No more sneaking around for the sake of sneaking.
No more pill swapping just to see what would happen.
No more games.
For real.
Crow didn't want to call it anythinga"Crow didn't even like to talk about it, didn't take part in the planning, just sat there dumb and dull like Roar used to be, while we scribbled maps, timed rounds, scouted exitsa"and so I had to name it myself. The Great Escape. The Big Breakout. Mission Possible. It wasn't my fault they were stupid; it wasn't supposed to be my job. My job was to get what we needed from the Wizard: The timing. The keycards. The cash. But when I asked Crow, she just shrugged and said whatever Dorothy wants.
Like I didn't exist.
Crow didn't know about the maps I was drawing on my calves, the way the knife tip traced our escape route through the flesh. She didn't come into my room at night anymore, and I didn't want her there, anyway. Once, I peeked through the crack in her door, and I watched her, sitting on her bed in the moonlight, staring at nothing, like she couldn't be bothered to help us escape because she was already gone.
Maybe, even though I packed my bag and mouthed goodbye to my roommate and pressed my palm against the Wizard's door like some kind of promise, I knew it would all go to shit. But I didn't think it would go so fast.
We made it out of west, through the intake lobby, and all the way to the last of the locked doors. We made it far enough to start thinking we might actually do it, to whisper to one another, "This is real, this is happening, we're getting out." I told Crow we would run away to the city together, and we would get cool jobs and a cool apartment and live like other people lived, only better, because it was like Dorothy said: We lived in color. We were special. Crow blinked at me and said could we get a goat like Bad Dog and feed it all our dirty laundry, and then she said would the Wizard be at the door every night, collecting the rent, and I just nodded and told her sure, Crow, whatever you wanta"because Crow was right about her brains being a little scrambled, especially without her blue pills, and sometimes it was good just to say yes and keep going.
Dorothy held her hand, and they skipped along the road of yellow brick, tracing it back and back and back toward where we all started, toward the last of the locked doors, and whatever was on the other side of it. I locked arms with Roar, and he gave me the lopsided grin he'd been trying out lately. He wasn't any good at smiling, and he was worse at skipping, but that was okay, too. On that night in that dark hallway, after it all seemed possible and before we got to the last door, everything was okay. Crow could think whatever she wanted; Roar could stop being afraid; I could watch Crow's curls dance in the darkness and breathe in her smell and see how she looked at Dorothy and still keep the knife in my pocket, because we were close enough to the end that carving my heart out could wait.
The last door.
That was the one that needed the stolen pass, and Dorothy flashed it against the blinking panel, but nothing happened, except a red light. She swiped it again, and there was a noise, a click, a little like a turning lock but more like a warning.
It takes less than five minutes to happen.
It's still happening.
I'm still there, in the dark corridor, choking on panic and the bleat of an alarm. I'm still there, always there, like I'm still in the room with Crow on that first night, like I'm still with the Wizard, will always be in the stink of his breath, in the sweat of his arms, in the bargain no one forced me to make.
When the scars fade, I carve them fresh.
In the dark corridor on the last night, when the alarm blares, and the monkeys spring from all sides, we scatter. We are in a lounge, which means tables to hide beneath and couches to climb over and magazines to throw. Dorothy hides. Roar fights. I draw my knife and think for once I will cut someone else.
There is screaming. Those are the monkeys, as Roar sends them flying through the air and into walls. Roar is the beast we always knew he could be, our fierce giant, the monster we made of him, and it takes six of them and a Taser to pin him down, something I only find out later, because I am focused on my knife.
They come toward me, and I brandish the blade, and I shout warnings, lines from movies that tougher people than me know how to saya""Stand back or else!"a"but no one stands back; they come for me, and when I hear a fearsome screech, I know it is Crow coming to rescue me. I want to shout, "No, don't! Save yourself!"a"more of the things you say in the movies when there is any saving to go around. But I realize that Crow is not coming for me.
The monkeys have Dorothy and are dragging her out from under the table, dragging her even as she clings to the leg and sobs and begs them to let her go. The monkeys have Dorothy, and Crow somehow has the lighter. And a bottle of hairspray she must have packed in her bag when we all thought we were leaving for a different life.
Crow fires a spray of foul mist.
Crow screams, "Let go of Dorothy!"
Crow flicks the lighter.
And Crow is on fire.
It was the Wicked Bitch of the West, of all people, who put her out. Padded out of her nap room to see what the ruckus was and thought fasta"filled a bucket of water, doused Crow's flames. The monkeys found a fire extinguisher somewhere, but by then it was over. We were all quiet and still, except for Roar, who was making strange noises in electrified sleep; except for me, who was slipping a knife back into my pocket unseen; except for Crow, who was screaming.
