The Girl in the Torch (7 page)

S
ARAH SLOWLY STARTED DOWN
the stairs, the giant close behind her. She calculated her escape options. Once they were back on ground level, she hesitated.

Should I run?

She knew that if she made a break for the trees, he'd just catch her again. And she couldn't face the idea of diving into the freezing water.

The giant coughed violently and paused to catch his breath. Sarah knew this was her opportunity to run, but her legs locked beneath her. After a moment, he prodded her.

“Okay, let's go,” he said. “Move.”

He steered her toward the guardhouse. The wind whipped off the water and into Sarah's face. Wild thoughts ran through her mind.

There's no one around until morning. What will he do with me? Will he beat me? Lock me up?

Once at the guardhouse she stopped at the door.

“Go on,” he said. “Inside.”

The giant opened the door to the small shack. Sarah hesitated again. He poked her in the back with his finger.

“I said go on.”

Sarah took a deep breath and stepped inside. The sparsely furnished room held a desk, a low wooden cabinet, and a couple of chairs. Posters with the ferry schedule and maps of the harbor lined the walls.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs.

She did as instructed and bent her head.

The giant opened one of the cabinet drawers and rummaged inside. Was he looking for chains to lock her up?

Sarah stared down at the tabletop, afraid to look at his angry face again, until he placed something on the table in front of her. She glanced up and was surprised to see a small tin pot covered with a lid. He continued searching in the drawer until he found a spoon, wiped it on his shirt, and laid it next to the pot.

“Go on,” the watchman said, nodding toward the table.

She stared at the pot and spoon, unsure what to do.

“Eat,” he commanded.

He lifted the cover. A warm and mysterious smell hit her nose. The pot held a pile of browned rice mixed with a white stew of some kind, with pieces of chicken, celery, onion, cabbage, and some sort of sprouts, all mixed together.

“Well, dig in.” He nodded toward the food.

Sarah lifted the spoon and took a small bite. It had been so long
since her last cooked meal. And while not hot, the food was warm and it exploded in her mouth with a burst of flavor that made her eyes close with pleasure. Despite her fear, a small smile escaped her lips as the food traveled down her throat and into her empty stomach. The giant nodded.

“Mrs. Lee isn't the best landlady in the world, but she makes a good chop suey.”

The giant stuffed and lit a pipe and curiously watched her hungrily devour the entire contents of the pot. When she had scraped up the last grain of rice, she laid the spoon down and looked at the giant.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded.

“Now, are you going to tell me who you are?”

She stared back at him, unsure of what she should share or not.

“Come on, out with it. I'm not gonna hurt you, Androcles.”

“What is Androcles?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow and slowly restuffed his pipe. “Androcles was a Greek slave. One day he found an injured lion with a thorn in his paw and pulled out the thorn. Years later, Androcles was thrown into the arena with a lion. Turned out to be the same lion, and he remembered Androcles and refused to hurt him. You get it?”

She stared at him, confused.

“Look,” he said, “I don't remember much about the other night, but I know you helped me. And I'm not gonna forget that. I want
to help you. But you have to tell me who you are and how you got here. Where are your parents?”

“My parents?”

“Yes, your mother and father. Where's your mother?”

She hesitated and then said the word.

“Dead.”

“And your father?”

“He's dead too.”

“You're an orphan.” He raised his eyebrows with interest.

Sarah nodded.

“Hmmm,” he grunted.

He took a long drag on his pipe.

“What's your name?”

Sarah just looked at him.

He pointed at his chest and said, “Maryk.” Then he pointed at her. “And you are . . . ?”

The girl stared into Maryk's dark eyes, which now seemed softer. It had been more than a week since she had heard or said her own name, and the word felt strange coming out of her mouth.

“Sarah.”

M
ARYK SHARED HIS CONTAINER
of coffee with Sarah as she told him her story. She had never tasted coffee before, and at first the bitterness shocked her; but soon its warmth spread through her body, helping to thaw her cold fingers and toes.

Maryk sat and listened while smoking his pipe. He didn't ask many questions as she spoke, but nodded, encouraging her to continue.

Days of silence had created a pent-up need for Sarah to talk. So she told him everything, from her life in the village, to the attack that killed her father, to the promise of the Lady and the tantalizing poem on the postcard. She even recited part of the poem from memory.

“‘Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.'”

“Powerful words.” He nodded.

Eventually, she described her daring leap from the ship and her swim to shore.

“It's a miracle you survived,” Maryk said with a trace of admiration.

“Yes. A miracle,” she said.

Next she told Maryk about her days scavenging on the island and her nights playing cat and mouse with him, escaping into the tree to hide and the Lady to sleep.

The sun was just beginning to rise as she finished her story.

