop the gun, please,” a woman urged him.

  Ignoring her, Can Senior said to the scar-faced man, “Surely we could agree to settle this in peace. I have a proposal.”

  “My ears are open,” came the reply.

  “Let's drop all of the weapons in the ocean, the gun and the axes. You take us to Nhatrang, and we'll pay you.”

  “Pay us? With what?”

  “Jewelry.”

  The scar-faced man cocked his head. “Interesting proposition. Show me what you've got.”

  Can Senior looked straight ahead, one hand clutching the gun while the other unhooked the watch from his wrist. “This is an Omega. It's worth a lot of money. I'll trade it for my son's life.”

  “Father,” Can Junior whispered. “You can't give that away. It's mother's gift.”

  “Shut up,” he snapped. Turning to us, he ordered, “Take out your possessions. Show the men that we want to make peace.”

  The runaways fumbled in their clothes and pulled out their hidden treasures. A pile of watches, diamond rings, gold necklaces, and bars of gold and silver collected at the feet of the logger. His partner scooped them up and shoved them into his pockets.

  The scar-faced man said to Can Senior, “I am not yet agreeing to this deal. Without the weapons, you still outnumber us. We won't stand a chance.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “Send that buck-toothed guy over here.” He indicated Can Junior. “We'll hold him hostage. If you don't behave, we'll kill him.”

  Can Senior swallowed. “Take me as your prisoner instead. Leave my son out of this.”

  “It doesn't matter which one. Just drop the gun and come over here.”

  Can Senior laid down the gun and said to his shaking son, “Make sure you throw away the axes first, then the gun.”

  With his hands above his head, Can Senior walked across the deck. The man in the flannel shirt grasped his wrist and twisted it against his back, forcing him to his knees. Silently, the women threw the weapons into the ocean, and Can Junior did the same with his father's gun. In front of our frightened eyes, the scar-faced man lifted the gas tank and slowly opened the cap. An evil smile appeared on his face. He threw the cap on the floor and turned the container upside down. A few drops of dark liquid trickled out.

  In the pale moonlight, Can Senior's face twisted with rage. Without much success, he tried to spit in the direction of his enemy.

  Reaching into a toolbox under his seat, the scar-faced man pulled out a hatchet that we had not seen before. He bared his teeth at Can Senior. “You foolish man, do you know how many boat people like you we encounter each year? Do you think you can outsmart me? I'll kill you, you stupid son of an ox.”

  His hatchet rose over his head, making a silver line across the dark night before it struck Can Senior's chest. The blade cut through his bony torso with a dull sound. The old man's body shook as though he were being electrocuted. The refugees screamed, pushing each other down toward the stern, away from the hellish scene. In the confusion, one woman fell overboard. Her daughter cried out and frantically stretched her arm to take hold of her. Mrs. Dang gripped my wrist, wailing in horror.

  The man in the red flannel shirt released Can Senior's wrist and the old man dropped on the floor. The logger pulled at the jumper cord to start up the engine. The boat jerked backward, sending more screaming people into the ocean. The scar-faced man stepped on his prey and yanked the ax from his chest. Blood spurted onto the deck. With a couple of kicks, he propelled the dying man off the boat.

  Pointing at Van's sister, who was cowering among a group of terrified women and children, he ordered, “Get that girl.” His partner grabbed her long hair and pulled her forward. She fell to the floor and cried out for her brother, who was caught in the arms of the runaways, helplessly watching her.

  The scar-faced man walked toward us and swung his weapon over his head, shouting from the tops of his lungs, “Get off my boat.”

  “Let's jump, Auntie,” I yelled to Mrs. Dang.

  She looked at me with a strange calm. “I can't. I don't know how to swim.”

  All around me, people were leaping off the boat in groups, screaming their way into the darkness below. I held her hand. The madman was approaching. “Let's go, Auntie.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Please
, follow me.”

  Still she held back.

  “Please,” I screamed. “I'll help you. Just hold on to me, okay?”

  She nodded. Together, we jumped into the sea.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Deep water pulled Mrs. Dang and me into its violent embrace. Years of growing up near the beach had taught me how to stay afloat in the turbulent waves. I kicked myself upward, and her hand slipped off me.

  I surfaced, and all I could see was the vastness of the ocean surrounding me. A few heads bobbed in the darkness, but none of them belonged to Mrs. Dang. The boat was still close by; I could hear the loggers' laughter. Van's sister's cry seemed to come from a million miles away.

