I drank some more of that fiery liquor, and then I drank as a chaser a glass of plum wine, which was not nearly as sweet as I was hoping for. I thought I would be sick for a bit, and that was hilarious, so I stayed on the floor, laughing helplessly as Bai tried to put me in a chair.
At some point much later on that evening, she put a pair of scissors in my hand, and then a little while after that, I had a memory of her slapping me so hard that I landed on my rear on the floor. I had to think about whether I wanted to see a doctor or not. At the very least, a doctor would have given me a few doses of something pleasantly fizzy to get me through the night.
There were hands hauling me to my feet and a babble of voices raised in a clamor. Someone was saying that they had to talk to me. Someone, Bai most likely, wanted me gone. Someone else commented acidly on what kind of danger I posed to them, how it was something like me that was to blame for all the recent trouble.
“Oh I really am just a danger to myself instead of the individuals of my community,” I sang out. “Before I can answer your question, though, you must tell me what I’m posing for. I won’t do it for just anyone, you know. It has to be someone who can capture something new about me, something that no one here would have eyes to judge me for.”
“Goddammit, Khai,” someone else said, and I heard him sigh somewhere close to me.
“It’s fine, it’s fine, ah? I’ll take care of it.”
Then I was being lifted up with Khai’s shoulder under my arm.
“I’m going to take you home now,” he said patiently. “Tell me where you live.”
“Oh, I’ll just come home with you,” I said, momentarily forgetting myself. I thought home was on 41 Willow Street, and I certainly didn’t want to go there anymore. Too many dead people.
“You won’t like that,” he said, tilting his head away when I tried to press my face into his neck. “I’m sharing with Charlie and Wang. Tell me where you live.”
This time I remembered I lived on Park Avenue, and out on the street, where I was able to take my breath and hail a cab, I took several gulps of fresh air, feeling a little better.
“I can get home on my own,” I said, and he laughed a little at that.
“Doubt it.”
I pouted, but I wasn’t fond of late night city cabs without company, so I let him come with me all the way back to Park Avenue. On the ride home, I slumped against the window, letting the lights chase each other over my face.
“So who are you?” he asked finally.
“Jordan Baker,” I snapped. “I told Bai that already.”
“And you’re Vietnamese, right?”
“I’m from Louisville,” I sniffed. “But … yes. Before that, from Tonkin. I came back with a missionary, Eliza Baker.”
“She stole you?”
“She rescued me. From the village where she was missioning. The Chinese were right across the river, so she took me and ran all the way to where the carriage was waiting. She used an orange crate as my cradle on the ship back to New York.”
It was family legend, trotted out every Christmas while I lived in Louisville. I had grown quite immune to it with the judge and Mrs. Baker because the story was really about Eliza rather than about me, but when I told it to Khai, it stuck a little. It felt a little strange, a little bit shameful, though that could have been the bad alcohol.
“Were your parents dead?”
“They must have been. Otherwise why would she have taken me?”
The answer came back in Eliza’s sweet voice, worn thin and a little ragged from age in my mind.
You were my very favorite. Just the very best baby. I could not leave you, I could not bear it.