Out of the Dragon's Mouth (4 page)

Mai brightened. Fresh food would be a treat after the canned food and rice. She and Minh scampered to the shore and joined the line, crowding the tables, all hoping to be first.

A woman in front of her shouted, “Stop him. He took my rice.”

Mai turned and saw a white-haired man, his body bent, clutching a bag. A young woman with a toddler at her side was pointing at him. The man started to run, but tripped in the sand and a soldier hit him in the face with his rifle butt. He started bleeding from his mouth. Three teeth lay in front of him as he struggled to get up. The soldier turned away. The woman bent over and picked up her rice.

Mai looked at the old man, who was holding his hands to his bloody face, with a mixture of pity and anger. Walking over to him, she stretched out her hand. He grabbed it and stood up. No one else came near. He shuffled away, clutching his jaw.

She had worried about someone stealing her food. There wasn't always enough, but who would steal from a mother and a baby? How desperate must you be?

The soldiers marched around in their green camouflage uniforms toting guns and if you got in their way, they would kick you or hit you. Not even a dog in her father's house was treated so harshly. She was afraid of them, remembering the Communist soldiers and what they had done to her friends and family.

Five

Four months went by. Mai continued to collect the food with Minh, wash the clothes, watch the children, and fall asleep at night under the Malaysian sky dreaming of the day their names would be called over the loudspeaker and she and Hiep would go to America.

America? Would they have to work in the rice fields? How would she go to school? She hid these worries inside her the way she hid her gold bracelet from Small Auntie. At night she dreamed of her family. Each morning when she awoke, she thought she was at home until she remembered, and then sadness filled her.

She remembered pleading with Father not to send her.

“It's not possible. Your passage has been paid
. The identification papers stamped. Now go to sleep. You'll have to get up early.” Father had lit a cigarette and raised it to his lips.

There was no arguing with Father. Just do what he said. That night, she'd dreamed Father came to her with tears in his eyes and begged her forgiveness, assuring her they would never send her away. But the next morning, her mother had shown her the gold bracelets in the waistband of her pants before she stepped into them.

“Why must I wear all of these clothes? I'll be too warm,” Mai had complained while her mother dressed her in three layers of clothing: three loose-fitting blouses and three pairs of pants.

“This is all you can take with you, Mai. You can wear the red blouse and black pants when you go to America. And,” Mother reminded her, “don't tell anyone about the bracelets. They will bring you good fortune.” She touched her forefinger to a lock of Mai's straight black hair dangling over her right eye and put her arms around her. Mai clung to her mother, feeling the softness of her body and smelling the odor of fish sauce on her breath, until her mother pulled her hands away. Mai would relive that goodbye embrace for a long time.

“You and Grandmother are going to take a
xe loi
to Father's cousin's house in Soc Trang near the mouth of the river. Just a shopping trip as usual. But you will stay there and wait for Hiep. He'll be along tomorrow.”

I'll never see them again,
Mai had thought, her throat raw. She'd rolled up her sleeping mat and put it in the corner of the small room where they all slept.

Since those terrible days in 1975, they'd hidden in Rai Rang with Ông Ngoai, at his textile mill just a few miles from their home. Because Ông Ngoai wasn't a wealthy landowner, the Communists had let him keep his factory. Mother and Father worked long hours stringing the looms and dyeing the thread. Mai could still smell the rotten egg odor from the vats of dye. She'd helped by watching Yen, the baby. Here, it seemed, they were safe. The workers wouldn't report them, but their world had shrunk and they had to be careful.

Yen, now a girl of four, ran over to Mai.

“Goodbye, Yen. Be a good girl.”

Tuyet put her arm around Mai. “Goodbye and good luck. I'll see you in America,” she whispered.

Quan, a skinny boy of ten, asked where she was going. “Just shopping with Grandmother,” she'd replied.

“Come on, Mai,
xe loi's
here,” Mother called as a motorcycle with a cab attached behind it pulled up. Grandmother, a tiny woman bent like a twig, her gray hair pulled back behind her ears, was waiting outside, her shopping bag over her arm. Mai could hear Father's teacup rattle when she walked to the door.

Mother thrust a red cloth bag at her. “Food for the journey,” she said. Were those tears in her eyes, Mai wondered?

Mai and Grandmother climbed into the
xe loi
, which flew down the dirt road with the steady purr of its engine and the choking dust filling the air.

