Chapter 1: Of all places...
It's comfortable.
My current life that is.
You see, before I was born, I was a competent office worker—well, more like a scam artist if I'm being honest. (Black companies are no joke.) All it took for my death to happen was four consecutive all-nighters with my team, twenty-two double-shot espressos, a reprimand from my shit boss, and a inconveniently convenient incoming car—that ironically belonged to said boss—to bean me out of existence.
Usually, for someone with my injuries, they would have been able to recover and live their lives as they normally do.
The problem was I had an ungodly amount of caffeine flowing through my body; an amount large enough to make even the most coffee-addicted people clutch their pearls and hide their purses. The sudden, blaring lights, honks of the incoming car, and collision, paired with the classic combo of sleep deprivation and enough caffeine that could give an elephant a heart attack thrice over, made my body lock up and convulse from the shock.
It wasn't the first time I'd had a heart attack caused by caffeine; however, it would be the last since I died because my dick of a boss dipped out as fast as he could instead of calling an ambulance.
Idiot. The camera outside the convenience store across the street saw everything. And since it was owned by a close relative of mine, there was no doubt he would get his due when the time came.
It was only a few minutes later that I regained consciousness, only to be greeted by the smiling face of someone who I would later figure out was my new dad.
Coincidentally, my new mom also happened to be Karen, as was revealed to me when the woman barked at my dad to stop standing around and give him to me already, you damn bear. I was the one who shoved him out of my body, so stop hogging and let me see. Why are you even crying? I'm the one who suffered through 42 hours of labor! All of which was spat out in rapid Karen, tone sharp enough to rival my great-aunt when she was in a snappy mood.
My dad on the other hand, once I was safely adjusted in my mom's arms and had a thorough look at him, was not of the same ethnicity, judging by the garments he wore: a brown cheongsam top paired with black pants.
The man chuckled and gently tapped my nose, softly saying something in what sounded like Mandarin. Giving my mom an affectionate peck on the forehead, he turned his head towards the door.
"You can come in now, Beatrice!" He called out in English, his words tinged with a British accent.
Not a moment later, a blonde man and woman swung the door open and raced towards us.
"Thank God, we thought you were dying in there, Ida!" The woman—Beatrice I assume—cried out with a heavy Irish accent, crocodile tears water-falling down her cheeks as she hugged my mom. Nathan nearly keeled over from the stress."
The other man tried to deny her words but was interrupted by Ida.
"I told you that you should've stayed home and waited for us to come back; you're squeamish enough for all four of us." Her no-nonsense tone stopped him from making any denials. Her accent was what my mother would have sounded like if she was from the UK; a mix of the Karen and some sort of rough British accent. A strange thing to hear compared to the American mix I grew up with.
Nathan merely rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms, "And miss the birth of your son?" He was the only one with an American accent in the room; it was a bit odd though—as if he was from the twenties or something. " Please, Cheung would have killed me if I hadn't shown up."
My dad merely gave a noncommittal hum and turned back to cooing at me.
The next eight years consisted of me growing up under the care of Ehdah (Ida was just her legal name) and Cheung Chen, a Karen and Chinese couple who had grown up around many English influences due to their backgrounds, thus the accents even though we lived in America.
After living in London for four generations, Cheung Chen's family moved to America before the Immigration Act of 1882. His family had many close connections back in England since they owned a popular clothes-making business, known for their friendliness and efficiency. They often communicate with customers from overseas or get personal visits for custom fittings; they make yearly visits for holidays or family reunions in London.
Ehdah Chen—maiden name: Aung—was born on the border between Burma and Thailand. Her family were herbalists and were one of the main suppliers of medicine in their village. Her parents had enrolled her in a convent school run by missionaries from Britain since she would've had a better chance for education there.
Originally, she was going to inherit her parents' shop or continue her religious education and become a nun after she graduated. However, a relative of theirs who lived in America had contacted them, offering a job position at his newly set up herb shop. Wanting the right thing for their daughter, they asked Ehdah if she wanted it.
Ehdah understood how much the offer meant to them and accepted it. She grew up under the tutelage of two excellent herbalists and has been helping out at the shop since she could walk, so she was more than qualified for the job.
After she received her high school diploma, she packed up and moved to San Francisco where her relative lived. The language barrier was not a problem since the convent made it mandatory to learn English due to the nuns' struggle with Karen. In addition, the convent had to rely on an old translator for teaching the younger children.
Since the shop was located in Chinatown, she befriended the locals and ended up learning Mandarin in the process. Many of the elderly liked her hardworking and calm nature, and often stopped by for their orders to chat with her.
Following a few days of conversation, one of the women brought up the topic of relationships.
My mom shut that conversation down so fast, it was never brought up again until a few weeks later, only for the one that brought it up to receive a flat no.
It was after two months of pestering did she finally agree to a blind date with the grandson of a customer—and only with the insistence of her roped-in uncle did she accept.
Said grandson was my dad, Cheung Chen.
On the date, he ruined his clothes by running into a bush after crashing into a pole when he first saw who his blind date was.
Cheung knew my mother before; he had come into her shop many times to pick up his grandparent's weekly order of medicinal teas and had fallen in love with her the moment his eyes laid on her.
It was love at first sight.
His interest in her was clear to his family despite how subtle he thought his feelings were. Since they didn't care about the differences in nationality, just that she had a pleasant personality and upbringing, they had no problem with his choice; on the contrary, they encouraged it. All his previous blind dates had ended badly due to his sporadic rambling of information about fabrics whenever one had caught his eye. They were scrambling for someone to settle down with him and she just so happened to come by; the golden egg to their Jack.
