Out of the Dragon's Mouth by Joyce Burns Zeiss Page B

read her stories, and loved her when her mother had been too busy waiting on Grandmother to pay any attention to her. Ba Du. She had called her Du for short.
    Mai laughed when she remembered how stubborn she had been. She had hated baths when she was little and had screamed when Du tried to put her in the washtub. The water had chilled her bare limbs at first, even though Du would mix a kettle of hot water from the brick kitchen stove with the cold river water from the clay tank. How patient Du had been with her. Where was she now, Mai wondered? Was she still alive? How she missed her.
    Enough daydreaming. She had to get ready to go to America. She could not lie here and feel sorry for herself. Father would be disappointed in her if she let Small Auntie and Sang’s ghost frighten her. Somehow she would have to appease Sang’s wandering spirit.
    Mai found the basket she had put her balled yarn and knitting needles in and walked with Lan to the knitting circle in the sand. The girls looked up as she approached them.
    â€œSit down,” Kim said, as she patted the ground next to her. “We’ll teach you how to knit.”
    Kim, a short plump girl with pockmarked cheeks, sat next to Ngoc, Lan’s older sister. Ngoc, a tall girl with bony arms and legs, a flat chest, and a long neck, didn’t have a spare ounce of flesh on her. She rarely smiled, unlike Lan, who could be heard laughing even when she was hauling the heaviest water buckets from the well.
    â€œIs it hard?” Mai asked, lowering herself to the spot near Kim.
    Kim shook her head. “You just have to learn two stitches and be able to count.”
    Mai liked Kim. Although she was a university student like the others, she treated Mai as an equal, unlike some of the girls who thought she was just a child. She and Kim had talked one night after dinner and Kim had told her about her family, her mother’s death from malaria, and her father’s imprisonment in a re-education camp. Like Mai, she was Chinese, her father a wealthy landowner whose land had been conscripted by the Communists.
    Kim’s brother, Tuan, often joined them in the evening after dinner when they sat talking around the fire. Mai thought he was handsome with his wire frame glasses, angular cheekbones, and squared jaw. Although he had little to say, when he did say something, Mai noticed that everyone listened to him. He knew a lot about the history of Vietnam, the war, and why the Communists had won.
    â€œThe Viet Cong have always had the hearts of the peasants. They are the only ones who have wanted to reunite the country. Ho Chi Minh, their great leader, instilled so much nationalism in them and they fought hard. South Vietnam never had a chance once the Americans pulled out,” Tuan said. Mai knew little about politics, but Tuan spoke with authority.
    As she looked at her knitting needles, Mai’s cheeks turned red. Why was she always afraid to try new things? She had tried to learn to cook when they came to the island, but all she ever managed to do was warm the beef stew or peas from the cans or boil a little rice over the cooking fire. When they had fresh food on Thursday, like chicken or bok choy, Lan cooked for them. She would show the girls now that she could do something well.
    Kim ignored her embarrassment and proceeded to show her how to hold the needles and loop the yarn around them. Mai tried to concentrate, but she kept thinking about Sang’s ghost and his threat of revenge.
    â€œThere are two stitches, knit and purl. Hold the needle like this and loop the yarn this way. Then bring the needle through like this.”
    Mai tried to do what she was being shown, but the needle slipped out of the yarn loop. She looked over at Lan and Ngoc, who were busy weaving their needles in and out of the yarn. She looped the yarn around the needle again and pulled the loop through, and then it came to her—the tigers.
    Of course. That’s how they