Half World

by Hiromi Goto

  Melanie gasped. “Is that me? Tonight?”

  “It may be.” Ms. Wei shrugged. “This must be part of a prophecy. But the prophecy must change all the time as life moves forward. The prophecy must be forced to change, but it also has the capacity to change the future. At least that is what Ms. Wei has come to understand. . . . ”

  “Ms. Wei”—Melanie gulped—“are you human?”

  Ms. Wei’s small dark eyes widened.

  Melanie held her breath. Had she insulted her only friend? Or had she discovered the secret of the monster who would now be forced to kill her?

  The old woman began to laugh. “Ba! Ha! Ha! Ha! Haaaaaaah!” she bellowed, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “Ahhh, Melanie. Ms. Wei wishes she was not trapped being a human mortal, but that is all we have. Some of the most ancient books on these shelves speak of a time that might have been. When we were not trapped as mortals in a world of suffering and hardship. A time when all living things died and went to different Realms. Many of the religions, now, echo this sentiment. Heaven and Hell. Nirvana. Paradise. Purgatory. Ms. Wei does not believe in these things. But a better cycle than the one we live in now, Ms. Wei hopes for this with all her spirit.”

  Melanie shook her head, her mind already moving toward the trek to the Cassiar Tunnel.

  Ms. Wei placed the ancient scrap of paper in the envelope and put it back into the file folder. She removed her white gloves and began bustling about the room, tossing items onto a chair: a black backpack, granola bars, matches, several black garbage bags, a pocketknife, a coil of rope, a bag of nuts and raisins. She ran downstairs and came back up carrying four small bottles of water.

  “What are you doing?” Melanie asked.

  “We need provisions. Where did Ms. Wei put that flashlight?”

  When the old woman’s use of “we” sank in, a warm smile lit up Melanie’s somber face like a beacon.

  Ms. Wei took another key from a clip on her trousers and opened a small wooden cabinet beside the bookshelf. “We need them now,” she muttered. She unwrapped some objects bundled in faded red silk and set them upon the table.

  One was a small white stone sculpture. It was so worn with age the details were indistinct, but Melanie thought it might be a cat. The second item was a smaller piece of green jade, an amulet tied to red string. Melanie thought it looked like a rat. Ms. Wei held the amulet up to the light and it twirled slowly. The jade was a deep imperial green, darker in the center and more transparent at the edges. The old woman tied the red string around Melanie’s neck and kissed her forehead as if bestowing a benediction.

  “Let Jade Rat bring Melanie luck and strength. Jade Rat has been in Ms. Wei’s family for more years than can be remembered. Ms. Wei gifts it to Melanie now. Carry hope and faith.” The old woman turned to the small cat sculpture. “White Cat!” Ms. Wei commanded. “Don’t let this old woman down!” She sniffed. “Cats are so self-centered,” she grumbled beneath her breath.

  “Now!” Ms. Wei said. “We are ready!”

  FOUR

  MS. WEI HAD the cab driver drop them off on the corner of Cassiar and Adanac streets.

  Melanie stared wide-eyed all about her.

  Adanac Street bisected the Tunnel from above. Melanie could feel the rumble of large trucks vibrating beneath her thin runners.

  “Be careful!” the cabbie called out before driving away.

  “Nice man,” Ms. Wei muttered approvingly.

  The sidewalk of the Adanac overpass was guarded only by a low double concrete wall. A strip of grass grew inside this barrier. There was nothing else. No mesh, no nets, no high fence. If someone fleeing along Adanac didn’t know any better, they could hop right over the ledge only to plummet twenty-five feet straight down onto the freeway. If the fall didn’t kill them, a vehicle roaring out of the mouth of the Cassiar Tunnel certainly would. . . .

  Melanie hopped awkwardly on top of the concrete wall and stood in the strip of grass. It was late. There were few vehicles. But when they rushed past, the noise and the lights were dizzying.

  There was no access to the freeway along the west side of the tunnels, only a sheer drop-off, a concrete wall. But along the east side, a long sloping bed of ivy led to the freeway below. Orange street lamps cast a strange glow upon the foliage. In the darkness of the night, the green space looked almost sinister.

