Nora & Kettle

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  I don’t know why it matters, but I want to know why. What happened between them that led to this picture I see, where men spit on the ground and glare at each other with eyes of knives? What led to the murder of an innocent creature? A bait that Kin was always going to take. But I’m not going to get any answers. I can only watch the violence grow like an atomic bomb cloud.

  Kin’s shadow lengthens and his body shrinks as he moves further away. The man stands still, Tiger Lily in one hand, held high over his head, waiting for Kin to come to him. Other men flank him on either side. The idea of a fair fight blows away like dust and leaves.

  I rattle the fence again, this time without words. He’s going to throw everything away. My eyes dart to the guard, hoping he can intervene, but he puts his hands up like he’s surrendering to this group. I do see his fingers wrapping around the gun handle in its holster. I’m hoping he’ll only let it go so far.

  It’s then that I hear a tiny, “meow.”

  Kin freezes in his tracks. She’s still alive. Kin approaches the man more slowly now, his hands outstretched.

  The man shakes Tiger Lily hard, her legs flopping uselessly from side to side. “You want her? Come get her,” he sneers, cruelty shining in his eyes. The hatred is burning so high it’s singeing the clouds.

  Kin’s voice is calm, falsely serene when he says, “Just put her down. She’s done nothing to you, Ernie. Your problem is with me. With my… kind.” The words spin deceptively on his tongue. “The cat’s got nothing to do with it.”

  I cringe just like he does when he says “kind”.

  Ernie smiles, shrugs, and lets his arms fall to his sides, Tiger Lily’s hide still clutched in his brutish fingers. “You’re right; she ain’t got nuthin’ to do with this,” he says as he hurls the poor creature against the steel container behind him. She makes a horrible sound, it’s quick, and then she is nothing more than bones and fur.

  “No!” Kin shouts desperately. His hands outspread but empty for something to catch. For one tiny second, he’s unsure of whether to run to her crumpled body or to Ernie. My prayers go unanswered as he tips his head down and charges at Ernie, who’s braced, ready for the impact.

  Men shout and thump their fists on their knees, whooping and laughing as Kin hits Ernie with his shoulder and sends him flying backward into the container. The sound ripples out across the water.

  The group moves forward, their toes in the ring. They’re ready to step in for their mate as soon as things get dicey. I’m the only one who would help Kin, and I’m stranded on the other side of the fence.

  Ernie is winded for a moment and Kin turns his back to him, checking on Tiger Lily’s motionless form, her limbs stretched as if she were napping in the sunlight. Ernie scrambles up and lumbers toward Kin. I scream, “Turn around!” and then I start to climb.

  Rusted barbed wire, crusted with salt, hovers over my head forebodingly. I look up only once, wanting to keep my eyes on the fight below. Kin hears me and turns just as Ernie, who’s much shorter than Kin but very muscular and barrel-like, punches him in the side. Kin’s body lurches up, curving around that punch like a ‘C’ makes a horrible ‘ugh’ sound like his organs are being shuffled around inside him.

  I climb faster.

  The men close in, chanting Ernie’s name. I hear fleshy thumps and breath being knocked from lungs, but I can no longer see what’s happening. They’ve closed ranks around the pair, and dust and dirt flies up from within the circle as feet scud across the baked asphalt.

  I’m about halfway up when I hear the guard shout out, “That’s enough, boys. Back to work.” He claps his hands once. Some turn around, but most of them continue pumping their arms and shouting obscene things at the scrabbling pair. The guard unclips his pistol and aims it at the sky, firing once. The shouting suddenly stops, and the men turn to the guard. “Do you want to get kicked out or do you want your paycheck at the end of the day? Your choice,” he remarks grimly, the gun still poised near his chin.

  The circle widens. My eyes squint to see Kin, my feet pushed into the small holes of the fence losing their grip. I stretch my neck and look between the gaps in the bodies. I’m worried Kin really hurt Ernie. The last thing we need is to be labeled troublemakers and not be allowed back in. The men disperse slowly, and it takes me some time to find him. He’s lying on his arm, knees to his chest, blood covering his mouth and nose. He rolls over to his stomach and stays there, his face kind of pressed into the ground, just like Tiger Lily.

