Let Us Dream

by Alyssa Cole

  “Negro, you say?” The man didn’t hide his appraisal of Amir as he continued to squint at him, or his skepticism. “Huh.”

  I don’t want to go back. The panicked thought came out of nowhere, a sudden truth that bowled him over with the weight of it. He missed his neighborhood, his land, his people. But if he left he would miss the busy Harlem streets and the confusion that was America. He would miss Bertha.

  “That’s too bad,” the man said, then looked away. “I know men who pay good money to find out about places like that.”

  He took a lazy drag of his cigarette.

  Amir said nothing more, just turned and continued on his path toward the Cashmere. He used the key Bertha had given him for the back door and pulled it open, not looking back. As he passed through, he peeked through the crack left between the door and the wall by the hinges it turned on. The man was looking right at the open door, then turned and walked out of the alley.

  Amir released a breath and told himself it was just a coincidence. Wouldn’t an immigration agent have arrested him without preamble? The man had just been looking for a good time, and he’d find someone else to help him achieve that goal. He pulled the door closed hard behind him, making sure it was locked.

  “Amir?” Bertha’s voice called out.

  “Coming,” he replied. He tried to leave his paranoid thoughts and his disgust at his reaction, at the door. He had enough real life worries, like reminding himself that a dance was just a dance and Bertha was well out of his league.

  Bertha was behind the bar, looking through her ledger. Amir was stocking glasses he’d brought out from the kitchen. They’d practiced for a bit, his non-encounter with the man in the alley causing him to lose his train of thought a few times, and then they’d sat and talked. It had been comfortable; her on the couch with her legs tucked up under her, Amir beside her. The length of a cushion had separated them, and though he’d just been nearly pressed against her as he’d instructed her, he wondered if he’d ever be able to cross that gap on the sofa. It may as well have been the distance from his sleeping quarters in the bowels of the Kandahar to the officers’ quarters above.

  Then they’d gone downstairs, and his opening duties had brought him out to the bar and hers had brought her into the kitchen. Neither of them acknowledged the fact that the bartender would have stocked the glassware when he arrived or that Cora preferred doing the kitchen inventory herself. They’d done the same the previous day, and the day before that. They were performing a different kind of dance now, seeking each other out and then retreating, but he wasn’t sure she noticed. It could be that she just needed a friend; she had men after her all the time, and Amir wouldn’t be one of them.

  “What did men do for pleasure while out at sea?” she asked abruptly. She didn’t look up from her book and continued making notes as she moved her pencil down the column.

  Amir fumbled a glass and almost dropped it, catching it at the last moment. “Pardon?”

  She glanced at him. “I’m just wondering. What do men do, stuck out in the middle of the ocean with no woman around for a thousand miles? I’m sure some of them have no need for a woman and do quite fine for themselves, but what of the others?”

  “Is there anything in particular that prompted you to ask this?”

  “It’s just that you mentioned how long your journeys were when we spoke earlier. Every night, I see men acting like goddamned fools because there are women around that they might have sex with. I wondered what they do with that energy when there aren’t.”

  Amir placed a highball glass down on the shelf, carefully, and tried not to think about the word “sex.” Allah give him strength, he didn’t need to think of that any more than he already did when it came to Bertha.

  She looked at him innocently, but the very primness of her expression—brows raised, mouth a contemplative pout—tipped him off that she knew she was toying with him.

  “It depends. The officers did…officer things, I suppose. Sitting around, looking important while they smoked pipes.” Her lips twitched at that. “With the lascars, some men prayed a lot more. Some kept themselves busy with work. Some were too tired to do much of anything. I imagine they thought about sex a lot, and…relieved themselves when the opportunity arose.”

  “And you?” she was looking at her book once more, but he could feel her attention directed toward him. “How did you pass the time?”

  “When I wasn’t cooking or helping around the ship, I read in my bunk,” he said. “A lot.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He moved beside her to stock the water glasses and she turned and leaned on the bar, her body facing him.

