Child Of Dust

By Shoba Sadler

Child Of Dust is a National Indie Excellence Awards Finalist

 

If you loved the movie LION starring Dev Patel and Nicole Kidman, you will be touched by what Amerasian Bryan Nguyen had to endure as a child.

Beautiful but spoilt Vietnamese socialite, Cao Kim Lye, learns of her parents shocking death from the dashing Amerasian family chauffeur, Bryan Nguyen.

Kim steps out of a world of crystal and chandelier to enter the dust and chaos of working-class Hanoi. She finds herself living under the roof of a shop cum living quarters with Bryan and his adoptive family.

 

Ever conscious of the privileged class, Kim struggles against the emotional ties she forms towards Bryan, the reluctant saviour, who considers her an unnecessary hitch to his already complicated life.

 

He still bears the scars of abandonment by his mother and his American GI father when U.S. troops pulled out of Vietnam.

 

Eventually Bryan and Kim's powerful attraction to each other begin to break down the wall between them.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shoba Sadler
• Release date: Jul 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9798201467685

Shoba Sadler

Shoba Sadler has been a published writer for nearly two decades, publishing novels and feature stories in newspapers and magazines. She is also a great proponent of living a healthy lifestyle and conducts workshops and shares recipes at healthycountrylife.com If you liked what you read, please leave a review wherever you purchased Child Of Dust. It helps others find Shoba Sadler's books. Please leave an additional review on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32712425-child-of-dust Join the Shoba Sadler Media Club and be alerted of her award-winning short stories, novels books and giveaways and connect through social media at https://www.facebook.com/ShobaSadlerAuthor

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE TEN-FOOT-HIGH wrought iron gates parted to permit the white Mercedes to drive through. It trundled along the gravel driveway and came to a smooth halt on pebbled earth, in front of a French colonial mansion, converted into a boarding school.

Bryan Nguyen paused a moment, arching his neck to look at the red tiled mansard roof, sprouting a chimney, one of four throughout the building. The air was too cold for his liking despite being dressed in winter uniform.

He slammed the door of the car shut, with a sigh. Pebbles scrunched noisily underneath his shoes as he determined not to lose any more time in carrying out this last assignment. He bounded up the white, marble steps that wrapped around the front entrance like the tiers of a wedding cake.

The thick wooden door smothered the chimes of the doorbell, but he knew from past experience that his arrival had been announced. The air was fresh and as crisp as he remembered it to be in this hill station called Dalat, nestled among a forest of pine.

Dalat had at one time been the playground for French colonialists, then the Americans came to Vietnam. Bryan was an Amerasian-a living memoir of a past Vietnam preferred to forget.

The door opened and a matronly woman ushered him in with reserved hospitality. The clip clop of his shoes on the marble floor resonated throughout the long corridor, bouncing off the soaring ceilings and high walls.

In the drawing room, Cao Kim Lye sat on a winged chair, her legs elegantly slanted to the side. Bryan waited for the middle-aged woman who had ushered him in to leave them alone.

Kim arose, fortified in Chanel from her jade green A-line dress with a bateau neckline down to the matching shoes, completed by her favourite French fragrance.

Her doe eyes were alive with questions when she asked, Bryan, where's Papa?

She spoke his name with a Western accent only to lapse into Vietnamese immediately after. This fell in line with the Cao household trend of using English as the means of communication among family members and Vietnamese with the servants.

Kim, educated abroad, had only recently returned to Vietnam to attend Dalat ladies’ boarding school. #4"Miss Kim,

Miss Kim, please sit down. Bryan's voice was hoarse.

Her gaze reprimanded him for his insolence in telling her what to do. Nevertheless, she said nothing and sat down.

Kim wondered if her mother was ill, again. She’d never quite been the same since Kim was born, or so she’d learned through the whispers of servants. Yet that couldn’t have brought Bryan on a two-day drive all the way from Hanoi. If her presence was required by her mother’s bedside, surely she would be there faster with one phone call and a flight ticket.

Kim clasped her hands together in her lap, exasperated that her chauffeur had still not explained his visit.

Well? Come here and tell me what you have to say, she chided in the Vietnamese language. She spoke only Vietnamese to all the servants, though she was also fluent in French and English.

