Free Dragon House by John Shors Page B

LEANED backward on the bench, gently holding Tam against her chest. For Tam, some days were worse than others, and today was one of the bad days. A profound weariness enveloped her. Even breathing seemed hard, as if the air were too thick and heavy to pull into her lungs. She had no appetite. Her head hurt. And her joints ached terribly.
    Aware that her granddaughter was suffering, Qui prayed that their fortunes would change, that someone would take pity on them and give them the money to buy more painkillers. So far, only one tall foreigner had placed thirty thousand dong in Tam’s coconut—enough for a pill or two. But nothing would be left over for food. And Qui knew that she needed to feed Tam something, even if only bananas and rice.
    Stroking Tam’s face, Qui asked, “How are you feeling, my sweet child?”
    Tam groaned faintly, pulling her tattered blanket up against her face. “I’m tired.”
    “I know, my love. I know. Is there anything I can do for you?”
    “Call Momma.”
    A tourist passed and Qui held out a book, trying to make a quick sale. The man avoided her eyes. “One book, please, mister?” she asked in English. The man walked onward, as if she didn’t exist. Perhaps we don’t exist, Qui thought bitterly. At least not to him. To most people. To them we’re no more than minnows in a river.
    Tam shifted atop her lap, bony hips pressing on Qui’s legs. Weakly rubbing her blanket against her face, Tam moaned. “Little Bird . . . will you sleep with me now?”
    Qui knew that Tam wanted to go home, but the medicine was almost gone. Home might mean temporary comfort, but tomorrow would be worse. Without enough pills Tam would writhe in misery. “Soon, I promise,” Qui replied, continuing to stroke Tam’s brow.
    “Is Thailand beautiful, Little Bird?”
    Once again Qui wished that her daughter would come home, that Tam would no longer have to ask about her whereabouts. “Thailand is known as ‘the Land of Smiles,’ ” Qui replied. “So your mother must be happy, though of course she misses you terribly.”
    “Do children get sick in Thailand?”
    “Yes, unfortunately.”
    “Maybe Momma is taking care of one of them.”
    A group of travelers passed, and again Qui pleaded with them to buy a book. She said that her granddaughter needed medicine, that she was in pain. No one seemed to hear her.
    Tam moaned, rubbing her blanket against her aching knee. “Why . . . why do I call you Little Bird?”
    “Because I carry you on my back. We fly together and see so many things.”
    “I like to fly.”
    Qui heard the weakness in Tam’s voice and suddenly felt trapped. They’d been at Ben Thanh Market for six hours and had only about two dollars to show for it. If they didn’t make more money, Tam’s suffering would soon be much worse. Qui stood up, adjusted the bag that would hold her granddaughter, and asked a nearby cyclo driver for help.
    Before long Tam was in the sling, the sides of her knees pressing against Qui’s back. Qui slowly moved down the congested sidewalk, grunting from the exertion. She begged as she walked, beseeching tourists to buy a book. Tam moaned more frequently, and Qui longed to take her home. But they couldn’t go home just yet. Not when daylight existed and tourists were abundant.
    “I love you,” Tam said. “I love you . . . when you fly with me.”
    “I’d never fly with anyone else,” Qui replied, stepping around a sleeping dog.
    “Will you still fly with me when I go to the new world? After I wake up with all the other children?”
    “Of course, my love.”
    “Will I like it there?”
    Qui reached backward, feeling Tam’s brow, caressing the contours of her face. “Your knees won’t hurt there. And you’ll be able to run. You won’t even need me to carry you.”
    “But you will . . . if I ask?”
    “As often as you like.”
    Tam dropped her blanket and, grunting with effort, Qui managed to pick it up. They were now in the heart of downtown, the