  “Do you still read a lot?” she asked, a smile on her lips. She was flirting with him, and even though he knew it was a rote act for her it still made his heart pound in his chest like waves smashing against the hull of a ship.

  “I’m rather private about my reading habits,” he said, leaning his hip against the bar to mirror her stance. “So I’ll refrain from answering that.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The same two-syllable sound, but this time it came out low, almost a purr. Amir leaned toward her, not thinking but following the pull of the hum in her tone.

  A crash and a cry of pain from the kitchen made his heart lurch in a different way, and had them both spinning and jogging toward the door.

  “Cora?” Bertha called out as they entered, and then they saw her.

  She was hunched over, hand gripping the edge of the counter hard. Shards of glass were scattered around her feet, but he had a sinking feeling that the liquid on the ground had another source.

  “I think he got tired of kicking and wants to take the natural way out,” she said. Sweat beaded at her hairline and she pressed her lips closed against another shout.

  “I thought you weren’t due for another month,” Bertha said. Her body was tense, all trace of flirtatiousness gone. “You can’t have the baby now.”

  Cora shot her an annoyed look. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

  Amir touched Bertha’s arm.

  “Can you go ring an ambulance?” she nodded and rushed back toward her office. He knew she must have been terribly frightened because she didn’t push back against being given something resembling an order.

  Amir grabbed a pot and filled it with water. He placed it on the stove top, flame high, and dropped the heavy shears Cora used for kitchen work inside. Just in case.

  “Cora, I’m going to bring you out to the main room. We can have you lie in one of the booths until help arrives.”

  He placed an arm around her for support and she gripped his arm tightly. “Guess I won’t get to try that aloo stuff you promised me,” she said as they walked. She was trying to make light of things, but her voice shook and her eyes were bright with tears.

  “I’ll bring you some at the hospital. Surely it will be better than the food there.”

  She made a keening noise as they approached the closest booth. Amir pushed the table away and laid her down on the vinyl-covered seat.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna wait,” she said, eyes wide.

  Amir’s heart thumped hard. He was afraid, too—afraid for Cora and her baby—but he’d learned on the ship that in any given situation one person had to take charge, and this time it would be him.

  He grinned. “That’s right. He’s a go-getter. He’s not going to wait around for a bloody doctor to make his debut.”

  Cora tried to smile back, but faltered. “Back home, there was a woman who was the best at catchin’ babies. They said Miss Junie was a hundred years old and had caught a thousand babies at least. Even if the baby came out blue and quiet she could breathe life into ‘em.” She closed her eyes and tears streamed down her face and into her hair as pain gripped her again. “I should have never left. I want Miss Junie. I want Darryl.”

  Amir felt the panic rising in her; the same that was in him, but multiplied by all of Cora’s incalculable hopes and dreams for her child.

>   “Cora, look at me.” He heard the sound of Bertha’s return but kept his gaze on Cora.

  Cora opened her eyes.

  “You don’t know me so well, but you know Bertha. Do you think she would let anything happen to you and your baby in the Cashmere?”

  Cora’s chest rose and fell. “No. Not if she could help it.”

  “Exactly right. Nothing here happens without her say so.”

  He glanced up at Bertha then and didn’t have to guess at how the call had gone. Her expression was pinched but she inhaled deeply and drew her shoulders back before striding over. “Of course not. And I say this baby is gonna be fine. He’s gonna be perfect.”

  “Is the ambulance coming?” Cora asked.

  She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded. “It might be a while. There was an accident with a car and a trolley. They said it would be best if we could bring her in. Said labor usually lasts for hours.”

  She walked over and knelt beside Cora.

  “Do you think you can make it to the hospital?” she asked.

  Cora shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. This is my fi—AAAghh!” One hand gripped the wood running along top the booth and the other the cushion. “No. No, he’s coming now.”

