I said to the group while he collected his things, I have an idea, Mr. Translator, come with me. We were the only guests at our hotel, and of course it was late, but do you think we could bring this poor kid with us and try to get him a room. The translator agreed, laughing and saying the kid now had more cash on him than any of us.
So it was that two grown men walked a ten-year-old boy down dark, empty streets, awkwardly asking questions about home and family and trying not to stumble. And that is how two grown men knocked on the door of the hotel, its iron gate now latched across the entrance, and how an old Vietnamese woman saw them standing there with a local boy at 2 a.m., asking in broken Vietnamese for another vacant room.
It all dawned on me at once. If this woman calls the police, the boy will tell them I gave him a $100 note and insisted he come here. They will see my phone’s translator history says how old are you and don’t tell mom. Oh, Jesus, I had been in Vietnam for less than a month and I would spend much longer than that behind bars. It was frankly shocking that the woman simply opened the padlock and let all three of us inside without a word.
Translator, I said to the Brit, explain to this woman that the kid gets his own room. For the love of God, please make her understand. She handed the key to him, and he handed the key to the boy. I didn’t know how to say goodnight, and I let him find his own way to his room. Come oon, thank you. Toy tick noy, I like here.
The next morning, I opened my eyes to peeled-paint walls and the sunrise coming through the wood-slatted window. The springs in the bed creaked as I rolled over. A night’s worth of vodka swum across my head from temple to temple. I grabbed desperately at a bottle of water by my bedside and sat up slowly to drink it. Outside, I could hear the rest of the group had already begun to rally. Now was the end, the time to recover Frank and get back to Hanoi.