Love and Other Consolation Prizes(10)

And sadly, so were the islands, when a constellation of sores had burst on the chest, arms, and legs of one of the other boys. Because of that illness, the ship was unable to make port in Honolulu. The boy, delirious with fever, had been taken to an isolation room and later his body was buried at sea, as the ship continued to the Northwest.

After that sad event, a rainbow appeared in the form of an oil-stained canvas curtain, which was hung from a rope that kept the nearby boys, Jun included, sequestered from the rest of the children in the steerage hold. The boys had been officially quarantined and were now fed from a separate serving kettle. The doctor paid special attention to them, often checking two or three times each day, though they were as healthy as ever. Or at least as loud as ever—they heckled the girls through the curtain. Especially Jun, who found perpetual amusement in singing vulgar songs, much to the disgust of everyone but the passing sailors. He also teased the girls behind the bars, loudly speculating about which one of them would be taken next. The girls shouted back with cutting words—the kinds of insults that could be hurled only from the safety of their cage.

Yung and the peasant girls stayed out of the fray, giggling until Jun focused his rage in their direction. He ranted until one of the passing sailors shouted in English and everyone laughed and giggled a bit more as they settled down for the night, feeling safe, knowing that despite his bark, Jun’s bite was trapped behind the curtain.

Yung fell asleep feeling sorry for the rest of the boys in quarantine.

—

AS YUNG SLEPT that night he dreamed about his mother. In his dream he’d come home early from his chores. Hungry and bored, he rummaged through the old opium tin that served as his mother’s memory box. Inside was a collection of dried flowers, feathers, shell buttons, and one of his teeth that had fallen out. She’d put it on the roof of their house for a month, an old superstition she believed might make his permanent tooth grow in faster. He was sniffing her empty perfume bottles when he heard his mother’s laughter downstairs and that of a strange man. Yung searched frantically for a place to hide as they stumbled into the tiny one-room apartment. In his dream Yung dashed beneath his mother’s bed, just in time, as two pairs of shoes entered the room, heavy leather boots and his mother’s faded yellow lotus slippers. Yung could smell a mixture of alcohol, tobacco, and sweat. He remained motionless. Silent as clothing fell to the floor, his mother’s old mandarin dress and the man’s starched white collar. Ernest heard the dance of metal as her hairpin fell in front of him. He reached out and grabbed it while the steel springs above him bent as the couple fumbled about the bed. Yung heard muffled sounds that seemed like crying amid the heavy, pained breathing. He gripped the hairpin and imagined shoving the long, sharp needle up into the mattress.

In the darkened hold, Yung opened his eyes, smelled the musty woolen blanket, and heard the thrum of the ship’s steam engine. He felt the gentle rocking.

It was only a dream. My mother is gone.

Then Yung heard a timid cry and felt movement next to him. He rolled over and rubbed his eyes, thinking that perhaps he was still dreaming as he saw that Jun had climbed on top of the girl next to him. She was struggling, whimpering, and his hand covered her mouth, while his other hand fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. His large frame draped over her like a blanket, pressing her tiny body into the straw mattress.

Yung’s eyes met the larger boy’s gaze in the dim lamplight. “Look away, baby brother,” the boy hissed.

Yung closed his eyes, then opened them. It wasn’t a nightmare; it was real.

“And if you tell, I’ll do this to the rest of your big sisters. Then I’ll do it to you.”

Yung’s heart raced. He was confused, terrified as he slowly turned away. Jun was three times his age and five times his size. But Yung’s hand moved as though it had a mind of its own as he reached beneath his pillow and pulled out the long brass hairpin. He felt tightness in his chest and a sick sensation of dread in his stomach as he heard the girl struggle, but he was paralyzed with fear. Then Yung saw that the Japanese girl next to him was stirring in the gloaming. He watched her eyes widen, then she snatched the hairpin from his hand and scrambled over him, her bluish robe a blur, flowing water. She raised her arm as though reaching for the ceiling, then she brought it down like a hammer and drove the long copper needle into the flesh of the boy’s posterior. It made a sound that could have come from a butcher shop, the slap of a fist on a haunch of meat. The boy screamed. Yung watched as Jun stumbled out of bed, landed hard on the floor, where he curled and writhed in pain, cursing and shouting, crying as tears streamed down his face, “Lou geoi! Dirty lou geoi!” He continued shouting that she was lower than an alley whore who sold her body for scraps of food.

And as the boy rolled to his knees, Yung watched his mother’s keepsake swing about, stuck like a dragonfly on flypaper. He reached for the hairpin, pulling it free as Jun limped about the room clutching the back of his pants.

“I’m not lou geoi!” the Japanese girl shouted, spittle flying from her mouth. She was being restrained by the girls who had now woken in equal proportions of confusion, shock, and amusement. Others tended to the girl Jun had attacked.

“I’m Fahn!” the Japanese girl yelled, despite being half as tall—a menacing, ferocious eight-year-old screaming in the face of the teenage boy. She shouted again and gritted her teeth as Jun retreated behind the curtain and sailors burst into the room. Then she pointed at her chest. “I’m Fahn.”