Out of the Dragon's Mouth (16 page)

Mai handed him the bag, their fingers touching and lingering together for a moment. How she wanted to tell him. She hated keeping a secret from him.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Kien ambled down the beach with Kim, swinging the bags as he took long strides to Kim's short mincing steps.

A throng of people crowded the pier, bags in their hands, waiting to board a small ship. Mai could hear their excited chatter. A woman with four children—one in her arms, another clinging to her blouse, and two holding hands behind her—stood in the back of the line. Mai could see the woman's profile as she turned her head. Small Auntie.

Mai inhaled. They were leaving. This was the day. She wished she could say goodbye to the children. What would Small Auntie say if she went over to them? Did she know Minh had given her the bracelet? It was too late for her to try to take the bracelet away again. Mai wanted to say goodbye. She might never see them again.

“Wait for me here. I have something to do,” she said to Ngoc. She moved across the beach, where she could hear a man in uniform with a clipboard calling out names. The line started to move. Mai worked her short legs faster, faster. The passengers were boarding. She stepped out of her dép and barreled through the sand in her bare feet. “Minh, Minh, wait!”

Minh turned his head, but Small Auntie jerked him ahead of her onto the boat. Mai ran up on the pier as the captain gunned the engine. She could see Minh staring at her, his dark eyes searching under a shock of dark, shaggy hair. She waved, but he just stared at her.

As the boat turned to head out to the mainland, she saw a familiar figure crouched in the bow. She squinted in the sun. Their eyes met, and Mai waved and called to her. The girl's hand moved in reply, as if in slow motion, and then she disappeared from sight. It was Lan.

Eighteen

Mai remained on the pier, her bare feet planted on its bamboo planks, arms waving, eyes squinting into the hazy blue of the sky. She watched the boat turn into a black speck on the far horizon, listened to the whine of its engine mingling with the cadence of the waves. Rubbing her eyes, she strained to track it, but the sun's rays danced on the ocean's surface, blinding her.

“Mai, Mai, Mai,” echoed from the beach, but she stood like a stone, face toward the sea, feeling the waves hitting the pier, the rise and fall of her chest, her throat aching, the sun rippling across the boards beneath her. She squeezed her eyes together harder and pictured Lan peering over the railing. Had her lips moved? Had she tried to tell her something?
Why are you on the boat, Lan? Where are you going?

A gull winged overhead, its screech bouncing off her eardrums. She crumpled against a post and stared at the bird circling above her. Oh, to be free like that, free to go anywhere, free to fly away from this island, this prison. Lan had flown away. She could too. She would fly away to freedom. She wanted to leap off the pier and flap her arms into the air.

When she was four, her brother Loc had dared her to jump from the mango tree in the orchard.
Like the birds. Easy. Flap your arms. Faster. Faster. Now. Jump. Down, down, down.
Her small body had piled in a heap. When Ba Du had called out, she ran to her, scolding her brother. No broken bones. A headache for two days. No, she would not do anything so foolish again, she had promised her worried parents.

“Mai, what's the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost?” Kien scuttled up the ramp and peered down at her.

She grabbed his outstretched hand. She wanted to tell him what she had seen, but her mind began to play tricks on her. Had it really been Lan? Perhaps it had been a ghost.
Ghosts.
Goose bumps grew on her arms, even though the sun's rays had begun to fry the day.

“Kien.” Mai searched his eyes, hoping he would believe her. “I saw Lan on the boat. She's going to the mainland.”

“Are you sure it was her? How could she have gotten on? They check everyone's papers.” Kien shoved his hands deep into his pockets, scowling.

“I saw her, and she saw me. She called out, but I
couldn't hear her.” Mai's voice rose in indignation at not being believed. Retreating from the pier, she picked up her dép from the sand, shook them off, and balanced first on one foot and then the other to slip them on. Kien reached out to help her but she pushed his arm away.

“Don't be angry, Mai. It's just that it's so hard to believe. Why would Lan want to run away?”

Kien put his arm around her, and this time she did not reject him. How could she tell him Lan's secret? She had promised Ngoc that she wouldn't tell anyone. No, not even Kien.

“I don't know,” she lied, “but we have to tell Ngoc. She will be so relieved that Lan is alive.”

Nausea gripped her as she spoke. She loved Kien. How could she lie to him? Maybe it wasn't really a lie. Breaking your promise was worse. Father had said never to lie and never to break a promise. She didn't know what to do. But they had to go tell Ngoc. Maybe she would tell Kien why Lan had run away.
If
she had run away.

Ngoc sobbed when Mai told her that she had seen Lan on the boat. “She's alive. Thank you, thank you,” she said.

