Out of the Dragon's Mouth (17 page)

No Kien. She danced back to their camp, calling for him. His name bounced off the rocks, echoed off the waves, settled in the sand. She glanced around the inside of the tent that she and Hiep had shared. What would she take? The red cloth bag she had carried from Vietnam, a couple of pieces of clothing, the bracelet. She glanced at the fire pit. She would dig it out after her physical. No time now. And someone might see. Kien—she had to talk to Kien.

There was a shadow at the entrance to her tent. Like a statue in the doorway, not moving. She hoped it was Kien.

“Kien, did you hear? My name … I'm leaving.”

He cracked his knuckles.

“Are you angry with me? Don't be angry. You can't be. I'm leaving.”

“I heard. I heard.” His shoulders slumped.

“I'm sorry about yesterday.” She stumbled toward him and placed her hands in his. “It's all my fault. No one has ever kissed me before. Not like that.”

His frown was replaced by the slip of a smile that settled on the corners of his mouth. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Then he spoke. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too.”

So he didn't want to talk about the kiss. Mai felt relief. Pain. Pain in her chest. Hard to breathe. Missing him already. “We may never see each other again,” she whispered, squeezing his hands tighter, her chest pounding with pain.

“My name will be called soon, I'm sure. Maybe I'll go to America too.” Kien cleared his throat and dropped her hands.

“Oh, I hope so. I was just looking at my things.” Mai swept her arm around the tent. “There's not much. Would you like some dishes and pans? Something to remember me by.” She laughed.

“I'll remember you. I don't need anything,” Kien replied. She smiled at him through her tears. He reached over and wiped them away with his thumbs.

“I'll remember you too,” she said, feeling the warmth of his skin on hers. Would she ever see him again? The excitement of leaving. The sorrow of leaving.

“When will you leave?” Kien asked, his face solemn.

“I don't know. I have to go to the clinic first. After lunch. They don't let you go if you're sick. Oh, you don't think they'll stop me, do you?” Her knees buckled and Kien caught her before she fell.

“What's the matter?” he said, his arms steadying her.

Mai coughed and tried to stand.

“Have you eaten today?”

She shook her head. She'd been too excited to eat. The bag of food was on the floor. Kien reached into it and grabbed a roll. Breaking off a bite, he held it to her lips. She could smell its sweet aroma. She took it from his hand and devoured it.

“You have to come with me,” she said, wiping the crumbs off her lips.

“I can't. Not until my name is called.”

“No, to the clinic. I'm afraid.”

“I'll come. Now eat the rest of the roll. I'll get you some water.”

Revived, Mai perched on the bench and ate another roll. She could hear the clink of the tin cup as Kien banged it against the edge of the water bucket. She took the cup from his hand, their fingers touching. The warm water slid down her throat. Kien sat next to her, so close his breath was a warm breeze on her neck. She could feel their knees touching.

“Kien, if I tell you something, will you promise never to tell anyone?”

Kien peered down at her. She knew she had promised Ngoc not to tell, but Ngoc would need someone to help her and Lan. Kien would have to know. The secret was too heavy for Ngoc to carry by herself.

“What is it?”

“Promise. You must promise.”

“Of course.”

She stared at her feet, not daring to look him in the eye. She had promised Ngoc. Would breaking a promise bring bad luck? Maybe not, if the promise were broken for a good reason.

“Kien, remember when I told you I thought I saw Lan on the boat?”

“Yes.” He turned his face toward her and tried to catch her eyes, but she kept her head down.

“It was her. I found out why she left,” Mai whispered.

Kien was silent, waiting.

“She's going to have a baby. Ngoc told me. She's gone to the hospital on the mainland. Ngoc went to be with her.”

The words rushed out in a torrent, as if she was afraid they wouldn't come out at all unless she pushed them out all at once. Now what had she done? Kien would want nothing to do with such a bad girl. If he found out that Hiep was the father, he would want nothing to do with Mai either. Her family honor had been ruined.

She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. She would not have been surprised if he had risen and left her, but he didn't. Instead, he pushed back his shoulders and sat up straight.

“What can I do to help?” he said, biting his lower lip.

“I just needed to share this with you. Lan and Ngoc might need your help after I'm gone. I'm so worried.”

She wanted to tell him that Hiep was the father, but she felt she had told too much.

“Who is the father?” Kien asked, reading her mind. “He should be the one helping her.” His voice grew gruff.

“He can't. He's dead.”

“Dead? But who?” Kien stopped. “Hiep. Is it Hiep?”

