by H. P. Wood
“What is this shouting?” An angry thumping comes down the stairs. Timur appears, even grumpier than usual. “How can man think with this caterwauling?”
“Sorry, Doc,” Zeph says. “We just… We found this woman. She’s real sick, and we just need to get down to Twelfth Street and buy her some medicine is all. Sorry for the noise.”
“Medicine! What for?”
Even Zeph, accustomed to Timur’s strange ways, is caught off guard by this question. “What for? We got ourselves this little epidemic in town? You remember, them boys come to burn down the building on account of—”
“So? You have sickness, you make real medicine, not some rubbish from Twelfth Street.”
“Well, but—”
“I’m sorry,” Nazan says. “Doctor Timur, pardon me. Do you know about medicine too?”
Timur swats at the air with his hand, as though Nazan’s question were a mosquito he’d sorely love to kill. “You electrify silver in a solution, you get medicine. Is nothing.” He turns back to Zeph. “I need message delivered to telegraph office. Is important. You go now.”
Spencer says, “Hold on, hold on. Silver? That would never work, would it?”
“And exactly what do you know, idiot? It worked for Romans, and they ruled world for a thousand years. Which is more than inbreds like you can say.”
Nazan looks at Zeph. “Do you think?”
He shrugs. “I seen this man do stranger things.”
Spencer frowns skeptically. “If you want medicine, Miss Nazan, you see a doctor—not some attic-bound lunatic. I will go to Twelfth Street for you.”
“Telegram!” Timur barks.
“Yes, and I shall take care of your telegram.”
“You don’t mind?” Zeph asks.
“It’s no trouble. Miss Nazan?” Spencer offers his elbow. “Care for a stroll?”
She shakes her head. “I should stay here and look after her.”
Spencer glances from Nazan to Zeph and back. “Yes, of course.” He approaches Timur, his hand extended to take the telegram.
Zeph eyes his boss carefully. “Okay with you, Doc, if Spencer takes it?”
Timur’s lip curls a bit, but he swats the air again and thrusts a coffee-stained piece of paper at Spencer. “Here is message. Make sure you tell that the delivery boy must wait at address for reply.” He turns to head upstairs.
“Ah, sir?” Spencer asks. “You probably meant to give me the money to pay for this?”
Timur doesn’t even turn around. “Your father is burning the goddamned city. You pay for telegram.” The old doctor stomps back up to the attic.
Spencer smiles. “He’s really warming up to me. All right, I’ll be off. But, Nazan, do you mind?” He gestures toward the door. “Could we speak outside for just one moment before I go?”
“I should probably stay and help—” Nazan looks at Zeph.
“Go on,” Zeph says. “We’ll get her upstairs when you’re done.”
Nazan nods, and she and Spencer step out into the hazy afternoon sun. “What is it, Spencer?”
He takes a deep breath. “I want to say… I’m not even sure how to put this… All right, here goes: if there had been a vote—there wasn’t—but if there had been a vote about whether the Committee should take Mrs. Hayward, I would have voted no. If there had been a vote about hiding information about the Cough, or about the quarantine, or…all of it. I would have voted no.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Do you truly? Because you act as though I’m—”
“Zeph told me how you stuck up for him. And how you tried to help Rosalind.”
Relieved, Spencer takes her hand in his. “So you understand.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. You’re a very confusing person.” But she smiles. “I need to go help Zeph with Mrs. Hayward. But I’ll see you when you get back. We’ll talk then?”
He kisses her hand. “Until then.”
• • •
A young woman with a handkerchief tied around her face exits an office building on Surf Avenue. In her arms is a large box packed with file folders, and she struggles a bit to get herself and the box out of the door before it closes behind her. To her rescue comes an older gentleman with a cravat and a shark’s smile.
“Here, let me help you,” he says, and he holds the door open for her.
“Thank you, sir,” she says, her voice muted by the handkerchief.
“Pray, is this building home to the Dreamland Consortium?”