  Ernie walks casually between the containers, shrugging his shoulders as he talks to one of the other workers, who slaps him on the back and congratulates him on winning.

  I shake the fence and scream, “Kin! Get up!”

  He doesn’t move.

  ***

  I skid down the wire and go to the gate. The guard comes up to me, eyes indifferent. “Looks like a spot just opened up. You want in?” he asks, his eyes going to the other men, who have suddenly got more life in them and are hopping toward me like vultures.

  I nod vigorously. “Will you let me check on my friend?” I ask.

  The guard sighs. “You’ll do better than that. You need to carry him out of here. One for one.”

  He unlocks the padlock and lets me inside. I squeeze through the tiny gap and sprint toward Kin, whose chest is rising and falling to my relief.

  When I pull up to his knocked-around body, I’m surprised how angry I am with him. My foot is fighting against the urge to kick him in the ribs.

  I kneel down and roll him over so I can see his face. “What the hell, Kin? What’s wrong with you? Why would you do that?” I say angrily.

  He squints up at me, blood covering one eye. “She’s dead… isn’t she?” he asks with hope in his voice.

  “She’s gone,” I answer, my eyes briefly moving over the animal that’s lying against the red container.

  He pulls himself up with effort, grimacing when he has to bend his back to get to sitting. “Stupid cat,” he says. If he’s crying, I wouldn’t be able to tell, his whole face is plastered with blood and dirt. I help him to his feet. He only glances Tiger Lily’s way once, but I can tell it’s painful for him. He shudders as we walk-stumble toward the gate.

  Kin’s weight is difficult to carry on my own, and he’s hardly helping me. One leg seems to be dragging woodenly behind him. “Are you all right?” I whisper into his ear, talking through my teeth.

  “Fine,” he huffs. “Just sore. Shouldn’t have let him win.”

  I roll my eyes.

  The guard gives us a sympathetic look when we reach him. “Look, boys, I’m sorry that happened but you know, with the way you look, particularly, this one,” he points at Kin, “well, you can understand why they’d want to punch you.”

  Kin’s chin juts out as he says, “I’m a Nisei. I was born here. My parents were born here. I’m an American citizen. Same as you.”

  The guard turns to me like Kin didn’t even speak or maybe he’s expecting a similar declaration from me. He won’t get one. I’m not a Nisei. I don’t know what I am. I suspect I am nothing.

  The guard’s brown eyes are wide, his dark skin is not from too much time in the sun, but he is different to us. “You staying on, kid? I’ll see you get a full day’s pay. You can collect your friend’s wages for the work he did this morning.” This is the guard’s concession. He’s giving us more than most.

  I grip the gate with one hand, trying to support Kin’s leaning weight. “Err, I dunno,” I say, looking to Kin for answers.

  “Go,” Kin says. “We need the money.”

  “You sure?” I ask, very unsure myself.

  Kin straightens poorly. “I’ll be fine. Just put me on that rock over there and I’ll wait for you. It’s only a few more hours.”

  The need for money presses down, and I let Kin assure me. I force myself to believe him. “Okay.” I nod.

  I drag him to a rock and lean him against it and the guard lets me back into the yard,
despite the other men elbowing me out of the way. “Don’t go anywhere,” I warn through the fence.

  Kin laughs, holding his hands up. “Where am I going to go?”

  I leave him, leaning against a sand-colored, sharp-angled rock. He gives me a twisted smile through bruised lips.

  He’ll be fine, I tell myself.

  26. MEN

  KETTLE

  It’s difficult, but I manage to avoid the men when I return to the workstation. I keep my head down and do what is asked of me. They knock shoulders at the table, ticking their boxes and accepting their next tasks. If they brag, I close my ears to it. Nothing can be gained by starting another fight. I’m not proud like Kin. I’ve learned through the bars of a cot to the bars of a prison that pride gets you killed.

  I swing down from my next container and land steadily on my feet. The five-minute break bell rings and cigarette smoke instantly blooms from the open shed where everyone tends to gather. I make sure no one’s watching and sneak back to the front of the yard.

