The Stone Monkey

families had kept to themselves. Li was among these. There’d been something ominous about him. He’d sat alone for the entire voyage, sullen, occasionally glaring at the children who were noisy around him and often sneaking up on deck, which was strictly forbidden by the Ghost. When he’d talk at all, Li would ask too many questions about what the families planned to do when they got to New York and where theywould live—subjects that wise illegal immigrants didn’t discuss.
    Still, Li was a human being in need and Chang would try to save him.
    The man was swallowed up by a wave.
    “Leave him!” Wu whispered angrily. “He’s gone.”
    From the front of the raft the young wife, Rose, called, “Please, let’s go!”
    Chang turned the raft into a large wave to keep from tipping over. By the time they were stable again Chang saw a flash of orange about fifty meters away, rising and falling. It was the Ghost’s raft. The snakehead started toward them. A wave rose between the two crafts and they lost sight of each other momentarily.
    Chang gunned the throttle and turned toward the drowning man. “Down, everybody down!”
    He reversed the motor quickly just as they reached Li, leaned over the thick rubber and grabbed the immigrant by the shoulder, pulling him into the raft, where he collapsed on the floor, coughing fiercely. Another gunshot. A burst of water flew up near them as Chang sped the raft around the Dragon, putting the sinking ship between them and the Ghost once more.
    The snakehead’s attention turned away from them for a moment when he saw several other people in the water—crew members, bobbing on the surface in orange life vests, about twenty or thirty meters away from the killer. The Ghost sped toward the two, his motor running full.
    Understanding now that the man was going to kill them, they waved their arms desperately toward Chang and kicked furiously away from the approaching raft. Chang gauged the distance to the crewmen, wondering if he could reach them before the snakehead was close enoughto have a clear shot. The mist and rain—and the rolling waves—would make it hard for the Ghost to shoot accurately. Yes, he thought he could do it. He started to apply the power.
    Suddenly a voice was in his ear. “No. It’s time to leave.”
    It was his father, Chang Jiechi, who’d spoken; the old man had pulled himself to his knees and was leaning close to his son. “Take your family to safety.”
    Chang nodded. “Yes, Baba,” using the affectionate Chinese term for “father.” He aimed the raft toward shore and turned the motor up full.
    A minute later came the crack of a gun firing, then another, as the snakehead murdered the two crew members. Sam Chang’s soul cried in dismay at the sounds. Forgive me, he thought to the sailors. Forgive me.
    Glancing back, he saw an orange shape through the fog; the Ghost’s raft coming after them. He felt the despair in his bones. As a dissident in China, Sam Chang was used to fear. But in the People’s Republic fear was an insidious unease that you learned to live with; it was nothing like this, the terror of seeing a mad killer hunting down your beloved family and companions.
    “Stay down! Everyone stay down.” He concentrated on keeping the raft upright and making as much speed as possible.
    Another shot. The bullet struck the water nearby. If the Ghost hit the rubber they’d sink in minutes.
    A huge, unearthly groan filled the air. The Fuzhou Dragon turned completely on her side and vanished under the surface. The massive wave created by the sinking ship rolled outward like the shock ring from a bomb blast. The immigrants’ raft was too far away to be affected but the Ghost’s was much closer to the ship. The snakehead lookedback and saw the tall wave heading toward him. He veered away and, after a moment, was lost to sight.
    Though he was a professor, an artist, a political activist, Sam Chang was also, like many Chinese, more accepting of spirituality and portents than a Western intellectual might be. He thought for a moment that Guan Yin, the goddess of mercy, might have interceded on their behalf and sent the Ghost to a watery death.
    But only a moment later John Sung, who was facing backward, shouted, “He’s still there. He’s coming. The Ghost is coming after us.”
    So, Guan Yin is busy elsewhere today, Sam Chang thought bitterly. If we’re going to survive we’ll have to do it on our own. He adjusted their course toward