The Monkey's Secret

by Gennifer Choldenko

  Think, think, I tell myself, but my mind has gone dark. That’s when Billy’s voice comes to me. There are points on a person, Lizzie, that will kill them. Temple, armpit, liver, groin. Behind the ear.

  With a sudden shock of power, I bust my arm out of Bull Chest’s lock and hit him as hard as I can behind his ear. He yelps and loosens his grasp for one second, and I pull free. Scruffy Beard catches my leg. I yank it loose; the denim rips. I run like fire.

  Chapter 29

  Honolulu

  My heart beats fast. My teeth chatter. I run past Chinatown, trying to figure out where to stop. The Chinatown streets are lively even this late. So different from how it was during the quarantine. A gambling parlor is lit up with gaslight. One of the shops is open, its window crammed with dried sea horses, snakes, birds, crabs, live ducks, and green frogs. I keep running, terrified that the men are still following, though when I look back—no one. I’m dripping sweat, but the wind chills me. I just want to go home, but I have to warn Noah.

  I remember once he told me he lives in an alley off Kearny, but I have no idea where that is. All the street signs are in Chinese.

  My cap is gone. My hair has fallen down around my shoulders. No mistaking me for a boy now.

  I check my locket watch. Eleven-thirty. I only have a half hour! I need to ask someone for help. But who?

  I hope for a white man. But I feel more comfortable asking someone like Jing. I trust him more than anyone else, even Uncle Karl. A wave of guilt comes over me. What a thought!

  Still, it couldn’t be a white man, because a white man won’t be able to read the street signs. How many white men know Chinese?

  An old man with a short beard walks by. But he has a sour face. I can’t bring myself to ask him. A younger man watches from across the street. The way he looks at me makes me shudder.

  I pass by three other men, but none seem right. Where are the women?

  Then I spot a kid, maybe nine years old. He has a stick in his hand, and he’s running it along an iron railing. Rappity fump. Rappity fump. What’s he doing out so late?

  “Hey? Can I ask you something?”

  The boy turns. His eyes are watchful, but he doesn’t run away.

  “Look,” I say, “do you know a boy named Noah?”

  He whacks his stick against his pantaloons. He doesn’t answer, but I can tell he knows.

  “Could you take me to him?” I lower my voice. “I’m a friend of Six of Six.”

  A shock of surprise registers in his eyes. “Six of Six … you?”

  “Yes.”

  The boy frowns. “You look like a girl.”

  I shrug.

  “No girl could be a friend of Six of Six.”

  “How would I know about it otherwise?”

  He peers at me. “What’s Noah’s Chinese name?”

  “Choy.”

  The boy nods reluctantly. “Could go get him … maybe,” he mutters.

  He’s afraid to show a strange white girl where Noah lives. But we don’t have time, and I can’t stand out here by myself. What if those men come for me?

  “I want to go with you.”

  He shakes his head. I reach into my pocket and pull out a nickel.

  The boy inspects the nickel in the moonlight. He tests the weight in his palm, then slips it into his pocket. I follow him down a shadowy alley, which gets darker and darker. I put my hand out, feeling my way. The wall is grimy. I can barely see the boy. Where is he leading me?

  My panic rises as the dark presses in. In front of me a door squeaks, opening to a barely visible space. I grab the boy’s shirt. I can hardly breathe.

  And then—smoke. The smell is thick in my nostrils. Have they started? Are they burning Chinatown? Why did I come here? I’ll be burned alive.

  But no. Cigarettes. Only cigarettes. Tiny red circles of fire in the night. We’re walking by people smoking cigarettes. I let go of the boy’s shirt.

  We go left, down rickety metal stairs that creak from our weight. The banister sways, and I yank my hand back. The sound echoes in the stairwell.

  At the bottom, my feet hit hard dirt. I follow the boy behind a paper screen and through another doorway.

  Behind me footsteps. My heart thumps. I grab his shirt again. “Someone’s coming,” I whisper.

  “It’s next door.”