Cheung's grandmother was the one who set up the date. The rest of the family members used their networks to help him make a favorable impression on Ehdah during the date. He was even threatened that he would have to look after the shop while the other workers would leave on vacation should the date go wrong.
Ironically, it was the moment he sheepishly laughed after she helped him up from the bush that she fell in love. She was charmed by his nervous demeanor and agreed to a second date; thus, kicking off their blossoming relationship.
Kinda sweet don't you think?
Around the time I was five, my mother became pregnant again, this time with twins. Both of my grandparents from each side were ecstatic. Thankfully, the delivery was smooth and the family celebrated the additions of two new members, John K'paw and James Xue Chen.
My only problem was the fact that I was reborn in the early 1900s. The racism was a pain in the ass during this time period, being flung left and right like it was going out of style. The Brown versus Board of Education case won't be happening until the 50s, and Chinese segregation in schools won't be dealt with until the 40s.
Thankfully, my parents were great teachers. Oftentimes, my mom would be using her handy dandy bible or herbology books for source material to teach me how to read. My dad would teach me the names of each roll of fabric, as well as how to differentiate between different colors and stitches.
A loving, but firm mother; a kind and hardworking father; two adorable younger siblings; a stable lifestyle. What more would I want?
"*Poe Kwa Si, come here." My mom called out from inside our new tenement home.
After we arrived in New York City this morning, we spent the remainder of our time getting our things in order as soon as we got to our newly purchased tenement in Manhattan. The movers safely delivered our belongings and we'd like to avoid the possibility of theft.
"Yes, *Momo."
Deciding to bring the last boxes in while I was at it, I stacked the one I had in my hands onto the other one by my foot and picked them up. My movements were careful as I walked inside, so as not to tip my balance. Inside were tightly bound books that belonged to my parents, each one neatly packed into rows that completely filled up any space in the boxes. I knew that if I dropped one and somehow managed to damage said books, my ass would be beat; thus, the caution.
After entering my new home, I nudged the door shut behind me and tipped off my shoes by the shoe mat near the entrance before continuing on my way. We had just finished cleaning the rooms from top to bottom, so it would be counterintuitive to step in with shoes on (as well as being straight out sacrilegious in our household).
The beams of the afternoon sun shone through the two windows in our living room, lighting the interior brightly in a way that made the room feel homely. Set in the corner of the room was an altar with a red table cloth that had a white lace tablecloth layered on top of it. In the center was a generic picture frame of Jesus; around said frame were rosary beads, a bottle of holy water, and small figurines of saints my parents prayed specifically to; propped up on the wall against the altar was a wooden cross my relatives from Burma sent.
I placed the boxes down and walked to one of the three bedrooms my mom was in. Poking my head in, I understood what she wanted and quickly headed over to where she was standing by the window.
"*Weh, Momo ," I tutted, steadying her back from where she was standing on the window ledge, trying to put up a curtain rod. "*Si law—si law, na guh law te. I'll do it myself. " I quickly insisted, helping her down from the narrow ledge.
With an amused smile, she handed the curtain rod to me. "I was just going to ask you to help me set up the library, but fine, Poe Kwa Si."
Holding onto the side of the window, I pulled myself up on the ledge and hooked the rod onto the metal bars with no difficulty. Turning around, I hopped down and smiled at her as I ushered her to the living room couch.
"I'd rather you just sit down and rest, Momo. You've been a bit pale these days."
Once she relented and sat down, I made my way to kneel down in front of a box labeled 'Medicine'. After a few seconds of sorting through the items inside, I pulled out the jar of Tiger Balm and uncapped it before passing it to her. Grateful for the balm, she placed it underneath her nose and inhaled the scent before applying the ointment to her calves and ankles.
Satisfied, I turned towards the kitchen. "I'll go make some *ti klaw for you before I get started on those books."
Finished with applying the Tiger Balm, my mom laid her head on her propped arm, a small smile on her face. "*Amaleh, such a filial son I have; already treating me like a senior citizen."
I let out a hum as I searched through the boxes for the kettle. It didn't take long to find it and the box of jasmine tea, and in a couple of minutes the tea kettle was set to boil. Waiting for the telltale whistle of the kettle, I started opening the boxes and sorted them out in piles on the floor. Just as I finished ordering all of the books accordingly, a loud whistle came from the kitchen.
With a cursory glance at the set piles, I walked back to the kitchen. Since I had already dropped in the tea leaves (one for the pot and however many for the number of drinkers) the only thing I needed to do was pour in the boiled water.
Just as I placed the teapot and two clean teacups onto the serving tray, the front door had opened, bringing in the giggles of two children and a happy 'We're back!' from someone.
Without missing a beat, I added another teacup and some snacks before picking up the tray; a smile on my face as I walked through the kitchen door to greet the three back from their trip to the shop.
"Welcome back, Baba."
Twin squeals answered me back as two moving objects torpedoed themselves into my legs.
"Gēgē!"
The force with which they crashed into my bottom half almost made me drop the tray, but I was able to keep my balance from tipping over. Balancing the tray in one hand with practiced ease, I ruffled the top of my brothers' heads with amusement. Sporting matching beauty marks on the left corner of their eye, they shared the same warm coffee brown eyes and thick wavy brown hair as our mom but inherited our dad's pale skin.
I, on the other hand, also inherited our mom's olive skin tone, her father's freckles, my dad's pin-straight black hair and eyes, and his mother's dimples.
Despite our differences in appearance, we still look like siblings thankfully. All three of us had matching beauty marks, aside from the couple extras that were scattered around my body.
"A lah, that was a close one."
"Sowwy." The twins apologized sheepishly.
Suddenly, the weight on my hand disappeared, transferring itself into the hands of my dad. Ruffling my hair, he walked over to the couch and set the tray on the coffee table.
