Dragon House (21 page)

Iris rubbed her brow, which was already damp with sweat. She yawned. As tempting as it was to remain in bed, she put her feet on the tiled floor and dressed in light pants and a T-shirt. She pinned her hair up, wanting to keep it off her neck in the coming heat. Slipping her feet into sandals, she walked upstairs to the dormitory, eager to hear how Qui and Tam’s first night went.

To her surprise, the room was empty. Qui’s and Tam’s beds were made and their pajamas were folded neatly and set atop a pillow. Confused, Iris looked around the room. She walked back downstairs. Nothing moved in the office but the overhead fans. The classroom was almost as barren, though Noah slept on his cot. Worried for her guests, Iris hurried back to the stairwell and descended to the ground level, making her way into the kitchen. Thien stood next to a counter, cutting fruit and singing quietly.

“Where are they?” Iris asked, putting out her hands, palms up.

Thien paused, a slice of mango falling slowly onto a chopping block. “Qui and Tam are not upstairs?”

“No, Thien. Their beds are made and they’re gone.”

Setting down her knife, Thien wiped her hands on a towel. “We should go to the market.”

Iris sighed, wishing the day had begun better. She followed Thien out of the center. The city’s smells greeted her—a striking combination of diesel fuel, roasting garlic, mildew, bougainvillea, animals, thatch, and a thousand other things. Iris didn’t recall it raining the previous night, but the streets were littered with puddles. Scooters dodged the puddles the way fish swim in fast currents, darting from side to side.

Normally Thien stopped and chatted with many people she passed, often taking their photo with her Polaroid. Iris hadn’t seen her move with the sense of purpose that she did now and was pleased to watch her sandals kick up so much gravel. “Why would they go back to the market?” Iris asked, wondering if Thien should be heading somewhere else.

Thien circumvented a pair of snarling dogs without a second glance. “It was my mistake, Miss Iris. I was not clear with them. Qui will still think that she needs to earn money for food.”

“But we told them they were welcome to live with us. That we’d feed them.”

“And Qui will think that she has to pay us for the food. And for everything else. She will worry that if they become a burden to us, we will put them back out on the street.”

Iris thought about Qui lifting Tam from her warm bed and carrying her to a distant corner to begin a long day of begging. The image made Iris feel as if she’d failed Tam. Surely she must be miserable. “Let’s hurry,” Iris said, noticing the market’s yellow facade in the distance.

Thien stepped into a broad boulevard. Taking Iris’s hand, she zigzagged her way through traffic. When a scooter didn’t pause to let her pass, Thien took off her baseball cap and swiped at the driver, muttering something in Vietnamese. Almost immediately upon hitting the sidewalk they spied Qui and Tam, who occupied their usual spot atop the bench in front of the market. Tam appeared to be sleeping, her new doll resting against her chest. Qui held three books and was trying to get the attention of a group of tourists.

Iris walked to Qui and knelt before her. “Qui, you don’t have to do this,” she said, angry at herself when she saw how Tam lay asleep on the bench, how two flies were perched near her nose. Iris waved the flies away and took Qui’s hands within her own. “You’re to live with us now. Do you understand?”

Qui blinked repeatedly, unsure what to say. She’d awoken early, wanting to earn as much money as possible, so that she and Tam could contribute to the center. Tam had slept so well in the soft bed. Qui couldn’t imagine returning to their little room by the water, where cockroaches and rats were often their bedfellows. “Please, Miss Iris,” she said, lowering her head. “Please no make us go back. We work so hard. I make money. One or maybe two dollar each day. It enough for food. I only eat a little. I—”

“Sssh,” Iris said, shaking her head. “If you want to work for money, that’s fine. You can work at the center. You can clean. I’ll pay you. You’ll clean the dormitory and Tam can rest where you can see her.”

Qui looked from Iris to Thien. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard the tall foreigner correctly. Qui had never held any sort of paying job. The thought of someone giving her money to clean was difficult for her to comprehend. Again she glanced from face to face, seeking some sort of clarification.