“I can't go back to my country. There is nothing for me there but bad thoughts.”

“Memories,” he corrected.

“Yes. Bad memories. But bad thoughts, too. I mean, things, bad things. People here don't understand. There's danger there for people like me, who are different. Our men cannot be in the army, our people can't own land. Everyone thinks America is a different kind of country.”

Maryk nodded.

“I suppose it can be . . . sometimes.”

Maryk seemed about to say more, but then a bell rang in the distance and he looked up in alarm.

“Oh no,” he muttered as he rose and moved to the window.

Outside in the harbor, a ferry approached. Sarah knew that this was the first boat of the morning, which would bring the day staff to the island and take the night watchman back to the mainland.

Through the window of the guardhouse, Sarah saw three uniformed men disembark from the boat, including the short man with glasses who had been Maryk's replacement on the night shift
after the accident. Two of the men walked toward the base of the statue. The man with the glasses came toward the guardhouse. Maryk's face filled with concern. He turned to Sarah and stared at her for a long, tense moment.

What would he do with her now? she wondered. Would he turn her in? And if not, how would he ever explain her being here?

Sarah looked out the window at the nearby trees and the waves lapping against the shore. She again calculated her limited escape options: run and hide in the tree or in the Lady, or dive into the water and attempt to swim away. Both ideas seemed impossible. She was in Maryk's hands.

Maryk also seemed to be considering his options. Then he hastily turned and cleared their coffee cups from the table and straightened the room.

“Just follow my lead and don't say anything, okay?”

“Follow you?”

“Yes. But don't say too much if anyone asks you questions. Just short answers. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I think.”

“Short answers,” he said. “Yes and no.”

Maryk straightened his jacket just as the man with the glasses reached the guardhouse, entered, and then took a step back in surprise. His eyes narrowed in on Sarah and then Maryk, who awkwardly stiffened his posture. There was a tense moment of silence. Sarah sensed that the two men didn't like each other.

She tried not to show her fear, by making her face as
expressionless as possible.

“What have we here?” the man said, arching an eyebrow. “You bring a drinking partner out with you last night, Maryk?”

Sarah could tell by the man's tone that it was not a friendly question.

“No. I didn't have anything to drink last night. Haven't in two days.”

“Two days? Is that a record? I guess I wouldn't want to be distracted by booze either if I had my girlfriend with me.”

“This is my niece, Johnson. So watch your mouth.”

“Your niece?”

“Yes,” Maryk said.

“Didn't know they had redheaded Indians. Redskins, yes. Redheads, no. I guess you half-breeds never know what you're gonna look like, do you? You're kind of like mutts that way.”

“Watch it.”

Maryk took a step toward Johnson, who threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“What's your name, girl?” he said, turning to Sarah.

She stared back dumbly.

“Her name is Sarah,” Maryk said.

“Yes. Sarah,” she confirmed, nodding quickly.

“Come on, Sarah, let's go.”

Maryk took her by the arm to lead her out of the guardhouse.

Johnson stepped in front of them, blocking the door.

“You know there are rules about having guests on the night
shift, don't you?” The man with the glasses looked her up and down. “Even if she is your
niece
.”

Sarah could tell by his tone that he doubted their story.

“Let's go,” Maryk said.

He pushed Sarah out the door and moved to board the ferry.

“Don't look back,” Maryk said. “Just get on the boat.”

Sarah followed Maryk's orders and boarded. The ferryboat captain seemed to know Maryk and nodded to him as they settled themselves in the passengers' compartment belowdecks.

“D
ON'T MIND
J
OHNSON
,” M
ARYK SAID.
“He and I don't get along. It has nothing to do with you. He's been angling to get my job for his brother. You understand?”

Sarah didn't really, but she nodded anyway.

She sat beside Maryk on the cold metal bench. They were the only passengers on board. An eerie, high-pitched squeal of wind swept through the boat's interior, amplifying the silence between them. It was strange sitting next to Maryk in the semidarkness. For so long, he had been a scary giant whom she had avoided at all costs. Now, she was willingly following him even though she had no idea where he would take her. A chill settled over her as she recalled her mother warning her about strangers. She glanced at Maryk out of the corner of her eye, afraid to turn to look at him directly.

He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, but his expression was hard and inscrutable. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back wall of the ferry. Then she noticed that both of
his hands shook as he tried to hold them steady on his knees.

Sarah gazed out the window at the Lady, whose strong, beautiful face seemed to be staring right at her. She was anxious about leaving the familiarity of the island, but also felt a rush of excitement at the prospect of finally reaching the shores of New York.

When the ferry pulled into the dock, Maryk abruptly stood.

“Come on.” He took her by the arm and led her up to the top deck and then down the gangplank.

