Out of the Dragon's Mouth (2 page)

Two

Hiep was waiting for her at the bow near a pile of fishing nets. “Mai, are you all right? I wish we were closer together.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Mai answered, watching the waves slap the side of the boat.

“Ahh,” he said, taking a deep breath, “the air smells good.” His bare chest expanded and relief spread on his weary face.

“I was so afraid when the soldiers came on board,” she said, hoping he would not think her a coward.

“Bribed, paid a lot of money to let us go,” Hiep said, resting his hands on his slim hips. “That's why our passage cost so much. They got their gold. And they left us alone. They knew the hold wasn't full of fish.”

“Oh,” said Mai, reassured.
That means they won't be back, doesn't it?

“Time to go below,” a crew member called.

So soon?

“Here, let me help you,” Hiep offered. He slid into the hold ahead of her and caught her when she jumped down. His arms felt strong.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She slipped from his arms and pushed through the crowd to her space, where she squeezed in between the old woman and the girl with the baby. She clutched her arms to her knees. She yawned. Her eyelids drooped. She tried to sleep, but she was able to doze only for minutes.

That night, the wind grew in force until its howling surrounded the trawler like an army of ghosts. Waves washed over the deck and drenched the frightened refugees, battering the sides of the ship like angry fists. Mai could hear the wooden planks creak and groan under the onslaught of the storm, the joints straining as if the boat would splinter apart. In the hold, the constant chanting of prayers poured out around her, babies cried high-pitched wails, and children screamed for their mothers.

The storm raged until the morning. And then the wind died, the waves diminished, the rocking ceased. Mai emerged from the hold and, tilting her head toward the storm-washed sky, whispered thanks to Great-grandfather for saving them. Hiep, his face drenched in sweat, offered her a cup of water. Mai took a sip.

Wails came from below deck. Mai watched a distraught young man lift the limp body of his lifeless wife through the hold and lay her on the deck. Mai had never seen a dead body before. She gasped when the captain and his crew wrapped the woman in a torn sail and slid her overboard. Her stomach turned at the sound of the sharks churning through the water to devour the corpse.

“Don't look,” Hiep said, pulling her away from the rail.

Mai's eyes closed and exhaustion flooded her body.
Please, Great-grandfather, no more storms. Bring us safely to freedom.

Suddenly the engine stopped and she could feel the boat drifting. She heard shouts from the crew. “What happened?”

“Engine's dead,” announced the captain.

The boat drifted for a whole day while Mai prayed for a miracle.

On the morning of the third day a school of dolphins frolicked alongside their boat, their fins slapping against the waves, their bodies glistening. For a while she watched them, but then they turned away, and she waved her arms and cried for them to come back. But they didn't.

That afternoon she sat on deck with her uncle. The rail was lined with men fishing. Her mouth watered at the thought of fresh fish. The trawler stretched on the surface of the silent sea like a dead bird, its heart no longer beating, its powerful wings rendered useless. From the water's depth, a whale emerged, a spout of water shooting from its blowhole. The fishermen cheered. Good luck was theirs.

She scanned the horizon, watching for the whale to reappear. A dot in the distance, moving toward them. Mai rubbed her eyes.

As it drew nearer, the crowd on deck began to shout, “Help. Save us!” One of the crew members climbed on top of the engine room and waved a piece of white sail.

“Uncle Hiep, what's that?” Mai said.

“An oil tanker.” He held his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. “They won't stop for us.”

“They have to stop. Why wouldn't they?” said Mai, pushing through the crowd at the rail to get a better view.

The tanker chugged toward them. About ten yards away, it stopped and a man threw a heavy line toward their boat. One of the crew members caught it, tied it to their prow, and the tanker began to cut through the sea with their trawler bobbing along behind. The waves sloshed across the deck, soaking Mai, who stood grasping the railing, her feet spread to maintain her balance.

“Land, land.”

A blur of mountains and green bordered by a thin strip of sand hovered over the ship's rail. The oil tanker left them drifting within sight of a small island.

“We're going to make it,” Hiep said. Fresh air filled her lungs. Slowly the strong current washed their trawler towards the island, scuttling it on the coral reefs.

“We can't go any closer. You'll have to swim,” the captain said. One by one the refugees plunged into the shallow sea.

“Come on, Mai,” Hiep said, grabbing her hand.

“No, I can't,” she said. “I'm afraid.”

“Just hold onto me,” he said.