It doesn't hurt until it does. Crow taught me that.
I could have taught her something, too: that once it starts hurting, it never stops.
They took Roar away to north wing, with its black ribbon of death, and they kept him there for a long time. When they brought him back, he wasn't Roar anymore. He was a body to prop in the corner, on a chair or a stool or a windowsilla"a giant body like a piece of furniture that drooled and moaned and didn't notice if you hung towels or bras or signs saying "vegetable" around its neck. Sometimes, if you worked at it, you could get him to rock back and forth, like he was praying.
Roar was back before Crow because of the burns.
When she came back, she was still Crow, but she also wasn't. Because of the scar tissue and the melted skin that turned her face into a cratered moon, because of the nightmares, because of the hair that burned away and wouldn't grow back. Because now she was the one who felt too much, felt everything like it was fire. Or because Dorothy was gone.
"Mommy, I want to go home." That's what Dorothy said into the phone in the hallway, after. She wouldn't talk to me, but she couldn't stop me from watching her, so I did. I played her shadow and followed her to the phone. She called her mommy, and she said the magic words, and then I couldn't follow her anymore because she was gone.
Crow doesn't always remember that Dorothy left. She doesn't remember why she hurts, or why the mirrors have been taken from her room. Sometimes she doesn't even remember Dorothy was ever here, and those are the best times, because we pretend things are like they used to be.
They say it's probably the medicine that makes her like thisa"foggy and far away. They say it might just be how she wants it, deep down, because why not escape inside if you can't get out.
I think they're wrong. She wants to come back to me. Maybe she's punishing me for what I let happen, and eventually I'll be punished enough. Until then I rub lotion on her ruined skin and kiss the spots on her neck where the crows once flew. I memorized them all, and when she asks, I tell her they're still there. "A murder of crows," I whisper. "A murder of you."
They tell me I won't be here forever. They tell me they will fix me and send me away, and maybe this time I won't come back again, and I let them think I believe them, that I can be fixed, that I am broken, that there is an away where I belong more than I belong here.
They tell me there are people out there who want and need me back, but there is only one person who needs me and only one person I want. I take care of her, because Dorothy's not the only one who wants to run home, and Crow is home. I call to her, and I remind her, and I wait.
I remember for her the things she needs to remember, and I remember for myself the things she needs to forget.
I remember with the knife, which is still and always mine. I do what I need to do to keep it.
THE VEILED SHANGHAI.
BY KEN LIU.
June 7, 1919, Shanghai "Don't go into the streets today, Dorothy," Uncle Heng said.
Ever since fourteen-year-old Dorothy Gee started attending the Willard-Pond English School for Chinese Girls, Uncle Heng liked to use her English name instead of her Chinese onea"he said it sounded more educated.
"The foreigners in the International Settlement get nervous when the Chinese become unruly. They're scared that the strike and protest are getting out of hand. Soldiers from those British naval ships at the docks came onshore last night. I think something bad is going to happen."
"But the foreigners love freedom," Dorothy said. "That's what Mr. Ward always says in class. This strike is for freedom, too."
Uncle Heng laughed at this, but Dorothy did not see what was so funny.
"The foreigners like freedom sometimes, for some people," Uncle Heng finally said. "Just promise me you'll stay home today." He left to get more groceries from outside the city, as all the merchants had shuttered their stores.
Dorothy nodded reluctantly. This had been the most exciting week in her life. She desperately wanted to go out and join the throngs that filled the streets of Shanghai: workers on strike, students marching and shouting slogans, and merchants closing up their shops and refusing to sell to anyone.
Even the singsong girls and those women standing on street corners in tight cheongsams with long slits were no longer soliciting customers. Instead they linked arms and sang songs like this: China, China, wake from your slumber,
Strike down those traitors in Peking!
"Other girls from the school are allowed to march," Dorothy said.
"Well, you're not those other girls, are you?" Aunt En said. "If something happens to you, how am I ever going to face your mother in the afterworld?" She handed Dorothy a large bowl. "If you're itching for something to do, you can help me get these carrots peeled."
Dorothy went into the alley so she could dump the peelings directly into the sewer.
Someone was making a speech on Kansu Road, the big street at the end of the alley. As Dorothy worked, snippets from the speech drifted to her, along with the approving shouts from a boisterous crowd.
"athe Western powers have betrayed the people of China and handed Tsingtao to Japanaand now the spineless warlords in Peking are arresting students?aIt's not a crime to love one's country!aFree the students!aDown with the warlords!"