“Yes,” she says, “but there’s no one in.”
“Oh no?”
“They just sent me over here to get some files.”
“Is that so?”
She nods. “I didn’t want to come out here, with the Cough and all. But I’m low on the totem pole, so…”
“Tsk tsk,” says the old man sympathetically. “What a terrible thing to do to you.”
“Yes! Yes, I agree.” She giggles. “Don’t tell my boss I said so.”
He grins. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Although I do, as it happens, have business with your boss. Senator Reynolds? Any thoughts on how I might reach him?”
“Humph. He’s packed up and left for Newport. Decided to spend the summer there, away from the Cough. Nice life, huh?”
“Indeed. Left you with the cleanup, has he?”
“I don’t even get to go! I have to take these files over to Dreamland.”
“My dear, how fortuitous. Allow me to hail us a taxi, and I’ll see you there.”
“Ah, I don’t know… I’m supposed to just—”
“I won’t hear of it. You shouldn’t be alone; it’s too dangerous. Besides, I have information I know will be of great interest to the senator. I’ve no doubt he’ll be very pleased with you for having brought me to him.”
The young lady laughs. “You’ll have to excuse me, sir, but there’s very little that pleases the senator these days. I can’t imagine how—”
“My information relates to the whereabouts of his son.”
Her eyes go wide. “Spencer?”
“The very same.”
“Well, but—”
“Did the young man not go missing the night of the quarantine?”
“Yes, but—”
“Would his father not be pleased to have information as to his whereabouts?”
“Well, I—”
“Come along now. Let’s get that taxi.” Archie pulls the carnation from his lapel and presents it to her. “You can trust me.”
Chapter 37
The Monster
Kitty paces in a circle in front of the door to the observation suite while seagulls squawk and fight just offshore. Her hospital-issued skirt makes a quiet swishing sound as she stomps back and forth in the sand, flattening the beach grass over and over again.
P-Ray’s cough spiraled quickly into full-blown illness—his little body wracked with fever, his neck sprouting black lumps. She’d gone to the fence and shouted to anyone and no one that they needed a doctor, please, right now, please. But the hours crept by with no response.
The head nurse’s words thundered in her ears. It’ll be Swinburne for both of you. If it were up to me, you’d be there already.
Kitty raced down to the water to wet a washcloth and soothe P-Ray’s feverish head, but it didn’t seem to matter. The boy lay curled on the cot, sweating and shivering and weeping. She tried to read to him, but she couldn’t focus on the words. She tried to sing to him, but her voice cracked. She couldn’t even hold him—the slightest touch seemed to send waves of pain across his body. There was nothing Kitty could do but watch. When she couldn’t bear that any longer, she’d gone outside to pace in circles.
If it were up to me, you’d be there already. Both of you.
Enzo calls out from the other side of
the fence. “Signorina! I am here! Signorina, come closer.”
Kitty does not stop pacing. She does not even look up. “Climb the fence if you want to be closer.”
“I cannot. They are watching.” He gestures at a guard standing not fifty yards away, his eyes locked on Enzo. There will be no more casual, fence-jumping visits, not now that plague has come to the observation suite.
Kitty keeps pacing. “So? What did they say?”
“Please come closer, so I no holler.”
“I’m not leaving him. What did they say?”
Enzo frowns at having to not merely deliver bad news but shout it. “The doctor, he is not coming.”
“Why?”
“Why ask what you already know? They say they cannot help him.”
“Won’t. Won’t help him.”
“There are many other children sick, signorina.”
She stamps her foot. “I bloody well know that, don’t I? One of them gave it to him!”
Enzo sighs and says, “Sì.” But he does not sound so sure.
