by Malinda Lo
She spotted Kath seated with Jean and Jean’s college friends in the leftmost corner, toward the back. Lily might not have seen her at all, because she was largely in shadow, but Kath leaned forward to light a cigarette, and the flare of the lighter drew her attention. The flame briefly illuminated Kath’s face; her hair was swept back and parted on the side, like a man’s. It startled Lily to see her like that, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She was wearing her new dress, the one she told her mother she’d bought to wear to the pageant, but had actually chosen for tonight. It was tighter than the dresses she usually wore, with a lower V-neck than she was used to, although it was still quite modest. But in this room, among these women, her new dress was a declaration. If she went over to Kath and sat beside her, everyone here would know what it meant.
Tommy began another number, a lively one that involved her flirting with the women around the edge of the stage. Lily remembered how she had once fantasized about Tommy singing to her at one of those tables, and her fantasy seemed so naïve now, so silly. A schoolgirl dream. She recognized the smile on Tommy’s face as she leaned down to serenade a brunette in a maroon cocktail dress. She looked so flattered, so eager.
Lily looked away. She began to weave her way toward Kath, who seemed to be looking around too. Lily thought she saw Kath put down her cigarette; she thought she saw the slightly paler shadow of her face rise up, as if she were standing. “Excuse me,” she whispered, bumping into strangers’ chairs, slipping around women standing at the rear of the room. When had the small stage room become so large and filled with so many obstacles? She wasn’t even paying attention to Tommy’s show anymore.
At last she was there, and Lily recognized the set of Kath’s shoulders even though she couldn’t see her face, which was only a blur in the smoky dimness. “Kath,” she whispered in relief. It had only been a few hours since she’d seen Kath at school, but it felt as if days had passed.
“What happened?” Kath whispered. “I waited, but then it got too late.”
Someone nearby shushed them, and Lily grabbed Kath’s hand and pulled her back through the stage room and into the hallway that led to the stairs. The alcove beneath the stairs was empty, and Lily drew Kath into its shadows, her skin already flushing with anticipation.
“I’m sorry I was late,” Lily said. “Frankie was sick and I had to wait till he went to sleep.”
There were a few beer kegs and some wooden crates stored under the stairs, but there was just enough room for the two of them. Overhead, cracks in the stair treads let in paper-thin shafts of dim yellow light. It slanted over Kath’s face as she closed the space between them and said, “I’m glad you’re here,” and then she kissed Lily.
“Me too.” Lily kissed her back.
When they drew apart, Lily remembered that she had brought a gift for Kath, and she pulled the toy airplane from her pocket. “This is for you,” she said.
Kath held it up to examine it in better light. “What’s this for?” She sounded surprised.
“It made me think of you.”
Flora’s father had assumed it was for Lily’s youngest brother, and she hadn’t corrected him. She had wanted to put it in a box and wrap it, but she didn’t have the right size box, and the only wrapping paper at home was left over from Christmas. Now, seeing Kath holding the bare little toy plane in her hand, she was embarrassed.
“It’s nothing,” Lily whispered. “It’s all right if you don’t like it.”
Kath spun the wheels and smiled. “I like it.” She slipped the airplane into her pocket and slid her hands around Lily’s waist again. “Do you want to go out to the show?”
“In a minute.”
“Just a minute?” Kath teased her.
Lily laughed. She pulled Kath closer; she felt her smiling mouth against her own. Lily remembered the sight of that other couple beneath the stairs, and it was as if time had folded upon itself and she couldn’t tell if she was herself or someone else. How many girls had stood beneath these stairs, kissing? Lily envisioned a long line of girls like them cocooned in this dark pocket of beer-scented air.
A shout suddenly went up from the bar, and the lights flashed in the hallway, startling them apart.
Tommy abruptly stopped singing. The pianist halted in mid-phrase, and then Tommy’s voice came over the speakers: “I’m sorry to say we’re calling it an early night, folks.” Voices rose at once in confusion and surprise, and the lights flashed again, repeatedly.
“What’s going on?” Lily asked. She glanced out into the hallway, which continued past their alcove beneath the stairs, and ended in a closed door.
Someone came running down the short hallway from the bar and went directly past them, knocking into Lily’s shoulder. They opened the door at the end and plunged through, and just as Lily was stepping out from beneath the stairs, more women came—dozens, all of them, it seemed—heading pell-mell for that door.
Kath grabbed hold of a stranger’s arm and asked, “What happened?”
The woman was in a suit; she dragged her arm away and called over her shoulder, “Cops! The club’s being raided!”
Lily was still holding Kath’s hand, and Kath squeezed her fingers as she peered down the hall at the door. It was a back exit. “Come on,” Kath said. She tugged Lily into the hallway, joining the exodus. Lily could smell the fog seeping inside.
Kath abruptly halted and dragged her out of the way. “Wait—I left my coat.”
The panic of the crowd was contagious, and Lily’s only thought now was escape. “Can’t you leave it?”
Kath shook her head. “My identification’s in the pocket. You go ahead. I’ll meet you out there.”
“Isn’t it fake? Just leave it!” Lily wouldn’t let go of her hand.