The noise from the crowd grew and grew, rising to a crescendo, and then Dorothy heard something new: a scratchy, tinny, almost mechanical voice that was louder than the crowd.
"This is your last warning. The Military Governor and the Shanghai Municipal Council have issued their orders. Disperse immediately, and go back to work!"
The crowd shouted even louder, trying to drown out the loudspeaker. "The foreigners were in league with the cowardly traitors in Peking!" Dorothy dropped the bowl and rushed down the alley to Kansu Road.
As she pushed her way into the crowd, she heard angry shouts all around her. Someone picked up a rock and threw it at the loudspeaker; more followed. Then there was the sound of a gun being fired.
The crowd exploded around her like a tornado. Panicked people rushed around in every direction, carrying Dorothy along for the ride. She ran and ran, unable to stop for fear of being trampled, and soon lost track of where she was.
Some people were jumping onto a slow-moving trolleybus in front of her, and a man reached down for her.
"Come on, jump! Before the police get this area cordoned off!"
Dorothy grabbed the man's hand and leaped onto the bus. She was dragged into the safety of the interior, squeezed between tightly packed passengers.
Guess that's the end of my career as a revolutionary, thought Dorothy.
The air was stuffy and warm, and soon Dorothy grew drowsy and fell asleep.
Dorothy awoke with a jolt that made her teeth rattle.
She rubbed her eyes in confusion. It was dark outside, and the bus was empty. There was no one even in the driver's seat. The engine hissed and creaked loudly a few times before falling silenta"funny, Dorothy couldn't recall ever hearing a trolleybus make sounds like that.
She got up, almost fell again because the floor of the bus was canted at a sharp angle, and stumbled to the door. She tumbled down the steps and looked around her.
The bus had stopped in a tiny square surrounded by European-style houses, each with a beautiful little garden around it. The residents of those houses, if they were still awake, did not leave their lights on. The cobblestone-paved streets were quiet and deserted. A lone electric streetlamp at the edge of the square cast a sphere of yellow light. This was a part of Shanghai she had never been to.
"Quelle courage! Merci, merci beaucoup!"
Dorothy turned around and saw that a few boys and girls were clapping and smiling at her as they approached. The children, European in appearance, ranged in age between five and twelve. They were dressed in rags, and had faces caked in grime.
Apparently she was somewhere in the French Concession.
The children came closer and continued to chatter excitedly at Dorothy.
"Je m'appelle Sarah. Comment vous appelez-vous?"
"Je m'appelle Alissa."
"Je m'appelle Becky."
"Je m'appelle Anton."
"I'm sorry," Dorothy said. "But I don't speak French; well, I do know that merci means *thank you,' but I have no idea why you're thanking me."
"They are thanking you for getting rid of the Panopticon that has made this neighborhood extremely unpleasant for street urchins."
Dorothy saw that the speaker was a tall Chinese woman who had followed the French-speaking children and now emerged from the darkness. She wore a brown kasaya filled with a pattern of silver threads that glinted in the moonlight. Her head was bald.
"You're a Buddhist nun."
The woman smiled. "Yes. You can call me Beini, for my temple is far in the north. I come here to help the orphaned children who make the streets their home."
Dorothy had seen Buddhist nuns only in pictures in books. She said cautiously, "I'm sorry, Venerable Beini, but I have no idea what a Panopticon is, and I certainly did nothing to it."
The woman pointed to the front of the stopped bus.
Dorothy now saw that the bus had crashed into and toppled what appeared to be a statue. She walked closer and discovered that the statue was actually a tall lamppost of sorts, topped with four telescopes that pointed in four directions like giant eyes. The bus had cracked the structure in half and broken all the lenses.
"A few years ago, the police installed Panopticons in the wealthier neighborhoods of the French Concession," the woman explained. "With these, one policeman can keep watch over an entire neighborhood. The authorities say that the homeless orphans who roam these streets are a gang of thievesa""
"Nous nous appelons les Munchkins!" the children sang in unison and laughed.
"a"and when the children are caught, they're put into institutions more horrible than prisons, full of cruel headmasters and sadistic teachers. By destroying this Panopticon, you make it easier for the children to hide and move at night. And that is why they're thanking you."
Dorothy was reminded of what Uncle Heng had said about the foreigners: "They like freedom sometimes, for some people."
"Well, I'm glad that the children are happy and free, even if I didn't do anything."
"Your bus did, and that's pretty much the same thing."
Dorothy wasn't sure about this, but she didn't want to argue. "It's very late, and I'm sure my aunt and uncle are worried. Can you tell me how to get back to Kansu Road?"
Beini shook her head. "I don't know where that is."