Mai remembered watching everything she loved disappearing: the alleys she'd played in with her brothers and sisters, Ông Ngoai's textile mill, its red tile roof gleaming in the sunshine, and most of all her beloved family.

A long time later, they entered Soc Trang. Grandmother had held Mai's hand while they made their way through a maze of alleys to the two-story brick house, where a sweet-faced woman with four small children clustered about her bowed and motioned for them to enter. She poured them each a cup of tea while her children stood in a row and stared with their small, dark eyes.

“Goodbye, Mai. Cousin will take good care of you. And do what she tells you.” Grandmother rose. She touched Mai's trembling hand.

“I will, Grandmother,” she'd answered, in a voice so low she could barely hear herself

“Here,” Cousin said. “Follow me.” She padded down a dark hallway to a drab, windowless room. “Be very quiet. The neighbors.” She nodded toward the outside wall, rolled her eyes, and put her finger to her lips.

Hiep had joined her the next afternoon.

Mai jumped up from her mat. “You've come. Why'd it take so long?”

“I had to leave later than I expected. Police around. Didn't want to arouse suspicion.”

They left that night. When the house grew quiet and Mai thought she could not wait one more minute, a soft knock came at the door.

“Now,” Cousin whispered, pointing down the hallway. Hiep and Mai slipped outside without speaking.

“Follow me,” said Hiep, hugging the shadows.

Mai wiped her tears and stumbled after him until her legs throbbed with pain. They came to an inlet in the river. Above them, Mai saw the moon hanging like a gold medallion in the black satin sky.

A small wooden canal boat waited among the tall reeds. A young fisherman took Mai's hand as she stepped aboard.
Can we trust him?
A trembling couple with a small boy emerged from a bamboo grove and joined them. The boat sank low in the water with the six of them. The fisherman stood at the stern, and, moving two poles slowly through the water, pushed away from the riverbank. Mai could hear the rapid pounding of her heart against her chest wall, and the dip, dip, dip of the poles in the water as the current took them down the river.

Several hours later, the fisherman guided the boat behind a small island and stopped. The boat bobbed in the water. Half-awake, Mai leaned against Hiep's strong shoulder. Then the boat began crossing the river toward the old fishing trawler, with its long open deck and pilot house at the back.

Small boats appeared from all directions, headed toward
the trawler like a swarm of bees to honey. When they
reached the boat, a tattooed arm reached down and hoisted Hiep and her aboard. The captain, a one-legged man with a neat
gray moustache, recognized them. Captain Le was a fre
quent visitor to their home; he was Father's cousin and a veteran of the South Vietnamese navy who had escaped execution by the Communists because of his war injury.

Mai hadn't seen Captain Le since they'd arrived on Pulau Tengah. She wondered what had happened to him. And she rarely saw Hiep anymore. He spent mornings at the Red Cross tent listening for their names to be called, then dug wells with Sang the rest of the day, and then disappeared after dinner.

One evening in early February, after she had helped Small Auntie wash the dishes, she and Hiep went for a walk along the beach. The sky was a black tent embroidered with silver sequins, the moon a sliver. The smoke of the cooking fires mingled with the salty sea air. Above her she could see the Silver River in the sky.

“I'm glad you stayed here tonight. Where do you go after dinner?” she asked Hiep.

“Oh, just hanging out with some of the guys I work with.”

“I miss you.”

“I'm just having fun, Mai.” He stopped and stared at the sky.

“But it's not fun for me. I have to work all day for Small Auntie, and then in the evening, she still makes me tend to the children. Oh, Uncle Hiep, I want to go home. Why did we have to come here?”

“Now Mai, you know your father was right. We couldn't hide forever. They'd find us. And then they'd kill us or send us to the re-education camp. It couldn't stay like it was. You've got to be brave.”

Mai walked along next to Hiep, feeling the soft sand on her feet. Oh, how she missed her family. She would try to be brave, but it wasn't going to be easy.

Six

The next morning, Mai was eating with Hiep by the fire. Small Auntie came around the side of the boat with her broom in her hand.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling, her face smudged from smoke.

“Good morning, Small Auntie,” Mai replied, standing up. Hiep rose too.

“Sit down, sit down. Eat your breakfast.” Small Auntie stood in front of them and folded her arms.

“Is anything wrong, Small Auntie?” Hiep asked.

“I don't want to burden you with my troubles.” Small Auntie sighed.

“Oh, tell us, please,” said Mai.

