“Sorry it’s only tea,” Henry said across the small marble-topped table from Ling. “But at least it’s hot.”
They were in a basement speakeasy located on a narrow Greenwich Village street. Ling blew on her steaming tea and looked around warily at the flocked red wallpaper, better suited to a bordello; the women with closely cropped hair and mannish suits; the men sitting close together.
“What sort of place is this?” Ling whispered after an uncomfortable silence.
“A safe one,” Henry answered, stirring milk into his tea. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth before?”
“I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me. I get enough of people staring at me in horror. Or pity.” She took a sip of her tea. It was still too hot. “It’s just… in the dream world, I’m the way I used to be. I can run and dance. I’m strong. Not like here. I didn’t want you to see me this way—weak.”
“Darlin’, you may be a lot of things, but weak isn’t one of them. How long have you been…” Henry trailed off.
“Crippled? If we’re going to have this conversation, there’s no point in being precious,” Ling shot back. “Not long. Since October.”
“And will you always…?”
“It was infantile paralysis,” she said firmly.
Henry nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said after a pause.
“Why? You didn’t cause it.”
“No. But I’m sorry nonetheless. It’s terribly unfair.”
“Nobody promised life would be fair. That’s why I love dream walking so much. It’s the one place where I feel like myself. Where I’m free.”
“Well, I’ll drink to that.” Henry raised his teacup and took a sip. “To the place where we can be free.”
Two men from the corner table got up to dance, hands joined, cheeks pressed close together, and Ling tried not to stare. She hoped her discomfort wasn’t too evident.
“Speaking of free,” Henry said. He took a deep breath. “As long as we’re being honest, I should… I want to tell you the truth about Louis.”
Henry’s heart beat quickly. Why was being himself with another human being more terrifying than anything he could imagine in a dream?
“When I said that Louis was my friend, that wasn’t entirely true. He’s more than just a friend. He’s the only boy I’ve ever loved. He’s… he’s my lover.” Henry sat back and folded his arms across his chest. His expression was a dare. “So. Go ahead, Miss Chan. What do you have to say to that?”
Henry. And Louis. Lovers. It was a bit shocking, but it also explained so much that hadn’t made sense, something Ling had felt deep down. Years before, Ling had overheard a bit of gossip about Uncle Eddie and the real reason he’d never taken a wife. It was because of his friend Fuhua. The two of them were said to be closer than brothers. They went everywhere together. One day, Fuhua was arrested for gambling. During the interrogation, it was discovered that he had entered the country illegally by pretending to be someone else—that he was a “paper son.” There was nothing to be done. Within a week, Fuhua was deported to China and forbidden to enter the country ever again, breaking her uncle’s heart. Or so the gossip went.
“Is it true?” Ling had asked her mother later. In those days, she shared everything with her mother.
Her mother had gotten very upset. “That’s a terrible thing to say about your uncle, Ling!”
“Why?” Ling had asked, her cheeks hot with a shame she didn’t understand.
“Because it’s… unnatural, two men together. It’s a sin. Ask Father Thomas. He’ll tell you,” her mother said. “You mustn’t ever say that about your uncle again, Ling.”
Ling hadn’t cared if the story about Uncle Eddie was true or not; she’d been upset to think of her beloved uncle unhappy. After her mother’s explanation, though, the idea had taken root in her: This was wrong and sinful. It was an idea she’d never had to challenge until now. But Henry wasn’t wrong. He sometimes made jokes when he should be serious, but he was kind. She might not fully understand his life, or he hers, but she realized that in the dream world, they’d been telling each other truths all along. She liked Henry. She liked Louis, too. Ling had spoken to the dead plenty, and not one of them had ever said a word about love being a sin. Until the priests could satisfactorily prove their hypothesis, she would take the word of the dead over the priests’.