  We walk across an underground room, this one darker than the last. Something smells awful. I hold my breath for as long as I can, then gasp. My stomach clenches; food shoots up my throat. I barely manage to keep it down. A sick taste in my mouth.

  “What is that smell?” I whisper.

  “Never mind.”

  That’s when I remember the matches in my pocket. I strike one. In a flash I see the tiny, cluttered room. Tables and chairs are shoved on top of each other, and barrels are piled high. Each barrel is closed, except one has shoes.

  It’s not just shoes.

  It’s feet.

  A cry comes out of my throat before I can stop it.

  A body is rolled in the barrel. Another is stuffed into a burlap sack, just the knees visible. The match goes out.

  “They’re dead,” I whisper, striking another match.

  The boy doesn’t answer. My skin crawls. My mouth goes dry. “Are you sure this is the way to Noah?”

  “Yes. The safe way.”

  This is the safe way? I try to light another match, but my hand is shaking too hard. I keep walking.

  “I’m not supposed to be out. My father might see me if I take you the other way.”

  I follow even closer. Don’t leave me here.

  We’re walking up two sets of stairs to a courtyard. The boy heads for a skinny door—half the width of a normal one, two thirds the height. He knocks.

  No one answers.

  He knocks again. Please let this be Noah.

  The door cracks open. I nearly wet my pants. And then—Noah!

  His eyes are wide. “Lizzie, what—!”

  I hug him. I don’t want to let him go. The boy watches, his eyes flickering with fascination. Noah talks to him in Chinese. The boy answers back, his tone full of questions. Noah shakes his head, his voice definite. The boy disappears.

  “Noah, I heard they’re coming. They’re going to burn down Chinatown. Tonight at midnight. We have to get out of here. You and Jing need to come home.”

  Noah gasps. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he’s breathing hard as if he’s been running. He shakes his head. “I deserted them for the quarantine. I can’t do that again.”

  “But what’s the sense of staying and getting hurt?”

  “You warned me. Now go home, Lizzie. It isn’t safe here.” I follow him into a small room. There’s a barrel of rice with an abalone shell dipper, neat stacks of newspapers against one wall, and a rack of bright silk clothes against another.

  “If you don’t go, I won’t, either,” I say, though I sound braver than I feel. Part of me wants to help Noah. The other part doesn’t want to go back home alone.

  “Is Jing here?” I pray he is. He’ll keep me safe. He always has. Please let him be here.

  “He’s on his way back to your house,” Noah tells me as a furry orange tail thrashes out from behind a bolt of cloth.

  “Orange Tom!”

  Noah nods. “I tried to get him to go back. He wouldn’t.”

  “He likes you.”

  “Yes …” He takes my hand. “We’ve got to go.”

  “Where is your uncle Han?”

  “At a meeting of the Six Companies.”

  We take a different way back up to the mouth of Chinatown. Noah stops and knocks on doors as we go. He warns them in fast Chinese, his hands gesturing wildly. “Honolulu” is the only word I recognize. Soon boys are scurrying after us.

  “Noah,” I whisper, “why were there dead bodies in those barrels? That kid took me past them on the way to you.”

  Noah does a double take. “Shhh,” he whispers. “We aren’t allowed to talk about that.”
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  The boys following us are mostly Noah’s age. Six of Six, I’m guessing, though there are more than six.

  Word spreads through the streets. “Honolulu! Honolulu!” they all cry.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “They burned down Chinatown in Honolulu when there was a plague outbreak. Everybody was afraid this would happen here.”

  We’re running now. There seems to be a plan. They were expecting this.

  “Honolulu! Honolulu!”

  Some hold paper lanterns, kerosene lamps, candles. Boys are dressed in bright Chinese pants and blouses. They are in short pants and dark jackets. Others are all in black.

  In the distance we hear the sound of horses. The shouts of men. We see the flash of torches. There are hoots and hollers in the dark night, some twenty men on horseback and on foot.