Neither Mai nor Ngoc gave any indication that they knew that Lan was pregnant. Later, when they were alone, Ngoc spoke to her.

“I hope you haven't told anyone what I told you about Lan. She must have had an important reason to leave the island without me.” Ngoc brushed her cheek with her hand and stared at Mai.

“No,” Mai replied. “But you know, it might not have been Lan. Someone looking like her, maybe.”

“I must find out. Maybe the doctor knows something.” Ngoc traced her foot in the sand. “He could be counted on to keep her secret.” She sought Mai's face for confirmation. Mai looked away.

The doctor was busy with a patient when Mai and Ngoc arrived at the clinic, so they sat in the sand near the entrance to the tent and waited, their legs crossed, their eyes fixed
on the tent opening. Mai imagined Lan on the Malaysian mainland, her stomach bulging with the new life within her, giving birth, taking care of a baby by herself, hungry and alone, crying in grief for Hiep.

“The doctor can see you now,” the nurse said, waving
them into the tent.

The doctor smiled. It was the same doctor who had treated Hiep.

“What can I do for you?” he said, running his hands through his thinning hair.

“It's about my sister, Lan.” Ngoc turned her head to see if the nurse was listening. Relieved that they were alone, she continued. “She's missing, and we're worried. We thought you might know something.”

The doctor scratched his ear.

What does he know?
thought Mai.

“We had to send her to the mainland to the hospital today,” he finally said.

“Why? What's the matter with her?” Ngoc pleaded, looking up at him.

Mai bit her lower lip.

“The matter is rather private. Is it all right if I speak in front of her?” he asked, nodding toward Mai.

“Oh, yes, she's like a sister,” Ngoc said, pulling Mai close to her.

“Lan came in early this morning, bleeding and in a great deal of pain.” He stopped and drove his hands deep into the pockets of his white coat.

“Why was she bleeding?” Ngoc asked.

“Do you know she is pregnant?” he replied.

Ngoc nodded slowly and held her breath.

“The baby? Is the baby all right?” Mai asked. Perhaps it really was Lan who had cried out in the night.

“I hope so. We stopped the bleeding, but I sent her to the mainland to have a specialist examine her in the hospital. She wanted to tell you she was leaving, but there was no time. Would you like to go see her?”

“Oh, yes,” cried Ngoc and Mai in chorus.

The doctor shook his head. “I'm sorry, but only a relative can visit.” He looked at Ngoc. “You'll have to go by yourself. She may need you to stay a while.”

Mai turned to Ngoc. “Don't worry. I'll tell the others Lan is sick. We don't need to say anything else.”

Tears welled in Ngoc's eyes. “I'm so grateful to you. I'll send you a letter as soon as I can.” Turning to the doctor, she asked, “How soon can I leave?”

“I'll be going back to the mainland after lunch. You can come with me then.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Ngoc said, bowing from the waist, clenching her hands. “I'll go get my things.”

“Meet me back here after lunch and we'll go together. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more patients to attend to.” He turned to go.

Mai felt a twinge of envy as she and Ngoc padded along the beach. She knew she shouldn't feel this way. How could she be envious of Ngoc going to see Lan in the hospital? But she was. She had been on this island for almost a year. What was the mainland like? What was happening in the rest of the world?

“What are you thinking?” Ngoc asked, reaching for Mai's hand.

Mai turned her face away from Ngoc and didn't answer. How could she mask her jealousy? Would Ngoc and Lan leave her here? Would she ever see them again?

“I was just thinking about Lan. I wish I could go with you.”

“I wish you could come. I'm afraid to go by myself, but I know Lan needs me.” Ngoc stepped over a rock in the sand. “I'm so worried about the baby.”

The baby. Hiep's baby.
Oh
, Mai prayed,
please don't let Lan lose this baby.
It would be like Hiep dying a second time. Mai did not know what this kind of bleeding meant, but she knew it was a bad omen. Was it like the monthly bleeding? Why would you bleed when you were pregnant? She wished she could have asked the doctor, but she was too shy. Maybe Ngoc knew. No, she couldn't ask Ngoc. It would just make her worry more.

After lunch, Ngoc came to Mai's tent, her hands shaking, her black eyes somber. “I'm going now. You can tell the others Lan is sick after I leave. I didn't want to tell anyone. Too many questions. I know you can handle it.”

Mai cleared her throat. “I'll be waiting. I'll pray for Lan's good health. Want me to walk to the boat with you?”

Ngoc pushed back her shoulders. “No need. You stay here. I'll be seeing you soon.”