“You've lived here for four months. Four months is a long time. You need to pay me more.” She wiped her hand across her brow.

“We have nothing else to give you. We gave you the bracelet.” Hiep's voice was firm.

“Oh, surely you brought more than one small bracelet. Maybe some diamonds?” Small Auntie smiled as if they shared a secret.

“We brought some, but pirates stole them,” Hiep replied.

Mai sucked in her breath, shocked that Hiep would lie. There had been no diamonds. At least, none that she'd known about. Did Hiep have diamonds?

“Ah, such bad luck,” clucked Small Auntie. “What
about your brother in America?”

“We haven't heard from him yet,” Hiep said.

Small Auntie stared at him with hollow eyes. “I have someone who wants to live with us who
can
pay. Perhaps you could find another place to live.”

“Oh, Small Auntie, we are so happy here,” Mai said.

“It makes me sad for you to leave, but if you can't pay, you'll have to leave tomorrow.” She shook her broom and walked away.

“Uncle Hiep, what are we going to do? Small Auntie really wants us to leave.”

“I heard her. I can't believe it. We're out of money except for your gold bracelet. We'll have to give it to her.”

“No, we can't do that. I promised Mother. It's our good luck. We need to keep it. It will help us get to America.”

“I don't know what we're going to do then.”

“What was that about diamonds? Did you really bring diamonds?”

“Of course not, Mai. But I knew if I told her we hadn't left with anything, she wouldn't believe me.”

“Where will we live? What will we do?” Mai started to sniffle.

“I have an idea. I know a group of single people who live down on the southern end of the island where I've been digging wells.”

“But I don't want to leave here. Small Auntie is family. Surely she'll change her mind. Talk to her.”

“Listen, Mai. The other night, I heard Small Auntie and Uncle Sang talking. They really do just want us for our gold. They think because our family owned a rice exporting company, we still have a lot of money.”

“But you know that's not so. We've lost it all. But we'll get it back.”

“Mai, we have no choice. We can live with my friends. I've met some girls there who are very nice.”

“Oh, that's it. Do you have a girlfriend?” Mai often saw young couples walking together on the beach in the evening. Perhaps that was why Hiep was gone so much.

Hiep's face flushed. “I'll go talk to them tonight. I'm sure I can find us a place.”

When Hiep returned to the boat that evening, the sun was down and the children were asleep. A haze of smoke hung over Small Auntie as she lingered by the fire, poking the embers. Hiep approached her while Mai hung back in the shadows, watching. She could hear them quietly talking. Then Small Auntie's voice got louder.

“It's impossible. You have to pay. I need money.”

Hiep turned away and walked over to Mai. Small Auntie disappeared around the side of the boat.

“We'll leave in the morning. After breakfast. Like she said, she's already got someone to take our place. But we can go live with my friends. There is a place for us. Don't worry, Mai.”

Mai gasped. How unfair. And she thought Small Auntie had wanted them because they were family. But Uncle Hiep was right. She had only wanted their gold.

Mai couldn't sleep that night. First her family had sent her away, and now Small Auntie. Didn't anyone want her? Sobs rose in her throat. She choked them down. She felt a heavy pressure on her chest, as if a huge hand were pushing her away. Tears dropped on the deck beneath her. She wasn't sure about Hiep's friends. She had only met one or two of them. Yet maybe it would be better there. Maybe she would see him more. Even though she would miss Minh and the girls, she would not miss Small Auntie chirping at her all day about her chores.

Mai wondered what her family was doing now. Were they still living at Ông Ngoai's, or were they somewhere in the South China Sea on their way to freedom? Maybe they would come to her island. Although she knew Father was out of money, perhaps he had been able to find free passage with one of his friends who owned a fishing boat.

Ông Ngoai had refused to leave Vietnam. He clung to the hope that the Communists would leave them alone. He said he had worked too hard for that textile mill. Mai had been happy living with him. A gentle man, he'd sat all day at the door of the mill in a bamboo chair listening to Chinese music on his record player while keeping an eye on his workers. Mai knew he must be lonely since Grandmother died. She laughed when she thought of him falling asleep after lunch, the brim of the funny plastic hat on his bald head tilted over his eyes, snoring to the sound of the music.

She remembered how angry her father had been about this. He had urged his father-in-law to put his money in a Swiss bank account and leave the country, but he wouldn't.

The waves banged at the shoreline. Daylight would arrive soon. She wiped her eyes and, exhausted, fell asleep.