“He did not give it to them, Enzo. They gave it to him! He was fine until we got here. And now those children—those light-skinned children, English-speaking children—they get to see the doctors, don’t they? Don’t they?” Enzo looks away, but his silence only feeds her fury. “Of course they do. Of course! They get doctors and medicine, but what does P-Ray get? A mildew-covered blanket. A rag and some seawater to cool his fever. And a waiting oven when he’s yielded up the ghost. And you! You stand there staring at me like a beaten dog. Are you up there fighting for him? Are you arguing against this slow execution? No! No, with you it’s ‘sì, signorina,’ ‘no, signorina.’ Won’t even climb the fence now, because you’re afraid of some guard!”
“I climb this fence, I no allowed back in the main building.”
“And what a shame that would be—losing your comfortable bed in the dormitory.”
He slams on the fence with both hands. “No dormitory, no boat!” He glances back to see if the guard might have overheard, but the guard looks distracted by the seagulls. “I try to finish boat, get us away from here! And sì, I argue for him! I love il ragazzo like a son. How dare you say this? I try everything I can think. But they no listen! Can you no see? To their eyes, I am monster too!”
Kitty stares at Enzo, the left half of his face purple and leathery, drooping just slightly lower than the right. Of course. She takes a few contrite steps toward the fence. “I’m sorry, Mr. Enzo. I don’t even see your scars anymore, now that we’re friends. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
He sighs. “You are upset, I know. But remember not everyone glide across the world so easy like you.”
Kitty goes the rest of the way to the fence. Her eyes are wet. “Does this look easy?” She gestures at her hospital uniform, the observation suite, everything.
He smiles a little. “No. But I do think…I think some of the people, like you, they…walk a path with fewer rocks. They expect differently.”
“Should I just accept this from the doctors? Should I just…what, shrug?”
“No,” he replies. “You rage. You rage, signorina. Just maybe you no rage at me, okay?”
She nods. “I promise.” She hugs herself and looks down at her boots. “I’m just so frightened. The past few days have been difficult but…it’s been me and him. Together. Do you know what I mean? But now…anytime I step back in that cabin, I might discover I’m alone.”
“Aww, il scugnizzo, he’s tough one. You also are tough one, I think. And like they say, I am monster. So.”
Kitty reaches out, linking fingers with him through the fence. “Noble monster. Please finish our boat.”
Chapter 38
Bells
First, Spencer takes care of Timur’s urgent, nonsensical telegram. His steps are lighter due to his brief conversation with Nazan. Things were looking precarious for a bit, but now… Spencer smiles. Everything is going to work out after all.
That the telegraph office is open at all is a surprise. Nothing else seems to be. Storefronts have been repurposed for other, more pressing needs. The sign for Ira’s Incredible Ice Cream is covered with a piece of cardboard announcing XTIAN Baptism, 7:00 p.m. Saved & Sinners All Welcome. What had been the Coney Island Souvenir Emporium advertises Spiritual Cures and Prayers, His Holy Shree Harjeet Sundaravadhanam. The Mystic Is In.
He stops short in front of another sign—an ornately painted human palm floating in a starry night sky, the constellations drawn to resemble the zodiac. Tibetan Priestess Yeshi Rinpoche, says the flowery script. Palm Readings and Spiritual Consultation. And then underneath, in fresh, wet paint: Traditional Tibetan Burial Services.
“Tibetan burial services!” Spencer scoffs. “Nothing but rocky slopes in Tibet—they can’t even dig holes there.” He shakes his head. “The con men in this town need to read a book once in a while.”
As he walks on, Spencer can hear the ocean. He shudders.
The sea is normally drowned out by the carousels and roller coasters and general pandemonium. The crashing waves, so comforting when lying on the beach with a good book or a pretty girl, seem ominous now. A hungry tide creeping up to swallow the world.
A woman’s sobs drift down from an open apartment window. Her voice is hoarse. She’s wept as much as she can but not enough. He thinks of his brother, of his friends from school. Did they get out in time? Or are they gone forever?
Along the street comes the clip-clop of distraction. Spencer recognizes the tinkling bells of Children’s Delight—a portable four-seater carousel pulled along by a fine white horse. The Children’s Delight was such a part of his childhood; he and Charlie used to search for it on every family visit to Coney. What a relief that some things never change.
