We rushed out. The closer we approached the river, the thicker the fumes grew. The street seemed to be rising, slithering with rickshaw pullers, people in long robes, and Europeans in their suits, fleeing in all directions. A tank with the Japanese flag was grinding bikes, rickshaws, and automobiles underneath. Black smoke, rolling with swarms of sparks, billowed; the air, pierced with the shrill alarms of wrecked cars, gunshots, and shrieks, spluttered. The sky, a fiery furnace, exploded.
My car stalled, surrounded by hysterical people and overturned vehicles. It was too dangerous to go farther, and anyway, Ernest had no reason to go near the river. I was just thinking about turning around when something dropped from the sky and slammed against the roof of a black Chevrolet ahead of me. A bone-shattering sound; the car jolted. And I saw on the Chevrolet’s roof a face—Ernest’s face.
I flung open the door and ran toward him.
“Ernest!” Through the billowy smoke, I saw him roll off the car and onto the ground and disappear among the frantic crowd. I pushed forward, dodging another Chevrolet crashing into a Packard, where a man in flames tumbled out with suitcases.
“Ernest! Ernest!”
He was gone. There was no sight of him. A thunderous explosion set off around me. A coil of metal, hot oil, glass, shards, and severed limbs shot in the air. The ground shuddered; gasoline, smoke, and fire unfurled in the air, rumbling like a black train. A sharp pain stabbed my neck; something wet and sticky was trickling down my dress. My eyes stung, my throat burned, and strangely, I heard no screams or gunshots; a wave of voiceless sound had filled my ears instead, as if I were underwater while the world burned in a silent heap. It was mercifully peaceful.
I stumbled, limped, searched among the running figures. Now and then I grabbed some shoulders to see if they were Ernest. They were not. They were saying something, their mouths open, tears running down their smoke-smudged faces, but I heard no voices. With all my strength I gave a loud yell of Ernest’s name, and then magically, the wave in my ears receded and I heard something.
It was pouring generously like wine into a glass, and it smelled pungent and felt warm.
Gasoline.
A Buick screeched beside me. The door swung open; inside sat Cheng. “I’ve been looking for you. Get in!”
“The gasoline is leaking. I need to find him.” I was hot. So hot. My face. My back. My legs and arms. The heat, the awful sound, and the smell. Ernest must leave before it was too late.
“Who?”
The crowd, rushing toward us, banged the hood and kicked the fender, demanding we get out of the way. “Ernest. He jumped out of the window. He’s somewhere here . . .”
Cheng reached out, and with his savage strength, grabbed me and thrust me inside the Buick. “Let’s go home.”
“I can’t. I need to find him.”
Cheng grasped my shoulders. His face was smudged with sweat and smoke, his fedora askew. “I went to your home. Your butler said you came to the waterfront area. I came as quickly as I could. What were you thinking? You’re going to get killed!”
He kept talking, his lips moving, his face pink with anger. He had searched everywhere, everywhere, worried to death about me. “Did you know what you were doing? Why would you come here?” I had never heard him talk so much, so fast, so frantic, and I could hardly understand him, my mind hooked on the image of Ernest as he slammed against the roof of the Chevrolet. I had thought my club was my life, but I was wrong. I had thought it was possible to live a calm, safe life with Cheng. I was wrong again. Ernest wouldn’t give me a decent home or decent social standing, but he was the only one I wanted. If he died, I would not be able to live.
“I want him, Cheng.” It dawned on me. After all these months.
Cheng’s handsome face froze; then he threw his fedora at the window and kicked the seat in front of him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
“Listen to me. The gasoline is leaking. I must turn back. I must get Ernest out before it explodes. Turn back!”
The Buick kept going.
48
ERNEST
Gasoline. He heard it, each drop clear like glass shattering, the pungent odor choking him, and he could feel the scorching heat on his skin, the sizzling spark in the air. He opened his eyes yet only saw a blanket of blackness. Heaving, he hit something overhead. A coil of metal. Scalding.
He had rolled under a car after the fall. Groaning and wincing with pain, he crawled out from beneath the car and stood up. The sky had blended into the streets, a sea of smoke. He heard Aiyi’s voice but hoped it was his imagination. It was too dangerous for her to be around.