The twins didn't need much convincing to move to the table, tugging me over and impatiently waiting for me to sit down on the floor. The moment I crossed my legs, they converged onto my lap and settled themselves until they were comfortable and immediately started to snack on the sweet rice crackers I set on the tray.
My parents greeted each other with a peck before my dad settled with his hand around Momo's shoulder, letting her lean on him for comfort.
"I've missed you, qīn'ài de."
"You saw me just half an hour earlier, *Wa."
"Ah," He tutted, "But it was an hour too long, *Ma."
"Don't be a baby," She rolled her eyes. "Our háizimen are less clingy than you."
As usual, I poured my mom a cup of tea first and handed it to her before doing the same with my dad while he chatted with her.
"—even said that he would give our Lah-Laha chance to help out as an errand boy! Can you imagine that?"
Baba was explaining what happened on his trip to introduce the twins to his relatives at the branch shop. A relative of his had mentioned that a friend of theirs could use an errand boy to help around his shop and asked if I wanted to do it. I didn't mind it since I'd be paid for my work, so there was no fuss raised. It would be good practice in the case that I chose to inherit my dad's trade instead of my mom's.
Nodding when the time called for it, I listened along to his story while I kept John and James from spilling cracker crumbs onto the floor. Soon enough, the toddlers got tuckered out from the excitement of the day and were soon sleeping in my lap.
Without being prompted, I carefully stood up with them in my arms and moved to my parents' room to tuck them into the bed. With a fond kiss on their forehead—a quick second where I carefully detangled James' fingers from my bottle-cap glasses—I walked out of the room and gently shut the door closed.
The books still needed to be put away, so I might as well finish that before helping with dinner.
After we finished getting settled into our home, I was taken by my dad to meet the man I would be helping out on days I wouldn't be helping out at the herbal shop my mom was transferred to.
The haberdashery was located in Little Italy and was conveniently only a couple of minutes away from the herbal shop in Chinatown by foot. The shop itself exuded a pleasant atmosphere that I appreciated; it was the type of establishment I would kill to work at, back when I was a ragged office worker. Through the display window, I could see elegant hats for both men and women placed on mannequin heads. Even from afar, I could tell they were quality work.
With an amused chuckle at my reaction, Baba opened the door to the shop, signaling our presence by the tinkling of the doorbell. When I set foot inside, I was taken back by how many products lined the walls of the haberdashery.
I could see derbies, porkpies, deerstalkers, and many more types of hats along the walls. In one corner, there was a place set aside for gloves and a wall that was hung with hundreds of belts, all of them varying in material and color. Another corner had shirts, neckties, and a table with a display case full of watches. All around the room were hung mirrors, probably for the customers to use when they tried on products. Weirdly enough, there were also tribal-looking masks hung up on the walls as well. It was fascinating to look at.
It was eerily nostalgic—as if I'd seen all of this before through a lense.
What was more impressive, in my humble opinion, was how good the old man manning the booth was at impersonating a stone statue. If it weren't for the fact that he was reading a newspaper, I would've mistaken him for a piece of decoration.
"Ah, Mr. Agosti, how are you this fine morning!"
Friendly as ever, my dad greeted the old man with a bright smile. I followed suit and matched it with a genuine smile of my own towards the old man.
The man just looked at him and grunted before moving his eyes to me.
Placing an encouraging hand on my shoulder, he introduced me.
"This is my eldest son, Azzy. He's the one my Uncle Lau recommended to help out at your store."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."
I was unbothered by his hard gaze—too used to being on the receiving end of death threats from unsatisfied customers (both over the phone and in person) to feel much fear—as he observed me, and stayed still until he finished his visual assessment of whatever he was working for.
He placed down his paper and held out a hand towards me, palm facing upwards.
"Give me your hand."
Trusting my gut, I placed my hand in his and waited as he turned my hands this way and that, observing the calluses on them with a clinical eye.
"How well do you know your fabrics?"
"Fairly well, Sir," I answered.
Giving out a satisfied hum when he finished, he got up from his seat behind the counter and walked around the shop. He picked up a hat, two ties, and three gloves before setting them on the counter and sitting back down.
"Name the fabrics used." Mr. Agosti instructed. "You can take your time."
Understanding that I was being tested, I nodded my head and got to work. The first item I went for was the hat. It was two shades lighter than a Pearl Grey and was soft to the touch, the texture implying an insulative fabric.
I put the hat down. "This one is cashmere."
Picking up the two ties, I held them up to the light and rubbed my thumb against them, one at a time. I placed the one on my right down, "This is wool," and then the left, "And this one is linen."
Next on the list were the three gloves. One by one, I listed them off, from left to right. "Cotton fleece, suede.." I squinted at the last glove and picked it up, rubbing my fingers into the material. My mind searched deep into my memories for something that matched. "...and mulberry silk?"
There was a pregnant silence where no one said anything, only to be broken when Mr. Agosti shot my dad a look that had a hint of approval in it.
"Fine."
Well, I guess that does it.
"Azzy, if it's not too heavy, could you put the box of ginseng over by the back
"On it, Didi. This box?"
"Yes."
Testing out the weight of the box, I nodded to myself. It wasn't too heavy so I wouldn't have any problem. So without much effort, I carried the box to the back of the shop. Each step I took was slow since the box blocked most of my sight. Thankfully, it was a slow day today, leaving the herbal shop pretty much empty, save for the usual grandpa who sat in the corner of the shop to listen to the radio.
When we moved, my great uncle helped Momo find a job by giving her a recommendation to one of the herbal shops in Manhattan he was partnered with. Since she was the niece of the owner's friend, they were already familiar with each other. They occasionally sent letters and talked over the phone to exchange advice regarding work or taking care of their herbs. Momo was skilled at diagnosing ailments, so she was quickly accepted with a warm welcome.
