Out of the Dragon's Mouth (6 page)

“She's angry with us for insulting her, and now she's grieving. She has to have someone to blame. It's not fair. ” Hiep pounded the sand with his fists.

“But she knew the wells were dangerous.” Mai cried.

“He volunteered. He's the most experienced, and the last part is the hardest. He made me come out when it got deep. No one wants to risk their life going after him.” Hiep choked the words out between sobs.

Mai put her hand on his back to quiet him. Hiep
raised his hands to his face and sat back on his heels.

“What will happen now?” She squinted at Hiep in the bright sun.

“About what?”

“The well,” Mai answered.

Hiep stood up. “They'll close it. No one will want to go near it. It's haunted.”

Mai shuddered. Would Sang's ghost come back to haunt them? Father had told them that when a person died accidentally, his ghost would not be able to rest and would return to punish those responsible. She hoped Sang's ghost didn't think she and Hiep were to blame.

“Small Auntie? What'll we do about her? What if she tells everyone it's our fault?” Mai asked.

Hiep brushed the hair from his forehead and scowled. “No one will believe her.”

“But we did live with her. And we were at the well. She's angry.”

“Don't worry about her. We'll just stay away from her. She'll calm down. Let's get something to eat. I'm tired and hungry. Maybe Lan has cooked some rice and chicken.”

Mai looked up at Hiep, whose face, once soft and boyish, had hardened into that of a man. She hadn't really looked at him closely until today, but now she saw her father in the way Hiep carried himself—chin up, looking straight ahead, unafraid. Could she be like that? She was her father's daughter. She knew that, and she was determined to survive, just as she'd promised.

Mai walked over to her tent and crawled into her rice bag hammock, her appetite gone. Oh, this bag was scratchy and made her skin itch. She squirmed to get comfortable as Small Auntie's words came back to her. Had they caused Small Auntie's bad luck?

She thought again of the way they had parted and was ashamed. She believed in luck. Hadn't the gold bracelet that Mother had given her brought them good luck? If there was good luck, then there must be bad luck too. But what caused it? Someone else could have died in the well today. Why had it been Minh's father? Had he brought his own bad luck, or did others bring it? Somehow, Mai thought, you must be able to control what happens to you. But right now she just felt lost and alone.

Eight

When it was nearing Mai's time to go to the well the next day, she thought of Uncle Sang and was afraid.
What if I fall in?
she thought to herself. The wells for drinking were much deeper than those for wash water. She had just cooked a bowl of rice for Hiep and herself, and they were sitting on the floor of the tent eating in silence when Lan slipped out of her hammock and came over to them.

“I heard what happened yesterday. Are you all right?” She leaned over and touched Mai's shoulders, but her eyes were focused on Hiep.

“I'm okay. It was a terrible accident.” Hiep's voice faltered. “We couldn't get him out. It happened so quickly.”

Lan nodded, her eyes warm and soft. “I heard you worked a long time. You did everything you could.” She sat down beside them and crossed her thin legs.

Mai interrupted. “Small Auntie blames us. She says we brought her bad luck.”

“But that's not true.” Lan's voice tensed and her forehead wrinkled.

Hiep shrugged. “I know. But he did go down and take my place.”

“Do you think Sang's ghost will come after us?” Mai put down her chopsticks.

Lan looked at her. “No, Mai.”

“Are you sure? In our village, we heard tales of ghosts punishing people.”

Lan shook her head and put her arm around Mai. “It's not your fault.”

Her words did not reassure Mai, who pictured Small Auntie's hate-filled eyes as she shook her fist at them.

Hiep set his bowl on the ground and stood up. “I have to go. We're working on another well today.”

“Be careful, Uncle,” Mai said, putting down her chopsticks.

“Don't worry, little one. I'm always careful.”

Mai watched as Hiep turned, walked out of the tent,
and strode down the beach.

Lan turned to Mai. “I know he feels bad, but don't worry. I think Small Auntie just likes to talk.”

Mai nodded, but she knew Small Auntie would not forgive them and that somehow she or Sang would punish them. She shivered, even though the heat of the day was already seeping into the tent.

A young man about Mai's age walked toward them, swinging two buckets and whistling.

“Kien, are you going for water?” Lan asked.

“Sure. Can I help you?”

“No, but you could help my friend Mai.”

Mai blushed. How did Lan know that she was afraid to go to the well?

Kien turned toward Mai, his dark eyes smiling. “Of course. I'm glad to help.”

Mai got her metal bucket and walked with Kien along the rocky beach, too shy to talk, but glad to have a distraction from her worries about Small Auntie.

“How long have you been here?” Kien broke the silence.