And yet.
A young girl with pigtails, no more than ten years old, sits atop the cart. It is packed with corpses. Bodies stacked four and five deep, from the base of the cart to the saddles of the ponies, mouths gaping, arms and legs flopping off the edges of the wagon. Flies hover over dead eyes searching the sky.
Spencer approaches. “Excuse me, are you… What is… Good God, child, what are you doing?”
She holds up her hand. “Don’t get close. I got it.”
“You have what?”
“The Cough, stupid. You got a body?”
“What?”
“Tell me the address, I’ll go ’round the back, and you can put it on.”
“No, I… You’re a little girl! Why are you doing this?”
“This here is Daddy’s cart, but he died yesterday. This morning, Mama died too. I got a baby brother at home. I didn’t want him playin’ around no bodies, so I put Mama and Daddy on the cart. They’re down at the bottom of the pile—you can’t see, but they’s there. I was drivin’ Bess—she’s my horse here, this is Bess. You say hi to Bess now.” Spencer just stares, which annoys the girl. “I says, say hi, dammit!”
“Uh…hi, Bessie.”
“It’s Bess. Bessie’s a cow’s name, stupid.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway, so I was taking Mama and Daddy down to the beach. Figured I’d bury ’em in the sand? Me and my brother, we bury all kinda stuff in the sand. So I thought I’d take Mama and Daddy there. But this old lady stops me, see? She says, you got bodies—you collecting bodies? Whole family next door to her—mother, father, granny, two kids. All of ’em gone. Boy, they smell something fierce. But she gives me some rock candy, so I take ’em. Farther I go, more bodies I get. Don’t care what people give me, you know—I got candy, few nickels, cinnamon bun. But…” She gazes at her cargo regretfully. “Sure a lotta diggin’ to do.”
Suddenly she’s overcome by a violent cough that nearly knocks her off her perch. But she steadies herself, spits blood at the sidewalk, and squints at Spencer. “Mister, you wanna help me dig?”
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry…I can’t. I’m going to the doctor’s. Hey, why don’t you come with me? We can get you some medicine. My treat. What do you say?”
“Aww, I don’t know. Mama always tellin’ me don’t go nowhere with strangers.”
“Of course, yes, that’s wise. But… Look, my name is Spencer.” He gives an awkward little bow. “Now we aren’t strangers. Right? Come with me to the doctor.”
“Nah, I gotta go. Got a lotta diggin’.” She thwacks Bess with the reins. “See ya, mister.”
The Children’s Delight clip-clops away toward the sea. Spencer can only watch her go.
• • •
Outside Luna Park, there’s a line of Unusuals, patiently waiting for…something. In the middle of the line, Spencer sees Whitey Lovett with other residents of Lilliputia. “Afternoon, Chief,” Spencer says. “Ladies, gents…” The little people ignore him, but Spencer pauses beside them anyway. “Whitey, what’s the line for?”
“Na-Na Xiou. She’s a healer.”
“Whitey, not you too.”
Whitey suppresses a cough. “Let’s just say I’ve felt better.”
The tiny woman beside him pats Whitey’s arm. “You’ll be all right. Na-Na will fix you up.”
“Look,” Spencer says, “why don’t you come with me to an actual doctor? Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll take care of it.”
Whitey frowns. “Na-Na Xiou is an actual doctor. Just because Chinese medicine didn’t come from Harvard doesn’t mean—”
“All right, I’m sure it’s wonderful. But, Whitey, this is Surf Avenue! Last week, we were selling penny postcards. Now it’s plague cures?”
“What do you know?” sneers Whitey’s companion. “What have you Dozens ever done for us? Fleeing off to your summer houses and leaving us to die.”
“Miss, as you can see, I haven’t—”
She stomps her tiny boot in rage. “I don’t care, I don’t care! Go away. You aren’t wanted.”
“Whitey, come on…” But Whitey looks away.