The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(46)

Ah-ma.

He let go and she slumped to the floor.

“We’re late.” He stuck the knife into her headboard. “Get dressed. I’ll deal with you later.”



* * *



“There they are,” Mrs. Hannington said, clapping with delight as she bounced on her toes outside the theater. Her husband stood next to her, staring down at his gold pocket watch. Nanchoy stepped out of the carriage. He let the driver help Afong.

“My girl, we’ve allowed you to be in the care of Nanchoy for all these weeks. Such a good boy to look after you. I told my husband, ‘Have faith, dear, they’ve never once been late for a performance, not a single time,’ and you didn’t let me down.”

Mr. Hannington put his watch away and huffed, “You nearly ruined our gala finale.” He shoved an unlit cigar into his mouth. “We sold out the entire theater this time—packed them in cheek by jowl at twice the price—though I had to wag a lot of money at these rubes.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. “When the time comes for the drawing, I’m going to hand this to you so you can read the name and announce the winner.” He showed her the paper. On it was the name George Codhooker.

“Do you understand, girl?”

He glanced at Nanchoy. “I thought you said she could read this?”

“I can,” Afong said, nodding. “I will.”

“The winner,” Mr. Hannington said, “is an actor that I hired. He will come forward, take the ticket from you, the show will end in celebration, and that will be that.”

Afong nodded.

“Good.” Mr. Hannington lit his cigar and puffed until the end flickered red. “Now. I suppose you’re waiting on me for some kind of answer?”

Afong felt Nanchoy’s sweaty palm, his fingers laced with hers. She looked down as though his hand were a growth, a massive wart, something she could not scrape off.

“This is going to be your last performance for a while. The world is going to hell right now with this financial panic and people are falling out of work. Mrs. Hannington and I will be traveling back to New Jersey. In our absence, I see no reason why the two of you shouldn’t be together. After all”—he pointed at Afong but spoke to Nanchoy as though relieved of a great burden—“someone has to look after her now.”



* * *



When the show ended, Afong was light-headed, exhausted, grateful to have made it through the evening without breaking down. She stood next to Mr. Hannington as he worked the audience into a frenzy, shouting, “Now the time you’ve waited for is upon us. Ladies and gentlemen, who’s ready to get rich here tonight?!”

He went on about all the things one could do with a thousand dollars. Meanwhile his wife and Nanchoy walked up and down the aisles passing out pencils and slips of paper, collecting the names and putting them into Mr. Hannington’s top hat. Mrs. Hannington then giddily returned to the stage, enjoying the spotlight as she handed the hat to her husband. He dipped his hand into the crown and made a great show of mixing up the tickets as the audience fell silent and a pianist played a frenzied melody.

He drew out a slip of paper.

“It’s pronounced Hepworth!” a man shouted from the back and the audience tittered. “How much for the China girl?” another man yelled. The audience laughed, growing restless and rowdy, their high hopes on display.

Mr. Hannington held the slip high and the audience quieted. “Now is the moment you waited for, a dream of riches galore. I will now ask the Chinese Lady to do the honor of reading the winning name.” He handed her the slip of paper.

Afong took the paper and opened it.

She read the name Codhooker, then gazed out at the audience. She watched the swirls of cigar smoke, saw the eager, bearded faces, the stern men who were already spending the money in the storefronts of their imaginations. Smiling women clung to their husbands in eager anticipation. Afong looked to the back of the theater, beyond the standing-room-only crowd, beyond the glass ticket booth, beyond the city blocks, the brick buildings, smoking chimneys, the crowded harbor, out over the ocean, all the way to the shores of a home she knew she would never see again. Not in this lifetime. Then she looked down and saw Nanchoy on the steps leading up to the side stage, in his golden waistcoat, his hair slicked back, smiling. She looked toward Mr. Hannington, to Mrs. Hannington, who joined her husband on the apron of the stage. She was staring at her, mouthing something to Afong, motioning, admonishing her to read the slip of paper. They smiled, but their gaze, their intensity showed their impatience.

Afong looked down at the note in her hands.

She felt the eyes of everyone in the theater upon her.

“The winner…” Afong glanced up as everyone leaned forward in their seats. Many in the back rows stood up so they could hear.

“The winner…”

“Out with it, girl!” Mr. Hannington snapped.

“The winner is… Nanchoy Eu Tong.”

Afong smiled as she pointed to him.

He looked stunned, confused.

“No, no, no,” Mr. Hannington bellowed. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding. She’s illiterate, she doesn’t know a thing that she’s saying.”

Afong crumpled the paper and dropped it to the floor as a handful of audience members began shouting. Men rose to their feet.