  Melanie frowned. “How did you know we could get to the tunnels this way?” They were well out of their own neighborhood. How had the old woman known that this was the best spot? Doubt began to grow inside her chest.

  Ms. Wei was silent for several seconds. Then she let out a self-deprecatory noise. “Ahhh, Melanie. Ms. Wei was very sad after Nora Stein was killed. Ms. Wei even thought she should just end it all. But Ms. Wei is scared of heights. Ms. Wei doesn’t like water. So she thought she could jump off a lower bridge and get hit by a truck.” The old woman dragged her arm over her eyes. She laughed. “But Ms. Wei thought it would not be nice to cause a driver so much trouble! So she looked over this bridge, then went home. Hah!” The old woman extended her hand so that Melanie could help her up onto the concrete wall.

  They both stood on the ledge and looked over the side, at the roar of a delivery truck being swallowed by the tunnel.

  “I’m glad you didn’t jump,” Melanie said in a low voice.

  “Thank you,” Ms. Wei answered. “Ms. Wei is glad, also.”

  They scrambled over the corner of the concrete divider into the sloping ivy. The mesh of vines wrapped around their feet and they fell several times before they were finally at the bottom, sweaty, scratched, and breathless. They stood beside the freeway.

  The two holes of the Cassiar Tunnel yawned like open mouths.

  Ms. Wei turned to the young girl. “The glue man. He said the Cassiar Tunnel. Inside the tunnel. There are two of them. Which one do we enter?”

  Melanie bit her lip. Was it south? It had something to do with the sunny side. . . . “The west side!”

  They would have to cross the oncoming traffic in order to get to the west tunnel.

  The curve in the freeway made it impossible to know when the vehicles were approaching. And because it was a freeway the cars came so very quickly. It was like a game of Russian roulette. . . . After peering at the blind corner for several silent seconds, they clasped each other’s hands and made a dash for the thin strip of concrete that divided the freeway.

  A semitrailer roared by with a blast of horn. The vacuum of wind almost sucked them into the tunnel after it. Ms. Wei and Melanie grabbed hold of each other. “Careful,” Ms. Wei murmured mostly to herself. “Careful.”

  They stood, shivering, in the middle of the freeway, staring down the mouth of the second tunnel, looking for the traffic that would come bellowing out. Melanie felt like her heart would burst.

  The orange lights lining the roof of the tunnel were dirty with exhaust fumes. They could not see vehicles approaching. Melanie made a move to enter the Tunnel.

  Ms. Wei grabbed Melanie’s arm once more. “The glue man. He said to enter the fourth door, inside the Tunnel?”

  Melanie nodded. She remembered it because it rhymed. “Door four.”

  Ms. Wei, who always looked like nothing would deter her, shook her head worriedly. “Four is unlucky,” she muttered. “Four is dangerous. . . .”

  “Why, Ms. Wei?” Melanie asked in a small voice.

  “In Chinese and Japanese, four, shi, is the homonym for ‘death.’ . . .”

  Melanie gulped. “Four means death?” she asked in a quavering voice.

  Ms. Wei shook her head. “Homonyms are words that sound the same but have different meanings. But we avoid ‘four’ because of the way it sounds.” Ms. Wei sighed. “We must be careful. It does not bode well.”

  They cautiously approached the opening of the west tunnel. Just as they were entering the mouth, a white car whipped past them down the feeder ramp and slammed on its brakes. The tires squealed and Melanie shrieked.

  A blue
and red light began to spin around them before the siren came on.

  “The cops!” Ms. Wei hissed.

  Melanie, hysterically, began to giggle.

  A roar of a car engine accelerating backward. “Stop right there!” a male voice commanded.

  Ms. Wei pushed the backpack at the young girl, and she desperately thrust her arms through the loops.

  “Go!” Ms. Wei hissed. “Run!”

  Melanie ran into the exhaust-filled tunnel, beneath the orange glare of overhead lights, the jade amulet bouncing against her chest, the heavy pack jostling against her spine.

  “Halt!” the police officer demanded.

  “Ahhhhhhhh.”

  Melanie could hear Ms. Wei’s voice, but she didn’t sound like she normally did. She sounded like she was confused and frightened. Melanie cast a quick glance over her shoulder.

