When Mai ignored the touch of his sandal, the touch of their money, Minh leaned against her, resting his head on her shoulder. For a reason he didn’t understand, she began to cry harder. She shuddered. She turned away from him. The sight, the sensation of Mai looking away wounded Minh. He knew then that she’d lost hope, that in her mind she was doomed. He’d seen other girls and boys crumble the same way, and the thought of her giving up made him tremble. She couldn’t give up. Not now. To give up might ease the burden she carried, but ultimately she’d die or, maybe worse, become a girl who walked the streets with nothing to sell but herself. Minh started to cry as he imagined her sitting outside a massage parlor, asking customers to enter. He knew such girls, knew how the money let them eat well and drive shiny new scooters. They danced at clubs and seemed happy. But their happiness didn’t last. Somehow, somewhere it was stolen from them.
If Mai would not look at him, he knew that she was leaving him, even now as they sat, their feet bound, in the pickup. She was thinking of it now—how and where she’d leave him. Minh wiped away his tears, trying to keep his misery silent. Loc couldn’t awaken now. Minh had to reach out to her this very moment. He had to reach out before she stepped farther away.
For five years, Minh hadn’t uttered a word. He’d stopped speaking after Loc had badly beaten him for saying the wrong thing. He had hoped that by not speaking, he wouldn’t anger Loc. And his plan had worked—at least for the most part. As the weeks, then months had passed, it became easier not to speak. By not speaking, he could protect himself, from both Loc and an uncaring world. Never again would anyone laugh at something he said. Never again would he sound like a frightened little boy. He’d just be Minh the Mute.
Mai had asked him to talk on many occasions, but he’d never said a word. He’d felt warm in his cocoon of silence, and hadn’t wanted to step from it, at least not until Loc was nothing more than a memory. But now, as Mai cried and looked away, Minh felt that she needed him more than he needed himself. Without his voice, she was lost and wouldn’t be found. Not by him, not by a fate she deserved. She’d leave him soon—sneak away in the night, never to return.
He leaned even closer to her. “Mai?” he whispered, his voice sounding strange, deeper than he remembered.
She turned to him slowly, as if she’d been napping. But her eyes were wide open, her mouth ajar. “You . . . you . . . can talk?” she asked quietly.
He put his lips against her ear. “Please don’t leave me,” he said, unnerved by the sound of his own voice and the thought of her departure. Tears dropped to his lips and touched her earlobe.
“But . . . but you’re talking.”
“I can—”
“Talk? You can talk, Minh?”
“Yes.”
“But how? Why?”
He sniffed, wiping his nose. “I didn’t forget.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Promise me. Promise me you won’t leave.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I won’t. Not ever.”
“Really?”
“I swear it. I wouldn’t want to.”
Minh glanced at Loc and once again pressed his lips against her ear. “Does my voice . . . Does it sound all right?”
“Sure.”
“Really? You won’t laugh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Laugh at me.”
“Not unless you’re trying to be funny.”
“You won’t?”
“Oh, I’d never laugh at you . . . Minh the Talkative.”
Minh smiled faintly. The pickup hit a bump and Loc stirred. Around them the single headlights of scooters appeared like bouncing yellow balls. “We’re not alone, Mai,” he whispered, watching the traffic behind them.
“Yes, we are. Just like we’ve always been.”
“He’s going to come,” Minh replied, thinking about how Noah had tried to run after them, how he’d grabbed at the air.
Mai shook her head. “They couldn’t help Tam.”
“He’s coming. I know he is.”
“But how will he find us?”
Minh’s lips pressed against her ear as the pickup rounded a bend. “We’re going to help him.”
“How?”
“Everyone, everywhere, will see my stump. And we’ve got money. We’ll call them, Mai. We’ll tell them where we are.”
“But what if they don’t come?”
“Then we’ll run into the jungle. We’ll escape. And I’ll talk with you every day, Mai. I’ll talk with you and you’ll never be alone.”
“You’ll talk? Every day?”
“I wanted to talk with you. So much. But I was afraid of Loc hearing. He made me . . . stop talking. And he likes it that way. So I didn’t talk. I’m sorry.”
“You tricked us all.”
“Just Loc. He thinks that I won’t speak anymore. To anyone.”
“Please don’t be quiet again.”
“You won’t leave me? You promise?”
Her grip on his hand tightened. “You’re my brother, Minh. And brothers and sisters don’t leave each other. Never. Maybe our parents left us. Maybe they never loved us. But I love you.”
“I love you too. I was so afraid . . . just now . . . that you were going to go. Please don’t go, Mai. Don’t ever leave me.”
Mai wiped tears from her cheeks and watched a bus pass them. It was full of sleeping tourists. “I wish we could take a bus,” she whispered. “Take one to a new place.”
“We will.”
“But who’ll want us? All I can do is sell fans. You only have one hand.”
“We can go to school.”
“School?”
“Yes. At the center. After Noah comes for us. You can study English, and later maybe work in a hotel.”
She smiled for the first time during their ride. “And you? What will you study?”
“The ocean. I want to study the ocean. What do you think makes the waves, Mai?”
“You’re talkative now. Now that you’ve found your voice. I’ll have to think of new nicknames for you.”
“We’ll have so much to talk about, after he rescues us.”
“You’re sure?”
“They want us, Mai. Don’t ever forget that they want us.”
Mai nodded, leaning against him, her body moving in concert with the pickup. Soon the rain began to fall. Loc awoke, cursing. He checked to see that their bonds were tight, and dragged them to opposite ends of the pickup’s bed. Loc asked Mai where he might buy another game for Minh to gamble with. While she answered and they looked at him, Minh again pretended that he had no voice, even though he wanted to say so many things, and so much beauty existed in the stories, the questions, and the feelings that he wanted to share.
THE RAIN HAD BEEN WARM AT first, as if Noah and Thien had turned on a shower and been enveloped in comforting wetness. But after the sky had grown dark, the air and rain cooled. The rain seeped through the ponchos they’d bought and chilled their skin. As exhaustion had finally overwhelmed Thien, she’d gotten on back and let Noah drive, edging close enough to him that the touch of their bodies generated welcome heat.
The land around them had changed significantly over the past few hours. The roadside stalls had disappeared once they’d neared the coast, fifty miles beyond Ho Chi Minh City. Now the jungle seemed to encroach upon the highway. Though few hardwood trees remained standing, a wall of bushes and palm trees rose on either side of the road. The behemoth hardwoods that did reach skyward looked out of place—awkward reminders of what had once existed, the bones of species that no longer graced the land.
Their scooter passed over countless streams and rivers as the rain fell harder—fortunately driving into their sides and not their faces. To the east, the South China Sea seemed blacker than the night, gatherings of lighted fishing boats occasionally interrupting the darkness. The fishing boats each carried two giant booms that were filled with hundreds of lights and could be swung out over the water. The lights attracted fish, and from a distance the bobbing boats resembled fireflies navigating a breezy night. As he drove, Noah glanced at the boats, having never seen anything like them. In the dead blackness of the sea, the brilliantly illuminated boats looked surreal. He wondered what it would be like to work within such a contrast of light and dark. How many fishermen had fallen overboard, never to be seen again?
The longer Noah drove, the rougher the road became. No streetlights existed, no distant homes glowing from within. The lone headlight of their scooter seemed laughably insignificant, revealing only a stretch of pavement that ran a hundred feet before them. To the south, west, and east darkness prevailed, so thick and ominous that Noah couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed or open when he glanced in those directions.
Few vehicles used the highway, and the drone of billions of insects rose above the splatter of the rain. Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. Snakes slithered across the pavement. Noah drove with care, knowing that a punctured tire would cost them dearly. His teeth chattered, and he wished they’d each bought two ponchos. He had torn his in several places, and rain penetrated these openings the way water rushes down a drain. He tried to drive with his arms held close together, so that they rested against his sides. The bumpy pavement had long ago conquered his back and stump, which now ached despite the aspirin and beer he’d swallowed at a roadside stand.