“I forgot to leave my real one at home. I have to get it. You go—meet me on our corner, okay?” Kath squeezed Lily’s hand once more, and then Kath went back down the hall, going against the tide of women, leaving Lily alone.
A woman brushed past her, advising, “You better get out of here, unless you want to get caught.”
Heart pounding, Lily followed everyone else outside and into a narrow alley. It was very dark, and it smelled like urine. Up above, the buildings loomed black against a cloud-covered night sky. Only a few windows were lit, and Lily was reminded of how late it was. Everyone emerging from the Telegraph Club seemed to be heading to one or the other end of the alley, and Lily went to the left—she thought that way was Columbus Avenue—but when she emerged onto a side street she didn’t recognize, she stopped. She looked back down the alley. The open door cast a rectangle of yellow light onto the ground, illuminating a puddle of rank liquid that several women splashed through as they ran out of the building. There was no sign of Kath.
Voices came now, loud and insistent. Men’s voices—and then men in uniform, wielding flashlights.
Lily fled across the unfamiliar street. There was a group of men there, standing and smoking in the shadow of a building. The embers at the ends of their cigarettes seemed to float in the air like tiny red eyes. They had probably seen her lingering in the mouth of the alley, and she ducked her head nervously, realizing she’d lost her scarf somewhere.
She kept moving, even though she didn’t know where she was going. She was approaching light and noise, but she kept her gaze lowered toward the stains and spots on the sidewalk, the darker shadow of the gutter running like a river beside her.
The street was short and ended in a wide avenue—she had found Broadway again. To her left was a kaleidoscope of blue and white lights, rotating like a Playland ride. A white neon sign hung from the side of the building closest to the lights: the telegraph club. With a jolt, she realized that several police cars were parked outside the club. A clump of women stood near the awning, huddled together as if for safety. A policeman stepped away from one of them, and Lily didn’t understand what
she was watching at first. It was only when the woman turned, her arms positioned unnaturally, that she understood that the policeman had handcuffed her.
She spun around immediately and headed for Columbus Avenue. In her quick glimpse of the handcuffed women, she didn’t think she had seen Kath. Maybe she had gone down the alley in the other direction. She might already be on Columbus. Lily quickened her pace. The traffic screamed past her and someone was laughing too loud; men tossed burning cigarettes onto the curb like tiny missiles to dodge. Someone called after her, “Slow down and smile, sweetheart!” She ignored him; she was almost there. She could see their corner in the distance.
But no one was there when she arrived. The streetlamp was shining on an empty sidewalk.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, shivering. It felt like hours. When she saw a police car cruising down Columbus, she shrank back into the shadows, but she knew she couldn’t wait there all night. With a desperate, sinking feeling, she turned toward home and resolved to call Kath first thing in the morning. She would understand why Lily hadn’t stayed on their corner.
When she got home, she tried to be as quiet as possible, but she was clumsy from the cold and stumbled on the stairs. The door to her bedroom stuck and she had to force it—with a rumble—to open.
The silence afterward was unbearable. She heard the creak of bedsprings, the squeal of her parents’ bedroom door.
She rushed to undress, shoving her clothes under her bed and pulling on her nightgown so fast she nearly tangled herself in the sleeves. She accidentally stubbed her toe against one of the bed’s legs and couldn’t suppress a yelp of pain. Tears smarting at her eyes, she climbed into her bed and pulled up the covers just in time—her father was sliding open the door, saying, “Li-li, are you all right?”
She rolled over, pretending to be sleepy. “Yes, Papa.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.”
He came in and sat on the edge of her bed, switching on her bedside lamp, and she had to turn over to face him, schooling her face into emptiness. He placed a warm hand on her forehead. “You’re a little hot.”
“I’m fine. I just couldn’t sleep.”
He studied her for a moment, and she willed herself to look normal—sleepless, maybe, but normal—and she must have succeeded, because he eventually removed his hand. “All right. Well, if you’re not feeling well in the morning, let me know.”
“I will.”
“Good night.” He turned off the lamp and left, sliding the pocket doors shut.
—1950
Judy Hu marries Francis Fong.
Lily attends the third annual Chinese American Citizens Alliance Independence Day Picnic and Miss Chinatown Contest.
—1951
Dr. Hsue-shen Tsien is placed under house arrest on suspicion of being a Communist and a sympathizer to the People’s Republic of China.
—Aug. 12, 1951
JUDY takes Lily to Playland at the Beach.
In Stoumen v. Reilly, the California Supreme Court rules that homosexuals have the right to public assembly, for example, in a bar.
—1952
Francis begins working as an engineer at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
—1953
Judy is hired as a computer at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.
Judy takes Lily to the Morrison Planetarium at the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park.
JUDY
Three and a Half Years Earlier
The Opium Den diorama was located on the left side of the Musée Mécanique at Playland, just past one of the mechanical fortune-tellers whose eyes rolled each time a coin was dropped into the machine’s slot. Judy had seen the Opium Den before, and though she’d been horrified the first time, it had never struck her with such disgust before today.
