Read Out of the Dragon's Mouth for Free Online

had shrunk and they had to be careful.
    Yen, now a girl of four, ran over to Mai.
    â€œGoodbye, Yen. Be a good girl.”
    Tuyet put her arm around Mai. “Goodbye and good luck. I’ll see you in America,” she whispered.
    Quan, a skinny boy of ten, asked where she was going. “Just shopping with Grandmother,” she’d replied.
    â€œCome on, Mai, xe loi’s here,” Mother called as a motorcycle with a cab attached behind it pulled up. Grandmother, a tiny woman bent like a twig, her gray hair pulled back behind her ears, was waiting outside, her shopping bag over her arm. Mai could hear Father’s teacup rattle when she walked to the door.
    Mother thrust a red cloth bag at her. “Food for the journey,” she said. Were those tears in her eyes, Mai wondered?
    Mai and Grandmother climbed into the xe loi , which flew down the dirt road with the steady purr of its engine and the choking dust filling the air.
    Mai remembered watching everything she loved disappearing: the alleys she’d played in with her brothers and sisters, Ông Ngoai’s textile mill, its red tile roof gleaming in the sunshine, and most of all her beloved family.
    A long time later, they entered Soc Trang. Grandmother had held Mai’s hand while they made their way through a maze of alleys to the two-story brick house, where a sweet-faced woman with four small children clustered about her bowed and motioned for them to enter. She poured them each a cup of tea while her children stood in a row and stared with their small, dark eyes.
    â€œGoodbye, Mai. Cousin will take good care of you. And do what she tells you.” Grandmother rose. She touched Mai’s trembling hand.
    â€œI will, Grandmother,” she’d answered, in a voice so low she could barely hear herself
    â€œHere,” Cousin said. “Follow me.” She padded down a dark hallway to a drab, windowless room. “Be very quiet. The neighbors.” She nodded toward the outside wall, rolled her eyes, and put her finger to her lips.
    Hiep had joined her the next afternoon.
    Mai jumped up from her mat. “You’ve come. Why’d it take so long?”
    â€œI had to leave later than I expected. Police around. Didn’t want to arouse suspicion.”
    They left that night. When the house grew quiet and Mai thought she could not wait one more minute, a soft knock came at the door.
    â€œNow,” Cousin whispered, pointing down the hallway. Hiep and Mai slipped outside without speaking.
    â€œFollow me,” said Hiep, hugging the shadows.
    Mai wiped her tears and stumbled after him until her legs throbbed with pain. They came to an inlet in the river. Above them, Mai saw the moon hanging like a gold medallion in the black satin sky.
    A small wooden canal boat waited among the tall reeds. A young fisherman took Mai’s hand as she stepped aboard. Can we trust him? A trembling couple with a small boy emerged from a bamboo grove and joined them. The boat sank low in the water with the six of them. The fisherman stood at the stern, and, moving two poles slowly through the water, pushed away from the riverbank. Mai could hear the rapid pounding of her heart against her chest wall, and the dip, dip, dip of the poles in the water as the current took them down the river.
    Several hours later, the fisherman guided the boat behind a small island and stopped. The boat bobbed in the water. Half-awake, Mai leaned against Hiep’s strong shoulder. Then the boat began crossing the river toward the old fishing trawler, with its long open deck and pilot house at the back.
    Small boats appeared from all directions, headed toward the trawler like a swarm of bees to honey. When they reached the boat, a tattooed arm reached down and hoisted Hiep and her aboard. The captain, a one-legged man with a neat gray moustache, recognized them. Captain Le was a fre quent visitor to their home; he was Father’s cousin and a veteran of