Mai just nodded, her chin quivering. Now Kien would want nothing to do with any of them. “I won't blame you if you want nothing to do with us. Both our families have been dishonored.”

He sat down and cracked his knuckles.

“I'm sorry I told you. I just had to.” Mai ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Are you shocked?”

Finally Kien spoke. “What do you want me to do?”

Mai's lips parted into a thin smile. “Thank you. I was afraid you would think … ”

Kien shook his head, interrupting her. “Have you forgotten? My parents weren't married. No time. War. Who knows how much time there is?”

“But Kien, what about the rules?” Mai's voice quivered.

“What rules?” he said, his eyes widening.

“The ones we grew up with,” Mai whispered.

“The rules?” Kien scoffed. “Look at what has happened to our country and to us. Do you think anybody cares about the rules? I just want to survive.” He pounded his fist on the bench.

Mai gaped at him, never having heard him talk like this. She thought of her parents, of the orderly life they had lived in Vietnam, where everyone knew his place, boys and girls were carefully chaperoned, and marriages were arranged. But Hiep and Lan had broken the rules, and they had been punished. Fear swallowed Mai. Fear for Lan and her baby.
Please, dear Buddha, they've been punished enough.
She could see Kien's eyes gazing at her. Would they meet again in America?

“I have to go the clinic,” she said, pointing to the tent opening.

“I'll come with you.”

“No, it's okay.”

He followed her out of the tent and smiled, his white teeth flashing in the sunlight. “Thank you for telling me your secret. Don't worry. I won't tell.”

She gave him a brief look of thanks and turned to go.

Nineteen

Mai traipsed through the hot sand to the Red Cross clinic, her mind a muddle. She was relieved that Kien had been understanding, sad about having to leave without him, and worried about the physical. Her stomach churned. She walked straight to the clinic, and the sun bounced off her
non l
á
as she squatted in line, waiting. The woman ahead of her shuffled forward, and she moved forward. Every inch brought her closer to the test, the test that would determine her fate.

Women were directed to the left, into one tent, and men to the right. Mai walked slowly, without comprehending what was happening. Once inside the tent, she saw groups of women undressing and huddling together.

“What are they going to do to us?” she asked a sallow-faced girl who was slipping off her dép.

The girl continued to undress without answering her.

“Take off all your clothes and line up. The doctor is going to check you,” announced a slim blonde girl with a clipboard in her hand.

Mai hugged the tent wall. Never would she do that. She had undressed only in front of her mother and Small Auntie, and she would not undress in front of all these women and then have a man check her. There must be some mistake. She looked around. Several women, their eyes staring downward, were standing in line, with their hands covering their breasts and their crotches. Mai tried not to stare, but she had never seen a naked body before, not even her mother's.

The whoosh of cloth dropping to the floor filled the room. A baby screamed. She could not escape. She pulled off her blouse with wooden fingers, and then slipped off her pants. She was naked except for the blood-soaked rag between her legs. Why did it have to be now? She reached between her legs and removed the cloth, feeling the dampness, smelling the odor of the blood. Peeking at the room from the corners of her eyes, she was relieved to see that no one was looking at her. She hid the rag under her clothes and then stepped in line.

When it was her turn, the doctor moved closer until she could smell the tobacco on his breath. He motioned for her to open her mouth, then put a wooden stick on her tongue, gagging her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the humiliation of standing before him naked, but she had to open them when he put a cold instrument to her eyes and pulled back her eyelids. Her eyeballs felt as if they were going to pop out of her head. Mai wanted to scream, but she didn't. No amount of pain would stop her from leaving the island.

Nodding approvingly, the doctor had her turn around as he examined her fingers and her feet. Mai's cheeks burned as he touched her. Then the doctor put a cold metal stethoscope on her chest, pantomimed for her to breathe deeply, and listened. He said something she didn't understand and motioned for her to move on.

She ran to her pile of clothes and pulled them on. She had never seen this doctor before. He must be new. If Hiep's doctor had been there, she would have run from the tent rather than let him see her naked. When the woman with the clipboard checked her name off and told her that she had passed, she fell from the tent, blinded by the noonday sun. Tears clouded her eyes. Never had she felt so degraded, so embarressed.

Recovering her sight, she saw Kien leaning against a palm tree.

“I passed. I passed,” she called. America was no longer a dream. Now she had to wait for the loudspeaker to call her name one more time, so she could go to the ship. It could be hours or days, but it would happen.

