The Fear Artist

around them. Then the rain began to fall more heavily, and she couldn’t see him so clearly.

The third boy was screaming names as fast as he could, incriminating everyone he could think of. Red slapped him, and he stopped as quickly as if he’d been shot, too, his eyes closed and his mouth still open. Red said to him, in Vietnamese, “Wait.”

He turned to the third American and shouted, “Sellers! Move them into the hut.” He waved one of the Vietnamese troopers toward the man named Sellers, and the trooper walked around the squatting villagers, swinging the barrel of his automatic rifle from side to side as people cringed away. Then Red and two of the troopers took the boy who was still alive into the trees, and Thuy could hear the shouted questions.

Their departure left the American who was wiring the hut-Eddie-and the trooper he’d called to assist him, plus the man named Sellers and the fourth Vietnamese trooper, who was shouting for everyone to get up.

The man named Sellers put up a hand, and the shouting trooper went silent. Sellers stood there, glanced again at Bey, and then kept his eyes on the hut until the man who’d been laying the cord backed out of the door. The man with the cord said something in English, and Sellers nodded at the trooper, and the trooper began to shout orders again. The man who’d been laying wire backed off, trailing some other kind of cord toward the trees. The trooper who’d been working with him came out of the hut and followed him, stepping carefully over the cord that had been laid down.

Sellers made scooping motions with his hand, meaning Get up, and the villagers did. Their faces, as far as Thuy could see, were empty. They’d seen what had happened to the boys, and they knew these were their last moments. Two women went to the old men and helped them up, one staying beside the crippled man so he could use her as a crutch. Three other women brought the children together into a silent group. Somebody began to weep, and then there were three or four of them, and someone else-a bossy woman named Ngoang, whom Thuy had never liked-called, but not unkindly, for them to be quiet and to remember that the children could hear them. The sobbing stopped, and slowly the group was herded toward the hut.

Thuy felt a touch on her shoulder and was startled to see Sellers right behind her. He glanced at Bey and said very quietly, in barely understandable Vietnamese, “Your sister? Her child or yours?”

Thuy said, “Mine.”

Sellers said, “Fine.” He looked over at the trooper, who was shouting at the women shepherding the children, telling them to hurry up. Then he said, again quietly, “Nod if you understand. You and your sister and the baby. Stay near the door. Right at the door. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“When you see me, you come fast. Understand?”

“Come …?”

“To me. Fast, as fast as you can. Tell your sister. She should be holding the child.”

He was getting the tones wrong, muddling the words, and Thuy said, “What?”

“Sister hold child,” he said, his eyes flicking back and forth over the group. “Stay by door.” The trooper was holding open the door of the hut, motioning people inside.

“Go on,” Sellers said to the women who were nearest them and grabbing the back of Thuy’s blouse to slow her. “Let them go,” he said softly. Bey lagged, holding Jiang’s hand, looking at them questioningly. Then Sellers released Thuy and brought up the rear as the villagers crowded in. One woman turned to try to break for freedom, but Sellers shouted and fired a shot over her head, and she wailed in terror and got back into the group.

That cry was a signal: Suddenly everyone was weeping and calling out, and Sellers and the trooper were motioning the remaining people in, sometimes grabbing and shoving them. The rain was hammering down now, and as Thuy and Bey and Jiang were pushed into the hut-the last villagers in-they smelled wet cloth, sweat, and shit; someone, or several someones, had fouled themselves. The door was swung closed on them, the hut so full that the door hit Thuy on the back, and something was thrown across it or against it to keep it closed.

The woman Thuy had never liked began to pray. Others joined in, some praying to the god of the Catholics and the others begging Buddha for mercy and courage.

Outside, Sellers shouted, “Okay. Give us fifteen seconds to secure and get clear.”

Then the force of the rain tripled, and all the water that heaven held seemed to pour itself over the hut. Thuy tried to push at the door, but it was jammed from outside, and then, over the roar of the rain, Thuy heard a sharp sound and something heavy falling, and a moment later the door was yanked open and Sellers was standing there, the Vietnamese trooper slung over his shoulder like a bag of seed.

He grabbed Bey and yanked her to him, and Thuy picked up Jiang and followed, and as the villagers surged forward, Sellers threw the dead trooper at them and stepped back, but two children came flying through the air, literally thrown at him, and he stepped aside to let them pass and slammed the door, and Thuy and Bey grabbed the children and watched openmouthed as he propped a pole against it.

“You can’t-” she began, but he snatched up Jiang and another child, Jiang over his shoulder and the other child under his arm, grabbed Bey’s hand, and said, “Run,” and they were charging through the rain toward the tree line, Thuy hauling the second thrown child behind her, all of them going in the opposite direction the red man and the others had taken. The rain was so heavy they couldn’t see six feet in front of them. From that direction there came a single shot, probably the third boy going down, and just then they reached the tree line. Sellers put Jiang down and opened his mouth to say something.

But the hut blew, an eruption of orange flame and a bottomless whump, so loud that Thuy thought the wave of it might knock her over. When the sound had died, Sellers was thrusting the children at them and waving them away, saying, “Run, run, run,” and then things began to land around them, crashing through the leaves of the trees, and Thuy saw they were flaming lengths of wood and palm fronds and pieces of people, badly burned and barely recognizable, and she picked up her child and pushed the others ahead of her and followed her sister into the forest. Another, smaller explosion made her turn her head, and something full of bright fire was blown into her face and into her widened, terrified eyes.

“Your sister led you out?”

“Bey and Jiang,” Thuy says in English. She shifts back to Vietnamese, her daughter translating as she goes. “They each took a hand. We were slow, and I couldn’t stop crying, but no one came after us. Later Billie Joe said they went looking for the missing trooper. Troopers ran off all the time. Murphy wanted to kill him as an example to the others.”

“Are they still alive?” Rafferty asks. “The other two children?”

Thuy says, “Yes.”

“I don’t want to know where they are. Could you find them if you needed to?”

“Of course. They became our children that day, Bey’s and mine. Jiang’s brother and sister. We could never lose them.”

“So Sellers came back to Vietnam-”

“Twenty-two years later. In 1997. When Americans were welcome again. We were living in the same village, or the same place anyway, since nothing was left from the first village. The government assigned us a bigger house because of the children and because of my injury. They made me into a hero, as though I’d been fighting instead of running for my life.”

Jiang finishes translating and speaks for herself for the first time in half an hour. “No,” she says, “you were running for my life.” She rests a hand on her mother’s shoulder.

“He found us. Bey recognized him the moment she opened the door. He had been preparing for the meeting the whole time he’d been gone. He had learned to speak Vietnamese almost perfectly, he had learned how to propose marriage. He formally apologized to us for the people he left in the hut. If he hadn’t done that, he said, the red man-Murphy-would have known, because there would have been no body parts, and we would have been caught. Everyone would have been caught, everyone would have been killed. He said he traded the people in the hut for us. He said he had to choose between many of us dying and all of us dying.

“He stayed near the village for a month in a small hotel, but he came to us every day. On the fifth day, he asked Bey to marry him. He said he’d thought about her-” Thuy’s voice breaks, and she passes a forearm across her face. “He’d thought about Bey every day since he left Vietnam. Every day. He … ahhh-” She sniffs again. “He showed her pictures of his house. He proposed very formally. But Bey said she had to stay and take care of me.”

“And I said I could take care of you,” Jiang said. “Not that you need to be taken care of.”

Ming Li says, “Aww,” and wipes her cheeks.