Free Dragon House by John Shors

local bureaucracy, helping him renovate rooms, and spreading the word among street children about the center’s looming opening. He’d rewarded her as best as he could, and every month she sent money to her parents, who lived in the countryside.
    Iris stepped closer to Thien. “I’m Iris. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
    Thien smiled, revealing a row of bright teeth. “You are so tall. Just as your father told me. I wish I could be so tall. That would help with the painting.” Thien scratched the side of her face, leaving a smudge of white paint on her smooth skin. “Is this your boyfriend?” she asked, glancing at Noah.
    “Oh, I’m sorry,” Iris replied. “This is my friend Noah. He came here to help us.”
    Again Thien smiled. “It is nice to meet you, Mr. Noah.”
    Noah said hello, aware that her stare didn’t linger on his forehead.
    A few heartbeats of silence passed; then Thien asked, “Would you like to see your center?”
    Iris pocketed her directions. “Very much.”
    Thien took Iris’s hand. “This way,” she said, leading the American to the back of the room. They stepped through a doorway and an immense kitchen confronted them. Tile countertops stretched to stoves that bore empty, woklike cauldrons. Steel utensils hung from a wall. A new refrigerator dominated a break between countertops. The kitchen smelled of garlic and lemongrass.
    Most of the second floor was occupied by a classroom. Several large, battered tables stole much of the space. Wooden chairs surrounded the tables. On one wall was an unfinished painting of a world map. Shelves were piled high with books, art supplies, empty crates, old cameras, and rolled-up scrolls. Two ceiling fans spun listlessly, as if gathering their strength for the coming day.
    An office sat adjacent to the classroom. The office was almost as cluttered as Iris’s apartment. Tables held thick notebooks and two computers. An immense, old-fashioned safe supported a variety of potted plants and flowers. Ten feet outside the room’s only window, a dilapidated yellow building reached skyward.
    The children’s dormitory encompassed the top floor. Five sets of metal bunk beds spanned opposite walls. Between the beds ran a row of chests. Though a nearby bathroom featuring four showers sparkled with fresh tiles, the main floor in the dormitory was covered with newspapers, for paint cans were everywhere. Even with the room’s windows open and the ceiling fans twirling, the smell of fresh paint permeated the air.
    Thien pointed to the ceiling, which was blue and bore the white outlines of clouds. “Your father asked me to paint while he was gone,” she said. “So I have been painting. He thought the children would enjoy some clouds.”
    Iris bit her lip, wishing that her father were standing beside her, that they could help Thien finish the clouds. “He’d like what you’ve done. It’s going to be beautiful.”
    Nodding, Thien again took Iris’s hand. “I am so happy you came.”
    Iris looked from the clouds to Thien. “Thank you.”
    “You remind me of your father. Your eyes are the same.”
    “They are?”
    “Oh, very much so.”
    “Did you know him well?”
    “Yes.”
    “Really?” Iris said, surprised at Thien’s grip, but not minding it. “Then . . . may I ask you something?”
    “Of course, Miss Iris.”
    “Do you think he was happy here?”
    Thien glanced at Noah, then returned her gaze to Iris. “Not always. But sometimes, yes, sometimes he was very happy.”
    “When?”
    “When he was able to do something nice for the children.”
    Iris smiled faintly, remembering how her father’s face had sometimes seemed to blossom when he spoke about his center. “Maybe later you can tell me some stories.”
    “I would love to.”
    “Thank you . . . Thien.”
    “Come, I have something to show you,” Thien said, guiding Iris toward the stairs.
    Noah watched the smaller woman lead Iris forward. Though his back