  In the shadow of a red container, Tiger Lily lies flat and bony. Her eyes are closed at least. I let out a deep sigh, glancing over to where Kin sits with his arms folded, chin on chest. He doesn’t look up when I quickly creep up to her, scoop the feathery body up, and slink through the shadows to the skeleton of the warship that never got built.

  The water laps at sludgy gray sand as I tiptoe across the ribs of a rotted jetty with Tiger Lily hanging limp from one hand. I try not to be disgusted by her body. She still feels warm but is most definitely dead. There is no beat inside her chest. I jump from the jetty onto the small beach and lay her down beside me, digging a shallow grave with my hands. I know it’ll get washed away, but it’s the best I can do.

  I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything. Placing her gently in the hole, I cover her with lumps of wet sand until she’s hidden. I don’t cry. I don’t really do that anymore. I don’t have the attachment Kin had to her. In all honesty, I found her to be an annoying inconvenience and thought Kin wasted his food on her. But I am sorry this happened. I shake my head as I stand, the water smoothing over her grave like it was never there. No one or thing deserves to die like that. The kind of cruelty Ernie showed today scares me, reminds me and warns me not to forget what men are capable of. And not even bad men. Just ordinary men.

  The bell sounds again and I run back to the dock to finish my shift.

  ***

  I wipe the sweat from my brow with the last clean thing I own, a small, square handkerchief. Looking down at the grease-smudged rag, I ache for a clean one. I need to go home. The men around me are similarly sledgehammered, dragging their feet over the hot asphalt, wheezing and coughing.

  I pat the cash in my pocket. It was worth it to finish out the day. Shoulder to shoulder, we all drag our sorry bodies to the entrance, the dark clouds overhead keeping the heat in like a plastic bag has been shoved over the city, but it also promises a summer storm. Looking up at the blackened buildings, I think the whole damn city could use a rinse.

  The gate opens, and we pour through. Most men continue up the road to the subway. I hold my breath as Ernie and his friends walk through. He sniffs and rubs his nose as he passes Kin but doesn’t try anything. When everyone’s cleared out, I crouch down to my sleeping friend and nudge him awake. He doesn’t react and I shake his arm, his head bobbing around stiffly. He snorts and suddenly, his eyes open. “Shit! You scared me,” he shouts, hands going to his face.

  I let out my anxiousness with a weird laugh. “Geez. You scared me too.” I offer my shoulder and help him to stand. He grips into my skin quite strongly and heaves himself up, leaning into me with almost all his weight. I grunt with exertion.

  “Sorry man, my leg’s gone to sleep or something.” He jerks the offending leg around, jiggling it to wake it up. After a few stretches, he places his weight on both feet and manages to stand. We walk toward the station slowly, dark clouds pulling together over our heads.

  By the time we get to the subway stairs, fat blobs of rain have started to plop on the sidewalk. Kin leans against the handrail for a moment, letting the rain cool and cleanse his red face.

  “Pool’s lucky manhole,” he says in a confused tone.

  I freeze next to him. “What?” My hand curls around the handrail and squeezes until my knuckles turn yellow.

  He shakes his head slowly, and his eyes roll around lazily. “Pool’s… I mean… rain’s, rain’s refreshing.” He smiles unconvincingly and then frowns.

  I pat his back. “Are you okay? That was pretty weird, Kin.” My voice is shaky, and I’m not doing a very good job of hiding my fear.

  His eyes clear, and he grins. “I think I’m just tired, Kettle. Stop worrying.” But there’s something in his expression that tells me he’s worried too. “Let’s just get home.”

  I offer him my shoulder again but he waves me off, determined to prove he’s fine as he limps down the stairs. He grunts and groans at every step until he gets down to the platform. Thankfully, a train pulls up straight away and we’re able to walk right on.

  Kin finds a seat and collapses into it, sighing loudly. I sit next him, clasp my hands together, and fumble with my fingers nervously. The air is humid, electric, like it knows something’s up.

  ***

  It’s past seven by the time we pull up to our stop. Kin snores next to me. The only other person in the car has moved further and further away from us as Kin’s behavior became weirder. He has shouted out, “fishing pole,” “razor,” and “cheese doodles,” so far.

