Chasing Down the Moon

by Carla Baku

  In the room where they had kept her, Ya Zhen did not need to put on a light. She went to the bed and set the knife on the floor. She rolled back the thin mattress. At the head of the bed, she found the small wrapped bundle, bound in a remnant of the clothes in which the granny woman had dressed her, years ago. She set the bundle by the knife, then stood and tore a long strip from the bedsheet. This she wound around her waist, creating a heavy, layered sash under her tunic. She stuck the bundle into this sash, picked up the knife, and left the room. In the hallway she hesitated, then went to Li Lau’s closed door. She put her ear to it before turning the knob. Inside, the smell of blood was a miasma.

  Even in the dark, she could see that Li Lau lay on the bed as she had died, her face turned to the window, bedclothes pulled to her knees and lying partway on the floor. Ya Zhen tucked the knife into her sash and went to the bed. She could not see Li Lau’s face, just the faintest suggestion of her features, a curve of cheek and brow. She pulled the top sheet away and tucked a long edge under the girl. She crossed Li Lau’s thin arms over her chest and rolled her face down, trying not to see the wide, dark stain underneath the body. Li Lau shifted heavily under Ya Zhen’s hands, like a rag doll filled with sand. Pulling the single chair to the bed, Ya Zhen sat and combed the girl’s hair through her fingers. When it was smooth, she plaited a snug braid and coiled it at the nape of Li Lau’s neck. She rolled the body twice more in the sheet, swaddled it as tightly as she could, and tucked the ends inside the wrapping. When she finished she thought Li Lau looked like an insect waiting to break out into a different sort of life. She rested her hand on top of the mound made by Li Lau’s hands.

  “Go and see your son,” she said, and left her there, far from home.

  She retraced her steps, moving silently. It seemed as if the entire sprawling hotel was empty, a dead husk, insubstantial as a dream that blows away on waking.

  As she reached for the front door, Clarence Salyer stepped from behind a parlor palm tree and put one hand around her throat.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He propelled her backward until she slammed against the wide banister. His thumb dug deeply into the underside of her jaw and his hand tightened, not yet strangling her, but making it hard to draw breath. “Waltz in and out of here like the Queen of Sheba? That’s what you thought?” His breath was all whiskey. He pushed his weight against her and the square frame of the newel post ground into her shoulder blades. He forced one knee between her thighs and pulled back a few inches to fumble at his fly. It gave her enough room to reach between his legs. With her left hand, she twisted his scrotum and clenched it with all her strength. One of his testicles gave way in a terrible silent burst. His upper body arched backward when he screamed.

  He was in such pain and the knife was so sharp, that for a brief moment he didn’t realize she had cut him. He took a shambling step backward, hands between his legs, and looked down at himself. The gash ran horizontally across his chest at a slight upward angle. His vest and shirt gaped open to reveal the long, pink mouth of skin and muscle that ran from armpit to armpit. Blood began to soak the front of his clothes and run onto his hands, still cupped around his wounded scrotum. It fell in dark splashes onto his shoes and the polished floor. When Salyer opened his mouth to scream again, his eyes rolled back to whites and his knees buckled. He went down on his face at the foot of the stairs.

  Ya Zhen stood looking at him for a moment. He didn’t move. She could see that he was breathing and that a pool of blood was inching out from under him. She looked at the knife in her hand. It was spotless. The handle balanced perfectly in her palm and its curved blade picked up a glimmer of light from the street. She tucked it through the heavy sash under her clothes and stepped out of Salyer’s for the last time. Outside, the wet night closed around her again. She waved her hands through the air, smiling at the way the fog swirled through her fingers. Then she wiped her damp hands on her trousers. On the walk back to the mercantile, she rested her right palm against the slender bundle of her mother’s chopsticks, and the knife.

