Chapter 42

Conley and Stefanos laced their fingers through the chain links of the fence around North Shore Salvage on Monday night and peered through the diamonds formed by the silver steel. River Street lay on the other side. A dark train of black SUVs with tinted windows sat next to the curb.

A woman in a blue jacket left a van and entered the middle building. FBI was stenciled on the back of her coat in mustard-colored letters. CRIMES AGAINST CHILDREN was written underneath. Conley’s fingers tightened against the steel.

They waited. Cars came and went, and by the time night fell only one was left.

They walked wide to avoid it, traipsing through the overgrown riverbank and backyards to hide from the street. Stefanos entered the last tenement through an unlocked door, Conley right behind. After all the horror that had happened here, the Cambodians’ trust in mankind hadn’t been shaken.

Sounds and smells—the racket of clattering pans, the aroma of cooking oil, the hiss of food frying.

Second floor was the target. That’s where Vithu lived. They climbed silently, drew their guns, and entered the apartment. A sandwich sat on a plate on the kitchen counter, untouched. Stefanos and Conley continued through a doorway.

An open room had been turned into separate cells by hanging sheets. Aluminum tracks in the ceiling supported straightened planes of fabric, most in bright colors, many of them hand painted.

A lion peered from one, mouth open, lips baring teeth that looked as big as a saber tooth’s. Its orange and black mane stretched across the width of the curtain.

Buddha was painted on another, a bright-eyed, happy Buddha. The world spun behind it, a globe that exaggerated the size of the peninsulas of Southeast Asia. Children and old women worshipped their god from both sides with uplifted faces and praying hands.

Conley moved the sheets. The cubicles held empty beds and simple furniture.

A skin tag told them Vithu had imagined a green mountain paradise, and painted his sheet with the vision. They passed through a doorway into another room of curtains, to a third cubicle. A green mountain stood in front of them, a steep, lush rise thrust upward into a brilliant blue sky. Giant palm trees were painted on both sides of the mountain, disproportionate giants that held too-round coconuts hanging under graceful fronds. A waterfall cascaded down the mountain face.

Conley braced himself as Stefanos threw the curtain aside.

The curtain to Paradise.

The room was empty. A wood floor, so clean and shiny it looked wet, made it hard to believe anyone had ever lived there.

Movement behind. They turned.

A boy with sleepy eyes stood in front of them. He popped a last bit of sandwich into his mouth, wiped his hands on his chest, and spoke a garbled message.

“Sorry, my friends,” he said. “Vithu doesn’t live here anymore.”

****

In the room above Vithu’s, Channary lifted the suitcase onto her bed and ran a hand over the top. It was a gift from Sheila—purple, her favorite color. Slowly, she folded her clothes and packed them, then sorted her books. She couldn’t take them all. Some she selected because she loved the cover. Others she took for the words inside and the happiness they’d given her. She placed the leftovers on her absent roommates’ beds.

Even with her pared-down book collection, the suitcase was heavy, too heavy to lift. She pulled the bag off the bed and onto the floor with a thud.

Two quick knocks startled her. The door swung open and the Aunties came in, greeting her with smiling faces. They wore fancy clothes today, with prints and embroidery. Funny to see their necks bare, without kramas to wipe their faces and hold back their hair.

One by one they gave her gifts—ceramics, carvings, hand-crafted jewelry. Each of them hugged her and she clung to the folds in their clothes, soft and warm. Maly—the first one she’d met who had taken her hand so long ago, the one who’d cared for her in Mr. Desh’s basement—hugged the longest. Channary would miss her the most.

Time to leave. Maly lifted Channary’s suitcase easily and clasped Channary’s hand with her strong one, and together they left the bedroom in a line, like a sacred procession. Sheila arrived and joined Conley and Stefanos in the darkening courtyard. The plastic wheels on the purple suitcase crackled on the concrete. A woman in a blue FBI jacket held open the door to a black car. Dust motes danced in its headlights.

Channary turned and hugged Sheila. The sketchbook Channary carried under her arm kept falling, so she made a quick decision. With a heartfelt smile, she stepped back and presented it to Sheila. Sheilaʼs smile then wobbled as she offered her thanks, tears brimming in her eyes. Channary hugged Stefanos and Conley next, then squeezed their hands in between both of hers and thanked them for their kindness to her in English,

She climbed into the car. The door closed behind her and the engine started. She looked back and saw many shining faces in the darkness, like a sky with sparkling stars.

She was going home at last, to friends, her mother, her brother. Strange how the anticipation of happiness could also bring tears.