She didn’t offer him a seat. It would be scandalous for chauffeurs to be seated before their mistresses.

Miss Kim, Bryan answered in Vietnamese, as he always did, I’m afraid I’ve bad news for you. It’s about your parents....they’ve been...killed.

Kim stared at him, as if waiting for him to go on. He opened his mouth to say something, when she interposed in a shaky voice, You mean, they’re dead?

Yes, ma’am, they were shot.

Kim propelled out of the chair in haste, but sauntered toward the window with the self-assuredness of a person unrelated to the information just received because she didn't believe the news. Did not want to. Only her trembling voice gave away any emotion when she asked, Where are Papa’s friends? I’ve had only one phone call, from you, to say you were coming.

Forgive me, Miss Kim. It was not an appropriate message to be conveyed over the phone.

Her gaze never left the perfectly manicured flowerbeds and birdbath outside the window, as she asked, You haven’t answered my question. Why you? Where’s everyone else?

Taking a step closer, Bryan spoke in a lowered voice. I don’t know. Your house is teeming with military personnel, Miss Kim. I dare not go back. I still have your father’s car, but I’m afraid if I return it to the house, the officers may pick me up for questioning. They’re already questioning all the servants.

Kim did not turn. Bryan continued, At first I thought it was a burglary, but after speaking to some people who might know what’s going on, I believe it was a drug raid gone wrong.

Kim whirled to face Bryan. Are you suggesting my father was involved in smuggling drugs?

"I’m not suggesting it, ma’am. I’m only relating what people are saying," Bryan answered too daringly for her liking.

Kim detested the way his eyes could flash with arrogance no matter how deferent a tone he acquired with her. A legacy of his American father, no doubt, along with the reddish brown hair. He always adopted a crew cut, looking more like an army officer in his uniform than a chauffeur. Kim knew, though, that the unflattering garment covered a frame befitting the most glorious of military physiques when she had the odd opportunity to see him attired in something else.

Fine. I know how to get to the bottom of this without listening to gossip you people are so fond of indulging in, Kim snapped, with no doubt to the insinuation that the you people referred to the subservient class Bryan belonged to. Bryan squared his shoulders and said, If there’s nothing else, ma’am, I'll take leave now.

Kim’s oval eyelids fluttered hesitantly, restraining herself from asking a million questions which she didn’t think appropriate for a chauffeur to answer. Bryan seemed to look with longing at the couch beside them and only then did she notice the shadows under his eyes.

I still have the car, Miss Kim. I’d planned on taking it with me, sell it and pass the money on to you. Unless you’d rather I leave it here, he rambled, still focused on the couch.

Kim hugged herself and twisted away. For God’s sake, Bryan. I am in no condition to decide anything right now. As no family friend has broken the news to me, I’m inclined not to believe your startling news.

As you wish, Bryan concluded.

Kim pursed her mouth in irritation. The action did little to diminish the fullness of her rosebud lips.

Bryan had this uncanny ability to keep his wits about him at all times. She recalled the horrifying incident where, unwilling to wait in the car for her father any longer, she entered the police station, ignoring Bryan’s protests.

She followed the frightful screams of a man to a cell and saw two police officers holding someone down on a bench. All she remembered was her father’s exclamation at the sight of her at the cell’s gate and General Giao’s bloody hands clutching the bars as he ordered Bryan to take Kim away. General Giao was her father's brother and though Kim had never liked him, she never thought him capable of hitting a helpless man until she saw that scene in that jail cell.

She had thankfully taken the bottle of mineral water Bryan had handed her outside the police station and asked him who the man was. He'd told her he was a suspect being re-educated for his deviant political beliefs.

Troubled by the memory, she turned suddenly and found Bryan sunken on the couch. She called out his name a few times as she approached him.

He swayed as he stood up too quickly. Her arm flew across his chest when he leaned forward.

I’m fine. I’m fine. He straightened quickly and stepped back.

You should stay a day. I’ll speak to my housemistress.

No. He raised both hands at her and excused himself from the room.

chapter 2

SEATED AT THE BACK OF General Giao's Mercedes-Benz, Kim observed the traffic of humans, animals and dilapidated vehicles with a grimace. No matter how many times she rode through these streets, it was difficult to get used to the dirt and desolation in the organized chaos that was Hanoi.