Together they climbed over the rail and plunged into the water, fingers intertwined. The sea's surface hit her body with a harsh blow, knocking the breath out of her. Salt water stung her eyes and nostrils and filled her mouth as she sank deep below the surface. Her chest felt as if it would burst.
Where is Uncle Hiep?
She thrashed her arms and legs and came up sputtering, yelling for help. Just then he grabbed her arm and pulled her through the water until her feet touched the bottom and they were able to struggle up the beach, scraping their feet on the sharp coral.

“We made it,” he panted, sinking into the sand, his black hair plastered against his head.

Mai looked up and saw towering palm trees laden with coconuts and rows of brown cloth held up by tent poles silhouetted against the twilight sky. Hammocks hung three-deep were suspended between the poles. Vietnamese women hunched over smoky cooking fires while barelegged children played in the sand. A large structure open on all sides, with a shiny tin roof held up by wooden beams, stood in the center. A sign in front had a large red cross on it and words she couldn't read.

The people on the island swarmed around them as they stumbled across the sand, calling out a chorus of names: “Chin, Phuong, Hien.” Then they recognized their own.

“Mai, Hiep,” a shrill voice shouted. Thin hands with long ragged fingernails pulled Mai out of the throng and bare arms smothered her in a hard embrace. When Mai managed to pull away, she saw a short bony woman with a broad face, fat lips, and wide-set eyes, her dark hair pulled back behind her ears. Small Auntie, her mother's sister-in-law, smiled at her.

“I can't believe it. You poor child. Don't worry. I'll take care of you.” She bowed to Hiep and pulled them after her. “Come, you have to register.”

She led them to the large building where, along with everyone else from the boat, they gave their names to several young men with clipboards who told them to report back the next morning for processing.

“You come live with me. Our boat's down on the beach. You can't get living space for two.”

Mai wasn't sure where she was or what was happening. She only knew that somehow she'd landed on this island and that Small Auntie was going to take care of them. Mai remembered Small Auntie visiting them to celebrate Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. And a couple of times Mother had taken her to visit Small Auntie. It had been a long time since she had seen her. She tried to remember, but remembering could wait. She was just grateful that they were with family. Now Mai followed Hiep and Small Auntie down the beach.

Along the way, Small Auntie told them that she and Uncle Sang had been on the island for a year.

“It took us eight days to get here. We ran out of food and water, and the Thai pirates attacked us and took all our gold. They killed three of the men who resisted them trying to protect the women.” She stopped talking and shuddered. Then she swept her arms through the air and said, as if she were giving a tour, “This island is called Pulau Tengah. It belongs to Malaysia. The United Nations.” She stopped and looked at Mai and Hiep to make sure they were listening. “They're good. Set up this camp. The Red Cross. They work with them. Food. Medicine. They can find people for you. The Vietnamese workers, they're okay. Watch out for the Malaysians soldiers. Bad. They don't want us here.”

She and her husband, their four children, and her brother and his wife were living in the fishing boat that had brought them to the island. Because Sang had been the engineer on the boat, the owner had let them keep it, beached on the shore, while he stayed on the north end of the island in his own tent with the wealthy refugees.

“A very rich man,” Small Auntie exclaimed, “but he's very good to us.”

When they arrived at Small Auntie's home, Mai saw a wooden fishing boat, about half the size of the trawler they'd arrived on, tilted in the sand, the paint on its sides chipping away. Small Auntie handed each of them a bowl of rice. Mai could not eat it, but she swallowed a few sips of water.

“Come, you need to get clean,” Small Auntie said, picking up two metal buckets filled with water. “Here, you carry this,” she said, handing one to Uncle Hiep and leading them back to a row of aluminum shower stalls that edged a deep thicket of palms. She pointed him to the men's stalls and handed Mai a bucket of water.

Mai stepped into the shower stall and poured the water over her salty, vomit-soaked body. Never had a bath felt so good. Small Auntie entered, rolled up the sleeves of her loose blouse, and scrubbed her back so hard Mai thought the skin was going to come off. But she bit her lip and said nothing.

Later, Small Auntie led her back to the boat and pointed to a space on the deck next to her four children who were sound asleep, their bodies curled toward each other like puppies.

“You can sleep here. My husband will be back later. My brother and his wife too
. Do you remember them? They came with us to your house for New Year's once.”

“Of course, Auntie,” answered Mai, though she did not remember.

