Lies We Bury(40)

Framed war-propaganda posters decorate the interior walls, evoking another time and place. As I step into the bar, I recognize a photograph of a student facing down a military tank in Tiananmen Square. Beside it hangs a frame of Bruce Lee from the movie Enter the Dragon, while a photo of a bowl of egg flower soup hangs above a trio of arcade machines.

“What’ll it be?” A woman with electric-blue hair leans over the counter in a lace tank top. Behind her, a sign on the wall advertises Tsingtao beer, the green color clashing with her hair.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“You here for the Shanghai Tunnels? The entry is in the hotel across the street. Group tour is about to leave.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” But this isn’t the first time they’ve come up. “What’s so special about them?”

She snaps a bubble of pink gum. Heavy eyeliner emphasizes deep-set features. “They’re Chinatown’s claim to fame. But you don’t have to wait to get a peek in, if you want. We got our own tourist attraction.” She lifts both eyebrows and nods toward the wall.

“The dartboard?”

“What? No. Look down.”

I follow her gaze to the floorboards. A square is cut into the wood directly beneath the bull’s-eye. “Is that a trapdoor?”

She grins. “You betcha. Anyone tells you basements around here were only for rationing dry staples, they’re either lying or they’ve never gone looking for the facts. Used to be there was a table and chairs over there, around the 1910s, 1920s, when this was a speakeasy. A man would get drunk enough, and the owner would hit a lever, having made a deal with some ship captain earlier in the day.”

“A deal to what?”

“Hoodwink a drunk fool into working aboard a ship to China. But the man had to be drunk enough that he was about to pass out and wouldn’t fight down below. He’d wake up a few hours later and try to leave—only to find he was barefoot and surrounded by broken glass.” Purple lips pucker to the side. “Pretty sad, but pretty neat that the evidence still lives today.”

“I thought that was all urban legend in Portland. That the practice was more in San Francisco or Seattle?”

She shrugs. “Depends who you ask.”

I bend down over the square and touch the outline of the box shape. The edges of the door are worn, with several coats of paint, probably meant to match the rest of the black floors, becoming thick and uneven in the splintered cracks. My stomach tightens, touching a tool used to inflict such unusual punishment, imagining what it must have been like—plunging into the darkness and for a brief moment having no idea where it ended.

Beside me, a man plays the pinball machine in the corner, but we’re the only ones in the bar on a Wednesday afternoon. I straighten, then turn to the bartender. “These aren’t still used . . . are they?”

“Honey.” She slides a hand onto a sharp hip. “Do I look like I need to trap a man?”

I thank her for the history lesson and promise to be in for a drink soon.

Back at my car, I step into the street. I lift my camera and angle upward. Framing the shot to capture both dragons’ gaping mouths, I imagine hot breath upon my face, the sharpness of their teeth, before jaws snap shut around my neck.





Seventeen





THEN


An hour later they’re still sleeping. I couldn’t take lying there any longer, trying not to move, so I got up and went into the kitchen and tried to be helpful quiet as possible. Quiet like a mouse or a cockroach which Mama Rosemary says aren’t my friends.

Mama Rosemary is upset again. On TV we see mamas who hug their babies and say everything will be okay. That they shouldn’t worry and she’ll fix whatever is the problem. Mama Rosemary can’t do that sometimes because she’s too sad. I tried telling her those things while she was sleeping but she didn’t wake up. Only cried more in her sleep.

I sat still and wondered what happened to Twin’s arm. Did she knock into the sink? Or did Mama Rosemary grab her when she was asking another question? I poked Twin again in her bruise. She woke up and hit me with her good arm but now she’s back asleep.

First I sewed up the hole in my T-shirt under the sleeve. Then I closed up the rip in Sweet Lily’s underpants. I even managed to get Twin’s sock to close up at the toe so she doesn’t have to go around with cold air getting in and biting her feet. All in all I only poked my fingers with the needle twice—once on my pointer finger and once on my tummy when the needle slipped.

“Sweetheart.” Mama Rosemary stands in the doorway. “What have you been up to? I thought you were napping with us.”

I show her everything I did and she’s not sad anymore.

Sisters wake up and start moving around. Sweet Lily sits up in bed while Twin brings Sweet Lily water in a sippy cup. Mama Rosemary says that’s okay because then water won’t spill on the mattress.

Twin and me turn on the television and sit real close to watch cartoons. Mama Rosemary only lets us watch one hour per day and we already got our hour in the morning but she’s sitting at the table writing something. She doesn’t say anything when we turn the volume up. A dog runs around a glacier and says Awesome-sauce! Me and Twin start laughing every time.

“Awesome-sauce,” I whisper. Emmy and Max walk in a green place. A forest. Then they’re trapped with their dragon friends in a mountain house. A cave. They talk about escape to get back home to their beds. Max ties a rope around the rock blocking the exit then ties the other end around him. He pulls real real hard and everyone helps and then the rock moves and Emmy and Max and the dragon friends get out.