Well, at least it's better than Saigon. In Europe it was always called Saigon even though the city had long been christened with a new name - Ho Chi Minh. Whenever asked about the infamous Saigon in Europe, she would only shrug and say she was born after the American GIs left the country. She had no experience whatsoever of that Saigon.

Neither had she any experience with the current Saigon. She paid only one visit there with friends, which her father had allowed on condition Bryan accompanied her. What Bryan had eaten or where he’d slept on that trip was beyond her.

Having spent adolescence at a boarding school in France, she had come home only for sporadic visits to her house in Hanoi. Every term holiday, Kim would come home to be indulged by everyone from the servants to Judge Cao. Her mother had oftentimes indicated her pleasure with a perplexed smile and a pat on Kim’s head before withdrawing into her strange, solitary world of mental illness.

Kim stole a look at General Giao, dressed in military finery, seated ramrod straight beside her.  Panic engulfed Kim at the thought of both her parents gone and she blurted out to General Giao, Will Bryan be there?

Bryan? At your parents' funeral? General Giao sounded perplexed. None of the servants will be there.

Kim was perplexed herself. Why did she ask that? Maybe she needed to see a familiar face. No, more like a comforting face. Will Trang be there? General Giao's daughter, Trang, was two years senior to Kim and had studied with her at the same boarding school in Dalat.

She would have liked to, but she's studying for mid-term exams this week. General Giao placed his hand on top of Kim's. There will be journalists at this funeral. Remember the story. Your father drew a gun on an enforcement officer and the man shot him. Your mother was next to your father. The officer panicked and shot her too. It was an accident.

Kim lowered her gaze to his hand on hers. She remembered the blood on his knuckles when he had gripped the bars of the cell. She withdrew her hand.

"Why was there a raid in my house?"

General Giao hesitated only a moment before revealing, Your father may have been involved in a drug syndicate. He paused. It’s believed he may have abused his position as a judge to facilitate the movement of illicit drugs in the Golden Triangle.

Do you believe that?

I don’t want to believe it, but the fact is that he aimed a gun at a drug enforcement officer. If he wasn’t guilty why would he do that?

Kim was relentless in her father’s defence. Maybe you should check your facts again. Your officers are not as infallible as you think.

His unwavering gaze locked with hers.

Tell me something, what difference is trafficking in drugs and selling them off, once confiscated? Kim continued.

What do you mean?

My father once said no matter how many traffickers he put away, he could not put away the drugs.

Yes, even the death sentence doesn’t seem to deter them.

He wasn’t talking about the traffickers. He was talking about military officials selling off drugs seized in a raid.

Your father is a fool to discuss such things with a child. These issues are far more complicated than you could even hope to understand.

Apparently they weren’t too complicated for her chauffeur to understand. Kim had woken up to a conversation between Bryan and her father late one evening, in the study. By the time they realized she was awake on the couch, she had heard her father’s suspicion about the military’s involvement in the drug trade. No names were given. It was only a general discussion on policies and ideologies. It could hardly be called a discussion as her father was doing all the talking.

Naturally, he couldn’t have expected an uneducated servant to contribute intelligently to the conversation. If he’d only asked for her ideas, she’d have been happy to share them.

By putting drugs on the streets we’re killing children and ruining families. How hard is that to understand?

General Giao's grim features faltered into a repugnant sneer as he answered coldly, "Our streets are clean. If the Westerners value their free lifestyle so much that they won’t keep drugs off their streets, why should we do it for them?"

Does it matter whether its Vietnamese or Americans we kill?

We’re not killing anyone. Their society is so decadent it’s self-destructive.

So why bother with the raids? So you can steal more drugs to sell? And send the carrier to his death for something the military is doing, anyway?

You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if your father got shot for speaking the way you’re doing now. There was only so much I could do to protect him. He looked away, lost in thought. It’s not like him to traffic in drugs. He’s more the idealistic fool you’re turning out to be. He gave her a sidelong glance. Keep your opinions to yourself, Kim, if you want to stay out of trouble.

The Mercedes Benz pulled up outside the funeral parlor. More men in military uniform surrounded the car and opened the back doors for the General and Kim. Some officers began to escort Kim into the funeral parlor. Kim looked around for the General but he had walked away with the other military men.