  I rattle him when the car stops. He wakes drowsily, glances at me, and wobbles in his seat. “C’mon Kin, we have to get up or we’ll miss our stop.”

  He pushes himself out of his seat, lurches toward the door, and nearly falls onto the platform. I catch his arm, and we both stumble out the doors as they try to close on us.

  I drag him from the platform, each step heavier as we rise up and then back down toward our tunnel. People stare. He shouts, “Cave, land ho!” really loudly. The stares change to morbid fascination, and people part like the holy sea as we struggle down the last incline. It proves to be too difficult. I can’t support him any longer as he has become heavier and heavier in my arms. We skid and tumble down. Kin’s motion forces us both to one side of the tunnel where he juts his arms out, touches the stones, and then drags down to the floor. I crash down with him, quickly pulling myself up to kneeling. Kin curls into a ball on his side. He looks up at me and says, “I’m coming to dinner in five minutes.” And then his eyes roll back, his face goes slack, and he’s unconscious.

  “Kin,” I whisper, shaking his shoulder really gently because it feels like his head’s not attached to them right. “Kin. Kin. Kin.”

  I run a frustrated hand through my hair and look around for help. A crowd has gathered, but their backs are to me and they’re circling around something else.

  Kin is breathing, but there’s something wrong, I just know there’s something seriously wrong. “Help me!” I say hoarsely. When no one turns, I shout, “I need help over here!”

  Muttered concern, a woman gasping, a comforting hand goes to someone’s shoulder. Sounds and actions that are aimed somewhere else, about someone else. Kin and I lie in the shadows as footsteps thunder down the tunnel and a stretcher carried by two paramedics, flanked by another two policemen, enters the scene.

  I lift Kin’s head into my lap, a thin trail of blood dripping from one of his nostrils. “I need help!” I scream. “Please!” I beg. But no one is listening. Someone more important is hurting on the other side of that wall of people. We are the street kids, Kings of Nothing, Nowhereland. If we died right here in the subway, no one would notice.

  27. THE WAVE

  NORA

  Frankie gives me a distrustful look when I say it. So I say it again, trying to muster up some enthusiasm, “We’re going on a trip!” I say, straightening my neck and opening my eyes wide, which makes my head hurt worse. There
are two doubtful-looking Frankie’s dancing in front of me at the moment, and I’m scared I’m going to vomit again.

  The toast in front of me shines with a slick of sickening butter. I pick it up and nibble on the corner, the fat making my saliva glands force a bloody taste into my mouth. I clutch my stomach and threaten it to calm.

  Frankie places her delicate hand on my arm and says, “Don’t need ta lie to me. I’m eight years old now.” She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her chin up to the ceiling. The love I have for this girl wraps around me like a bandage. “I’ll run away weth you.”

  I grasp her neck and pull her to me. She squeezes my middle, and I gasp in pain. “Not so tight, Frankie.”

  She releases me suddenly. “I’m sawry, Nora. It’s my fault Deddy got mad.”

  Her pink lip quivers a little and her tangled, red hair falls in her eyes as she looks at the floor in shame. I place my finger under her chin and make her look at me. “Daddy may have had a right to be cross at you for wearing Mommy’s clothes without asking, but the way he shows his anger is never, ever okay. Do you understand, Frankie? He did something wrong, not you.”

  She nods, but I suspect she doesn’t believe me. “He wasn’t all—ways like dis. Deddy changed.”

  I try to think of a time in Frankie’s life when he wasn’t like this. But I can’t. And if I start looking for answers, picking things apart, I’m scared about where it ends, where the finger points the blame. So I agree with her and run a hand through her hair, getting stuck halfway because it’s crusted with her breakfast.

  “Frankie, can you go pack a small bag? Just clothes, socks, and underwear.” She screws up her nose at the mention of underwear, which makes me let out a labored chuckle. “Get your hearing aid and its special bag. I’ll get the spare batteries from downstairs.”

  Frankie grins and bounces around on the rug. Her sudden, jerky movements make me nauseous again, and I clutch my stomach. As she’s leaving to pack, I grab her arm and pull her back to me so she can hear me. It sends a wave of pain through my body, followed by hatred, hot and acidic.