Out of the Dragon's Mouth (10 page)

“Lan, Lan,” Mai called, afraid to leave Hiep. Lan looked up and Mai called again. “Help. Something's the matter with Hiep.”

Lan pulled the pot from the fire and ran to Mai, who led her to where Hiep lay motionless, covered in vomit, sprawled on his back in his hammock. Kim appeared at the edge of the partition.

“I heard you call,” she said as Lan bent over Hiep and softly whispered, “Hiep.”

No response. Mai felt his forehead. She opened one of his eyes. A yellow circle surrounded its pupil, matching the shade of his skin. The stench of Hiep's vomit made her feel lightheaded. Sick people frightened her and all she wanted to do was get away, but she summoned up her courage.

“We need to get him to the doctor. He's very sick.” She choked back a sob. Kim had gotten a can of water and a cloth, which Lan took from her.

In a steady voice, Lan said, “Get someone strong. Tuan. Hiep can't walk all that way.”

Mai watched Lan dip the cloth in the cold water, and wipe the vomit from Hiep's face and chest, her hand stroking his skin tenderly, her face turning crimson. Hiep opened his eyes for a brief moment, looked up at her, and then, sighing, closed them. Kim disappeared from the tent to search for Tuan, but Mai stayed, afraid to leave Hiep.

Kim returned several minutes later with Tuan at her side, her eyebrows knit with concern.

Mai glanced at Tuan. “Please help us.”

Lan dipped the cloth in the water again and brushed a fly from Hiep's forehead. He did not stir.

“Please don't let him die,” Mai moaned as she sank to the ground, her legs folding under her.

“Don't worry, Mai. We'll get him to the doctor. He'll make him well,” said Tuan, touching her on the shoulder and then leaning over to pick up Hiep, whose yellowed eyes were staring up at him. “Can you hold on to me?” Tuan asked.

Hiep gave a silent nod as Lan placed his limp arms around Tuan's neck. Tuan bent over and grabbed Hiep above the knees so that he could carry him on his back. Tuan's neck muscles popped out like the roots of a mangrove tree as he stumbled from under the brown tarp, shifting Hiep's dead weight so that it was distributed evenly.

Mai, revived, trailed behind him, holding on to Hiep's dangling foot in an attempt to lighten Tuan's load. Why hadn't she realized that Hiep was very sick? Tuan stumbled, then regained his balance as Hiep's half-conscious body lurched to one side.

Mai murmured prayers to Great-grandfather and any other ancestor she thought might be listening. She had never been sure if the gods listened or even existed. Sang's spirit was at work on the island, and it was very powerful. She had thought the tigers would keep it away, but they hadn't. Maybe she hadn't drawn them right. Maybe they hadn't been fierce enough. If only Father were here; he would know what to do.

She remembered the bridge across the river to the island where their tea house had been. Father had had the servants place the large stone blocks of the bridge in a zigzag pattern so that the evil spirits could not follow them across. When she crossed, she would peer over her shoulder as she held Father's hand to see if they were following them. Father would look down and squeeze her hand, saying, “Don't worry. They're not following us,” as if he knew why she was looking.

Would Sang's ghost be able to follow Hiep if Hiep left the island?

Just then Tuan stumbled and fell to the ground, pitching Hiep forward. Hiep landed with a thump and a groan. Tuan remained on the ground, panting, streaks of perspiration running down his forehead. Mai yelped and ran over to Hiep, who was lying motionless.

“Is he all right?” Tuan asked. “I didn't see that rock.”

Hiep was lying face down in the sand, his arms sprawled to the side, his legs bent underneath him. Mai moved his head to one side and saw that his eyes were open and he was breathing. She fell back as the sour smell of sweat and vomit hit her.

The sand felt like hot needles as the sun's rays broiled the island. Ahead of them, Mai could see the ocean cutting its way into the island and the black rock path they took to cross it. She squinted up at the sky; the billowing clouds had begun to change into dark ominous shapes. The monsoons were coming; they had to cross the water before the torrential rains began or the way would be impassable. Mai scanned the forty-foot divide. The water was higher than usual.

“The clouds.” She pointed to the sky.

Tuan looked up and ran to Hiep. He leaned over, lifted him over his shoulder, and stood upright, trudging down the beach while Mai loped after him, amazed at his sudden burst of energy. The water loomed before them, and the dark rocks beckoned them.

Tuan stepped out onto the first one, jagged and oblong, jutting up near the shore, its top flat and smooth, and Mai squeezed her eyes closed. When she didn't hear a splash, she opened them and spied Tuan, moving slowly like a water buffalo, extend his left leg up to a smaller round rock that was partially submerged by the waves. As if he were walking through a mine field, he moved from one rock to another, twelve in all, stopping at each one to shift the human burden on his back and regain his balance.

A white-tipped wave pounded them as Tuan stepped to the last rock. Tuan's torso tilted, his bare knees buckled, and his feet started to slide into the water. He tried to grab Hiep, but the force of the wave was too great and Hiep slipped from his back and plunged into the ocean.

Mai screamed, “Don't let him drown,” but the waves crashed and her words fell into the water.