****

Kim stared at a dish full of bananas, behind clouds of incense. The beating of two small drums in accompaniment to the mumbling of mantras nudged her further out of daydreaming. The funeral band constituted of only two men beating leather drums in mournful symphony.

Kim knew that the press who were outside the parlor at that very moment expected a grand ceremony for the distinguished judge and his wife, but may have been persuaded to discard this expectation by the circumstances surrounding their death.

Kim didn't know anyone at the funeral. No one came forward to express their  condolence. She saw only commiserating glances. How sad. Such a prominent couple and no sons to carry out the last rites. It reminded Kim of her unfortunate birth that seemed to have drained the very life out of her beloved mother and pushed her to the brink of madness.

Kim watched the caskets lifted. Somewhere, ladies wailed loudly and the drumbeats increased in tempo. She only felt numbness. Not even guilt at being unable to bring forth tears, even for the benefit of curious onlookers.

When military personnel came to escort her to the burial site she informed them she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be attending the burial.

It seemed to have caused a minor commotion when the officers reported the message to General Giao.

Even the docile, orange-clad priests glared at her and brought their shaven heads together in quiet conference. She watched in dismay as General Giao walked up to her.

He clutched Kim’s arm and spoke softly into her ear. This is no time for tantrums, child. You do want your parents to be at peace in the afterlife, surely. There are some things you just have to do.

Kim reared her head back to look at his face. I suppose your statement has nothing to do with the fact that my absence might tip off the press that something is wrong.

Kim squirmed under General Giao’s tightening fingers. He had to release her in order not to create a scene. There wasn’t even a crack in the man’s cool facade, but his next words sprung forth with authority.

Come along, Kim. There’s much you have to learn about duty and honour.

At the burial site, Kim knelt on the gravel piled around the edges of the holes in the ground. A sense of finality filled Kim, causing her to weep over the coffins lying deep in their pits, totally out of reach. Someone handed her some earth to throw down. When she’d done so, the same person gently pulled her to her feet, and men with shovels galvanized from nowhere, catapulting Kim into the background.

Kim’s gaze swept over the gathering, waiting for a chance to slip away. The opportunity arose when people began burning artificial money in the belief that the dead would use these items in the afterlife. Her role in the rituals seemed to be over. Slowly she backed away, zigzagging through the layers of people. Managing to extricate herself from the human circle around the graves, Kim headed toward the slope that would take her down to the compound filled with cars.

Foreign journalists swarmed at the main entrance. At first, they were too complacent to notice their target escape. They smoked, talked and looked like they were staking out the place. Kim passed without disturbance, until someone recognized her and gave a shout. They soon surrounded Kim.

Questions flew from all directions and camera flashes blinded her. Kim put up a hand to shade her eyes. She was just wondering about the journalists’ tenacity when strong fingers encircled her arm. Looking at the man who grabbed her, it became apparent he was not a journalist when he pushed through the crowd, barking, Step aside. Miss Kim is too upset to talk. Leave her alone.

She had no chance to question her abductor as he bulldozed his way through the crowding journalists. Kim escaped from the man’s hold and began to speak to the press in the hope that it would fend off her abductor. She started by answering one persistent question thrown her way: Do you believe your father was involved in drug trafficking?

No. No. I don’t believe my father was involved in drug trafficking.

Kim was mildly surprised at the clarity of her speech despite her trepidation. Stimulated by their target’s response, the journalists bombarded her with more questions. Their number was small, but due to the ferocity of their badgering, it appeared as if the group was twice its size.

I don’t believe the death of my parents was an accident. There’s more to this drug story than the authorities are letting on. Kim's abductor pushed the mike away. This time he successfully dragged Kim away from the crowd.

Instead of returning Kim to the gravesite, the man shoved her into the back of a sedan with two men on either side of her and drove off. Kim was helpless to do anything. She wanted to ask where they were taking her, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Gripped by fear she sat still as the car made its way through the city and arrived at a police station.

At first she was relieved and didn't even mind when the men roughly pulled her out of the car and marched her into the station, but she began to protest when they unlocked a jail cell and pushed her into it.

Kim shouted and used her shoe to bang on the metal door, but it did no good. After a time, she turned to survey her cell. The dim white bulb threw only enough light to see a gothic apparition of its scarce fixtures.

