Out of the Dragon's Mouth by Joyce Burns Zeiss

payment, and refused to let them stay with her unless they paid her more, Mai could see that her smile had only masked the greediness in her grasping heart.
    She watched Hiep form precise Chinese characters with his pencil for as long as she could, but, exhausted by the lack of rest the night before, she succumbed to a fitful sleep.
    That night, Sang’s ghost appeared along with all the children—Minh, Diep, Huong, Nhu—and Small Auntie, swirling around in a dark mist, calling to her in a clamoring chorus. She was standing on the ocean’s shore, the white-tipped waves crashing at her feet as if they were attacking her, the palm trees furiously waving their fronds, the biting sand swirling in circles in the air. She tried to decipher what each person was saying, and then realized that their mouths were all forming the same words: “You will be punished.”
    She cowered on the beach, whimpering, “No, no, it’s not our fault. You must understand.” But their hollow red eyes pierced her with their anger and she covered her face with her hands, listening to the whoosh of their bodies circling over her head, echoing “Mai, Mai.”
    Just then Kien, flashing a silver sword, strode into her dream, yelling, “Leave her alone, evil spirits.” They fled from him, dissolving into the sea, as he sheathed his sword and folded his sturdy arms around Mai, pulling her close.
    A warm glow enveloped her when his gentle hands caressed her. She reached up to touch his face but he disappeared, her frantic hands raking through the air.
    â€œKien, don’t leave me,” she called, but he didn’t answer.
    Neither did the others, and after a restless sleep where a large eagle with Small Auntie’s face landed on her head and pulled her eyes out with its talons, she woke in the morning, her body limp. Would no one protect them? She stepped onto the dirt floor of their tent and slipped her feet into her dép before walking outside.
    â€œDid you finish the letter?” she asked Hiep, pouring a cup of water into a pot fashioned from an oil can. She added a handful of dry rice to it and balanced it on a rock over the cooking fire. Hiep pulled a bent envelope from his shorts pocket and showed it to her.
    â€œIt’s right here. I’m going to take it down to the Red Cross this morning.”
    â€œDo you think it will do any good?” she asked, stirring the rice with a stick so it wouldn’t burn.
    â€œMaybe. Third Uncle is a very important man.”
    Mai thought about what Hiep said. Yes, Third Uncle was a very important man, but she wondered how important he could be in a new country where he didn’t know anyone. In his letter, he hadn’t told them what he was doing. Maybe he was too ashamed. She could picture him overseeing the rice farmers for her father, but in America, in the city, he might be reduced to sweeping the streets, or washing vegetables in the dank cellar of a Chinese restaurant. She hoped he could help them, but what if he couldn’t? Then what would they do?
    Mai looked up at Hiep, who was standing by the fire with the letter in his hands staring at her. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “What is it, Uncle Hiep? What’s wrong?”
    Hiep cleared his throat, shifting his eyes to see if anyone was listening. A few young women squatted by cooking fires several feet away from them. “I saw Sang’s ghost last night,” he whispered in her ear, cupping his hand to his mouth to keep his words from floating away.
    Mai gaped at Hiep, her throat dry, unable to speak. So she had not imagined Sang’s ghost. He was real.
    The smell of burnt rice brought Mai out of her stupor and she trembled as she lifted the pot from the fire. “What did he look like?” she asked.
    â€œHe had on the ragged shorts he died in, he was fuming, and he called my name. I’m sure it was him.”
    â€œHiep, mail that letter