Mai sank to the hard deck, stretched out her legs, and felt her tight muscles pull in pain. Ah. Finally, to have a place to sleep. Surrounded by family, where someone wanted her. She could smell the sweet sweat of the children's bodies, hear their gentle breaths, along with the loud snores whistling from Hiep asleep flat on his back. Her stomach churned as if it were still at sea. What now? She touched the gold bracelets in the waistband of her pants. Mother had been right. They had brought good fortune.

Three

“Mai, are you awake?” Hiep's voice floated over to her, interrupting her dreams. Mai started to move and felt the hard surface beneath her. Of course, she remembered now. They were with Small Auntie and her family.

“Mai, wake up.” An insistent tug on her shoulder.

“Uncle Hiep, is that you? I couldn't remember where I was.”

“You were moaning last night.”

“I had some bad dreams,” she said, still shaking. “I could sleep all day.” She yawned.

“We can't do that. We've got to go back to the registry.”

“Oh, please, just a little longer … ”

Hiep nudged her with his foot. “Get up, you lazy girl.”

Mai sat and peered up at Hiep frowning down on her. Where was Small Auntie? And the children? The boat was deserted, though wisps of smoke came from a cooking fire nearby. Above her, pale purple and pink threads of light painted the eastern sky, erasing the night. Beyond her, she could see the gray-blue sea, their abandoned fishing trawler, forlorn, caught on the coral reefs.

She jumped down from the boat to the sand and followed Hiep past the light brown tents sprinkled along the beach to the Red Cross tent. Inside, a long line of men, women, and children waited to be interviewed. Mai sat on the ground at Hiep's feet while he filled out a form that a young Vietnamese man had handed him. She looked at the tables, where man sat interviewing refugees. The old woman who had been next to her on the boat was ahead of them, leaning on her son's arm. Hiep finished filling out the form and handed it back to the young man, who carried it over to a table where a man speaking English sat with a Vietnamese translator next to him.

Mai remembered the American soldiers on the Mekong before Saigon had fallen. One had given her a chocolate bar. So delicious. She should have shared it, but instead she had taken it to her room and eaten it all. Perhaps this man was an American. He finished interviewing the couple sitting at the table and called their names.

Mai pushed her hair out of her eyes. Hiep grabbed her hand and they went over to the table. She prayed that they would give the right answers so that they could go to America. Hiep gave his name and age first, and then Mai was asked for hers.

“Nguyen Mai” she said in the traditional Chinese way, last name first. “I'm fourteen.” She knew that if she'd said she was younger, she would get to go to school longer in America. But Mother and Father had taught her to always tell the truth, and so she did. Hiep gave his brother's name
and address in the United States, in that strange place
called Chicago. When the Red Cross made contact with Third Uncle, Hiep would ask his brother to sponsor them.

“We'll do everything we can,” the young man said through the translator, his forehead beaded with perspiration, his face bright red with the heat. “Sometimes it takes a while. And, of course, there are so many waiting to leave. Just listen for your name to be called on the loudspeaker; that's how you'll know a decision has been made.” Then the man gave them their meal tickets.

Mai left the Red Cross building with Hiep feeling confused.

“How long will it be?” she wanted to know. The uncertainty scared her. Would they be here a month? A year?

“I don't know, Mai. But we have a much better chance because we have family in America. I'll hang around the Red Cross in the mornings and listen for our names to be called.” Hiep's voice wavered and he dug his hands into his pockets. Mai could tell he was frightened too.

As they walked back to the boat, Hiep asked Mai for one of her gold bracelets to pay Small Auntie for their living space. Small Auntie had asked him for money as she had led them to her boat.

“Mother told me to keep these. They'll bring us good fortune.”

“Mai, this is our good fortune.” Hiep held out his hand.

Mai reached inside her pants, ripped part of the seam, and slid a gold bracelet out. She slipped it onto her wrist. So beautiful. Then she slipped it off and handed it to Hiep.

“Here, take it. I still have one left. Don't ask me for
that. And don't tell Small Auntie I have it. She'll want it too.” No wonder Small Auntie had grabbed them on the beach.
Don't trust anyone,
Father had warned them.

Hiep took the bracelet and put it in his pocket. “You're right. I think she hopes we have a lot of gold, but we're lucky to have a place to live. Two people alone aren't assigned a living place.”

Mai believed what he said was true, but she'd promised Mother. She hoped she would understand. One bracelet would still bring them good fortune. She would never give that away.

Hiep walked away and Mai squatted in the sand and watched the waves cascading onto the beach. Where was she? Where was the world she'd lived in before that day three years ago, in 1975, when the Communists had taken over her land? Before then, life had had a predictable rhythm. She'd never worried about going hungry when she saw the sacks of rice coming to her family's rice mills to be processed.