  The police officer had reached the old woman and she was holding on to his arm with a grip far stronger than her voice.

  “Police officer,” Ms. Wei wheedled. “Old woman lost. Old woman lost!” She began to wail.

  “You! Running down the tunnel! Stop!” The officer remained undeterred by Ms. Wei’s performance. The sound of tussling. Melanie began to sob.

  “Lucka, lucka, lucka,” she gasped, her breath jagged in the filthy air. Melanie coughed and coughed as if she might spew her lungs from her chest. She ran along the raised walkway, toward the emergency exits that lined the inside of the wall. The arched doors were made of heavy wood and looked like something that would house large animals. What if, she thought, there were beasts behind each door?

  She ran fearfully past the first door, for she could hear behind it a sound deeper and larger than the semitrailers that roared past her. She was running as fast as she could, but it felt like she covered hardly any ground. Melanie knew she should just keep going, but she couldn’t stop herself. Sobbing for air, she glanced fearfully over her shoulder.

  The police officer was forcing Ms. Wei into the back of his car. Her pale face glared at Melanie from the rear window. “Go!” she mouthed furiously.

  Melanie began to sprint.

  “Stop!” the cop bellowed down the tunnel. His voice echoed, resounded, and Melanie ran harder, passing DOORTWO, which uncannily reeked of lily of the valley. The heavy wood seemed to emanate a sickly sigh, and Melanie held her ragged breath as she stumbled past.

  She could hear the police officer’s footfalls, much faster than hers, and drawing closer. Two late-night delivery trucks roared by, whipping grit into the air, snapping her hair wildly.

  She wouldn’t make it. He would catch her. He would take her to Child Services. Her mother would die.

  Something slithered around Melanie’s neck. She would have shrieked if she had the air, but all she could do was continue running.

  Something clutched her hair and her ear. Something prickled with claws and whiskers.

  “Don’t give up, child,” a small, hoarse voice whispered into her ear. “I will do what I can.” A small weight leapt off her shoulder, and in a few seconds she heard the police officer bellow.

  “Holy shit!” he shouted. “A rat!”

  Melanie looked back.

  The cop was leaping about, trying to use his nightstick to smack at the dangling animal that clung to his sleeve.

  Melanie clamped her hand over her mouth. She watched in fascination and horror as the rodent leapt, scampered over the policeman’s head, and scrabbled down his back. The rat looked up and glared at Melanie. In the strange light of the tunnel its eyes seemed to glow green. “Flee!” the rat screeched, before crawling around the other side of the officer’s torso.

  Melanie redoubled her efforts.

  “This is your last w—” the officer started to bellow but ended in a scream as the rat clamped down on some tender part of his anatomy.

  Melanie ran even faster. Her heart pounded in time with her feet. White stars burst in her vision. She could scarcely breathe. She passed the door marked DOOR THREE, where a mound of clothes was humped against the wooden slats. She thought she saw an overblown hand, the skeletal remains of a foot. . . .

  The sharp report of a gun rang out, whining as it ricocheted. A second shot.

  The tunnel seemed to pick up the outer waves of the sound, and the air began to vibrate, like the inside of a bell. The noise expanded exponentially, and Melanie was rocked by the force.

  Then it was silent.

  Melanie’s steps slowed and finally pattered to a stop. The only sound in the tunnel was her tearing gasps for air, her shoulders heaving up and down with the effort.

  All the tiny hairs along her spine stood up.

  She looked back once more.

  The entire tunnel was empty.

  There was no cop. There was no rat. The circle of red and blue lights had stopped. The air was still.

  It was as if she were the last person left on earth.

  A car will pass, Melanie told herself, looking toward the opposite opening. A truck, something—the city never completely slept. There were always people. . . .

  The utter quiet was unbearable.

  Melanie’s legs gave out and she sank to her haunches. Her chin dropping to her chest, she covered her head with her arms.

  Make it go away, she thought. Make it go away.

  FIVE

  A NOISE. IT was a familiar sound, but she didn’t know where she’d heard it before.

  Rolling. Like a bowling ball, but not so heavy. It stopped. Then resumed for several seconds before stopping once more.

  The sound was coming from the opposite opening of the tunnel. The intermittent rolling was drawing nearer.

  Melanie wearily raised her head.