That morning, as she and Francis prepared to pick up Lily, Frankie, and Eddie for their long-scheduled Saturday outing, she had tried to convince Francis that it was too cold for a trip to Playland. “It’ll be foggy and windy,” she had said. “Let’s take them somewhere indoors instead.”
But Francis had resisted. “The boys want to go to the Fun House, and Frankie wants to ride the roller coaster for the first time. I promised them I’d take them there last month.”
So they had piled into Francis’s Mercury and driven out to Playland at the Beach. Judy watched Francis take Eddie and Frankie to the wooden roller coaster while Lily wandered off to the Musée Mécanique to feed pennies into the automated dioramas. As a child, Lily hadn’t liked the rides very much, but she could watch the miniature figurines processing through their painted wooden worlds for hours, thrilled by the tiny, orderly details. Lily was fourteen now, and Judy suspected her interest in those mechanized marvels had waned, so she followed her niece inside to wait for her.
There was a bench a few feet away from the Opium Den, and Judy sat down there, pulling a paperback out of her purse to read. It was The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury, which she’d borrowed from Francis, who had a taste for science fiction. She thought some of the novels he liked were terrible, but she was enjoying this one. She couldn’t focus on the story, though. From her vantage point it was hard to avoid noticing each time the Opium Den whirred into life, and children seemed to be endlessly feeding it coins.
The diorama wasn’t very large, maybe two feet wide by one foot deep, but it contained a number of weird creatures that twitched or jumped when the machine was running. It depicted an underground opium den populated by figurines with slanted eyes, ghostly skin, and blank expressions, possibly intended to represent men in the throes of opium-induced euphoria. In the back of the den, a Chinese man lay in an alcove in the wall, jerking up and falling back over and over again. A disturbing figure with a skull-like face descended into the den from a stairway on the right. To the left, a door sprang open to reveal a hanging skeleton. And most bizarrely, a giant cobra popped out repeatedly from behind a fringed curtain in the back.
Children loved the Opium Den—they especially loved to giggle and point at the cobra—but the more times Judy saw it, the more it repulsed her. The cobra, with its bulbous head and thrusting motion, seemed obscene. And the opium addict in the rear alcove bouncing up and down was humiliating. He was powerless, unable to escape this mechanized depiction of a real-life tragedy.
“How long do we have to stay?” Lily asked, sliding onto the bench beside her.
“Lily! Finished already?” Judy said. She had been so absorbed in her anger over the diorama that she hadn’t noticed Lily approaching.
Lily’s gaze followed Judy’s over to the Opium Den, and she frowned as she watched the repeated humiliation. “I hate that one,” Lily said.
“Me too,” Judy said. “Let’s go. We don’t have to stay here.”
Sometimes Judy felt a deep and burning anger at her adopted country, and she never knew what to do about it. She had come to America for an education and had intended to return home, but first she had met Francis and then the Communists had taken over and now, unfortunately, she couldn’t leave. America had given her so much in the four years since she arrived, but it also regularly reminded her of how it saw people like her.
“Where are we going?” Lily asked, running after her.
“Let’s go to the beach,” Judy said, opening the door.
“What about Eddie and Frankie and Uncle Francis?”
Judy glanced at her watch. “We agreed to meet at the Fun House at three o’clock. We have forty-five minutes. Come on—I want to see the ocean.”
* * *
—
Judy had fallen in love with Ocean Beach the first time she saw it almost four years ago, right after she first arrived in San Francisco. That had been a chilly day, too, and she remembered the wind whipping her hair against her face as she climbed over the sand dunes.
It wasn’t a warm and s
unny beach like the ones in travel guides. It was cold and vast like the Pacific Ocean, which roared in on wild, foam-crested waves. She loved Ocean Beach because when she stood here she could finally grasp, in her bones, how large the Pacific was. She could almost see the curve of the earth on the ocean’s horizon—or she imagined that she could—and it gave her a physical sense of how far away from home she had traveled.
Yes, she truly had come that far. No, she really wasn’t going home anytime soon.
There was a strange sense of freedom in those thoughts. They left her free to be here, in this place, right now.
The ocean was gray today and blended almost seamlessly into the sky at the horizon. She remembered her passage across that ocean, sixteen days on a converted American troop transport ship in a second-class cabin with several other young Chinese women. She had spent so much time with those women, and yet now she barely remembered them. She wondered if they ever thought about her: studious and quiet, head down in her math and English-language books the entire voyage. She was sure they had thought her strange.
Now Judy watched Lily walking away from her down the hard-packed sand near the edge of the waves, looking for seashells. Lily went past a clump of seaweed that had washed ashore. It looked like a mass of dark green snakes tangled together, and when the water rushed back over it, one tail jerked back and forth like the cobra in the horrible Opium Den.
Just like that, Judy remembered the snakelike twist of blood and tissue in the toilet last April, when she had miscarried. It had been so early in the pregnancy that she had barely begun to accept it herself. She and Francis had been married for ten months, and it was time to start a family—everyone said so—but she had been reluctant to go to the doctor to confirm that she was pregnant.
Afterward, she secretly wondered if her reluctance had doomed the unborn baby. She had been planning to apply for Ph.D. programs in mathematics when she got pregnant. She’d dreamed of continuing her studies, not having a baby.