  “When I first got here,” Mattie said, “she was standing behind Rose.” Her face was so devoid of color that her freckles looked like bits of wood ash stuck there. “But then Rose went running. When I turned around Ya Zhen was gone, too. I thought she’d gone upstairs, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”

  While Bai Lum and Reverend Huntington went to check the back storeroom doors, Lucy tore the broken flour sack into strips to bind Rose’s swollen wrist. The two men returned through the alcove. “The back was unlocked,” Charles said, “but it doesn’t look like anyone tried to get in that way.”

  “Not when they can waltz in through the front and take everything,” said Lucy, securing the ends of the makeshift bandage. “This will help with the swelling,” she told Rose.

  “We put up a barricade anyway,” Charles said. “They’ll have to come through the wall with an axe to get in back there now.”

  “I thought maybe I should go after her,” Mattie continued, seeming unable to stop telling the story. She twisted her hands in front of her as she spoke. “But I couldn’t leave Shu-Li alone, and then all the noise started down here.” She blinked slowly, like someone trying to recall a dream. “We went into the kitchen and hid in the broom closet. They were shouting and laughing, breaking things. I just…I didn’t know what they might do if they found us.”

  “You did exactly the right thing,” said Lucy. “If not for you, heaven knows what might have happened.”

  “We’ll go look for her,” said Reverend Huntington. “That is, I’ll go. The rest of you stay here, together. Stay here, stay safe, keep the door secured. Bai Lum, you’re going to need help sorting out this mess and packing some things.” He looked at the wreckage strewn everywhere. “I’m afraid it will have to be tonight, too.”

  “You’re saying it’s true,” Rose said. “What Mattie told me.” Her heart constricted; she found Bai Lum’s hand, and he wrapped his warm fingers around her cold ones. “They’ll try to send everyone away?”

  “It’s true.” Charles ran his hands through his wiry hair and told it all, told them what had happened at Centennial Hall, about the threats and the chanting of ‘no shelter.’ He faltered and looked away, cleared his throat and tried again. “The two ships will take everyone to San Francisco. They leave port tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Then we need to get the three of them out of here as quickly as we can,” said Lucy. “Bai Lum and Shu-Li, as well as Ya Zhen, if we can find her. We’ll load the wagon as well as the carriage and go north tonight.”

  Rose tightened her grip on Bai Lum’s hand. She wouldn’t say it now, not with everyone so apprehensive, but she was going with him. If she had to trail the wagon on foot with Hazel dogging her every step, she was going with him.

  “First things first,” Charles said. “I’m going to look for Ya Zhen. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Lucy and Mattie swept piles of broken glass, spilled coffee and dried beans that littered the floor. Shu-Li picked up larger detritus —unbroken mason jars, tin pie plates, gardening gloves— and piled it all together on the counter. As she moved around the room, weary confusion made her young face look years older. Bai Lum, who was moving intact inventory into the storeroom, had explained to the girl what was happening, and the color had fallen from her face at the words San Francisco. A bolt of fabric, silk the color of a ripe persimmon, lay spread across the floor like a red river, covered with footprints limned in dirt and spilled flour; Shu-Li lifted the nearly depleted bolt and stared morosely at its ruined length. The shelf that held the Four Flowers porcelains was overturned, and Rose could see chunks and shards of white and blue scattered everywhere in the mess.

  No one spoke.

  When Bai Lum came out and gathered another armful of cans and boxes, Rose followed him into the storeroom. There was a bit of light now, a single whale-oil lamp set on a high shelf. He had nearly filled a barrel with items from the fron
t of the store. She watched him fit the lid in place and rap it closed with a hammer. That done, he set the hammer aside and gathered her to him. Her wrist pulsed miserably, but the pain was tangible; it made perfect sense. This other pain, the fear of losing him, was also physical, but feral, deeper than the ache in her wrist, something that snarled behind her solar plexus. Out in the store, Mattie and Lucy conversed, their voices too low to understand. Bai Lum started to hum a tune, so quietly it was more vibration than sound, and it quieted a terrible voice that clamored in her head, howling What about me? She made herself stand there, not asking anything, trying not to want anything, perfectly still in the circle of his arms.

  “He’s back!” Mattie shouted.