  At first she could not make sense of what she saw.

  She blinked and blinked, rubbing a dirty, weary palm across her eyelids before it sank in.

  The silhouette of a rotund animal pattered toward her, its rounded hump of body rocking a little from side to side. A raccoon. It was rolling something, zigzagging now and then, as the object sometimes seemed to go off to the side and stop. The animal chattered angrily when this happened, but it continued moving forward with great determination.

  It took several minutes for the raccoon to reach Melanie’s feet. The creature gave the round black ball a final annoyed push, and the object settled upon its flat bottom. There was a sound of sloshing liquid, then it stilled. The raccoon chittered with great feeling. It rose upon its hind legs and clasped Melanie’s jeans with a small, clawed paw, very much like a hand. The animal’s black eyes glittered inside its dark mask.

  “Is—” Melanie’s voice was a hoarse croak. She swallowed and tried again. “Is this for me?”

  The raccoon vigorously nodded its head. It dropped to all fours and began a rocking gallop back toward the entrance from where it had come.

  “Wait!” Melanie cried out, leaping to her feet. The echo of the word lingered inside the cavern of the tunnel.

  The raccoon loped away without a backward glance.

  Melanie stared at the black ball. It was smaller than a bowling ball, and it looked like it was made out of cheap plastic.

  She glanced up and down the tunnel. It was still completely empty and silent. She dropped back into a crouch and picked up the strange gift, turning the orb around in her hands.

  It was a large Magic 8 Ball toy. Black, the shiny luster was rather pebbled from its long passage. Who knew where the raccoon had first found it? Melanie had seen one before, in grade school. If you shook the ball while you asked a question, like “Will I pass the social studies chapter test?” then held the ball still, a message printed on an upside-down triangle would bob to the window, where it could be read. It wasn’t a real magic ball. There were twenty answers and they were set. General answers, like YES, DEFINITELY, ASK AGAIN LATER, and MY SOURCES SAY NO. A classmate had brought one to school. After a few hours of asking ridiculous questions like “Does Brandon love Kasumi?” everyone got bored with the same old answers. Melanie
had picked it up last. She wrote down all of the twenty answers. Ten were of the “yes” variety, five were of the uncertain type, and five were negative. The ball, Melanie had decided, had very little potential.

  “Don’t be so sure,” a small hoarse voice murmured.

  Melanie gasped, dropping the Magic 8 Ball. It rolled until it came to rest beside a large green rat.

  Melanie shuffled backward until she was pressed against the dirty tunnel wall. She looked about desperately for Ms. Wei, but the tunnel was empty except for her and the talking rat.

  The green rat heaved a sigh and began scrubbing its paws over its ears, twisting back to groom through the fur on its hindquarters.

  The red string tail looked vaguely familiar. . . . Melanie patted her chest with her hand, but the amulet was gone.

  “You’re the jade pendant Ms. Wei gave me!” Melanie actually pointed her finger at the green rat.

  The rat turned to face her and smacked one finely formed paw against its forehead. “Aiyaaaaa!” the rat exclaimed. “Have your fears completely overwhelmed your wits?” Its whiskers were completely vertical with indignation.

  “That’s not nice,” Melanie said reproachfully. “And of course I’m scared! Who wouldn’t be?”

  The rat sneezed so vehemently Melanie wondered if it wasn’t some kind of rat curse.

  “You’re as big as a guinea pig,” Melanie murmured wonderingly.

  “I beg your pardon,” the rat enunciated. “I’m Jade Rat and I’ll have you know that I’m a rat in the prime of her life. Albeit,” she added, “a life prolonged by stone.”

  “Holy crow!” Melanie breathed.

  Jade Rat smacked her forehead once more. “There’s no time to be ogling me like a creature in a circus! Haste, child! Go through the Gate! The tunnel will revert to its usual route at any moment! Aiyaaaaa!” The rat rudely crawled up Melanie’s leg atop her jeans without asking for permission, muttering crossly as she climbed higher. “Why could not the old woman waken me when it is a time of plenty! With crispy noodles and juicy chicken and purple grapes and sweet potatoes? When the Realms are interconnected and the cycles in motion?” The rat sat upon Melanie’s shoulder and slid its red string tail around her neck.