When Mai awoke, she stared at the tarp above her. Sunlight blazed through a slit in it. She was alone. She could hear the mingled voices of children and adults outside on the beach. She had overslept. She stood up, slipped her bare feet into her dép, and gathered her few possessions—two blouses, two pairs of pants—which she placed in her red cloth bag. She felt the edge of her waistband for the gold bracelet. Ah, it was still there. Although she wore only a blouse and loose pants, it was hot. She peered down on the beach and saw Hiep standing by the cooking fire, eating a bowl of rice.

When she walked down to Hiep, Small Auntie rose from the cooking fire and smiled at her, but Mai did not smile back. Small Auntie's shoulders rose and she looked like a tiger waiting to pounce.

Mai picked up a bowl, scooped some rice into it, and stood silently, rolling the sticky rice into balls and eating them with her fingers, her eyes fixed on the ground. Small Auntie poured her a cup of water. Mai did not take it.

“We're going to miss you. Come back and visit. I hear the south end of the island is very nice. Not so crowded.” Small Auntie rubbed her cheek.

Mai stared at her and at the girls playing in the sand. She did not want to go, but she would not let Small Auntie know that.

“We'll see you often, I'm sure. “

Mai bent over and quickly hugged each child. Minh was nowhere in sight. “Where's Minh?”

“Out looking for wood. I'll tell him you've gone.”

Mai wanted to scream. She did not want to leave without saying goodbye to Minh. He would be angry that she had left, and she didn't want that.

“Please tell him I'll see him in the food line. Tonight.”
Who will help me now? Uncle Hiep is busy digging wells.

“Thank you for everything, Small Auntie. What would we have done without your kindness?” Hiep said as he gave her a ceremonial bow.

Mai knew that she should bow too. It would be disrespectful not to. After all, Small Auntie was her elder, and Mother and Father had taught her to respect her elders, but they had also taught her that no one should bring dishonor on the family name. She didn't bow.

“Small Auntie, I don't want to leave you. You are our fam
ily and we are all alone. Please let us stay.” She reached out
and touched Small Auntie's arm.

“Ah, Mai, if only that were possible. You see, life is different here.” Small Auntie moved so that Mai's hand was no longer touching her arm. “It's too bad your family has not sent you money. I thought your uncle in America was very rich.” Her crooked front teeth flashed as she forced a smile.

“Uncle Hiep told you we haven't heard from him yet. I've worked. I've done my share.” Mai's voice rose.

“I have taken care of you these past months. You are a woman now. You and Hiep can take care of yourselves. I must take care of my family.”

“But we are your family.” How Mai hated to beg.

Small Auntie tapped her long nails on the cup of tea she held in her hand. “I have four children, a husband, and a brother and sister-in-law. That is enough.”

“I don't understand why you are treating us like this. You invited us to live with you. Did you only want our money?” Mai glared at Small Auntie. Father had told her it was a sign of weakness to show anger, but right now she didn't care.

“Foolish girl. War. Don't you know? We must take care of ourselves. Now go. When you have money, then come back.” Small Auntie crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes hard.

Mai choked back a sob. She would never come back. She hated Small Auntie. No family loyalty. She was just like the Communists. She reached to pick up her small cloth bag and followed Hiep across the sand. When she looked back, she saw that Small Auntie had already begun sweeping the area around the boat with her stick broom.

“Mai, wait.” Minh was running toward her. As he
approached her, he dropped the bundle of wood he had been carrying. “Where are you going?” he called.

Mai turned around and looked at Minh. He was clad only in ripped shorts, dép on his dirt-caked feet.

“We're going to live with Hiep's friends, on the other end of the island.”

“Take me with you,” Minh pleaded.

Mai shook her head. “Your mother needs you.” She tried to sound calm, even though inside she was shaking.

Hiep said nothing. Minh stamped his feet. “Why are you leaving? Don't you like it with us?”

“Uncle Hiep's friends want us to come,” she lied. No use in Minh blaming his mother for their departure. Life was hard enough.

Minh grabbed Hiep's arm. “Don't go.”

“I'll come and see you, don't worry,” Mai murmured.

Hiep rolled his eyes and frowned at Mai as he removed Minh's hand from his arm and turned to leave. Mai hugged Minh and followed Hiep.

“Come back,” Minh called, but Mai traipsed down the beach. She hoped she would like their new home. Minh would forgive her, she was sure.