  She and Lucy were struggling to drag the shelves away from the entrance. Bai Lum hurried over to help. When the door was clear, Reverend Huntington eased in and shut it behind him. He was alone.

  Hazel was home.

  When she had come downstairs at the Kendalls’ and found Prudence lying next to David on the table, as if they were tucked into bed for the night, she ran next door for Annabella Briggs. The two of them coaxed Prudence off the table —no small feat— and Annabella finally convinced Prudence to take the sedative the doctor had left for her. Once they’d gotten the poor woman into her bed, Annabella insisted that Hazel go home.

  “You’ve been here all day,” she said. “Daniel is at Centennial Hall right now, but I’m sure he’ll be home soon. Right next door if we need him.” She looked at David Kendall, the beautiful quilt tucked under his chin, and tears welled in her eyes. She went to him and tenderly covered his face, which now had the slack and stiffly-wilted aspect that is the honest countenance of the dead. “Heaven help us, Mrs. Cleary, I don’t know how we’ll all get through this night,” she said.

  “Nor I,” said Hazel.

  Now it seemed she couldn’t settle herself anywhere in the house. Rose had said she would bring the Chinese girls here with her, but there was no sign of them. God alone knew where Mattie was, and Hazel couldn’t bear to imagine. Things were much quieter out in the street, but this made her more nervous. If things were settling, where were her girls? She walked through the house, upstairs and down, put on the kettle and promptly boiled it dry, smoothed the antimacassars in the parlor, watered her houseplants, stood on the front porch, then the rear porch, and back inside to put the kettle on again. Standing near the stove, watching so that she wouldn’t forget the water a second time, there was the smallest sound at the kitchen door —at least, she thought it a sound— and she turned toward it, delighted, her heart and mind flooded with pleasure, absolutely certain that David Kendall was about to sweep in and dance her around the room. In the empty kitchen, with only the tickety whisper of the teakettle, he was here, and not here.

  “I couldn’t find a sign of her,” Reverend Huntington said. “I drove to the waterfront, then up and down every street for blocks and blocks—probably farther than she could ever have gotten on foot this quickly. I even drove past Salyer’s, and the place looks completely deserted. Not a light on anywhere.” He paused to pull out his pipe and light it. “I didn’t see Ya Zhen, but I did see Mayor Walsh and a couple of others that were with him at the hall earlier. Their vaunted committee. Daniel Briggs was there, too. I got him alone and—” He looked at Lucy and shook his head. “This isn’t good news, I’m afraid.”

  “Best tell it straight out, then,” she said quietly.

  “The coach trails, both north and south, have already been barricaded,” he said. “Come first light, teams of men are going out to beat the bushes. They know some of the men in Chinatown made a run for the woods already, and they are almighty determined that not a single one slips out of the net.” He looked first at Bai Lum, and then at Rose. “There will be no getting out of town. Even if we had left the minute shots were fired, there wouldn’t be a steamship, schooner, or dugout canoe we’d find amenable to letting three Chinese persons aboard to depart for ports unknown.” He was quiet for a moment, letting this news sink in. “What’s more,” he said finally, “they’ve compiled a roster. Every Chinese person in town, all they can think of, anyway, is on it. The laundrymen, chow slingers, truck gardeners, and tailors.” He looked at the torn kites dangling from the ceiling. “The storekeeper.”

  Rose felt mule-kicked. She went behind the counter, righted the stool and sank onto it.

  “There may be some Chinese living around here who aren’t on the list, but having a few previously-unknown extras on the boat won’t bother the powers that be. What they care about is making certain that those they do know about don’t disappear. Most of the hooligans we saw rousting folks here tonight were not authorized to do a thing, though I doubt they’ll be scolded, let alone held accountable. But Briggs says the committee has marshaled some fellows, tasked them with going place-to-place in teams tomorrow morning, to load goods and escort every living soul out of Chinatown and down to the ships.”

  “They’re going to blame everyone?” Lucy said. “Punish everyone and bully them out? That can’t be legal!”