Thien sensed Qui’s confusion. “We’d be honored to have your help,” she said in Vietnamese. “Miss Iris doesn’t have time to sweep, to wash the sheets, to keep the spiders from spinning their sneaky little webs. She’s been worried about keeping the dormitory clean enough for all those girls.” Thien smiled, leaning closer. “Between us, it would be a great relief to me if you’d come and work for her. She’d have one less thing to worry about. And she so worries these days. You should have seen her last night, fluttering around the rooms like a bird looking for its fallen nest.”

Qui nodded, the prospect of working next to her sleeping granddaughter nearly too wonderful to imagine. “And Tam?”

“Our center is for girls. For girls to learn. Tam will learn like everyone else.”

Qui put her hands together and bowed again. “Then please tell Miss Iris that I’ll clean that room as if it were my own home.”

Thien smiled, adjusting her cap. “You tell her, honored guest. You should practice your English. And let me say thank you for taking this pressure from Miss Iris’s shoulders. As her friend, I’m so relieved that you’ll be working with us.”

Lowering her head to Iris, Qui proceeded to accept her kind offer, not believing that such miracles continued to befall her. As she spoke, Tam stirred in her sleep, muttering softly. Qui watched her granddaughter, eager to bring her back to the room with the clouds, the quiet fans, and the soft bed.

Relieved that Qui would soon be working for her, but worried about other pressing matters, Iris handed Thien some money and asked that they take a cyclo back to the center as soon as Tam awoke. She then said good-bye.

The previous night Iris had spent several hours online, researching doctors who specialized in treating cancer patients at nearby hospitals. She’d found a French physician who was a renowned expert in childhood leukemia and who also ran a local clinic. She wanted to stop by his office and talk to him about visiting Tam. Thien had written down directions to his clinic, and Iris strode to a nearby cyclo driver and handed him the piece of neatly folded paper. He opened it, pursed his lips, and said, “One hundred thousand dong.”

Iris shook her head. “Seventy-five thousand.”

The man scowled. “That too little. But for you, okay.”

After climbing into the cyclo, Iris waved good-bye to Thien and Qui. The driver put his hand out, signaling traffic that he wished to pedal across the boulevard. Iris thought that taxis and scooters might honk at being forced to stop so abruptly, but no one seemed to mind. The sun already appeared to steam the city, and Iris wished that she hadn’t rushed off without her sunglasses or hat. Her face glistened. Her lips tasted of sweat. A bus rumbled past, spewing black exhaust. Iris held her T-shirt over her mouth, breathing through the thin fabric. Eyeing the masks that many of the locals wore, she resolved to buy one at the next opportunity.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how riding in a cyclo could be an incredibly romantic or exciting experience. She felt quite worldly, like an explorer from some forgotten era when empires were still discovered and lost, when novels like
A Passage to India
were researched and written. She’d have liked to sit in the cyclo and pretend she was writing such a novel. In a world of her making, she’d have spent the morning doing just that.

But the world wasn’t of her making, and she had a hundred things to do, and the cyclo suddenly seemed like a very slow means of transportation. She watched enviously as scooters and even bicycles sped past them as the city drifted by. Glancing behind her, Iris saw that her driver seemed to be in no particular hurry. His sandaled feet pressed leisurely on wooden blocks that comprised his vehicle’s pedals. He often chatted with other cyclo drivers, and sometimes seemed to talk to himself.

After about fifteen minutes had passed, her driver pulled in front of a gated shop that looked like all the other shops around it. Only a sign bearing a red cross gave Iris any indication that they were at the right address. Stepping from the cyclo, she pulled out seventy-five thousand dong.

He shook his head. “More far than I think before. Cost you two hundred thousand dong.”

“What?”

His face tightened. “Two hundred thousand dong. Very far to go here. You pay two hundred thousand dong.”

“But we agreed on seventy-five!”

“Your directions no good,” he said, raising his voice. “You pay two hundred thousand.”

Iris stuck out the seventy-five thousand, which he ignored. “The directions were fine,” she said. “You take this money. It’s what we agreed on.”

The man stepped from his seat, approaching her, his stained teeth bared. “You pay me two hundred thousand. I have to take you very far. Next time you give good directions and you no have problem.”

“I gave you—”

“Those no good! Pay me two hundred thousand!”

Glancing around, Iris saw not a single friendly face. She realized she was shaking. Feeling more defenseless than she had in years, she quickly paid the man. Even after he took her money, he scowled at her, and she hurried to the clinic, afraid that he’d follow her.