Sarah paused before stepping onshore. What would it feel like to finally set foot on the promised land?

“Let's go,” Maryk said impatiently.

He pulled her along onto the street. Although the ground beneath her feet felt no different, her eyes, ears, and nose were overwhelmed by everything around her. She marveled at the sheer number of buildings lined up along the twisting streets and avenues, pressed together so close that they touched. Sarah was instantly jostled by a man in a bowler hat rushing along, reading his newspaper. The man didn't even pause to say “excuse me”; he just kept walking.

Horse-drawn carriages clattered down the avenue so loudly that she had to block her ears. Pushcart vendors called out their wares and newsboys shouted headlines trying to get people to buy their papers.

Sarah was surprised at the number of newsboys and the variety of papers in different languages being sold. She tried to read the bold stories on the front pages, but she and Maryk were moving
too fast for her to digest the words.

A familiar smell struck her nose and she just managed to step around a fresh pile of horse manure. The cobblestone streets were covered with enough to fertilize all the farms back home. Dozens of horses trotted by on the street. Sarah jumped back, positioning herself close to the buildings, as far away from the animals as possible.

As they came to a corner, a horse-drawn milk cart cut in front of them. Sarah recoiled.

“What's the matter?” Maryk said.

“The horses . . .”

“What about them?”

“There are so many.”

“So?”

“I . . . don't like them.”

“Can't be scared of horses if you expect to walk down the streets of Manhattan,” he said. “Now, let's go.”

He pulled her impatiently by the arm and they continued their trek.

As they walked east, a massive stone tower appeared in the distance, topped with an American flag. Sarah gasped at the sight of it, thinking it must be the top of a huge castle or military fortress. Moving closer, she saw that there were actually two massive towers connected by a web of steel cables and that the whole thing was actually a bridge stretching over a wide river. As the full bridge came into view, she stopped in her tracks to admire it.
Sarah had seen the bridge from the island but hadn't understood how big it really was. It made the statue of the Lady seem small by comparison. Sarah's eyes widened as she noticed the scores of people and wagons crossing back and forth.

“What's the matter?” Maryk said. “It's just the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“How does the road not fall into the water with all the horses and wagons riding on it?”

“Do I look like an engineer? Come on. We're not too far now.”

They continued walking uptown, passing City Hall and other large and impressive stone buildings.

Eventually they came to a series of streets that were more densely crowded with pedestrians and pushcarts. Nearly every person they passed had black hair, narrow eyes, and light beige skin. Many were dressed in strange clothes: men in plain blue, black, or gray tunics with ties instead of buttons, and a small handful of women in robes and plain dresses in the same colors. Some of the men wore their hair in long braids. They all seemed to be speaking a language that wasn't English. Sarah stopped in her tracks, afraid to continue. Maryk turned to her, exasperated.

“What is it now?”

“This is still the United States?” Sarah asked.

“Yes.”

“But the people . . . are they Americans?”

“Most of them are Chinese. You've heard of China, haven't you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Can't be afraid of horses or Chinamen if you expect to live in New York,” he said impatiently.

He continued walking as she tentatively followed. She noticed that all the store signs were written in strange, unfamiliar letters, set against bold-colored backgrounds. Newsboys sold papers printed in the same alien characters. Pushcart vendors peddled exotic fruits and colorful trinkets. Some even had small coal stoves where men prepared food cooked in hot oil.

Sarah breathed deeply to catch the enticing aroma of the food, but almost as soon as she'd managed to capture a good smell, her nose would be assaulted by an equally powerful stench as they passed a pile of garbage or an open fish market where an old man cleaned and gutted the daily catch on the curb. They walked by butcher shops whose windows were festooned with whole plucked ducks and geese and enormous pig carcasses alongside cages tightly packed with live chickens. Sarah couldn't believe the sharp contrast in the sights, smells, and people she had encountered in the course of a few blocks.

Maryk turned onto a narrow side street and stopped in front of a squat, gray six-floor apartment building that seemed to sag in the middle. A steep set of cracked concrete stairs led up to the entry door with a wooden sign attached to the outside wall by the front window. The sign had large Chinese characters painted against a black backdrop along with small English letters at the bottom reading
ROOMS TO LET
.

Maryk ascended the stairs, beckoning Sarah to follow.

Again the girl paused, her inner warning bells telling her that this might be her last opportunity to escape from Maryk.

Before she had time to consider which way she should run, the front door of the apartment building swung open and a tiny old Chinese woman emerged, yelling at Maryk in a high-pitched, rapid-fire mix of Chinese and broken English. The woman had a small, angry face and shiny gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, and her skinny frame was draped in a black housedress and a long blue knitted coat. The sight of her fearlessly scolding Maryk, who was nearly three times her size, was so funny, Sarah had to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing.