Dragon House by John Shors Page B

enough for her. But you’d better be good enough for me. You’d better win.”
    Minh nodded, trying to keep tears from his eyes.
    “He’ll win,” Mai answered. Then, seeing the misery on Minh’s face, she added, “And he’s as good as anyone.”
    Loc hacked, spat on their bedding, and then stumbled away from the underpass and into the web of nearby shanties. Mai left Minh alone, knowing that he wouldn’t want attention in front of so many eyes. And so she cleaned the befouled bedding, rearranged the interior of their basket, and put on her spare set of clothes.
    Soon the two friends were back aboveground, in a realm where sounds and light weren’t subdued. They saw uniformed children riding bicycles to school, a beautiful woman in Western clothing getting her photo taken, and a boy selling flowers from a crate on the back of his motor scooter. Shanties disappeared. Hotels and banks rose skyward. Mai gripped the stub of Minh’s bad arm. He held his game.
    Minh’s head still hurt from the blow, and his steps were unsteady. He tried to watch the children on their bicycles, to pretend that he was among them. But his pain was too great, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Mai saw his state and led him to a bench, where they sat and stared. Nearby, government workers wrapped Christmas lights around the bases of hundred-year-old tropical trees.
    “Forget about Loc,” Mai said, stroking Minh’s stump. “What does he know anyway? You’re Minh the Marvelous and he’s got nothing but opium in his head. He couldn’t beat you in a game for all the dollars in the Sheraton. He shouldn’t even be in that big, strong body, but on some fisherman’s hook.”
    Minh rubbed his aching ear. Even though he knew Mai was right, he couldn’t forget Loc’s words, for he often asked himself why his parents had left him. Is it because of my deformity, he wondered, like Loc always says? Is it because I’m stupid and ugly and worthless? Is that why I have no father, no mother, no uniform to wear to school? Why I sometimes want to swim beneath the brown water and never reappear?
    Suddenly tears came and Minh could not stop them. They came like waves come to a shore, like birds flock to a branch. They welled from deep within him, bringing pieces of him into the air. As men strung Christmas lights, these pieces of Minh cooled. They fell to the dirty ground. They absorbed dust. And in the heat of the coming day they vanished as if they’d never existed.
     
     
    THE PLANE WAS SO HIGH THAT to him it was unheard. Its bombs fell toward Earth as if stones dropped from a bridge, silent orbs of hurtling steel that erupted in massive balls of fire and death. The walls of his home exploded around him, light turning to dark, comfort to pain. A monstrous crashing of concrete filled his ears, his every pore. Into the darkness he went, tumbling, striking unseen objects. He tried to escape this darkness, but his arms and legs were quickly pinned, his body becoming immobile.
    He heard the cries of several of his siblings and he called for them. One of his sisters was moaning, the other full of whimpers. His big brother coughed weakly. No words or pleas emerged from his parents or little brothers. They were as silent as the rubble surrounding him. He tasted blood on his lips and shouted for his sisters. Their voices called back to him, but these voices were no longer familiar. They sounded distant and hollow, as if connected to him by thousands of miles of old telephone wire. He knew where his sisters were going and he screamed at them not to leave. They couldn’t go to such a place. Not now, when they were so young, when their dreams were unfulfilled. He tried to crawl from the tomb around him, but on all sides he was pinned. The weakening sobs of his siblings prompted him to claw at concrete, to try to move what was unmovable. He shouted for help until his throat ached. Sirens wailed. A dog barked. Voices seeped into the tomb, but they weren’t the