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Tink, Tink, Tink
“The Dragon Sea,” Gan said. “Where typhoons blow half the year and cyclones blow the rest.”
He was a Vietnamese elder—a thay boi mu—blind and bent with age. He tugged the beard hanging from his chin, scowling as he shouted warnings to a crowd of foreigners on the dock.
“There are no good seasons to search for sunken treasure, but still you come, as I came—a foolish youth.”
Daily, Gan sat on a bench, telling fortunes. He put his begging bowl near his feet and listened for the tink of coins.
“The Dragon sea is a bone yard where fools sacrifice bits of themselves to the gods, praying for treasure. We know the gods forsake us, but still we try. Some give all and go to next life where they try again.”
“And you? Did you sacrifice your sight?” A man asked.
“Eyes knocked from head by a dragon. Searching the sea floor, I found a chest in the sand. Wood chest covered with clams, coral, tube worms, other creatures that no longer exist. In the center was a gigantic oyster with two pearls. As I reached for pearls, dragon guarding chest strike me with claw.”
“Why didn’t he kill you?”
“To punish me in the most cruel way. I found treasure but cannot see. For that, I name pearls “Tears of the Dragon.”
“You have them?” a skeptical voice asked.
Gan stood, raised his head and opened his eyes. People nearby gasped; a few cried out. In his eye sockets were two enormous orbs the color of imperial jade—luminescent green flecked with gold dust.
“Now I see as the dragon sees. Energy of goodness or shadow of doom, aura surrounding everything, everyone. Helps to tell fortune.”
Tension grew as the old man spoke. Hands reached out and he gripped them, feeling palms, reading lines with the tips of his fingers. He felt scalps, searching for significant bumps. He spoke to them all, telling each something they needed to hear. When Gan was done, he sat on the bench, exhausted.
“Fate is as always was. Riches for some. Death for others. Sameness for most. You know fortune already. Listen to your heart, yes?”
Tink, tink, tink—coins filled his bowl. As the people scattered, going back to their lives, Gan heard hope in their voices. That was his gift to them, as their money was a gift to him.
Wind from the southwest brought the smell of rain. It was time for him to go home. He picked up the begging bowl; it was heavy, and that pleased him. He would eat well and stay warm while the coming storm passed.
The old man was tired. His eye sockets ached, so he removed the pearls and put them in a silk pouch. He unfolded a white cane, moving it back and forth to keep from falling, for without the Tears of the Dragon, he was truly blind.
End
"Cami," I hollered, fumbling to release my seat belt. I started out the door but realized the car was rolling forward again. Cursing loudly, I rammed the gear shift into park, then was off running.
The stench of burnt rubber hung heavy in the air. Black skid marks scarred the road for more than a football field in length – originating near a squirming blanket and a baby bottle. Cami had covered half that distance already, running in bare feet, ignoring the massive metal stampede headed our way.
My heart, already pounding in my chest, skipped a beat when I heard a chilling sound. It was faint, but unmistakable. The wailing of a baby.
How could this be happening?
I pushed my travel-weary legs to their limit. Although my wife was moving faster than I've ever seen her move, I was making up ground quickly.
The trucks, a pair of them running side by side like some steroid-infused drag race, were showing no signs of slowing. Cami was wearing a dark-colored tank top and blue jeans, which would make her hard to spot against the blacktop. Our car had taken almost 400 feet to come to a stop, but because of the trucks size and mass I knew it would take them considerably longer. A couple more seconds and they'd be unable to stop in time.
I ripped off my yellow t-shirt and waved it frantically over my head as I ran, screaming "stop" despite the utter futility of it. As each second passed my anxiety pushed up into my throat, and the more animated my waving became. See me! See me! Please, dear God, let them SEE ME!
My pleas were rewarded when a plume of white smoke spilled from the back of the truck on the left, then the other. When I heard a horn blare, I let the wind take my shirt and set my sights on Cami. It was going to be close.
The trailer of the truck on the left must have been empty because it was having no problem stopping, but not the other semi. As the second truck pulled past the other, its trailer began jack-knifing across the road. It was almost on top of us now. I reached Cami just as she was picking up the baby. Without hesitation, I scooped them both up and lunged to the left.
The careening tractor-trailer rumbled past us. The ear-splitting sound of tandem tires fighting for traction against the asphalt reverberating through my body.
With its momentum ebbing away, the truck eventually came to rest between our Jeep and us.
Dazed, I gently set Cami down. She wobbled briefly before finding her footing, breathing heavily. Her forehead glistened with perspiration. The blanket was clutched tightly to her chest, where her eyes immediately went. The bundle was now oddly still, and silent.
Using a special kind of tenderness, Cami peeled back the blanket’s corners. When the last layer fell open, her expression froze.
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