She could see Hiep's frightened eyes and the shock of his dark hair rising above the surface as Tuan lay prone, his stomach pressed hard into the rock, reaching out to him. Hiep disappeared, and then his round head bobbed to the surface and she could see Tuan, in the water, his arm around Hiep, dragging him up the rocky bank. Tuan tumbled Hiep gently onto the sand and beckoned to Mai, who stood rooted as a palm tree on the far bank.

“I can't do it,” she called.

Tuan turned back to Hiep and pulled him to a sitting position. He waved again to Mai, motioning her to come. Mai knew that she had to cross the water. Hiep needed her. She could see Tuan kneeling in the sand, trying to hoist Hiep on his back.

“Wait for me, I'm coming.” She stepped onto the first rock. If Tuan could cross carrying Hiep, surely she could make it by herself. She felt her lucky gold bracelet in her waistband and cautiously moved to the next rock as the warm water lapped around her feet. A seagull flapped its wings above her and then dove down to the ocean. She heard the splash and smiled to herself. An omen. She spread her arms like a bird's wings and soared to the next rock, a smooth boulder big enough to sit on. She would be like the seagull and fly across the water, unafraid. She could see the leafy bushes on the distant bank. The waves had subsided and the gull was swimming along in the water beside her, dipping its black beak in the sea and then lifting its white head to look at her. She leaped to the next rock, its surface slick from seaweed, and steadied herself, her body pitching forward. The gull paddled ahead of her, beckoning her on.

She remembered her father's words:
You must survive.
By now her fear had disappeared, and she crossed to the next rock, light of feet. Realizing she was almost across, she called to Tuan and the seagull, “I'm coming.” She felt the strong grip of Tuan's hands dragging her up the bank and depositing her next to Hiep, and, turning her head, noticed the seagull circling above her like a kite against the azure sky.
Thank you
, she mouthed, and she watched the bird sail away toward the sun-dappled waves.

Thirteen

Together, Mai and Tuan trudged down the beach, Hiep, like a large bag of rice, on Tuan's bent back, moaning softly with each step. Their goal was the large Red Cross tent, the finish line where throngs of refugees sat on the ground outside waiting for their names to be called for immigration.

A bent old man with a straggly moustache eyed them
as they approached. A baby squalled as he dug for his
mother's breast. A teen-aged girl held a squirmy toddler on her lap. Every day, a few lucky people left. Someday soon she hoped their names would be called.

She followed Tuan as he entered the clinic and laid Hiep on the ground, then approached a tiny woman with crooked teeth and dressed in a soiled white uniform who was sitting on a wooden bench behind a small table. Tuan's chest was heaving, his breath coming in short gasps. Mai sat by Hiep and propped his head on her lap, her eyes focused on the woman and Tuan. She felt the weight of Hiep's head on her leg and raised her hand to brush his hair off his forehead. She could see his eyelids closed, feel his breathing soft and
regular against her, and the heat of his body. A pain cut
through her, running down her chest. She sat very still, her back aching, her head throbbing, her mind a muddle of fear and confusion.

“Is the doctor in?” Tuan asked.

The woman, her head bent over a notebook, did not look up. Tuan waited, his hands clasped in front of him, trying to be patient and polite, but Mai could see the muscles on the back of his neck tighten and turn red.
What is wrong with that woman?
The pain in Mai's chest grew sharper. The woman didn't answer but kept on reading. Tuan cleared his throat and coughed. Mai swatted the flies that crawled across Hiep's face and prayed that he would not die. The woman frowned at them, closed her book, and disappeared behind a partition. Tuan turned toward Mai and Hiep and balled his fists. Mai could feel the anger rising in her. They had come all this way to be ignored. If Hiep didn't get help soon, he might die. That woman was Vietnamese but she was just like the soldiers; she didn't care. It was just a job to her.

“Any more patients today?”

The tallest man Mai had ever seen appeared from behind the partition, wearing a white coat over his drab, knee-length shorts. A gray stethoscope dangled like a snake from his neck, and he carried a small black bag in his left hand. He must be American, but Mai was surprised at his flawless Vietnamese. Mai had seen a stethoscope before, when their family doctor had come to their house to tend to grandfather.

Mai spoke up. “It's my uncle. He's very sick. Can you help him?”

The doctor, a fringe of blond hair ringing his sunburned scalp, his eyes as blue as the brightest sky, his damp white cheeks looking as if someone had painted large red circles on them, knelt down next to Hiep and took his pulse. Then he pried Hiep's eyelids open with his fingers.

“How long has he been like this?” he asked.

Mai looked at Tuan, afraid to answer. Finally, she said, “Several days. But we didn't know he was so sick.”

The doctor nodded and barked some orders through the opening in the partition. The tiny woman they had first encountered came out. “Make up a cot for this man.”

The woman nodded and scurried off to obey his orders.

“Can you help me carry him to the back? He's seri
ously dehydrated.”

Tuan nodded and grabbed Hiep's shoulders. The doctor lifted Hiep's feet and together they carried Hiep to a small canvas cot in a partitioned area where the woman was busy preparing a syringe. The doctor covered Hiep with a lightweight blanket, swabbed Hiep's arm with alcohol, and injected some medicine into his veins. Mai watched as he wiped the area with alcohol again.