  “Auntie, where are you?” I called out. “Please, Auntie Dang, answer me!”

  A flopping noise startled me. I turned around and saw Mrs. Dang fighting desperately to keep her head above water. She saw me and struggled harder. I swam to her and grabbed the small of her back, lifting her upward. She coughed and took in several deep breaths. I kept her on her back, floating atop the water. The rocking motion of the waves seemed to quiet her.

  “Relax, Auntie. It's all right now,” I whispered to her. My teeth were chattering in the initial cold.

  “Thank you, love,” she said softly. Her eyes closed tightly.

  We floated for about half an hour, until the rain came back. The drops that fell from the heavens were much warmer than the water we were submerged in. Unfortunately, the wind also picked up, propelling the waves higher. Mrs. Dang let out a nervous cry each time they splashed in her face.

  “We are going to ride the waves. Do you understand me?” I told her. “Push your body up and let the water flow underneath you. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  But it was too late. In her fearful eyes, I could see the reflection of a powerful wave, towering above the sea's surface. It crashed down on us like a ton of bricks. I held on to her as we were pushed downward. She grabbed my face, trying to climb on top of me. At last our natural buoyancy carried us back to the surface. Mrs. Dang vomited out the liquid she had swallowed. Her face paled and I could see the whites of her eyes glisten in the dark.

  Pushing me away, she said in desperation, “Leave me.”

  “No,” I said. “Listen to me, calm down.”

  “No, leave me.” She fought to get away, but I held her.

  “Please, Auntie,” I cried. “You are hurting me.”

  She flapped the water and touched my face with her cold hand. “No, love. Leave me!” Her voice was determined. “I can't do it anymore. And I don't want you to die with me. Tell your mother goodbye when you see her.” Tears spilled down her face. “Let me go see my children.”

  She shifted her gaze past my shoulder, “Over there, Mr. Dang is waiting for me.”

  With a mighty shove, she escaped my grip and sank into the water. I reached for her, but she again pushed me away. From below the surface, her white face smiled at me with tenderness before the darkness swallowed her. I looked up to the soggy heavens, realizing that I was alone. “No,” I sobbed. “Please, come back, Auntie Dang.” I hit the water in frustration.

  “Don't leave me, please! I am scared.” My voice ran helplessly across the ocean. Around me, the rain made a low, hissing noise.

  The thought of thousands of meters of water, filled with lurking sea monsters, made me dizzy with fear. I began to swim, heading west from the faintly lit North Star and crying inconsolably with each stroke.

  I do not know how long I swam. All that I remember is gliding across the water as if I were running a marathon. The will to live powered me with a single thought: swimming forward. Then, my thoughts shifted to my warm home, freshly cooked food, and a steaming cup of hot tea. My heart beat wildly in my chest. With a new surge of endorphins, I strained my eyes for a sight of dry land.

  Suddenly, the muscles in my lower back jerked into an enormous knot. Pain shot up my spine and paralyzed my right arm. My fall from the tree earlier that afternoon had left me bruised, and now my tissues were locked in a spasm. To ease the discomfort, I swam sideways like a fish with a broken fin. Sometime later, I turned on my back and floated. The turbulent water massaged my muscles, bringing temporary relief. The urge to live stirred in me, and I again swam toward the west.

  Time crawled. My skin blistered from the salt. I tried to drink the rain, not realizing that each time I opened my mouth I couldn't help swallowing seawater, which was causing dehydration.

  Finally, the rain stopped. The sky draped like a large, starry blanket over the world. The moonlight painted the tiny waves around me the color of my grandfather's hair. I lifted my hands and laughed hysterically. My fingers dripped lustrous, metallic water like mercury. Specks of light danced on the ocean surface, beckoning me to join them. Time melted into space, letting me flow with it into oblivion.

  “Fall with me,” the sea murmured in my ears, promising the happy incantation of a new freedom. Fear had no meaning, and neither did pain. All I felt was an absolute calmness, spreading into every fiber of my being. It told me to give up fighting. Like an obedient child, I stopped swimming.

  I let myself sink, and the water closed over my head. It pulled me down to the center of the earth. But, to my surprise, my descent stopped abruptly. My feet touched the roughness of sand. Realization lit up my numb mind: land! The shore couldn't be far away.