  “There’s no stopping it,” he nearly shouted. He smoked furiously, and a wreath of smoke rose around his head. “I’m sorry for snapping, Lucy,” he said, “but right now, what’s legal isn’t worth a tinker’s damn in Eureka. The mayor is part of it. Nearly every man of means is conspiring, and the sheriff is willing to enforce. They’re pretending this is a reasonable solution, and you can be certain it is going to happen.” He put a hand on Bai Lum’s shoulder. “It’s happening.”

  They all stood in stunned silence. Finally, Bai Lum went to Shu-Li, who had been shadowing Lucy around the mercantile. He spoke to her quietly, and after a moment she nodded and left the room. “Some of her things were already packed,” he said. “I told her to pack everything else. If we have to leave,” he said, “then I need to prepare.”

  “I know it isn’t a consolation, Bai Lum, but I’ll get a couple of men together and store as much of your stock at the church as possible. When you get settled, wherever that might be, we’ll ship it to you.”

  Someone tried to open the door and they all jumped. Bai Lum moved to the window and pulled the shade aside with one finger.

  “Help me with this,” he said, pulling at the furniture blockade. “It’s Ya Zhen.”

  Mattie took a convulsive breath and covered her face with her hands.

  They wrestled the door open and Lucy grabbed hold of her. “Child, where have you been?” She hustled Ya Zhen inside and looked her over head to toe. “You are wet to the skin and no wrap at all.”

  “You’re here,” Mattie said. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She put her arms around her friend and began to sob; all of them saw Ya Zhen stiffen in the embrace

  Lucy took Mattie by the shoulders. “She’s all right, darling, you see? Safe with us. Run upstairs and find her a blanket? Let’s get her warmed. Tell Shu-Li.”

  Mattie nodded and went on the run, swiping at tears with her bandaged hand, the wrapping now frayed and gray at the edges. She returned, Shu-Li right behind her, with a soft-looking brown blanket. The two of them draped it over Ya Zhen’s shoulders.

  “Now,” Lucy said, fussing with the blanket and pulling it snug under Ya Zhen’s chin. She cocked her head bemusedly. “Where were you? We were so worried.”

  Ya Zhen wore the same settled expression Rose had seen earlier, her face now damp and shiny. “For the journey,” she said. She slipped a hand under her shirt and pulled out a lumpy bundle wrapped in rough homespun. “I needed my things.”

  “Do you have everything now?” Lucy asked. “If you disappear again, it may kill us all.”

  “Yes, everything.” She tucked the bundle back under her clothes.

  “Now that we’re all accounted for, we’d better decide how to proceed,” said Charles.

  “Of course,” said Rose. “Another plan. Planning and plotting all day, and here we are.”

  Lucy looked astonished. “True enough, she said, approaching Rose o
n the opposite side of the counter. “Nevertheless.” In the low light, her face almost seemed to float above her black dress. “Morning will come whether we like it or not. We can rend our clothes and sit here in the ashes like Job, but it won’t stop the clock.” She leaned close so that they were almost face-to-face, and no one else could hear. “I can only imagine how much this breaks your heart,” she said. “I wish—” her voice faltered and she had to start again. “I’m going to tell you something true: the loss you’re feeling, the pain…well, the fact remains that you still have your home here, your aunt. Your friends.” Her voice was soft, placatory. “Rose, you’re one of the bravest people I know, but for the next few hours, just putting one foot in front of the other is going to take everything in us,” she said. “Everything. Can you endure it?”

  Rose rested her head on the countertop and swallowed a cry that wanted to fly forward on a wave of rage. She was losing him, losing him in the morning. How was she supposed to act? She felt capsized by the desire to strike someone, anyone, to wreak some sort of punishment. In her mind’s eye Garland Tupper —as good a one to blame as any, wasn’t he?— was on the gallows, swinging at the end of the noose, his face black, eyes and tongue protruding. She clenched a fist until her bruised and swollen wrist sent a jolt up her arm. The pain brought some focus.