“About four months.”

“I haven't seen you down here before. Where have you been?”

“We were living in a boat in Trung Dao, but we had to move.”

“Look.” Kien stopped and pointed to a small, black, worm-shaped creature among the rocks in one of the tide pools.

“What is it?”Mai asked as Kien bent over to pick it up.

“It's a sea cucumber. Here, want to hold it?” The sea cucumber wriggled in Kien's hand.

Mai shook her head.

“Ever eat one of these?”

“No.” Mai wrinkled her nose. “Why would you want to?”

“Don't you ever get tired of canned food?” Kien asked.

“Of course, but I just wish for fresh fish like we had in Vietnam.”

“Me too, but they're hard to catch. You have to go out in a boat, and we don't dare do that or the soldiers would never let us back on the island.”

“What does it taste like?” Mai asked, her nose wrinkling.

“Sort of like squid. You have to clean them right or they taste bad. Lan and some of the other girls at the camp know how to do it. They grill them or stir-fry them with some of our canned vegetables. I like them. After we get the water, let's come back and collect some for dinner tonight; then you can see if you like them.” Kien dropped the creature back into the tide pool and watched it burrow down into the sand.

Mai gave a weak “okay,” and she and Kien walked on down the beach to the well, where a line had formed to draw the daily water. A line for everything, thought Mai. How tired she was of standing in line. When it was their turn, Kien took her bucket, stepped to the edge of the well, and, grasping the rope tied to the handle, lowered the bucket until Mai heard a splash, and then he carefully drew it up. Kien lowered his own buckets and then he and Mai carried them away from the well and back to camp.

Mai glanced up at Kien as they walked along, grateful for his help, surprised at how easy it had been to talk to him. She'd never been friends with any boy outside of her family. Kien whistled as he walked along, his golden skin glistening in the sunlight, the muscles in his arms tight from the weight of the buckets.
It would be nice to have a friend like him, not a boyfriend, just a friend
, Mai thought.

When they got to camp, Kien set down his buckets and Mai put hers next to his, their arms bumping as they stood up. She jerked her arm away, embarrassed, but he seemed not to notice.

“Want to go catch sea cucumbers now?” he asked.

“I have to go line up for food. Could we do it in the morning?” Mai hoped Kien wouldn't think she didn't want to go.

“Sure, I have to go for food too. Let's go together.”

Mai's heart sang. He liked her, but why? She'd always thought of herself as very plain, and she never knew what to say. Kien was quite handsome, with kind eyes that looked straight at you when he was talking, straight teeth that were as white as the sand, and an infectious smile that made her forget how alone she was. He seemed at ease with himself; something she had never felt.

They walked along, listening to the waves, watching the seagulls circling in the cloudless sky, breathing in the mingled smell of wet sand and sea air. When they came to the rocky inlet, she was relieved to have Kien's hand to grasp as they crossed.

“Where is your family, Kien?” Mai asked, looking up at him, glad that he was taller than her.

“I came by myself. Mother didn't have the money to come too.”

“But what about your father?” Mai kicked the sand with her feet.

“My father was an American soldier. When he had to go, he wanted us to come with him, but my mother wouldn't leave my grandmother behind.”

“An American soldier?” Mai looked at Kien again. Except for his blue eyes, he didn't look like an American. “What happened then?” She hoped he would not think she was prying.

“The Viet Cong came. My mother was afraid they would kill us if they knew we had an American connection, so she burned all the papers my father had given her to contact him.” He shrugged his shoulders, and his head sagged.

“How will you find your father?”

“I don't know. If I can just get to America, maybe there will be a way.”

“I have an uncle in America.”

“You do?” Kien stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Have you heard from him?”

“No, but the Red Cross is contacting him.” She wished she hadn't told him when she saw the pain on his face.

“I'm glad for you,” Kien said. “I don't know where I'll end up. They say America needs lots of unskilled labor and that it's the easiest place to go. I hope that's true.”

Ahead, they saw Hiep hurrying out of the Red Cross tent.

“We got a letter from Older Brother in America,” he said, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. “He sent some money.” He opened his fist and showed her a green bill with a
50
on it.

“We did! What did he say?” Mai wanted to see the letter herself, but she waited for Hiep's reply.

“Here, read it,” he said.

Mai took the letter and held it in both hands as if it were a sacred scroll.

Dear Hiep, Younger Brother,

My wife and I are happy to hear that you and Mai have arrived safely at the refugee camp. We are filling out the papers to sponsor you, but you must know life here is very hard. The streets are not paved with gold. We have to work twelve hours a day seven days a week. We only have time to shop once a week. The weather in Chicago is not like Vietnam. It is winter now and the temperature is 0 degrees C and there is snow on the ground. Very cold.