  I shot up like a bullet, gathering my strength to swim forward. The indifferent sea spat me out onto a sandy beach. I embraced the wet sand, kissing it happily.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Icrawled out of the water with no sense of time or place. I had no idea how far I had swum. Before me lay a foreign shore, submerged in darkness. Beyond the sandy beach, thick pine shrubs shaped like beach umbrellas grew along a deserted street. The only sound was the ocean's rhythmic murmur.

  I doubled over and vomited seawater onto the sand. My muscles trembled uncontrollably, and I struggled to remain conscious. My wet clothes smelled like seaweed. Pushing to my feet, I staggered toward the walkway in search of a safe place to rest. A pine shrub with broad branches reaching over the ground created a sanctuary that looked like a small shack. On my hands and knees, I ducked into the darkness, only to encounter two pairs of naked feet, entangled next to a pile of clothing.

  A man's voice called, “Get out! Find your own bush. Can't you see we are in the middle of something?”

  I jerked back outside, too shocked to make a sound. Luckily, it was not difficult for me to find an unoccupied shrub nearby. Under its wide branches, which encircled my body like a canopy, I curled into a fetal position, massaging my shoulders to warm myself, then surrendered to a deep and dreamless sleep.

  I awoke to the sound of a dog barking and hasty footsteps. Through the dense greenery, shimmering rays of sunlight dappled the ground with tiny yellow dots. I kept still, praying that my piney shelter would conceal me. Under the curtain of arching branches, which ended about a foot shy of the sand, I saw the distinctive, metal tips of police shoes as they strode back and forth. The recognition paralyzed me with fear. Then the steel toes stopped right in front of me.

  “Get out of there!” a rough voice commanded.

  I knew I had no choice but to obey. But before I could, I heard rustling from the bush next to mine. The same voice that had yelled at me earlier shakily replied, “We are coming, please don't shoot!”

  I peeped through the sheer veil of pine needles. A naked couple, with their backs toward me, stood with their heads bowed in front of three policemen. A German shepherd sniffed at their clothes, which hung at the tip of a rifle, held in the hand of a policeman. The same policeman pulled at the animal's leash to keep it still.

  “Show me your IDs,” he said to the couple.

  The man groped through his clothes and pulled out a wallet. Distracted, the dog cocked its head my way and bared its fangs. Unable to help myself, I jumped back fearfully. The dog howled.

  “Ah-hah,” a polic
eman said. “More trash for us to clean up.”

  I fell back into the cradle of pine branches. The black tip of the rifle poked through and aimed at my chest. “Get out,” the owner of the gun said.

  I wriggled outside, raising my arms up high. One of the policemen pulled me up by the neck of my shirt. He seemed surprised to see me.

  “What in hell are you doing in there, kid?” he said.

  His cold rifle nudged against the skin of my belly, threatening to spit fire. I stammered for an answer. “I—I was sleeping.”

  “At the beach, next to prostitutes and hustlers?” His eyebrows rose. “Are you homeless?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Got any ID on you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Nhatrang, Cluster Six.”

  He turned to his partners. “Comrades, what do you make of this?”

  One of them pushed past the naked couple. His gaunt face, with high cheekbones and a long jaw, tightened upon seeing me. Behind a sparse moustache, his thin lips parted in a smile. “Do you know where you are, kid?”

  I shook my head. Afraid to look straight at him or the dog, I focused my eyes on my bare feet. Green lines of sea scum colored the folds of my skin.

  The policeman surveyed my crumpled clothing. He reached out to pick a strand of seaweed from my hair. “When did you go swimming, kid?”

  “Last night,” I answered.

  “What are you doing at a beach seventy kilometers from your home, swimming at night and sleeping under a tree?” His eyes devoured my face like a hungry wolf. “Do you think I am an idiot? Where are the rest of the escapees?”

  “I am not an escapee,” I said. “I don't even know what that word means, sir.” Through my mind flashed a lie that I seized as if it were a life preserver. “I ran away, because it was bad at home. I don't know how I ended up here.”

  Turning to his colleagues, the policeman said, “I don't believe this kid. He stinks so bad, give him a fin and a tail and he would be a fish. I'll take him back to the station and make him talk. You two parade the whore and that miserable devil a few laps around the beach to teach them a lesson. And search the coastline for more boat people.”