The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(70)

Her mother had strictly forbidden her from going near. “For your own safety.”

“But you’re not afraid,” Lai King had said.

“A woman carries her fear inside of her,” her mother replied as she scratched the fleabites on her arms. She’d cleared her throat, trying not to cough.

That’s when Lai King began to fear the worst.

She paused, holding her breath so she could hear the slightest of sounds, but all she heard were bells ringing in the distance. She reached for the fabric, closing her eyes, bracing herself for what she might see.

“LAI KING!” her mother shouted, bursting through the door. “Step away from there right now! What did I tell you? Get your things and come with me.”

Lai King’s heart raced. She heard her neighbors, furious chatter, people shouting.

“We need to leave right now,” her mother said. “Grab your things.”

“Ah-ba’s not coming?”

“This is what he asked us to do. This is what we both saw in a dream. We must obey. You’ve been given a gift and now you must accept it with both hands.”

She picked up the suitcase and followed her mother, down a crowded staircase and out into the street, where Lai King saw more people than she had in weeks. There was yelling, shouting, chaos in every direction. Chinese men carried their belongings, slung over their shoulders, in canvas bags made from sacks of rice. They ran down the alleys, past old men who staggered, lost and confused. The few families who lived in Chinatown, the ones who weren’t sick, huddled together, searching, as though trying to decide what to do, where to go. Where could they go? The exits had all been roped off and guarded by policemen and now she saw soldiers, too, in tall boots and brown uniforms. They had red scarves around their faces and long rifles with fixed bayonets.

Lai King smelled fire.

She turned and saw thick black smoke billowing over rooftops in the distance. Tall orange flames licked the sky like forked tongues. Long sheets of tin, used as roofing material, floated up like joss paper, curling and drifting away from the heat. Then crashing down, clanging, crumpling on the street as ash and soot fell from the sky.

“Why is everyone running away?” Lai King asked as her mother gripped her hand so tight her fingers felt numb. “Why is no one trying to put out the fire? Where’s the wagon with the pump? The engine that sprays water?”

Her mother dragged her in the direction of the pier.

“Ah-ma!” Lai King shouted to be heard. “Where are the firemen?”

Lai King noticed her mother was walking with a limp, and tears welled up in her eyes. “They were the ones who set everything on fire.”

Lai King had been anxious, worried, but now her heart was racing.

She did her best to keep up as her mother said, “They’re burning all of Chinatown to keep the disease from spreading to other parts of the city.”

Her mother snatched the suitcase from Lai King’s hands and led her down the steep hill toward the long pier of Chinatown’s seaport. An ocean liner sat at anchor in deep water that looked black as ink beneath the smoke-filled sky.

Lai King squinted at the steam barkentine and saw an American flag.

“Where are we going?”

She wiped ash from her eyes and walked briskly down the timbers of the pier as frantic seabirds cawed overhead. She followed her mother to where a group of Chinese men and women were clambering down a net, handing over their belongings and then climbing aboard a ship’s boat. A half-dozen sailors sat at the oars.

Her mother knelt down and held Lai King’s shoulders. “Look at me, Lai King. Listen to me. Are you listening? Your father earned enough money to buy passage to Canton. I have family there, which means you have family there.” Her mother placed an envelope in Lai King’s coat pocket. “Hold on to this.”

Lai King didn’t want to leave the city. She clung to her mother.

“What about Ah-ba?” she asked meekly.

She felt her mother’s arms around her, squeezing her tight. Her ah-ma’s body felt hot, but she was shivering. She rocked Lai King and let out a muffled sob.

“Let’s go! We don’t have all day!” a sailor yelled.

“You go first.” Her mother smiled but tears framed her cheeks.

Lai King hesitated, then climbed down the net as her mother dropped her bag to one of the seamen. When Lai King looked back up to help her mother, the boat was already pushing away from the pier. She called for her ah-ma, who shook her head, grim-faced, crying as she took a step back.

“I love you, Lai King, my beautiful, brave daughter,” her mother shouted.

Lai King screamed for her mother as the other passengers on board cried out, pointing to the firestorm that was swallowing up entire buildings. Even from far away, Lai King could feel the heat. She looked at her mother; she glanced at the others on board, then at the water. She threw a leg over the side of the boat, ready to dive in, but felt hands on her clothing, pulling her back inside the boat.

“Ah-ma!” Lai King screamed as someone held on to her, pinning her in place while the boat rocked with each stroke of the oars. She cried, watching her ah-ma grow smaller, a silhouette surrounded by the inferno. Lai King reached helplessly for her mother, who waved back until she was consumed by the flames.



* * *



When they reached the iron-hulled ship, Lai King heard the rumble and clank of the steam engines. She pictured a great locomotive trapped somewhere within. The kind that traveled the rails of the Southern Pacific Line her ah-ma’s family helped build.