  “Shit. Shit.” Bertha sat planted where she was.

  Amir tried to catch her gaze. “Bertha.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Bertha, love.” Her gaze finally flicked to him. “Can you please go get the hot water and the shears from off of the stove? And a stack of kitchen towels? And bring them here?”

  She let out a shaky breath. “You sound like you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ve heard the story of my birth from my father enough times. There was a heavy rain and he was too scared to leave my mother alone so he had to deliver me himself.” His father had always said it was his proudest achievement. It wasn’t until after his father had passed that he’d realized that his father had meant him, Amir, more than the birth itself.

  His stomach lurched at the enormity of what they were about to do, but then Cora cried out and there was no time for fear.

  Bertha nodded, galvanized by having a task to achieve, and headed for the kitchen.

  “I…have to check if the baby is coming,” Amir said. “We can wait for Bertha to get back.”

  Cora laughed around a grunt. “Miss Bertha like to pass out if she peeks under my skirt. Just look. I don’t care as long as this baby comes out safe.”

  He checked, not quite certain what he was looking for but sure it wasn’t there. “Not yet,” he said, wishing his father had gone into a bit more detail about the logistics of his delivery.

  Bertha returned with the requested items. After placing them on the table, she slid onto the bench so that Bertha’s head was in her lap. She wiped at Cora’s brow with a damp cloth, her face drawn with worry. Amir held Cora’s hand as she breathed through contractions, and they both offered her encouragement.

  “I’m gonna push,” she said eventually. Her eyes were wide with fear but there was determination in her grip on his hand. Amir looked at Bertha and she shook her head, so he moved down between Cora’s legs. He knew some people would think it shameful, but sordid thoughts were the last thing on his mind as the crown of the baby’s head became visible. Amir just stared for a moment, unable to move as he realized that there was no going back. Cora and her baby were depending on him.

  “Okay, breathe and push. I think,” he finally said, trying to keep his voice calm.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Bertha said, holding Cora’s hand. “Breathe and push. Push and breathe.”

  He was sure she had no idea what she was talking about either, but Cora needed guidance and she was providing it.

  It went on like that for who knows how long, Cora working, Bertha and Amir talking her through the pain. Finally—finally—the baby’s head and shoulders pushed through and Amir grabbed and pulled, wrapping the slick bundle in a towel. There was silence in the club, and Amir gently patted the baby’s back. It didn’t react for a tense moment, then he felt the baby’s chest expand against his wrist and a scream pierced the air.

  “Yes!” he shouted, leaning forward to pass Cora the bundle. “Alhamdulillah.”

  Praise God.

  He moved beside them, grabbing the shears. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the sweat, and when he looked at Bertha she was wiping her eyes. He quickly cut the cord and tied it. His father had emphasized that, at least.

  “It’s a girl,” Cora said, her voice hiccupping from her sobs.

  “She’s beautiful.” Bertha wiped at her cheeks. She looked at the baby and her eyes filled again. Amir’s heart was full of wonder and joy, surging in him like a river with no outlet, and he did the first thing that came to mind. He leaned in toward Bertha, and when her head swiveled in his direction he kissed her.

  It wasn’t a lustful kiss, simply a chaste press of mouth against mouth, but it hit him with a force that nearly stopped his lungs from working. Then Bertha leaned in closer, pressing harder as if she needed more from him. He gave it to her.

  The kiss deepened to something sweet and rough, just for an instant, and then she pulled away. Her gaze snared his and she let out an exhilarated trill, as if they’d just crossed the finish line at a race.

  That was it; they were sharing in a victory and nothing more. She looked back down at Cora, who was entranced with her little girl.

  “I’m going to go hail a cab,” Bertha said. “We should get you to the hospital.”

  “Darryl is at work,” she said. “Over at Baker’s.” Her husband stocked shelves at a local market.

  “I can go tell him to meet you,” Amir said. “I just need to wash up. “He was wiping his hands with a towel, his gaze traveling between Bertha and Cora and the baby.