Mai sank onto her bed after Ngoc left, a feeling of helplessness cascading over her. Hiep was gone, and now Lan and Ngoc. She picked up her knitting and thought of making something for the baby. Or would that bring bad luck? She dropped her needles in her lap and stared out at the ocean. A whole world out there and she was trapped on this speck of earth. If she ever got off this island, she never wanted to see the ocean again.

Later that afternoon, Kien poked his head through the tent flap to ask if she had found out anything more about Lan. Mai told him that Lan had gone to the hospital on the mainland, and then she looked away.

Kien wasn't fooled. “There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?”

Mai shook her head. “No, Kien, I'm just worried about her. When Uncle Hiep went to the hospital, he didn't come back,” she said, her words ending in a sob.

Kien reached for Mai's hand. She felt the warmth of his skin as their fingers intertwined.”How stupid of me. Of course, you're worried. I'm sorry. I was just so happy that we had found Lan.”

“I know, I know.” Mai sighed, hoping Kien's questions had ended, as she stared into his eyes. Kien moved closer to her and drew her to him, his arms holding her close. She started to withdraw but stopped, melting into him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. She trembled as he cupped his hands around her chin and leaned over, his lips touching hers, first gently, like the kiss of a butterfly, and then more firmly, his eyes wide open looking into hers.

She pushed him away. “Don't do that.”

Kien stepped back, dropped his hands to his sides, and then turned and left the tent, shoulders stiff and head held high. Mai watched him disappear through the opening. His lips had been rough, chapped by the sun, but oh, so sweet. His breath was warm and soft on her cheek; his hands rough but gentle. A shiver shot from Mai's neck to her toes. She touched her cheek. Traced her finger over her lips. Is this what Lan and Hiep had felt? Look what had happened to them.

Her mother's voice spoke inside her head, warning her:
Stay away from boys, keep yourself pure.
But Mai had not really understood what she meant. Now she knew how delicious it felt to have a boy hold you, kiss you. It wasn't going to be easy.

She darted to the tent opening and peered out. Where was he? What was she going to do? She spotted him down near the water, sitting cross-legged in the sand and throwing pebbles into the waves. She wanted to go to him, but she was afraid. Afraid of what she might say. Afraid that what had happened to Lan might happen to her. Could you get pregnant by kissing? She didn't think so. It was what happened after the kissing. She could feel her cheeks turning red with shame. She hunched down and hugged her knees tight to her chest, resting her cheek on them and longing to kiss him again. Was she a bad girl? She didn't know. She was all mixed up.

That night she lay in her hammock a long time watching Hiep's empty hammock sway in the breeze, worrying about Lan, listening to the crashing chorus of the ocean, and missing her family and the quiet of her home near the rice paddies. She was all alone, and she was sure that Kien would never speak to her again. She had looked for him that evening but was relieved she hadn't found him

When she awoke, she stepped onto the sandy ground and pushed the hanging rice bag aside to peer out. A shaft of sun grazed her cheek. Well, at least she wouldn't have to walk through the rain to get the morning's rations. As she reached up to retrieve the string bag on the hook above Hiep's hammock, a dozen conversations went through her head. Kien would probably be in line at the food tent
. “I'm sorry. You surprised me
.
”
No, that wouldn't do.
“Why did you do that?”
No, that was stupid and would only embarrass him.

Would she have the courage to tell him she liked it, that she felt the same way about him? No, that might really get her in trouble. Maybe he would speak first. Or ignore her. Bile inched its way up her throat and she knelt, gagging and retching, the thick liquid pouring out of her mouth onto the sand, its stench invading her nostrils, making her retch again.

She kicked some sand over the vomit and wiped her
lips, recoiling from the bitter taste. The string bag lay on the ground where she had dropped it. Picking it up, she headed toward the food distribution center though she had no desire to eat. She just wanted to see him.

She joined the line behind a slender young woman with a child nestled against her, her arm supporting his bottom. Small dark eyes opened wide over his mother's shoulder. A tiny hand reached out to touch her. Mai moved closer and caught his finger in hers. He laughed and tried to pull it away. Mai let go and smiled at him. How she missed her family. The line moved, and she continued to wait.

“Don't just stand there. Where's your ticket?” a voice barked at her, breaking her reverie. Mai pulled a small slip of paper from her pocket. She held out her bag as the breakfast rolls and canned goods were dropped in.

Above the morning hum of the crowd, the loudspeaker blasted a string of names. She cocked her head. Dropped her bag and froze. Her name. “Nguyen Mai” in the air. Floating toward her. Freedom. A sob.

No one glanced her way. There were names every day, but only yours counted. She picked up her bag and ran to find Kien. But you didn't always leave right away. She knew that. She had to have a physical, and then she would have to wait again. The ship would be next.