  Are the men who attacked me out there? I grab Noah’s hand. Noah wraps his fingers around mine. He won’t let go.

  “Noah!” I shout, but he can’t hear me over the roar of the approaching mob. My arms tremble. My hands shake. I squeeze Noah’s hand as Papa’s words float through my head. Courage comes from your heart, not your fists.

  Noah stands in the road. One boy, his hand raised. My throat feels frozen. I stand next to him, my hand in his. Together we raise our linked hands. Soon the others fall in … a line of silent boys, hands raised in the night.

  The first of the mob sees us. Their torches are held high, burning bright.

  “Get out of the way!” someone shouts. Some horses have stopped; others keep trotting toward us. There are men on foot. There are men with knives.

  We are just a bunch of kids standing together in one wobbly line.

  We can’t fight them. We’re outnumbered. We have to outthink them.

  More men join the mob.

  My heart beats loudly in my head.

  “Hey, hey, excuse me. Move out of the way.” A brown horse gallops toward us. Juliet!

  I gasp. Those men caught her! They’ve come to get me.

  But the tall rider is Billy. Billy has Juliet!

  “Lizzie, what are you doing? Get out of there! Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” Billy shouts.

  “Get her out of here!” a big man in fisherman’s thigh-high boots shouts. Others join him.

  But I’m not leaving Noah. “Billy, help us!” I shout.

  Juliet is walking across the space between the Chinese and the mob. “Come on, Lizzie,” Billy says in the voice he uses to gentle a horse.

  I don’t move.

  “Get her out of here. We’re going to torch this place.”

  “They’re stealing our jobs.”

  “Send ’em back to China.”

  “Burn it! Burn it!” they shout.

  My mind freezes. We can’t stop them. I look at the glistening torches. And then suddenly in a rush it all makes sense. The monkey’s death, the feet in barrels.

  Papa and Uncle Karl are wrong. The plague is here. But everyone is hiding it. Is there a way to use that now?

  “It’s the plague,” I shout. “The monkey died. We know for sure. If you catch it, there’ll be nobody to protect the city.”

  “That ain’t true,” someone yells.

  “All the more reason to let it burn,” another man shouts.

  “Keep it from spreading.”

  “Burn it out!” they shout.

  “Why you in there? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick?” somebody else shouts.

  “If the plague’s here, burn it out!” a voice bellows from back in the crowd.

  “Burn it! Burn it!” Others take up the cry.

  “Lizzie!” Billy again.

  “You can’t burn it.” My voice is strong. “Ask the rich people. Ask them if the monkey died. Ask them what that means. You go in there, you’ll catch the plague. They won’t.”

  “Don’t make no sense,” someone else says. “Why’d you go in there if the plague is there?”

  “I’ve been immunized,” I say.

  “Immu-what?” someone asks.

  “It’s medicine. A shot so I don’t get the plague.”

  “That true?”

  “Yes!” I shout.

  “Can I get me one?” someone else calls.

  “How ’bout me?”

  “Me! Me!” The voices call from all around.

  The mob is breaking apart. Some want to be immunized. Others just want to see Chinatown burn. The men in the back hoot for burning, but some turn back.

  “The monkey’s dead. It means any of us could die. Don’t go in there,” I shout.

  “The monkey’s dead. The monkey’s dead.” We all pick up the call.

  “Anybody can die. Go in there, you’ll be next!” Billy’s voice booms over the rest.

  The small group in the back is moving forward, fire in their eyes. The leader on the small gray horse turns on them. “You immu-nozed? Any of you? You want to die?”

  “Ain’t going to die. Just burn the place. That’ll take care of it.”

  “The plague. You numskulls ever heard of it? Deadliest disease in the world.”

  The Chinese are on one side with me. The mob on the other. Billy and Juliet stand between us.

  “He’s right!” Billy says. “You catch it, you die.”

  “Hey, ain’t that the fighter we saw the other night?”

  “Billy!” somebody shouts. “It’s Billy!”

  Billy waves to them. “I’m the doctor’s son. I know. It’s dangerous to go in there. Don’t risk it.”