How she loved her
ancestral home. If she closed her eyes and tried, she could see the entertaining room, the family altar in the front. Grandfather sat in a carved chair with a high back, sipping tea, smoking his big cigars, and visiting with the village elders. Mai could still smell the aroma of his cigar smoke and hear his voice above the others as they discussed the rice crop.

Beyond that was her grandparents' bedroom, with an elaborately carved wooden bed draped with mosquito netting and covered with a thin mattress. Her own bed was
a straw mat on a wooden bench that she'd shared with
Ba Du, her nanny, until she'd turned five and her mother thought she was old enough to sleep alone.

She thought about Father, so sure of himself. He had managed all the rice mills for Grandfather. But later, when he'd sat under the mango trees and talked with her uncles, his voice was fearful and his eyes had dark circles under them.

She rose from the sand and walked toward the boat where Small Auntie was beginning the evening meal.

“You're lucky they let you ashore,” Small Auntie said as she squatted on her heels and stirred the rice over the open cooking fire outside the boat. “So many people here.”

Hiep handed Small Auntie the gold bracelet. She shook her head, turned it over in her hands to examine it, and then tucked it into the pocket of her shirt.

“Too many. When we first came a year ago, the island was almost deserted. Now the soldiers only let you land if your engine is broken. So many people suffer.” She sighed and stood up, wiping her hands on her long loose pants. “If the soldiers find out that your engine does work, they will tow you back out to sea, to face the Thai pirates who rob and rape. If they don't get you, thirst and starvation will.”

“Why would the soldiers do that?”

“Too many people here. Island's too small.”

“But what do the people do?”

“I don't know.” Small Auntie shrugged. “There are other islands. Sometimes a storm comes and they drown. When I came, we almost didn't make it. But my husband, he's a smart man. He kept the engine running. We would have all died, all two hundred of us.”

Small Auntie looked up at Mai, who widened her eyes in disbelief. Two hundred on this small boat? Three hundred people had been on her boat, but it had been much bigger than this one.

Mai thought of the rest of her family. What if they were out there in a boat, drifting with no food or water as she had been, and no one rescued them?

“Enough of this.” Small Auntie smiled. “You're here, and you must help. You can start by watching the children while I finish the cooking. They are always getting too near the fire.”

She pointed to the four small children playing in the sand. The oldest was Minh, a boy about ten, holding a ball of string that he tossed in the air. Two little girls, Huong and Diep, who appeared to be about six and four, sat quietly and watched him. The youngest girl, Nhu, toddled toward Mai with her arms outstretched. Mai bent over and picked her up, surprised at how light she was. The child smiled and reached out for her hair. Mai sat down next to the other children. “Want to play a game?” she asked.

They didn't answer, their solemn eyes fixed on her. She showed them a game she had played with her sister Tuyet. She drew some squares in the sand and threw a pebble on the first square and hopped to it. Then she threw the pebble to the second square. “Here, you try.”

They watched her silently, slowly joining in. She was happy they were entertained, but a sad feeling came over her. She missed her family.

Small Auntie interrupted her thoughts. “Tomorrow morning, Mai, go to the Red Cross headquarters with Minh and get our food. The ship comes about eight. Get there early before they run out.”

Small Auntie gathered the rice bowls and called them over to eat. She smiled as Mai helped the children before serving herself.

Mai felt safe with Small Auntie. Even though she was a small woman, about Mai's height, she could hold a crying child on her hip with one arm and lift a cooking pot full of rice with the other. Her voice was strong and full of authority. Uncle Sang was off at the wells. Fresh drinking water was scarce and the men spent their time digging while the women and children lined up three times a day for food rations, hauled water, and gathered twigs for the cooking fire.

“Digging wells is dangerous work,” Sang warned them that evening around the fire. “Not many tools. Sometimes I have to work with my bare hands. Scoop the sand into buckets and dump it on the ground.” He dug his hands in the sand and let it run through his fingers. “Men have died,” he said, lowering his voice. “Cave-ins. Thirty meters down—very deep. You be careful,” he said, pointing to Hiep. “Tomorrow you will leave with me in the morning for the wells.” He stood up and stretched. “Now I must rest.” Sang turned and disappeared into the evening shadows.

Mai was worried, but Hiep was excited. He strutted around, proud to be considered a man even though his hands,
Mai noticed, were soft, those of a student, not a laborer.
Great-grandfather, be with him,
she prayed.