Out of the Dragon's Mouth (19 page)

“Papers!” the woman said.

Pulling her papers from the plastic bag, she presented them in a disheveled stack to the balding man. He perused them, looked up, and spoke to the woman.

“One more, we need one more,” she said to Mai, her eyes rock-hard behind her short eyelashes.

Please don't let me vomit.
Mai's stomach rolled as she desperately groped in her bag for the missing paper. Nothing. The image of stepping back onto Pulau Tengah to spend the rest of her life there bolted through her mind.
Where is it?
As she squirmed in the chair, clawing through the bag, her toe touched something. She leaned over and grabbed the missing paper from underneath the table—she had dropped it. She presented it to the woman with both hands, as if she had discovered a bag of gold.

The woman took it without comment and handed it to the man, who pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger and brought the paper close to his face. More questions through the interpreter; Mai held her breath after each one, choosing her words carefully, afraid to make a mistake. Then they gave her an important-looking document. It had
I-94
on it. A permanent resident alien. Nguyen Mai. No more a refugee.

“You can become a citizen in five years,” the Vietnamese woman said. Finally, they gave her a plane ticket. To Chicago, the end of the journey.

The interpreter's forehead smoothed into a smile. “Chicago. That's where the world's tallest building is, the Sears Tower,” she said.

Mai bowed.
I don't know what she's talking about,
she thought.
I just want to get out of here now that I've got my papers, before they change their minds and ask for something else.

Turning to walk out the door, she heard someone call her name. “Mai?”

It was soft at first as if the speaker wasn't sure. Then it came again.

No one knew Mai here. Why was someone speaking to her? Mai looked up and locked eyes with those of a young Vietnamese woman, a startled expression on her face.

“Mai, I'm so happy to see you.” The young woman moved closer and bowed, the palms of her hands pressed together.

It was Lan. What was she doing here? She was supposed to be back in Malaysia in the hospital. Mai rubbed her tired eyes to make certain they weren't deceiving her.

“Mai.” Another voice. Ngoc stepped out from behind Lan and reached for Mai.

Mai was numb, happy, surprised, bewildered. Then her tears broke loose, one at a time, and there was a torrent on all three faces. Ngoc pulled Lan and Mai out the doorway into the corridor where a stream of passengers flowed by—tan young women with sun-streaked hair in tight jeans and sweaters, faces bare of makeup; businessmen in dark suits and ties clutching small leather bags; tired-looking women pu
shing crying babies in little carts with wheels.

Mai pulled away and stared at the other two girls. “How did you get here? I left you in Malaysia.”

“The doctor. He decided it was safe for Lan to travel and made arrangements for us to leave,” Ngoc said, clutching her sister's hand.

“We've just landed,” Lan added, casting her eyes down. “I'm sorry I ran away without telling you goodbye.” She placed her hands on her abdomen. Mai noticed two soldiers in dark blue uniforms with tiny golden wings on their jackets eyeing them.

“We were so worried about you. We thought you'd drowned. We looked all over, and then I saw you on the boat.” Mai's accusing voice trailed off.

“And I saw you and waved.” Lan's voice cracked. “I didn't know what to do with Hiep gone.”

Mai's head dropped and her shoulders slumped as she ran her finger along the edge of her plane ticket. Looking up at the girls, she said, “I have to get on the plane for Chicago. Do you know where you're going?”

“We're going to Boston,” answered Ngoc. “Our mother's sister lives there. Is Boston far from Chicago?”

“I don't know,”answered Mai.

What was going to happen to Lan and the baby? How would they manage without Hiep? What would their auntie do? Mai knew that Vietnamese girls did not have babies if they weren't married. The shame. It wasn't allowed. They did something to you so that the baby died. Mai had heard the girls whispering about it in the camp and knew that Lan would need a lot of good luck to keep that baby. And a lot of money.

“Come in here with me,” she said, pointing to the door with a figure of a woman on it. Lan and Ngoc followed her into a restroom with the rows of gleaming stalls.

“Wait,” Mai whispered, ducking into a stall and sliding the latch on the door. Her fingers fumbled in her pocket, and she pulled out the gold bracelet. Beautiful and glistening. She didn't need it anymore. She had her plane ticket and entrance papers, but Lan and the baby, they needed it now. She would create her own luck. Would Mother and Father approve?

For the first time, Mai realized her parents' approval didn't matter. She knew what she was doing was right. Lan would need money, to live and to keep Hiep's baby. She opened the door and pulled Lan into the stall, took her friend's hand, and deposited the bracelet in her palm.

“Shh. Hide it. It's good luck, for you and the baby.”

Lan's eyes grew soft. Her lip trembled as she tried to say something, but Mai shook her head.

“Please,” she pleaded. “It has much good luck.”

Lan slid the bracelet into her pocket and hugged Mai. Mai pushed the door open and they stepped back into the room where Ngoc, her back to them, was washing her hands in one of the silver bowls that lined the wall. She dried her hands on the brown paper towel and turned to them with a question in her eyes.