Though miserable, Noah drew strength from the presence of Thien so close behind him. He was keenly aware of how she’d eased her arms beneath his poncho and wrapped them around his torso. Her hands felt warm against his belly. Her head rested against his back.
When musings of Thien weren’t occupying his mind, Noah thought about Mai and Minh. He pictured them on Loc’s scooter, being forcibly taken away. He imagined them on a park bench in Nha Trang, shivering beneath the onslaught of the rain. How frightened were they? Had Loc hurt them? Did they feel abandoned and betrayed?
Such questions rolled about Noah’s mind like the waves he occasionally glimpsed. The questions filled him with a mixture of sorrow and misery and rage. Believing that he’d failed Mai and Minh, he did his best to plan for the coming day. He knew that Loc would station the children near places populated by tourists. Along the beach, maybe? Near the train station?
Noah was sure Loc would keep a close eye on his captives. He wouldn’t let them out of his sight again. How am I going to get them away from him? Noah wondered, his cold fingers easing off the throttle as he avoided a fallen branch. If Loc confronts me, what should I do? He’ll probably have a knife. And I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Not even Loc. But I’m sure as hell not going to let him take them, either. That’s never going to happen again.
The road dipped and suddenly water covered it completely. Noah braked hard, and the scooter skidded for a few feet on the wet pavement. He peered ahead, but the headlight revealed only more water. “I guess we’ll have to drive on and see what happens,” he said, trying to gauge where the road went.
“Wait, please,” Thien replied, getting off the scooter. “I think it would be best if you followed me.”
“Followed you?”
She took off her sandals and held them beside her. “I will see how deep it becomes.”
Noah watched her step into the murky water, his gaze resting on her slender calves. She walked carefully, but with determination. Soon the water was almost to her knees. He followed ten feet behind her, aware that if the water got much deeper it would silence their scooter.
Pausing, Thien turned to her right. “Do not go that way,” she said. “That way is only mud.”
The rain continued to pelt them, driving inland, as if picked up and thrown from the sea. Noah licked the wetness from his lips, standing to empty the water that had pooled on his lap. His eyes settled again on Thien, and despite his aches and chills, he shook his head in admiration. She adjusted her baseball cap, turning the bill into the wind. Her purple poncho billowed around her, flapping like a kite stuck in a tree.
“I can see the road!” she shouted, hurrying forward.
Noah sped after her, and soon they were on dry land. “You’re really something, you know that?” he said as she sat down behind him, wrapping her arms about him once again.
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you ever complain?”
“Complain? Why would I? I am very lucky.”
He shook his head, keeping their speed slow in case more water should appear. “I complain all the time,” he replied. “To myself mostly.”
“But, Noah, you have lost a leg. You have a great deal of pain. It is all right for you to complain. If you did not complain . . . then you would have given up hope.”
“Tam never complained.”
Thien shifted behind him. “No. She did not. But Tam was very loved.”
A lone scooter passed in the other direction. Noah watched it through the curtain of rain, wondering where the driver was headed. “I’m glad that . . . I’m really glad that you’re with me,” he said, turning his head slightly so that she could hear him better. “And . . . I like the feel of you against me.”
“I know.”
Noah wanted to tell her things—hopes and fears that he’d told no one. Normally, he would have simply buried this desire deep within him, but tonight, he felt like only the two of them existed and he needed to speak of truths. “Can I tell you something?” he asked, slowing slightly, so that she wouldn’t misunderstand his words.
“Of course you may.”
“I want . . . I want to feel all of you against me.”
“You—”
“Sorry. I know that’s maybe too much to say. But it’s the truth.”
She tightened her arms around him. “I want this also. But will you stay? Will you stay in Vietnam?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of you. And Minh and Mai. And Iris. But mostly you.”
“But you could be with any girl. Why are you interested in me?”
With his left hand he reached beneath his poncho and felt for her fingers. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he replied. “You’re . . . so pure. You make me feel free.”