Anh, Older Brother

Mai handed the letter back to Hiep, her eyes bright with excitement. “He's going to sponsor us. We're going to America.”

For the first time since she'd left Vietnam, Mai's depression began to lift. Uncle and Auntie wanted them. They would have a home, and they weren't going to spend the rest of their lives on this island. Her dream of life in America was going to come true. But she did worry about the snow. The coldest she had ever been was in the spring on the Mekong when the winds blew. She had no warm clothes.

And the streets. Everyone had said they were paved with gold. What were they really made o
f
? How did you eat if you couldn't go to the market every day? She hoped she would be able to go to school. Grandfather had big plans for her. He wanted her to be an international lawyer.

“It could take a long time, Mai. Remember, Small Auntie has been waiting a year now,” Hiep said.

Small Auntie. She had forgotten about her. The joy she had felt turned to lead as she thought of Small Auntie's anger. She would not let Small Auntie take away her hope.

“But we have a sponsor. It won't take that long.”

Hiep smiled and tucked the letter in his pocket. “I hope you're right.” He turned to walk toward the well site. “I'll see you this evening. We'll write them a letter.”

Mai smiled at Kien, who had been pretending not to overhear their conversation. “It's all right. Did you hear? We got a letter from my uncle.”

“That's great.” Kien tried to sound enthusiastic, but his voice fell flat.

The two of them walked toward the Red Cross tent where streams of children milled around, some shouting as they kicked a string ball, others making little trails through the sand with pull toys made of tin cans and string as they waited for the food ship to come. A blond American girl wearing a white T-shirt with a red cross in the middle of it was teaching English to a small group of children seated at her feet.

“Do you know English, Kien?” Mai asked, for now that she was going to America she had to learn English so that she could study hard and go to law school.

“A little. The people in our camp are mostly students. They studied English at the university in Saigon. Sometimes they teach me words. They all want to go to America.”

“I want to learn English. Is it hard?” Mai stopped where the young woman was teaching and listened. The teacher was holding up cards with letters and pictures on them, and the children were repeating them after her, in unison.

“A for apple, B for bear, C for cat … ”

“I don't think so.” Kien answered, squinting at the cards.

Mai and Kien listened until it was time to line up for food. Mai tried to find the English teacher after they'd picked up their rations, but she was passing out food at one of the other tables. Maybe she could talk to her later, but after the distribution, the young woman left on the ship with the other American and European workers to go back to the mainland. Mai had heard someone saying they lived in air-conditioned buildings there. She hoped the young woman would return in the morning, and then Mai would begin to learn English.

That evening, when the dishes had been washed and everyone was sitting around talking, Kien surprised her. Darkness surrounded them as the sun disappeared in the western sky, and Mai was thinking about crawling into her hammock and going to sleep when Kien appeared before the group carrying a guitar. Music. How Mai loved music! Lan, with several young men and women that Mai didn't know, got up to walk down to the beach.

“Come on, Mai and Hiep,” Lan urged. “We're going to have some fun.”

The full moon created a shimmering path across the ocean, making the water and the white sand as light as day. Mai sat down on the cool sand, looking at the others and thinking of her family. Was the same moon shining down on them?

Several others joined them, and then Kien picked up his guitar and started to strum some chords. His slim fingers plucked the strings and he started to sing in a soft alto voice. The strains of a popular Vietnamese song flowed from his guitar. The words were familiar to Mai, who joined in the chorus, singing, “
You asked me how much I love you, the brightness of the moon is a symbol of my love for you
.”

Other voices joined him and turned the beach into a magical world for Mai, a world where there was no war, no death, and no hunger. For a short time she could forget about Small Auntie. For a short time she was able to forget that she had no home. The young people around her were her family. The tent she lived in was her home. She belonged. And despite all the hardships, she felt a grain of hope.

She glanced at Kien, who was smiling at her, and she turned away, blushing. Hiep's face was aglow and his eyes had a faraway look. She saw Lan steal a glance at him and wondered if Lan felt the same way about Hiep that Mai felt about Kien. She had wanted Kien as a friend, but she was beginning to feel something more, something she couldn't describe. Was this what love was? She looked at the moon, full and bright, and knew it was the happiest time of her life.

The next morning, Mai carried her large plastic bucket and her small metal one to the washing well. She lowered the metal one several times, emptying it into the large plastic one. This would give her enough rinse water for her clothes and the dishes; the seawater was fine for washing, but her clothes needed a fresh water rinse or they would dry stiff, smelling of salt.