Eiko broke off half of his protein cake and gave it to Son.

“No.”

“Yes. I need to eat, or I will be hungry. You need to eat, or you will die. Eat.”

Son ate the cake, chewing it behind cracked lips.

When he finished, he said, “I was dreaming of home. Of the island. Dreaming, and remembering, all at once. And it was all so clear. Clearer than what is here right now. As if I were speaking to my ancestors, my grandfather and my great-grandfather who was around until I was five. I was talking to them about the sea monster. And remembering … my great-grandfather: he…”

Son paused, swallowing. Eiko gave him a drink of water.

“He knew of the Con Dao Sea Monster, too. They called it—his generation called it—the Shadow of Hon Ba. They told stories of how, if you stayed the night on Hon Ba, the uninhabited island across the bay, and you sat still, with no lights at all, you would see the shadow rise from the water and walk along the beach. He—my great-grandfather—had heard this story when he was a child. When he was ten, he and his best friend borrowed a rowboat and rowed across the bay after the sun had set. For half the night they stayed awake on the beach, in the dark, waiting. There was no moon that night. And finally the shadows came: not one, but two. Then three, and then four, gliding from the water up the beach and into the forest while my great-grandfather and his friend sat there, unable to move, frozen in horror. After a minute or so, the monkeys on the island began to howl and howl. Then, ten minutes later, the shadows came back down the beach. They slipped into the water again, and were gone.

“I asked him what they were. He said he did not know, but they walked low on the sand, and were larger than a man. I asked why he had done it, and he said it was because his own grandfather had told him the stories, and he needed to see it for himself. Later I asked my grandfather if he had ever spent the night on Hon Ba. He said no—and that I should stop believing in such things if I wanted to grow up strong. They were just stories to make us afraid. And I tried to listen to him, because he knew what it was to be strong. He was in the tiger cages when he was a boy. They had thrown lye on him and beaten him, but he had given them only false names.”