  “Got to get rid of it. How we going to do that?” somebody else shouts.

  “Go on, then,” the mob leader shouts. “You want to kill yourself … it ain’t a pretty way to go.”

  “Burn it down. We can’t catch nothing.”

  “It don’t work like that!”

  “Best thing is to go home.” I hear a familiar voice. Out of the darkness, Gus appears! He trots his gray mare to our side. Gus stands with us.

  “The rats!” Gus shouts. “Kill the rats! They spread the disease. That will get rid of it.”

  This is such a smart thing to say. True or not, it gives the mob something to do.

  “Kill the rats!” Billy takes up the cry.

  “Kill the rats!” we all shout. “The rats! The rats! The rats!”

  Chapter 30

  The Servants Vanish

  On the way home, I ride double behind Gus. Where exactly do I put my hands? How do I keep my legs from touching his? What if Aunt Hortense sees this? If there’s anything more improper than riding bareback on your own, it’s riding bareback behind a boy.

  “How’d you know I’d be there?” I ask him.

  “I’m starting to see how you operate.”

  It seems after what I’ve been through, the least of my worries should be riding behind Gus, but it’s practically all I think about the whole ride home. Being a girl is complicated. But it isn’t all bad, I have to admit.

  Noah rides behind Billy. Billy seems to know that Noah is Jing’s son. How?

  Gus lets me off in front of the gate. The fewer horses that clatter across the driveway, the better. Nobody wants to wake Aunt Hortense. Noah slips wordlessly up the back stairs. Billy and I put Juliet away.

  “Did you win?” I ask Billy, rubbing Juliet’s legs with liniment.

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I have another plan.”

  “For how to make the money?”

  “Yep.”

  “At least you don’t look like you got beat up too badly this time. How’d you know I’d be there, anyway?” I ask, checking Juliet’s water trough.

  “I came home and put John Henry away. I was just finishing when Juliet trotted up, no bridle, no saddle. I ran upstairs to see if you were there. When you weren’t, it wasn’t hard to figure out where you’d be. You are such an idiot. Don’t you realize how dangerous that was?”

  “How’d you know about Noah?”


  He smiles his most charming Billy smile as he tosses a flake of hay into Juliet’s manger. “I went up to see the kittens.”

  “You met him?”

  “I found the poem you wrote for him.”

  “But you didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Do I look like a squealer? Look.” He stops, brushing the hay out of his hair. “Keep this quiet, okay? There’s more to Aunt Hortense than you think. But she’ll never in a million years understand this.”

  “I know,” I say, closing Juliet’s stall door.

  Upstairs, I head for Maggy’s room like I used to right after Mama died. Maggy sits up in bed. “Miss Lizzie?”

  I curl up in her bed. She strokes my hair as I tell her everything that happened. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t understand it all. What matters is that she’s here and she accepts me just as I am. When I’m finished telling her the whole long story, she settles me into my own bed.

  In the kitchen the next morning, Jing is there, serving hotcakes. Our eyes watch each other. It’s only the two of us. But he knows I know, and that makes all the difference.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about Noah?”

  He nods as if he’s been expecting this question. He wipes his hands on a dish towel. “It wouldn’t have been fair.”

  “Fair?” I frown at him.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sweeting would not have liked it. If I had told you, it would have put you and your papa in an awkward position. Against your own flesh and blood. It was my secret; it seemed unfair to burden you with it.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.

  “I’m glad I got to meet him. Is he still here?”

  “Not for long.”

  I nod. “Jing? Somebody’s hiding the bodies of people who died of the plague in Chinatown, aren’t they?”

  He eyes me carefully. “It isn’t just Chinatown. They’re hiding them everywhere. Shipping them out on carts, on train cars, in cargo holds. Doctors are falsifying death certificates. Nobody wants to believe what’s happening.”

  “Why?”

  “Some are terrified. Others think it’s bad for business. There’s all kinds of finger-pointing and misinformation.”