“This may help him. He's very sick. Tell me what happened.”

Mai proceeded to relate the events of the last few days—her uncle's fatigue, the pain in his right side, and the nausea and vomiting. Tuan watched, taking in every word.

“We'll have to keep him here overnight. If he hasn't
improved by morning we'll have to send him over to the
hospital on the mainland. He hasn't had any convulsions, has he?” Mai gave him a puzzled look.

The doctor explained. “If his brain starts to swell, it can cause him to lose control of his body and shake all over. That is not a good sign.”

“No, I don't think so,” Mai answered, still not sure what a convulsion was. She wanted to ask the doctor what had happened to Hiep, why was he sick. Was it something he had caught? But she waited, self-conscious, frightened, chewing the fingernail on her left thumb. She had never spoken to a doctor before.

She was afraid to say anything about Sang's ghost. She knew the doctor wouldn't believe that a ghost could have caused Hiep's illness. But that was because he was American. If you were Vietnamese, you would know that the wandering ghosts caused lots of bad luck.

“He appears to have hepatitis. Jaundice. Yellow skin and eyes caused by the liver starting to fail.”

Mai summoned her courage and interrupted in a whisper. “How did he get it?”

“It's a water-borne disease. The drinking water here isn't very clean. We've had a lot of these cases. We'll keep a close eye on him.”

The confidence in the doctor's voice did not dull the pain in Mai's chest and she began to cry, covering her face, embarrassed at her outburst.

Wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands, she asked, “Can I stay with him?”

Before the doctor could answer, Tuan interrupted. “I'll stay with him. You go on back to camp and rest.”

The doctor nodded in agreement. “I think it would be better if your friend stayed with him.”

Mai hated to leave Hiep. Maybe she could just sleep outside the tent so she could check on him once in a while. Sang's ghost could have followed them to the clinic.

As if he could hear her thoughts, the doctor said, “You can stay for a while, but he really needs to sleep.”

Mai knew the doctor would be going back to the mainland after lunch and he wouldn't know how long she stayed. She and Tuan walked over to see Hiep now resting peacefully on the cot, his arms folded across his chest.

“You'd better line up for food and then get back to camp and let them know we made it,” Tuan said, scratching his chin.

“I'm not going anywhere. I need to stay and look after Hiep.” The words came out of her mouth, not her heart, for she could still feel that dull pain running down the middle of her chest. She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to stop the pain.

“I'll stay. It's better if you go.” Tuan put his hand on her shoulder. He walked outside with her.

“No, you need to take the food back to camp. I'll get mine and eat right here. I'll come back later. I'm so grateful to you. I could never have carried Uncle Hiep here.” Mai could feel the tears ready to come again and she willed them back. She didn't want to show him how weak she was.

“I'll come and check on you this evening,” Tuan said. Bowing, he reluctantly walked away from her and over to the food line. She sighed. He was so handsome with his high cheekbones and finely chiseled chin, and he was as kind as he was handsome.

She sat down on the hard sand, pressing her back on the hot canvas tent. She was sure that Sang's ghost had finally succeeded in punishing Hiep and he was not going to get better.

The tigers.

“Tuan, Tuan,” she called.

Tuan turned around with a puzzled look on his face and retraced his steps. “What's the matter, Mai?”

“I have a favor to ask. Could you go in our tent and bring the tiger pictures by our hammocks? I need them right away.”

“Of course, Mai.” Tuan hurried back to the food line before he missed his turn.

Mai could tell that Tuan didn't understand her request, but she didn't want to explain. She would hang the tigers on the tent wall next to Hiep's cot. Maybe that would work.

She looked around at the clusters of men, women, and children lined up for the noon food. The men stood without talking, their empty hands dangling by their sides, their eyes averted as if they were embarrassed to be waiting for a handout. The women's voices had a singsong sound as they called to their children, who played in the sandy earth at their feet or darted in and out of the line, unaware of the desperation of their circumstances.

Mai's stomach rumbled but she ignored it. She'd just lie here and rest, she thought to herself, curling up in a shady spot outside where the tent cast its shadow on the ground, all her energy evaporated. The sand was cooler here, and she could feel a breeze starting to come in from the ocean. The leaves rustled in the nearby jungle. The voices around her melded into a single drone as her head touched the sand and she stretched out her aching limbs. Inside the clinic, she could hear the doctor giving directions to the nurse, something about keeping an eye on Hiep. A fly landed on her nose and tickled it. She was too tired to brush it away. A pair of men's feet walked by her, attached to hairy legs, followed by two pairs of children's bare feet, caked with dirt, their tiny toenails black as the earth.

At first she thought someone had spilled a bucket of water on her. She moved to get out of the way, but the water poured down harder and faster as the wind swirled around her. When she opened her eyes, the sky seemed to descend to the earth, angry and dark, spilling sheets of warm torrential rains.

Mai turned her parched mouth to catch the drops pounding on her, too tired and depressed to move. The monsoons had arrived.