That’s when she realized this was no game. What was going to happen to her? Her parents were gone. Would anyone care enough to come looking?

Chapter 3

THE SQUEAKING DOOR tolled the arrival of lunch or was it dinner? Without a window in the cell and with the light on all the time, Kim had no way of knowing if it was night or day. She’d surrendered all her valuables to the police and that included a watch. Kim had learned to tell morning from night by the meals served, but in her delirious state of hunger today, she’d lost count.

Kim lifted her face from her knees, pressed to her chest. After two days of self-imposed starvation, her stomach urged her on, to the tin plate. She bent closer to look at the food, hoping it would be a much better fare than the dish she first saw.

On the plate was soggy, white rice, part of a bony fried fish and a sprig of moldy vegetable. She swatted the flies off the plate and cradled it on her lap. She scooped a handful of rice into her mouth. It tasted like curdled yoghurt, but her stomach refused to let her put the plate down.

Kneading a small portion of the rice to take a second scoop, Kim noticed bits in them, which she hadn’t before, due to the poor lighting. Closer examination revealed they were tiny cockroaches.

The plate fell to the floor with a clatter. Kim ran to a corner and threw up. The stench pervaded the metallic air trapped within the stone walls. Kim used the plastic tumbler of water that came with the meal to rinse her mouth. She’d begun to conserve water like a peasant in a drought, consuming only sips while using the rest to clean up.

The white scarf she had tied around her forehead at the funeral now held her hair in a ponytail. She untied it with the intention of using the scarf to wipe her mouth, but it looked so dirty, she discarded it immediately. Kim tore a piece of cloth from the bottom of her baggy, white top and used it to tie her hair back, unable to endure its smell or texture.

She still wore the traditional, loose, white shirt and pants required of close kin at Vietnamese funerals. Only, they were a dirty grey now with some parts covered in darker patches than the rest.

When the door creaked again, Kim straightened. The meal had already been served. Since her incarceration, the cell's door had never been opened for any purpose except to serve the day’s meals.

General Giao's bald head stuck out from behind the door, wobbled a little, as if he were trying to get his eyes accustomed to the dim light, before he entered. Ah, not exactly the five-star accommodation you’re used to, my little Kim.

I should’ve known you were behind this, was all she could muster.

You got yourself into this mess. I was willing to take you into my house and care for you as a daughter. But, you’ve shown me nothing but ingratitude.

If you cared so much, why didn't you inform me about my parents' death? I found out two days after they died.

Many things were happening. I was in a state of shock myself. I didn't want you walking into a criminal investigation. I planned on having you attend only the funeral. Not sit around waiting for autopsy reports.

Why am I jailed?

You were making false allegations to the press.

Then charge me in court.

Believe me, Kim, that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. Once you’re charged, the matter is out of my hands. Can’t you see that I’m trying to help you?

Kim remained sullen. General Giao groped in the underside of his jacket. A minute later, he stuck out both his hands at her.

Here, I brought you something.

Kim looked at the objects in his hand through limpid eyes. Two steamed buns on an open plastic wrapper. Food. Real food. Her eyes darted from the General’s face to the buns as if trying to decipher if this generosity was some kind of a trap. General Giao flounced his outstretched hands to encourage her to take the offering. Go on. I assure you, they’re not poisoned.

Once again her cultured upbringing forced Kim to glide to the General and calmly take the buns when her entire being wanted to lunge forward and grab them.

The buns felt warm in her hands and Kim fought the urge to eat them right away. If only he would go away and leave me alone to eat.

Kim?

She re-wrapped the plastic covering around the buns and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge.

It needn’t be this way. Let me help you.

You can get me out? Kim’s asked, hopefully.

Forget your stupid notions about conspiracies and cover-ups. As long as you don’t embarrass the government, I may be able to pull some strings to get you out.

Kim stared at the General’s face. In the bleak light, it looked ashen, like a faded black and white photo. Tell me the truth for the sake of our families. Was my father truly part of a drug syndicate? Was his death an accident?

"Kim. Kim. Kim. I’ve already told you his death was an accident. As far as his criminal activities are concerned, we're still investigating. Come, come, now, is this the sort of talk that should escape the lips