Didi Yaguruma didn't mind having me help out at the shop as well, even giving me a shop apron to wear when I was working. When he met the rest of the family, he took one look at me and my brothers and declared that we were going to be his nephews right there and then. No one dared to object; not when he looked like he would bring physical harm to anyone who would say otherwise.
When I asked him which version of Uncle he wanted to be called, he told me that the language didn't matter, just so long as it means Uncle, he'd be fine with it. I grew up in a Karen household, so I called him Didi. My brothers on the other hand were raised with a cultural background made up mostly of Chinese culture with our mom and uncle as our sole Karen influences, so they spoke more Mandarin than Karen. Regarding our newly acquired uncle, they dined to call him Shushu; they were always excited to see him because at each visit, he would give them ginger candies.
Right now, my mom was out on a house call to diagnose a customer who had recently been ill with an illness she couldn't identify. She wouldn't be back until later, leaving me to manage the herbal shop with Didi Yaguruma.
Once I placed the twenty-pound box down with a soft thump, I stood back up and clasped my hands behind me to stretch out my back with a thoughtful look. Compared to my past life, this body could handle way more physical work than I could in my adult body. I could run faster, lift heavier things, and had way more stamina than an average eight-year-old had, much less a teenager. It was almost inhuman.
A ringing of the doorbell broke me out of my thoughts, forcing me to pay attention to the entering customer.
With Didi Yaguruma in the back sorting through the recently delivered products, I figured the responsibility was left to me. So I pushed my thick glasses up from where they slid down my nose and walked back to the front where I was met with the sight of a well-dressed middle-aged man, probably Italian judging by the cut of his suit. On his fingers were an assortment of rings, each one ornate with significance, bearing a significance only certain groups back in my previous life held.
(In the back of my mind, I could hear the final click of pieces coming together.)
When his eyes laid on me, a surprised expression crossed his face; he probably expected to see the owner instead of a small boy dressed in the store's apron.
Unphased as ever, I gave him a cheerful greeting as I walked up to the counter. "Welcome to Yaguruma's Herbal Shop, dear customer, where we offer medicinal spices, ointments, elixirs, and much more. How may I help you today?"
With my closed eye smile, friendly attitude, and hands clutched behind my back, I came across as adorably earnest and completely harmless. A trait I pride myself on from years of practice in both lives.
Getting over his initial pause, the man cleared his throat and smiled back at me, completely charmed.
I still got it.
"Hello there, young man. Who might you be?" He asked, a thick Italian accent woven into his words. He acted with a mien that showed he was used to speaking to kids. Probably had some of his own.
"A lah," Faking an apologetic look, I shook my head at him. "Apologies, dear customer, but I'm not allowed to disclose any personal information to strangers. It goes against shop policy." My hands lifted into a 'what can you do' motion; not a second later, a wide smile plastered itself on my suddenly coy face. "However, the same cannot be said for the opposite. So why don't you introduce yourself first so we can update that status of 'stranger' to 'acquaintance'?"
The distinguished-looking man let out a charmed laugh at my words, obviously put in a positive mood by my actions.
"Of course, my apologies." He acquiesced seriously, a quirk on his lips betraying his amusement. "My name is Molsa Martillo, a pleasure to meet you..."
"Azzy Chen." There was no need to give him my full name, so I just stuck with my go-to introduction. "And the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Martillo." Now that we've got introductions out of the way, we can get right to business. "Now what can I get you, Mr. Martillo? Some elderberry tea for headache and pain? Mugwort for digestion? Ginger for nausea?" Placing a hand on my chest, I promised, "I assure you, we offer only the finest products for our customers to use."
Shaking his head, he smiled. "I do not need any medicine today—although I promise I will come when I am. Right now, I just need to speak with Yaguruma."
"Oh," I tilted my head, "Didi's in the back right now. I'll go and fetch him for you, Mr. Martillo." Then, without wasting a second, I quickly made my way to the backroom and poked my head inside.
"Didi?"
A distracted hum answered back from behind a stack of boxes; I could spot the man's head of grey hair where he was checking items off from his clipboard.
"A Mr. Martillo says he's looking for you," Seeing a box about to tip over from its place on a stack, I quickly walked over and took it off the stack and placed it down on the floor. "He's waiting in the front," I added, picking up and placing the other boxes into their designated places.
"Hmm," With a considering look, he stood up from his crouch and handed me the clipboard and pen. "Finish taking inventory. Once you're done, take a break." Digging around in his pocket, he handed me a couple of coins. "Go get yourself a drink, my treat."
I blinked with surprise, "Oh, but I couldn't—ah-ha-ha! Weh, Didi!" The man's heavy hand playfully ruffled my hair, triggering the gut reaction, instilled in me by my dad, to laugh. Getting his message, I relented and ducked out from under his relentless hand, giggling at the silliness of it. "Alright, alright, I got it! Just go already before your Mr. Martillo gets bored waiting for you."
Seeing me wave him goodbye, Didi Yaguruma grunted fondly and walked away to meet Mr. Martillo. By the time he closed the door behind him, I gradually stopped waving my hand, dropping my smile the moment I heard the door click shut; all impressions of the cheerful and pure boy from before ceased to exist, leaving behind a blank canvas of a person.
Clicking the pen a couple of times, I turned around to walk around the room to check off the boxes received, jotting down a couple of notes regarding the quality of two boxes that came in lighter than the ones we received a couple of days ago. It didn't take long before I finished checking the inventory. Putting down the clipboard and pen, I figured that it wouldn't hurt to organize the products, so the next ten minutes consisted of me taking out the contents and storing them in their individual places.