Mai exited the washroom. Someone was walking toward her, calling her name. Mai recognized the lady who had escorted her from the airplane to the refugee processing center. She was speaking rapidly in English and motioning for Mai to follow.

Turning to Lan and Ngoc, Mai cried, “How will I find you again?”

Lan scrawled a name and address on a scrap of paper and placed it in Mai's hand. “This is my auntie's name and address. Write me when you get to your uncle's.”

Mai folded the paper and tucked it in the palm of her hand. “Don't forget me, Lan. Please don't forget me. I want to see Uncle Hiep's baby.”

Tears sparkling like tiny diamonds on her lashes, Lan whispered, “Don't worry, Mai. I won't forget you. We are sisters now. Nothing will change that. Goodbye.”

Ngoc echoed her goodbye. No touching, no hugs, no bows.

Mai turned and followed the airline lady down a long hallway to an area where a slight young man with a snake tattoo on his bare arm was standing in line behind a short overweight woman with too-tight jeans. The airline lady motioned to Mai to join the line. The sign on the wall had a long word on it.

“What does it say?” she asked the lady.

“Chicago,” she replied.

The last part of the journey. How many months had it taken to come to this place?

Mai remembered the beginning, when Hiep's hands helped her clamber onto the ship that carried them across the South China Sea. She remembered his hands pulling her out of the waves and onto the beach when they'd arrived at Pulau Tengah. And now the airline lady's hands steered her onto the plane and left her with the stewardess, who guided her to her seat.

If she closed her eyes very tightly, she could imagine herself back on the island, curled up in her hammock, the tarp above her, Hiep sleeping below her, the waves crashing, the wind blowing, the smell of the sea and the smoke from the cooking fires.

Reaching into her pocket, she closed her fingers around the space where her gold bracelet had been. She prayed for Kien, and for Lan's unborn baby. Would they all be together someday?

Outside, the sun scattered its beams through the airplane window, and the blue sky beckoned as her plane roared down the runway. Mai's fingers slipped from her pocket and she smiled. She was safe from Sang's ghost, and an orphan no more.

Author's Note

April 30, 2015, is the fortieth anniversary of the fall of Saigon. On that day in 1975, North Vietnamese troops captured the South Vietnamese capital and ended a twenty-year war between South Vietnam, supported by the U.S. and its allies, and North Vietnam, allied with Russia and China. The North Vietnamese renamed Saigon “Ho Chi Minh City,” and the country of Vietnam still celebrates April 30 as Reunification Day. For the thousands of South Vietnamese who fled, and for their descendants, it was the day they lost their country and will forever be mourned
as “Black April.”

After the war, the new Vietnamese government enacted harsh policies, sending one to two million people to re-education camps, where over 165,000 died; 50,000 to 100,000 people were executed. Farmlands were seized and redistributed. Families were forced to leave the cities and farm in the “New Economic Zones,” and the ethnic Chinese (or “Hoa”) saw their businesses confiscated. Over two million South Vietnamese, who came to be known as the “boat people,” fled Vietnam in overcrowded boats, their destinations Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, the Philippines, Singapore, and Hong Kong. According to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, 200,000 to 400,000 died at sea.

It is estimated that of the 800,000 boat people who survived, more than half were resettled in the United States; the rest found refuge in France, Canada, Australia, Germany, and the United Kingdom. Many were tragically repatriated to Vietnam.

Acknowledgments

My friend, Huong Banh, is a Vietnamese boat person. Without her, I could not have written this book. She shared her experiences with me, read the manuscript, and offered suggestions. Though the characters in this book are fictional, the historical background and circumstances are real.

I would also like to thank Fred Shafer, who believed I could write this novel and edited and shepherded me through the process. The input of the writers in his Sunday night novel group was invaluable. To the Off Campus Writers Workshop and the members and speakers who encourage and inspire me every week, I thank you. To my incredible agent, Tina P. Schwarz, who brought my manuscript out of the drawer and into the world, and to my editors at Flux, Brian Farrey-Latz and Sandy Sullivan, along with everyone at Flux who shaped it for publication, thank you. Grateful appreciation to my friend, Todd Musburger, for his legal expertise, and to my family: Mark who helped with computer problems, Beth who read early chapters, and Mike who critiqued the entire manuscript several times and offered valuable advice. Also to Dinah and Suzanna for their encouragement, and to my parents for instilling in me the love of literature. And most of all, to my ever-patient husband, Ray, who has helped me every step of the way.

About the Author

Joyce Burns Zeiss has always wanted to be a writer. After retiring from teaching junior high school, she became a member of the Off Campus Writers Workshop in Winnetka, Illinois. Her experiences resettling a Chinese Cambodian refugee family in 1979 and her subsequent trips to work in refugee camps in Africa fueled her interest in the plight of the refugee. Her first novel,
Out of the Dragon's Mouth
, is based on the true-life experiences of a fellow teacher who fled Vietnam as an adolescent to cross the South China Sea in the hold of a fishing boat. To learn more, visit her website at www.joyceburnszeiss.com.