Free Only the Heart by Brian Caswell and David Chiem Page B

he is happy with the bargain. And though she shudders at the thought of his touch, and the memory of his animal hands, she feels no shame.
    Even the nauseous ache in the pit of her stomach is bearable. She looks through the window at the endless expanse of ocean, then back at the man on the bed.
    Then back at the ocean.
    Somewhere out there they are safe. Perhaps they are crying; Phuong, anyway. But they are safe. And that, at least, is a fair trade.
    From the inside pocket of her coat she draws the secret that she carries with her. One last possession from a life of possessions that the war and the bribes and now this man have stripped from her one by one.
    One last possession that fits into the palm of her hand, its razor-sharp blade hidden and waiting.
    Slowly, silently, she pulls open her husband’s pocket-knife and examines the cutting edge in the light from the window. She tests it on her thumb, drawing it hard across the skin and watching the blood well from deep inside. For a moment she feels nothing, then the cut begins to sting. She sucks it absently and turns towards the man on the bed, who stirs in his sleep but does not wake.
    Without a sound she places the blade against his throat and holds it there for a few seconds, watching him sleep, hating him. The blood from her thumb is dripping onto the bed-shet, and she allows it to pour, slowly soaking into the man’s filthy shirt.
    Then she lays the open knife on the bed next to him and moves across to the mirror, smearing a last message in blood across the glass, and without looking back she walks from the cabin.
    At the railing she pauses for just a moment to look out across the sea. It is calm. Green-blue and patient. And welcoming, as she opens her arms to it, and plunges from the deck in a graceful arcing dive.
    The sun sits just above the horizon, touching the waves with gold, and the pirate in the wheelhouse has turned to wonder at its beauty. It is all he sees. While the noise of the tiny splash is lost in the rhythmic thump of the engine, as the boat heads home.
    Rolling over in his bed, Sai Rakdee feels the discomfort of something hard under his back. He opens his eyes and sees the blood, staining the sheet, soaking his shirt. And reaching beneath him he feels the sting as the sharp blade cuts deep into his hand. He draws it out and stares at it in wonder.
    Then at the writing smeared across the mirror on the wall before him.
    Two words, traced out in blood.
    Trao dòi … Fair exchange …
    He looks at the knife, then back at the mirror, and he understands.
    The sea is calm — as calm as such a creature can ever be-and she rides on its back, lulled by the movement of the swell, unaware of the exact moment when the waves close over her. Aware only of the silence and the way the sky looks green and suddenly far away. She is weightless. She is free.
    She is smiling as she opens herself to the waters and breathes in eternity.

PART TWO
    HEROES
AND VILLAINS

7
    OUT OF THE GREEN
    TOAN’S STORY
    Everyone knew I was destined to be lucky.
    After all, I was getting extra help, wasn’t I? You see, from the day I was born I had extra … protection. There was my father and mother and everyone who lived, at different times, in the dwelling above the shop. On the night I was born. my grandmother read the signs. A fortuitous time. She said that I was marked for good fortune, that Quan Yin had smiled on me. That though the path of my journey would not be smooth, I would walk it with confidence and I would feel, at times, the hand of providence on my shoulder. It was a good feeling, growing up, to know I was lucky, and I never really lost the security it gave me. My mother always said I would stick my hand in a lion’s mouth, if there was something in there that I really wanted.
    An old woman’s superstition? Maybe. Who knows? All I do know is that there were times in my life when I felt … special. Protected, maybe, or suddenly