Once I was satisfied with my work, I sat down on one of the crates, blankly stared into the distance, and contemplated the past few days and the people I've met. After a moment, I put my head into my hands and let out a sigh that came from deep inside my tired soul.
"Of all places, it had to be Baccano ."
Wǒ de tiān.
What do I do now?
The feeling of wooden keys under my fingers was familiar as they danced across them, plucking out notes with grace no regular eight-year-old possessed.
My curved eyes narrowed imperceptibly in thought, my smiling face remaining undisturbed in front of the congregation in front of me.
I've already met the old shopkeeper and Yaguruma, not to mention Molsa Martillo himself.
Returning to the refrain, I played a bit with the chords to make the dismissal sound more joyful and pleasant. The effects of which brought smiles to the churchgoers in the pews as they sang the lyrics from their songbooks while the priest walked down the aisle to leave.
Good Lord, I met the fucking head of the Martillos. How the hell did I even end up working under his primo voto?
A sudden thought popped up, making me
Did Didi Lay-Wah know about him?
Finished with dismissal music, I got up from the piano bench and got up to go put the scorebooks back in their places on the stand. Those books were extremely weathered and looked like they could fall apart at any moment so I handled them with great care. I think they'll last a couple more weeks, but I'll have to make a new copy before they start tearing.
I'd never seen a more integrated place than the Church of Hope during the 20s. The congregation was a mix of African-Americans, Italians, Irish, Japanese, Chinese, and other ethnicities; all of them were close with each other despite their racial background. Any signs of bigotry would be immediately dealt with so as not to disturb the steady balance within the congregation.
This church was intended to be a safe haven and would be so.
It didn't take long before I was finished putting the scorebooks back, and soon enough, I was good to go.
The previous music accompanist was an Italian woman nearing her eighties. She fell ill due to old age and was unable to come in to play for the church for a long time. Before she fell ill, however, I was under her tutelage for a while to brush up on my piano skills.
(Unknown to anyone else of course; it'd be strange to start playing an intermediate piece when I was just an apparent beginner.)
With this information in mind, I was then thrust into her position to fill in for her. It was a bit annoying, so I haggled a decent amount of pocket change from the job.
I wasn't particularly in need of money now, but old habits were tricky to get rid of; not to mention, there were only a couple of years until the Great Depression started, and I was paranoid.
Just as I was halfway down the church to return to my family, I saw a woman—blonde with midlength hair and pale skin dressed in a yellow dress and a white shawl, walking in matching yellow heels—heading towards me. Being tugged along behind her was a carbon copy of her in the form of a child; judging by his sulking face, he didn't want to be here.
In contrast with her child, who looked a little older than me, the mother positively beamed at me once our eyes met.
Of course, I would be remiss of me to ignore her, so I halted in my tracks and shot one back, waiting for her to reach me. There was a moment when her steps slowed in surprise at my returning smile, only to start up again with more enthusiasm.
As soon as she made it about an arm's length away from me (I was wondering when she would stop; we were getting worryingly close to a crash), she quickly pulled her son from behind her and placed him in front taking up more space in our already small space.
We were so close, that our noses brushed against each other in a pathetic excuse of an Eskimo kiss. Now that we were face to face (quite literally) I could make out the small details that differed from his mother.
His brown eyes, in contrast to his mother's, leaned more towards a reddish hue, similar to redwood. His face was of course rounded due to the baby fat, but that would fade away as he grew up. Along the tops of his cheeks were barely-there freckles and along with those freckles was a bright red flush that ran down to his neck.
"Hello!" she said, with a kind smile on her face. "You played beautifully up there, it was amazing to listen to."
Not worried about the proximity between us—much less her son—I smiled. "Thanks for the compliments, Miss; hopefully, your brother enjoyed it as well."
"Bro—" At first she was confused by my accent, but mid-word, she understood my implication. With a pleased blush, she sputtered, "Oh, no-no. I'm his mother." Finally realizing that she was crowding me, she let out an embarrassed laugh and pulled her son and her back to give me some breathing room. "Sorry 'bout that." Pointing to her son, she introduced him: "This here's my son, Firo Prochainezo."
Wait what?
Seeing her meaningful look, Firo straightened up and coolly offered me a hand. "How's it goin', I'm Firo. Why do ya talk funny— ow! " He winced as his mother smacked the back of his head at his words.
Mortified, she turned towards me with an apologetic expression. "Sorry about that; my son's still learning his manners."
Despite his attempt to look unaffected, I could still see Firo's bright blush. I'm a gracious person though, so I ignored that detail and accepted his hand. "Don't sweat it. Things are going great, Firo, although we shouldn't jinx it." I subconsciously knocked my knuckles against the wooden pew next to us six times. "My name is Azzy Chen," I offered, then, to both of them, "It's nice to meet you, Firo, ."
"Gosh, what I wouldn't do for Firo to pick up manners like yours." She joked.
I shook my head, "Oh, I'm sure Firo has some charming points of his own."
He'd have had to if he became the youngest Capo in the Martillo family before his twenties.
At that, she chuckled. Once introductions were over, she explained the purpose of the sudden meeting.
"You want me to teach Firo how to play the piano?"
The young woman nodded her head, "Yes, if it wouldn't be too much to ask. You see, lil' Firo over here," At this, she ruffled the boy's hair, eliciting a protest from him. "Runs around the streets a bit too much, so I figured this'd be a useful way to spend his time instead of getting himself in trouble. Will you do it?"
I took a moment to think about the pros and cons of the situation set before me. On one hand, I'd be making some money for this gig; on the other, this is Firo Prochainezo we're talking about. Doesn't he live in the same tenement as those Gandor brothers?
