Mien gazed into the tempered window brightening the 16th floor hallway, still speckled with last night’s rain, and saw her reflection superimposed upon the green trees and cheerful red tiles beneath the morning sun in a distant corner of Saigon. Although she had already spent some time at the vanity, she often took a moment to glance at herself in the oversized pane before stepping into the elevator, despite the various sources of light making every image appear more like a collage.

Mien was the only one inside the cabin. Like a reflex, she reached out and pressed the button for the level B parking garage. Instead of thinking over her speech for the paper’s reform meeting which she knew would cause some dispute, she busied herself with a question that flashed in her mind as the hallway window disappeared behind two cold steel doors: “If it doesn’t open out or close in, can it still be called a ‘door,’ or must it need only extend one’s view to the far side?” Like a riddle, she felt something was missing until she realized that if Khoa was there, her question would be answered, whether seriously or jokingly in that  distinctly  sarcastic  voice  of  his, but which would for sure make her smile. A succession of digital green numbers tracking the elevator’s journey passed meaninglessly before her eyes: 12... 11... 10... She only took notice when it stopped at 7. Two strangers entered, and although they were probably over thirty like her, through the way they held hands and the lively exchange in their eyes, they seemed to be lovers rather than husband and wife. Struck with a thought, she quickly pressed the button for level 5, the same floor as Khoa’s apartment.

While Mien was disappointed when she saw the utility bills pasted to the front door with no peephole, she was also relieved, having most likely escaped a heated debate with her separated husband. It had been half a year since Khoa withdrew to his old apartment, which he had used as an office after they got married. She could easily picture his tight-lipped smile beneath his tobacco stained moustache whenever he opened the door. Before that, they had lived as lovers for three years, and Khoa knew without looking when it was her at the door. On the day they split up, before wheeling his suitcase into the hallway, he had asked a despicable question, “We lived together long enough to forget a few things; did you need me to remind you of our secret signal?” To this, she had shouted, “Who really saved who?!”

Mien smiled as she remembered the knock Khoa had come up with for her: three fast... three slow... three fast..., tick, tick, tick... tock; tock; tock... tick, tick, tick...— S.O.S.—save me.

As  she  stepped  back  into  the elevator, her phone rang. It was Luan.

“Sorry, but I’m busy. I’ve got a meeting this morning.”As she hung up, Mien got the feeling she was throwing away her right to happiness and felt sorry for the rejected caller, a man who had been patiently waiting to get close to her and fill the emptiness inside. Recently, she had used every excuse she could think of to decline nearly all of Luan’s invitations to dinner or a show. Perhaps this began the day they had run into Khoa at a reception of the American Consulate. Embarrassed, Mien fumbled about awkwardly as if she had been caught in an affair, even more upset since it took place before Khoa’s tight-lipped smile. She had only relaxed a little when Khoa crossed the room and asked her to dance. As soon as the waltz ended, he gently said goodbye, then answered his phone as he hurried out the door. The rest of the night became heavy and strained, and since that day, they hadn’t once seen each other.

*

The sound of the rain beating down on the tin roof awakened Khoa.

“Seems it’s been pouring all night,” he guessed, reminded he was laying on the floor of the watch tower, his place of respite during his wildlife photo shoots. He extended his arm and looked at his luminous watch: 2:30 a.m. He zipped his sleeping bag up to his chin to ward off the cold, turned over, and tried to fall back asleep. The bamboo floor crunched beneath him; he would have to tell Dieu Keng to build a new one. His thoughts  raced  through  his mind  one  after  the other, without any of them being so happy or sad as to cause a restlessness like this. Suddenly, he regretted having refused Dieu Keng’s company. At that time, he had wanted to be alone; the presence of the well-meaning Stieng man would have only been a burden, especially since Kiki would not have come near the watch tower like he was hoping.

Again, Khoa slipped out his arm and looked at his watch: 3:10. The storm was getting worse and he heard a leak somewhere nearby. He got up, then threw some wood on the fire. A tiny pea-size flame emerged from the pile of coal layered with white ash, rising slowly like the bobbing head of a snake. Instantly, an entire nest of firey serpents blazed up in dance. So much brighter and warmer. The rain was a nuisance, but it helped him set aside any hope Kiki would be looking for him. He thought back to the day he released her into the jungle. Dieu Keng had used all sorts of scare tactics to keep the tiny monkey from chasing after Khoa and crying as it clung to his leg. Later, as they waded back through the stream, Dieu Keng turned around with a watchful look, then pointed at a parashorea tree in the distance. Khoa’s gaze followed and he spotted Kiki, clumsy and trembling, climbing for the first time as high as she could to watch after him from afar. He quickly raised his professional camera and snapped a round of last shots before hastily walking away, trying to hide his watering eyes from Dieu Keng.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Ever since the day he bought the tiny monkey from the man who made bone glue, he had planned to return her to the jungle, though he had never suspected it would be so difficult before they became inseparable. As all this raced through his mind, he suddenly heard a moan outside the watch tower door. Kiki! He gleefully dashed out and carried the animal inside, then dried her fur with a towel. They warmed themselves by the fire until they both fell asleep. Early the next morning, Kiki let out a screech and burrowed into Khoa’s chest when she recognized Dieu Keng’s approaching footsteps. The Stieng man shook his head when Khoa said he’d take her back to Saigon with him.

“It hasn’t gotten used to the jungle,” Dieu Keng explained slowly. “With time, it will rather die here than live in the city.”

In the end, Dieu Keng persuaded him to hand over Kiki in order to complete their mission. He also made Khoa promise he would not interfere long enough for Kiki to join a pack and become one with the jungle.