  “Harlem Hospital,” Bertha said, and he nodded.

  He headed toward the water closet, the thrill of new life—and the feel of Bertha’s mouth—suffusing him with an emotion that made him sure he was glowing like an electric light.

  “I have a name for her,” Cora called out after him, and he turned to her. “Amira. Sounds nice, huh? I think Darryl will like that. Amira.”

  She looked down at her child again.

  “I’m partial to it,” he said, his voice thick.

  His hands shook as he washed them, and he stopped for a moment and gripped the edge of the sink as the terrifying wonder of all that had just passed fully struck him. Wonder wasn’t the only thing he was feeling; Bertha’s mouth had been warm, inviting, and he tried to push away the image that had lodged in his mind during their kiss and refused to budge. Bertha, sweat-damp and happy, holding a brown baby who had his eyes and her nose. Men weren’t supposed to imagine such things, na? Daydreams of babies and happiness were as naive as believing the streets in America were paved with gold and all people were welcome with open arms.

  Amir buried the flash of envy and jogged into the cold evening air to tell Darryl the good news.

  Chapter 7

  “Wait, Cora had her baby in this booth?”

  Janie and Wah Ming jumped out of the seat where they’d been lounging against one another with matching looks of disgust on their faces.

  “Ya’ll know you both came from your mama’s nethers, right?” Eve asked.

  “Well, Cora ain’t my mama,” Janie shot back, examining the back of her dress.

  Wah Ming’s face relaxed and she shrugged and settled back into the seat. “I’ve seen worse than childbirth happen in this booth, if we’re being honest. I’ve done worse, too.”

  She winked.

  Janie sighed and sat back down beside her.

  Bertha waited for them to settle down. “As you all know, Amir has taken over the cooking temporarily.”

  “Why temporary? The man can cook!”

  A burst of agreement broke out from the group.

  “I thought he was handsome, but after eating that fried chicken he
made last night, I’m wondering if he’s got a wife back home or if I can lock that down,” Janie said.

  Wah Ming nudged her.

  “What? I’ll share my chicken with you,” Janie said. “Maybe not the chicken. You can have some of the greens though.”

  Bertha felt the tickle of something unusual at the back of her neck. She didn’t like the idea of the girls discussing Amir’s matrimonial status or joking about changing it. She wasn’t jealous, though. And she certainly wasn’t thinking of how his mouth had felt against hers, or the happy shock that had gone through her when he kissed her. She hadn’t felt that way since her first kiss; behind a venue in Gary, Indiana with a boy who had come to the show three nights in a row and presented her with flowers the second two.

  She’d imagined Amir’s mouth against hers many times—many, many times—but her fantasies had leaned toward what she knew of men. Amir grabbing her by the arm and backing her against a wall, or some other louche situation. That his actual kiss had been so sweet and full of joy ruined the illusion. She couldn’t imagine that he’d kissed her driven by lust or some baser emotion. His mouth had been warm and firm and decisive, and he’d laughed against her lips like they had accomplished something together. She would’ve fallen into that kiss if Cora and Amira hadn’t been there, in need of immediate help. She almost had anyway.

  That was a problem.

  “Does anyone have a real question?” she asked. “Unrelated to Cora’s delivery?” Or Amir?

  A girl named Lucie raised her hand. She was a quiet one, though she did well with the men who liked to hear themselves talk.

  “Why does voting matter?” she asked. “I’m just thinking about how Du Bois and everyone got all hopped up over getting Wilson into the White House. Wilson talked a lot of stuff about making things better for us, about justice and kindness, and look! Things are worse than ever with him in office. More segregation. More injustice. Hell, forget Wilson; the suffragettes didn’t even want us at that parade of theirs.” Lucie caught her voice rising and sank down in her chair a bit, folding her hands in her lap. “It just seems like voting isn’t as hot as we’re making it out to be.”