Unfortunately, I took too long to think and the choice was taken out of my hands.
"He'll do it." A voice behind me answered.
It was Baba.
Turning around, I saw my dad smiling at Mrs. Prochainezo.
"Cheung Chen," He offered a hand, to which she accepted. "My son is a workaholic and doesn't interact with kids his age much, so this is a perfect opportunity for both of them." His hand patted my head, "Azzy will get to make a friend, and your son will learn the piano."
Seeing as Baba already made up his mind, I couldn't do much to change it. Therefore, the only thing I could do was accept my fate.
Knock knock knock—
It only took a couple of raps on the door before I opened it, already aware of who the owner of those knocks would be.
"Good afternoon, Firo." I smiled at the blonde child, "Are you ready for your lesson?"
"You betcha, Azzy!"
Gone was the previous scowl and sulk on his face from a month ago; now, a playful smile and look of concentration were more often displayed across his features. His attitude improved by leaps and bounds once he began to take these lessons more seriously after overhearing his mother apologize to my mother for wasting my time during a get-together with her.
Due to our set-up, our mothers struck up a surprising friendship and often visited each other when they had the time; either to vent (my mother) or gossip ( ). It was a healthy friendship though, so I encouraged it, often volunteering to watch the twins so she could catch up with her friend.
Firo was fond of skipping lessons. At first, he only did it once in a while; but after noticing that I never said anything about it, it became a constant thing for him to do. Thought he was slick with it too.
In actuality, I didn't need to say anything. His show in progress was very telling of how far he's gotten. Meaning, not very.
My mom caught on to what I was doing, and despite not saying anything, approved.
I knew from first glance that Firo was a Mama's boy, and would hate disappointing his mother. So it was a no-brainer as to how I could get him to start paying attention.
Once he actually got into it, we found that he was a pretty decent player. Something I was pleasantly surprised by. At least this way, the church has a plan B for when I'm unavailable.
"Go on up to the piano, I'll be with you in a sec; there's some homework I need to put away," I instructed, closing the door behind him as he went to take off his shoes.
"Sure thing!"
Smack!
"One."
Smack!
"Two."
Smack!
" Three."
Smack!
"Four."
Smack!
"Five."
Despite the force put into the swings, my face didn't so much as twitch when the sharp ruler dug into my skin. The calluses on my hands were thick enough to buffer the pain; this type of hurt was nothing compared to the burning cuts I'd get when I was cutting up herbs and accidentally missed.
"How did I end up in this situation?" you might ask.
Well, it was the classic "bullying the only minority child in our group" plot. Cliche as hell, I know. I don't doubt that my parents would pull me out as soon as they catch a whiff of what was happening, but let's be real. The only way for a kid of Chinese descent like me to get an acknowledged educational degree was through private schools or tutoring. Public schools were a no-go, and the schools set aside for the Chinese were pathetically funded and lacking in what I needed. Reputation.
Thus, my enrollment in St. John's Catholic School for children.
I was already a practicing Catholic, so the religious details in school life were no biggie to deal with. It's a good thing I'm ambidextrous, or I would have been called the devil for using my dominant left to write. I could deal with the obvious racism in the classrooms, as it was plain to see that even though minorities were allowed in the school, we sure as hell weren't welcomed. No, my problem was with the teachers themselves. The priests especially.
They were a bit too handsy with some of the more pretty children, and one too many times have I caught some of them eyeing certain kids with a look that would ensue a call to the authorities. The moment I laid eyes on who my math teacher was, I knew for a fact that the man's existence spelled out trouble, and to no one's surprise, I was right.
Mans was absolutely vile. Three times out of four, he would make sure to make a snide remark disguised as a well-meaning comment regarding our backgrounds. It didn't matter whether we were different races, the man had it out for anyone he didn't approve of in his ideal world. The number of times he didn't use corporal punishment against us could be counted on one hand.
It was a dog-eat-dog world in the classrooms and seeing as I was the only kid of color in my grade, he especially had it out for me.
The class had been especially talkative today, and Fr. Peter, the absolute dick, deemed that I was the reason for it (despite knowing fully well that the children were talkative because of the excitement for the circus that was supposed to open up tomorrow. I don't know how he even connects that with me; this man is shameless with no bounds.
I was initially supposed to receive three, but the administrator, Fr. Peter, just kept going, uncaring about the fact that we had the class as our audience to his poorly restrained disdain for me. There wasn't any sign in his body language that told me he was planning to stop any time soon, so I figured I'd just take the hits until he stopped.
It's not like they actually hurt or anything.
It only was when the pathetic excuse of a teacher reared his hand back again after five minutes of rapping, did I look up to meet his eyes.
It was clear that this was one of his more difficult days; the hatred showed brightly in his eyes; his handsome face couldn't hide his faults as it usually did, giving way to how he was really feeling. Maybe it was because one of his sneaky links he usually met up with left him, or maybe it was because he got pickpocketed, or he could've just realized that whether he liked it or not, I would thrive in this school despite the obvious disadvantages I was faced with after seeing another flawless score on my recent math test.
It sounded like a him problem though, so I didn't care.
What I did care about was not letting him wrinkle the pristine white shirt my mom had just ironed out this morning for me. I could tell that he was just dragging out the punishment and therefore wasting class time I could be using to do homework, and that just wasn't doing it for me. I had to help out at the haberdashery after school today and didn't want to hold off on my homework until I got home.
When he realized I was looking at him, he was ready to give a mocking sneer; he froze.
All I could feel was annoyance at this disgusting man as he stared at me with a frightened look on his face. As if he was scared of me.