Only when her hands were on the clinic’s gates did she recognize that it was closed. “No,” she muttered, trying to see inside, her heart still thumping wildly. Several handmade signs had been glued to the door. One of the signs was in English and gave the clinic’s hours. To Iris’s dismay, she saw that the doctor was out on Tuesdays, and it just happened to be a Tuesday. “Damn it,” she said, disbelieving her luck, wondering why she hadn’t asked Thien to call the clinic. She leaned on the gates for a moment, pressing her head against the iron.

Frustrated by her disagreement with the cyclo driver and her failure to contact the doctor, Iris gave the gates a shake. She then willed herself to turn around and eye the street, which was narrow and by no means catered to tourists. Fortunately, a different cyclo and driver rested nearby beneath the paltry shade of an almost limbless tree. Iris approached the man and asked how much it would cost to go to the Rex Hotel, a landmark not far from her center.

“Ninety thousand dong,” he replied in well-spoken English, a toothpick between his teeth. “But if we stop at my friend’s silk store, and you go in, then my ride will only cost forty thousand dong.”

“What?”

“It is very beautiful silk. And would look lovely on you.”

“I don’t want to go to a silk store.”

“No? What about pearls? Or some paintings? Or maybe a massage?”

Tired of wasting time, Iris shook her head. “Which way?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which way to the Rex Hotel?”

“It is very far.”

“Which way?”

The driver pointed into the distance. “Okay, I will take you for only—”

Iris started walking. She guessed it to be almost eleven o’clock and felt that she hadn’t accomplished a single thing. Discouraged, she increased her pace, glancing into shops in hopes of seeing some supplies that she could buy: a stack of notebooks, a tin of colored pencils—anything she could take with her to ease the failure of her outing. The shops seemed more foreign than ever, however, and her level of annoyance continued to increase. Her father had promised local officials to have a grand opening at the center by Christmas, which was just over three weeks away. And with some six million Christians in Vietnam, Iris knew that this date wasn’t insignificant. Several officials were expected to be present for the grand opening, and if the center wasn’t ready, she would have to answer difficult questions.

Wiping sweat from her eyes, Iris walked faster, a sense of panic building within her. Scooters and bicycles continued to dart around her, and she was suddenly envious of the Vietnamese. They could move so much more quickly. They didn’t have to deal with a language or cultural barrier. They could get things done. She’d just spent two hundred thousand dong and accomplished nothing more than wasting a huge chunk of time.

I have to do better, she thought, hurrying across a street, avoiding traffic. But how do I act like a local? How’s that possible?

A pair of girls on a scooter waved and Iris absently said hello. Her mind twisted and turned, searching for a solution. And then it occurred to her—she’d ask Noah. He’d traveled abroad. He’d been in a war, of course, and had seen what didn’t work on a scale never imagined. But surely he had seen some things that had worked well. And maybe he’d have an idea. And then she could put her time to better use, could really help those who so desperately needed it.

A smile dawned on Iris’s face for the first time all day. She glimpsed a familiar landmark, dodged a stray rooster, and began to run.

 

 

BY NOW NOAH’S HANDS WERE ACCUSTOMED to the shovel. His fingers and palms bore slightly raised calluses. His skin seemed rougher. He was able to thrust and swing the shovel more efficiently, reducing some of the strain on his back and stump. Still, his aches seemed as plentiful as the tiny particles that rose and fell as he cast the soil skyward. As always, the aches prompted emotions of guilt, remorse, anger, and betrayal to course through him. Noah wanted to take his shovel, dig a pit, and bury his rage and misery so deep that they’d never see daylight again. He wanted to be the person he once was, but he didn’t know how to be that person. Such evolution seemed impossible.

Noah emptied a jar and moved awkwardly to another. He reached into his pocket and found a painkiller, popping the pill into his mouth and swallowing it with a gulp of warm beer. He didn’t like taking such a steady stream of pills, but shoveling hundreds of pounds of soil was impossible without them. And he wanted to finish the playground for Tam as soon as possible. He had already covered more than half of the lot with dirt, and if he worked throughout the day, he’d empty all the jars. Tomorrow he could use the rest of the supplies that Iris’s father had already purchased to lay stone trails and to plant grass seed.