She leaned her head on Kien's shoulder, her tears staining his tan shirt. “I wish you were coming with me.”

“Don't cry,” he said smoothing her hair. “You're going to be all right.” But the tears cascaded from her, kept at bay for so long that even his soft words could not stop them. How could she feel so happy, while still feeling so humiliated from the exam?

“You don't know what they did in there. I would have rather drowned in the ocean,” she coughed between sobs.

Before Kien could reply, a voice boomed from the loudspeaker, rattling off a list of names and saying, “Report to the pier for immigration in two hours.”

The afternoon boat. My name. Leaving. No time. Must hurry. The boat. No time. Wipe away the tears. Forget the humiliation. Leaving. Goodbye. Kien. My things. Gold bracelet. Dig. Hide it. Blouse hem. Good luck. Remember what Mother said.

Words were rushing through Mai's head faster than she could think. She ran to the camp, followed by Kien and Kim calling to her: “Wait, Mai. We'll help you.”

The breeze caught her hair and flattened it against her cheeks. For a moment Mai imagined she was back home playing in the orchard, being chased by her cousins in a game of tag, smelling the sweet scent of apples overhead, hearing the lowing of a water buffalo as it sloshed through a nearby rice paddy. She could hear the patter of Kien and Kim's feet behind her as they tried to catch up.

When she reached her tent and smelled the familiar scent of rice and wood fire mixed with the briny smell of the sea, she caught her breath. There was not much to take. The bright red bag with her notebook and knitting needles, yarn, the lumpy scarf, two pairs of pants, two extra blouses. A broken pencil.

She eyed the cooking fire, the three rocks arranged in a triangle with the fire pit in the middle. Kien and Kim were standing outside the tent waiting for her, and they watched her kneel in the sand and dig her hands into the mound of ashes. She dug deep, dug for her bracelet, her fingertips feeling for the remnant of the rice bag that held it, protected it from the sand and sea. The ashes, damp and cool, turned Mai's fingers as black as the midnight sky. She pushed them into a heap and felt the gritty sand beneath, clawing at it, frantic now for the bracelet, grains of sand wedging beneath her fingernails and stinging the soft tips of her fingers.

Where is it? Hurry. Find it. Find it now. Can't leave without it.
Something terrible might happen to her if she left without it.
Dig deeper, to the left, no, to the right.
Suddenly her fingers touched cloth, a stiff corner protruding like a flag; now they touched a hard metal circle, and she pulled the cloth from the pit and opened it. The gold bracelet, speckled with sand, gleaming in the sunlight, lay so still in her hand.

Kim called to her. “Hurry, Mai.”

Chided like a child, Mai ran to the tent, slipped off her worn pants and blouse, and pulled out her special clothes, her “going to America” outfit—the red blouse her mother had stitched for her and the black pants. She stuffed her other clothes in her bag and eyed her dép, one with its broken strap held to the sole by a single bent nail. She picked up her bag, her eyes sweeping the small space that she and Hiep had shared: his hammock hanging limply next to hers, the hooks they'd hung their bags on, the tin can candle he'd made.

She could see him once again, his shadow dancing on the tent wall, the candle sending out its shaft of light as he bent over, writing letters to the brother he would never see again. She could hear him moaning as he lay retching in his hammock, feel his hand on hers as he lowered her into the hold of the ship. Mai stifled a sob and turned to go. There was no time to live in the past, only time to live in the present now and get on that boat.

“Kim, Kien, come here,” she called, poking her head through the tent flap. They appeared. “I want you to have these.” Mai pointed to the pots and pans, the can opener, and the water bucket. They could trade them at the market for food. “Oh, how I am going to miss you.”

Kim and Kien did not speak. Finally Kim said, “We'll be seeing you in America. Now go on and don't worry about us.” She motioned for Mai to leave.

They followed her like two puppies as she walked back to the main camp, their presence a knife cutting her happiness in half. At the Red Cross tent, she was given a clear plastic bag full of papers, a stern warning—“Don't lose these”—and a name tag. Then off to the pier.

“Don't forget to find out about Lan,” she said to Kien. “You can write me at my uncle's.” She handed him a slip of paper with her uncle's name and address on it.

“I'll write you,” he promised, sliding his arms around her and drawing her to him.

How could she leave him? What if she stayed?

“I'm not going to leave without you,” Mai said, raising her eyes to meet his. “It's no use. I'll wait until your name is called. Then we'll go together.” She dropped both her bags in the sand, her red cloth bag and the plastic bag with her papers.