It was quiet in the room when he suddenly stopped and shakily lowered his hand. The man's face was white as paper, and there were beads of sweat on his brow. No one dared to speak in the sudden silence. It was too eerie to do anything else but observe.
Desperately averting his eyes from mine, he pointed me out of the room. "G-go and take care of your hands. You have five minutes to return to your seat."
With a nod, I did as was told, "Yes, Fr. Peter."
It didn't occur to me until later that normal kids, no matter how happy they usually were, weren't supposed to smile when their hands were soaked in blood after various lacerations.
"Those are new."
"Hmm?" I looked down at my hands, now covered with a pair of fitted black leather gloves. "Oh, yeah. I thought these looked spiffy, so I saved up some money and bought them from Mr. Agosti."
I gave an indecipherable smile to the person next to me.
"They were a real steal."
"C'mon, Doll. Just let me get a taste and you can be on your merry way."
Firo and I had been on an errand for Didi Yaguruma when I noticed we were being followed. Thankfully, the man was drunk so it would be easier to deal with him. After finally convincing Firo to split up at a corner, we bolted. Despite the man hesitating on who to run for and inevitably picking Firo, he was gaining distance on the boy due to his adult legs.
I knew Firo couldn't do much against a grown man, so I slowed down to catch the drunk's attention instead and ran deep into a deserted alleyway with him on my heels, eventually being "cornered" by him.
The man's breath reeked of alcohol and made my eyes slightly water from the intensity of it. His leering eyes didn't leave much to the imagination as to what he was thinking and his hands started to rough up my clothes, groping my thighs and ass. His mouth was inches away from my still smiling face when I finally took action.
Too quickly for his inebriated mind to register, my foot kicked up a glass bottle near me into my hand. Once I had a good grip on the bottle's neck, I swung it down hard . The glass shattered under the force and rained down on him with only one or two pieces getting on me; my thick glasses protected my eyes from any stray shards.
The pedophile's body immediately dropped like a bowling ball and his filthy hands were ripped away from my body.
I stood there and stood for a couple of seconds before straightening out my clothes and hair; a few brushes were needed to dislodge any signs of distress. Checking in a nearby mirror, I looked as normal as ever; it was as if the scuffle never happened in the first place.
Just as I was thinking about a way to restrain the man, I spotted a box full of discarded handkerchiefs.
Perfect.
It didn't take long for me to finish tying his arms behind him and his legs together in a DIY rope made out of handkerchiefs; and soon enough, I was whistling out of the alley, visage innocent of any crimes.
"Who the hell did that to your hand!"
Shit.
My hand scrambled to pull my glove back on, only for my wrist to be grabbed by a hand; nimble fingers gripped my chin, and I was soon looking at a pair of red eyes.
They were furious.
In front of me was my home. A place I had grown to love and cherish as time passed by. It was where I celebrated the twins' third birthday; where the twins and I made dinner for our parent's anniversary. All of our precious memories were held there. It was where Baba and Momo were.
(Images of their hole-ridden bodies flashed through the back of my mind.)
The color red couldn't have been more devastating than it was now. Tongues of fire licked high into the sky as the smoke built up in the air like a beacon of death. My ears picked up the piercing sound of sirens as firefighters rushed in to try and stop the fire from spreading.
The only thing I could do was hold on tightly to my wailing brothers; I was scared that they would disappear as well.
My frozen form barely registered Didi Yaguruma's hand on my shoulder.
I faintly registered that it was shaking.
CRACK! CRACK!
The ominous sound of bodies hitting the ground reached my ears. I quickly turned around, only to see—
"...Paw-Paw?" My eyes slowly widened with terror as realization set in. "Xue-Xue?"
My brothers' bodies lay prone on the floor, bullet holes gushing blood from their bodies and slowly pooling on the ground with blood.
The moment I met the eyes of the person responsible—a freckled man who had a nasty smirk on his face that was just begging to be slashed at—I snapped.
His first mistake was waiting.
Seeing [ ]'s surprised face was a treat I would have loved to memorize if the reason for such an expression weren't so sinister.
"Why the hell are you covered in blood !"
All of a sudden my eyes were covered by a large hand and a cloth was shoved against the bottom half of my face. The next thing I knew, I was roughly pulled into what seemed to be a car. I could hear [ ]'s screams for someone to let me go, only for his voice to fade away bit by bit as my consciousness swam despite my struggling to hold my breath.
Fucking chloroform.
"When I say jump, ya jump. When I say sit, ya better be on the floor like a dog. And when I tell ya to lick my shoe, it better be shining like a diamond." The ringmaster roared out.
"Yessir!" We answered in unison.
"Now get out there and entertain our customers! If I see any one of ya dirty urchins slacking, I'll give ya a licking ya won't ever forget. Now git!"
Rushing around in a floofy clown costume with heavy paints on my face wasn't something I considered I'd have to do in my life, but such is vivre.
"Ya want him? " The Ringmaster pointed at me with a nervous expression on his face.
The other man nodded, disdain already apparent on his face. "Yes, his body would be extremely apt for our purpose."
It was clear that the other man was reluctant to sell me, seeing as I was one of his main attractions at the show.
"But—
...the...cuts burned...the antiseptic...The older man grinned down at...tastes like dust...hands skillfully stitched... It hurts ...Another week passed...my legs ached from all the running... It hurts ... I don't want to do another test...No, stop it...lips felt brittle...my throat burned as the liquid was forced... It hurts ...They said I shouldn't be able to feel...my insides feel hollow though... So I'll just have to make it stop hurting.
"Anything I wish for, huh?"
The shadow nodded. "Yes, no need to hold back either. There won't be any repercussions to your wish. You've offered more than enough after all"
"Hmm," I tilted my head in thought before perking up when an idea came to mind. "I've got it!"
