The Emperor of Gladness

by Ocean Vuong

Maureen and Hai followed Russia out, where he placed the cake on a counter and lit the candles before carrying it out front. Wayne, Sony (somewhat recovered), and BJ, her cap back on, her manager’s bow tie cinched up, led the procession, clapping as they staggered out from the kitchen, singing “Happy Birthday,” their faces lifted into masks of glee as they crossed the rubber mats and onto the warm brick tiles of the dining room, where a family had gathered around a girl with a pink crown on her head, the wax number 6 hovering toward her as she shrieked with pristine delight, scanning the crew’s faces, then turning to her parents—no older than twenty-five—regarding them with what looked like the invention of gratitude, unbridled to the point of levitation. Russia set the cake down, Band-Aid hanging from his cheek, and the crew swayed as the song emptied out of them, the applause rising and falling, the father shaking BJ’s hands, conspirators of this tiny miracle, as MGMT’s “Electric Feel” came through the speakers, and underneath that, under the giggles, the clicking of plastic forks as they’re passed around, and the footsteps of each worker returning to their stations, the mounted TV in the corner, its voice announcing, Multiple suicide bombings, including one at a hospital, have killed at least thirty-three and wounded more than fifty people near Baqubah, Iraq.