Earlier today, Khoa hit the road the moment he got the long-awaited call. After lunch, he anxiously followed Dieu Keng into the jungle to witness Kiki’s new family. Although he was not yet twenty yards away, Khoa was unable to recognize his pet among the dozens of monkeys flickering through the canopy above, neither did Kiki wish to be seen when Khoa left his hiding place and called out her name. Rather, the sound of his voice caused the pack to cry out and scatter up a rocky slope, disappearing behind the luxuriant leaves. Sensing his friend’s conflicted state as they walked home—happy yet sad, immensely sad—Dieu  Keng  looked   around   aimlessly  and  remarked, “The clouds have obscured the mountains; seems the rain will be fierce tonight. Why not stay at my house and keep warm?”

Khoa shook his head.

“... Then I’ll stay here instead,” Dieu Keng continued as they finished their wine in the watch tower by the ridge, about an hour from the nearest village.

Again, Khoa shook his head and thanked him.

A distant rumbling from above roused Khoa from his recollection. It wasn’t a sign of Kiki’s return like he’d been expecting. Such a boisterous din and rumbling earth had to be elephants, an entire herd of them, descending from the mountain at an incredible speed. The fire suddenly erupted into fireworks, then extinguished almost at once. The narrow stream had become a colossal water serpent overrunning its banks, destroying the watch tower in its wild and brutal wake.

*

It wasn’t easy finding a common voice between professionalism and profits, or a cutting edge vs. play-it-safe approach during this crucial staff meeting. However, the tense atmosphere was dispelled by a man people at work referred to as ‘The Old Urchin,’ a naïve and childish old character in the kung fu novels of Jin Yong. He’d already retired, but they kept him on payroll as ‘Assistant to the Editor-in-Chief.’ He suggested they begin, not from the most important matters, but from the most trivial, such as words and their meanings.

“This  country  does  not  have a standard system of spelling, so we must establish our own. At present, neither reporters nor editors write consistently. Take, for instance, the concept of ten years: lots of people mix up the word for decade, ‘thap nien’, with ‘thap ky’, without realizing that ‘ky’ means 60 years in the East and 100 years in the West. They’re also short on words: Every day, in dozens of printed and online newspapers, we see the same thing, ‘dang long,’ – broken-hearted, ‘gay sot,’ – trending, ‘lo hang’ – indecently exposed...”

The group erupted into light-hearted laughter.

Just then, Mien received a text message from the secretary’s office. She excused herself from the meeting to follow up on some breaking news.

“Our correspondant informed us there was a flash flood in Cat Tien this morning, the most devastating in twenty years,” the deputy news chief said as he handed her the printed email.

Mien read it, “Output from hydroelectric reservoir in part to blame.” She looked up and assigned one reporter to Cat Tien right away, “Touch base with our correspondant and dig deeper. If it’s a ‘go,’ we’ll make this our cover. And get me some photos.”

Just then, someone spoke up, “That may not be possible, Mien; take a look at VTV news.”

On TV were images of the flooded Dong Nai River, which had washed out sections of Route 721, bringing traffic to a halt and isolating the central flood zone.

But Mien didn’t give up, “I know the deputy district chairman there. He might have a way to get us in.”

She  turned  on  her  phone’ s  speaker  so everyone could listen in. But, even before she could speak, the voice on the other end said feverishly, “Mien, is that you? Don’t worry, we’ve sent out a team to find Khoa.”

Mien froze. The reporters around her stopped what they were doing and followed the conversation with concern.

Mien remembered why she had called.

“Is there any way you could help us get close to the scene?”

“We’re waiting for the road to clear; earliest is tonight.”

“How do you know Khoa is there?”

“Whenever he comes, he parks at the district committee building and gets a ride with village chief Dieu Keng into the jungle. The guys told me they hadn’t seen him, neither had the first aid station. Things are pretty chaotic here; if I hear anything new, I’ll let you know...”

The deputy news chief spoke in place of Mien’s stunned silence, “Try to get in touch with Khoa. I’ll handle things here.”

Back in her office, Mien propped herself against the door and stifled her sobs. Then, compelled into action, she fumbled with her phone smeared with tears. Each time she called him, she heard this emotionless message, ‘The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable.’ Never before had Mien felt such hope upon hearing the word ‘temporarily’. Suddenly, her phone rang. She glanced down—it was the deputy district chairman.

“Have you found Khoa?” Mien cried.

The line remained silent for the first few seconds, though it was long enough to bury Mien beneath an eternity of terror. Her voice trembled, “Hello? Say something; how is he?... Are you there?”

“It’s Khoa... I’m here...”

At first, Mien’s overwhelming joy choked up her throat.

“My god, you scared me to death!” she finally exclaimed.

Then, after more silence, she said in a different voice, “Can you get me some shots of the flood? I need them ASAP.”

“The flood swept away all my gear, including my phone. I had to borrow the deputy chairman’s just to call you.”

“Try to make do. There’s got to be a camera there somewhere. I don’t need high quality shots, just something for the news.”

*

Still half-asleep, Khoa re-entered his aching body, his bandaged head reminding him of the long graze he’d received when the flood hurled him against a row of bamboo. Mien no longer lay beside him, but her smell and dissheveled imprint in the earthen yellow bedspread still lingered. He quietly praised himself with a tight-lipped smile for being so beaten up yet satisfying one of Mien’s rare passionate frenzies. He hadn’t gotten home until eleven last night, when he heard a knock at the door shortly after—save me. After wrapping things up at work, Mien had rushed home to him.

Khoa opened the door and stepped out onto the narrow balcony bathed in morning sun. Again, he smiled when he spotted Mien parked by the newsstand in front of their building. She couldn’t wait to see the newest edition of her paper.