I pointed a thumb at myself and beamed a toothy grin that made my eyes curl into crescent moons, something I haven't been able to do in a while.
"Then how about being best friends with me!"
It was only when the annoying screeches stopped, did I finally wake up. My breath shuddered, my body felt numb, and I could tell that there were more than a couple of holes in my memory, but I've never felt freer in my life. It was exhilarating.
Walking around the blood-splattered room, I decided I might as well go and take a shower. But before that, I snooped around to find some spare clothes. The ones I had were covered in blood and would no doubt spook anyone I'd meet along the way.
Seeing a still-breathing body, I casually walked over to it. The closer I got to it, the more and more it shook until it was hyperventilating with fear when my shadow covered it. Turning it over on its back, I dug through its pockets until I found what I wanted.
Its frightened gaze stayed on me the entire time I opened up its wallet.
"Your daughter looks sweet; you must feel like one lucky father, huh?"
"D-don't t-touch her or-or-"
I widened my smile, "Or you'll what?" My hand waved at the pillar crushing its bottom half. "Your arms are fucked up from the explosion and you can't even move, much less try and protect your family."
That got it to shut up.
"Say, Franny—"
"It's Francis." It gritted out.
"Did I ask?" I shot back, "A lah, anyways, Franny." Standing up, I placed my foot on its shuddering chest. "Where's the staff room? I'm gonna need some clothes for when I get out of here."
It stubbornly stayed quiet up until I applied a little bit of pressure to my foot.
"Room 209," It wheezed out, eyes almost bugging out of its head.
Okay, maybe my version of "little" might be a bit tweaked from a normal person's, but at least it got the job done.
With a mocking hum of thanks, I lifted my bloody foot (well, every part of me was bloody, but I digress) and made my way towards the room, whistling a jaunty tune along the way.
The bloodstained walls and floors of every room I passed didn't phase me one bit; taking a hot shower was my top priority, food was second.
"Hands in the air, kid!"
"Eeeek! "
Spooked by the sudden boom of a voice, I shrieked and jumped what must have been a foot in the air, dropping my suitcase in the act, and curled into myself on the floor. My glove-covered hands were behind my head in a protective position as my body shook.
There was a moment of silence before a woman's voice piped up.
"Hey, Isaac?"
"...Yes, Miria?" The man's voice answered, sounding a bit taken back by my reaction.
"I know we were supposed to rob the kid...but now I just feel guilty."
"I do as well."
Peeking through my arms, I saw a strange pair of people standing in front of me. The man was dressed in a typical butler uniform, while the woman was dressed as a maid. Both had turned to face each other and were now discussing what they should do next.
No way.
"U-um, excuse me?" I stuttered out from behind the barrier of the scarf wrapped around my neck, large enough to hide the bottom half of my face. When they turned around to look at me, I fidgeted with my glove-covered fingers. "A-are you two, um, perhaps th-thieves?"
At that, the two widely smiled and placed their hands on their hips with pride.
"Well of course we are!" Isaac loudly answered, looping his arm through Miria's.
"Of course we are!" Miria echoed after him.
"My name is Isaac-"
"And I'm Miria-"
"And together, we are America's greatest thieving duo!" They belted out with full confidence.
Smiling at their antics, I fidgeted with my large glasses and wiggled a bit, plastering a hopeful look on my face. "If you don't mind me asking...do you take any requests?" I shyly ask.
At their flabbergasted looks, I hurried to explain, "Well, you see, I was wondering if..." I took a deep breath to steady myself, "If you could steal me?"
"Uh," Shocked by my request, all Isaac could do was blink in surprise with Miria doing the same. "Sorry, I must be hearing things. Could you repeat what you just said? I could have sworn you just asked us to steal you." He uncharacteristically backtracked nervously.
"Think about it," I suggested, pushing my glasses back with a shine reflecting off my lenses and picking up steam. "How many thieves do you know have claimed to have stolen a whole person?" I asked, brightening up my nervous smile. "Besides, cool thieves like you should have the most stylish costumes for heists! I just so happen to be skilled at making clothes, so I could be your very own costume-maker. You can look for yourselves."
Opening up my recently dropped suitcase (and skillfully covering the dent it made on the cement) I pulled out a yellow overcoat, an embroidered blue dress shirt, and a scarf. There were some of my finest works, seeing as I was always on the move and all.
Miria squealed with amazement as she checked out the clothing, "Look, Isaac! There are little bananas and monkeys stitched into the fabric! And look at this shirt! The embroidery is so cute! " The next thing I knew, I was being suffocated against her chest as she suddenly hugged me. "Can we keep him, Isaac?" She pleaded, pulling out her puppy eyes. "Can we, can we?"
It was obvious the man stood no chance against her when she pulled those eyes out against him, and soon enough we were on our merry way to who knows where.
Success. Nǎi Nai would be so proud of me.
Karen Translations (Any translations after this will be in the notes once I get it working)
* Poe Kwa Si — Eldest son
* Momo — The equivalent of Mama or Mommy. You would usually just say Mo to address your mother.
*Weh —An expression to show exasperation. Kind of like saying aiyah or *A lah. It can also be used to call someone's attention.
* Si law—si law, na guh law te — Get down—get down, you're going to fall.
*Ti klaw —Tea; directly translates to boiled water.
* Amaleh — Kind of like the equivalent of 'Oh my'. A way to express shock; can be used in all kinds of connotations
*Wa —Husband
*Ma —Wife
* Didi — Uncle: pronounced Dee-Dee. Not to be confused with the Chinese meaning for 'younger brother'. "Di" can also be used.
*Jaw-Jaw —Big Brother: You can also just say Jaw.