“No, Mai, you can't wait. You've got to leave the island and get away from Sang's ghost. It's not safe for you here. We'll meet again. I promise.”

Mai lifted her face to Kien. No longer afraid, she kissed him. A long kiss. A sweet kiss. And he kissed her back. She clung to him until he had to pry her arms away.

“Please go. I love you. I don't want anything to happen to you,” he said.

“And I love you. I will see you again. In America,” she said. Then she turned to Kim, who had stepped back a few feet from them.

“I'll write you too,” Kim said, forcing a smile. “And when we're all in America, we'll meet and have ice cream.”

Mai clutched her two bags tighter, her fingernails cutting into her palms. “Goodbye,” she said.

Kien tried to catch her hand, but she darted away and took her place in line. If she touched him again, the pain would be too much and she might not have the strength to leave.

“Nguyen Mai,” a raspy voice bleated through a bullhorn. Pushing her way to the front, she held her identification card up to the man with the clipboard, who grabbed it between his sun-scorched fingers.

“Step aboard,” he grunted, pushing the card toward her, his teeth yellowed by nicotine. Mai dropped it back into her bag and turned to look at the beach, her eyes searching for Kien, but he had disappeared into the send-off crowd that milled about the end of the pier.

“Move along,” the man with the clipboard ordered.

The short gangplank that bridged the gap between the pier and the boat shifted as the waves beat against them. Holding both bags in one hand, Mai stepped on the narrow bridge, her stomach churning like the waves beneath her. She could smell the fumes from the diesel fuel, hear the whir of the engine, and feel the wind pushing her back towards the pier as if it were trying to prevent her from going. Or was it Sang's ghost still after her?

She teetered across the plank, hardly daring to believe she was leaving at last, afraid that someone would call her name and tell her she couldn't go after all. But no one did, and she boarded the boat and looked around. A fishing boat. It was larger than the one she had come on, but this time there would be no hiding, no patrol boats. She tilted her head toward the blue sky. It was all hers. Not just a single slice, as when she'd huddled in the hold gasping for air. She was going to America. To a new home. Sinking onto a bench, Mai arranged the bags on her lap and watched as the boat filled with refugees, one by one.

An emaciated young woman, a bony baby limp in her arms and a small boy clinging to her blouse, approached. Mai moved over so she could sit beside her. The woman sighed and nodded to the boy, who squeezed onto her lap, and shushed the baby who had begun to cry. When the boat was full, with people sitting or standing in every available space, the captain revved the engines. The sailors stowed the gangplank and lifted the lines, and Mai listened to the left-behinds calling to them as they chugged across the open sea, their goodbyes fading to silence.

She closed her eyes, then opened them again, and the island had disappeared. Ghosts could not cross water. She was safe. The Malaysian mainland, small specks of trees and buildings, materialized in the distance—a promise of new adventures, of a beginning, of a new life.
But what kind of life?
Mai wondered. How long would it take to get to that new life?

She shivered and then laughed to herself, remembering that when they were on the road, she had always been the one to say to her father,
“When will we be there? How much farther?” He would turn, his dark eyes dancing, and tease, “Until we get there.” Then he would laugh, grab the steering wheel with one hand, and flick his cigarette ashes out the side window.

How she missed him. How she wished that he and mother and the whole family and Kien were sitting next to her on this bench right now, speeding toward a new life together.

She pulled her
non lá
over her eyes, securing the elastic strap beneath her chin, and stroked the gold bracelet deep in her pocket, praying for protection and good fortune for the rest of the journey.

The woman next to her, having finally quieted her baby, spoke. “Where are you going?”

Mai crossed her legs and looked up. “To America,” she answered, trying to sound very grown-up.

“By yoursel
f
?” the woman inquired, emphasizing the last word.

“Yes.” Mai turned her head and looked away. “By myself.” Saying the words out loud made her feel so abandoned. What had she done to deserve this? Her chest felt hollow, her voice weak, but she remembered her father's words—“You must survive”—and felt a surge of strength shoot through her. No, she would not feel sorry for herself. She would not always be alone. Her uncle and aunt would meet her, and then soon the rest of her family would come.

“I'm going to Australia,” the woman confided. “My brother is there waiting for us.” She pulled her children closer to her. “I hear it's a very big place, with kangaroos.”

“What's a kangaroo?” Mai asked.

“An animal that jumps on its hind legs and carries its
baby in a pouch on its stomach. My brother sent me a picture of one. Want to see?” The woman dug in her bag and extracted a crumpled picture that she held up for Mai to see.