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Interstitial Sea – Part 03

Immigrants in vibrant traditional garments, with colorful fabrics or round hats atop their heads, flooded the deck. Carrying large luggage in both hands, they conversed in a myriad of languages as they descended the gangplank.

On Ellis Island, just preceding Manhattan, stood the United States Immigration Bureau. The renowned door, immortalized in verse, yawned wide, ceaselessly engulfing migrants that arrived day in and day out—a colossal maw welcoming them to the New World.

Victorique froze in trepidation, only to be chided by Kazuya before they traversed the door, venturing into the colossal barrack-like immigration edifice.

The registration hall sprawled expansively, partitioned into squares by ropes. Packed tightly like livestock, people queued patiently, the fetid floor exuding a noxious odor exacerbated by the summer heat. Laughter and mirth of moments prior turned into apprehension; passage onto Manhattan Island hinged upon successful interviews with physicians and inspectors. Failure resulted in either deportation, involuntary admission, or temporary detainment.

Square papers bearing the names of arriving vessels were pinned onto collars. Physicians and nurses, upon identifying illness, chalked diagnoses onto patients’ garments. Attempts to brush away the markings was futile at this point. People swiftly distanced themselves from them. Tears of frustration welled in the eyes of those marked, soon to be escorted away—destined for hospitalization or deportation, barred from setting foot on new shores.

The queue inched forward at a glacial pace, hours passing to move a single block. Morning transitioned seamlessly into noon, then afternoon. People in line were dripping sweat.

Kazuya stood rigidly straight, while Victorique, cradling the infant, cast her gaze downward. A passing physician noted her pallor and trembling, prompting scrutiny. Kazuya tensed up.

“You there,” the doctor called darkly. “You have a history of substance use, don’t you? Your fingers trembling is proof. Are you a habitual drug user?”

Victorique lifted her head and pulled her chin back. “N-No.”

“Chin up! Show me your eyes! Open your mouth! Look straight at me!”

Holding the baby, Victorique stiffened.

“In the New World, we bar those with infectious diseases, the infirm unable to contribute economically, severe alcoholics, or drug addicts. What our nation needs are people with sound mind and sound bodies.”

A light was shone into her eyes and throat. A nurse hurried over to assist, and the people around Victorique quickly distanced themselves.

Kazuya attempted to intercede, “Um, she’s perfectly fine…”

“Step aside!” the nurse rebuked.

Then, a sudden outcry diverted attention—a young woman, lips painted a bright red, flung her belongings in protest. Burly staff struggled to restrain her.

“What’s the problem?! I didn’t have money to board the ship! But I had to, no matter what… You understand, right? I know you do!”

“Give it up! We’ve received a report of what you did on the ship. Indecent women are not allowed to disembark on Manhattan Island. You’ll be deported!”

“That’s not fair! What did I do wrong?! How else is a lone woman supposed to earn a living? What’s wrong with doing business on the ship? I’m not a fiend! Damn it. God would’ve understood!”

“Then talk to your God! We’re just enforcing regulations. Come here!”

People who grasped the situation whispered among each other. The woman hung her head and wept sorrowfully, resisting as she was dragged away. Her suitcase struck the head of a child, startling them into a scream. They seemed to have a nosebleed. The doctor and nurse exchanged looks before hurrying over.

The petite woman wrapped in gray cloth was quickly forgotten, and people returned around Victorique and Kazuya. Kazuya stayed close to Victorique to protect her.

Around the afternoon, the line finally moved again, and they reached the inspector’s desk.

The Italian infant, cradled by Victorique, was the first to pass the inspection after its father’s identity was confirmed. He had come to the New World earlier, secured a job, then summoned his family over. He was awaiting their arrival at the harbor.

Kazuya answered questions about his origins, health, and sponsor. “My sister and her husband live in Greenwich Village. He works for a government agency. They’ll vouch for me,” he explained.

Victorique’s evaluation took a long time.

The inspector scrutinized her with a sigh. “Welcome to the New World,” he eventually said, his expression tinged with skepticism as he stamped their visa and gestured for them to proceed.

Beyond the inspector’s post, they were directed to an interview chamber, where a panel awaited, comprising inspectors, secretaries, and interpreters.

After a string of questions, Victorique was prompted to recite an oath.

“In the presence of the Statue of Liberty, I do solemnly swear: to labor as a femina economica, contributing to the expansion and progress of the New World, within my household and in the workforce. Never shall a day pass in idleness. Neither shall I worship old gods, nor shall I degrade myself, but instead, I shall march forward as a virtuous working woman and dedicated homemaker.”

“Very well.”

“God bless America,” she recited in an unfavorable manner, her cheeks puffed like a squirrel hoarding nuts.

Kazuya was trying his best not to laugh.

“Hmm, carry on.”

Victorique toddled along, cheeks still inflated. “I hate this,” she mumbled under her breath.

Holding their registration cards, they exited the huge and stifling immigration office.

The sun dipped low. The whole process had taken a full day.

Victorique remained swathed in her gray cloak like a bagworm. Cradling the infant, she advanced as slowly as a bug, dragging her feet, until she couldn’t move any longer and stopped.

Kazuya, strides ahead, glanced back. “What’s wrong? Hurry along, Victorique.”

Puffed up like a balloon, Victorique grumbled hoarsely, “What was that femina economica business from earlier? What does it mean?”

Kazuya straightened, offering an explanation. “I think it’s about working diligently, managing household chores, maybe even some office work or baking pizzas. Just staying busy all day, you know?”

“But I’ve never worked before,” Victorique whined. Her face was pallid. “Except when I was used as Europe’s ultimate weapon of war.”

The pair were headed to the ferry terminal from Ellis Island to Manhattan Island. The summer sun sank lower, late afternoon turning into dusk.

Kazuya, carrying suitcases in both hands, trotted back, peering at Victorique’s delicate profile. “I’m worried about that too, but we’ve made it to the New World together. You know what they say: all’s well that ends well. I’ll find a job soon. Go, me!”

“Knock yourself out,” Victorique said, gazing into the distance.

The silhouette of Manhattan’s new skyscrapers loomed faintly. A society distinct from the Old World was just around the corner.

Turning from the chaotic vista, Victorique said flatly, “Go on and work, but I, on the other hand, have no intention to!” Carrying the baby, she looked like a smaller version of the Virgin Mary.

“Why not?” Kazuya asked curiously.

Victorique stamped her foot like a petulant child.

“I mean, come on!”

“What? What’s the matter?!”

Kazuya leaped back, narrowly avoiding his foot being trodden on.

“While we’re going through immigration, they have the gall to lecture me about working, working! It’s beyond belief! What kind of country is this?!”

Kazuya stood there, jaw dropped, observing Victorique’s awkward dance moves with a complete lack of rhythm, but soon found himself unable to contain his laughter.

“Seriously. Are you genuinely upset about that? You’re such a diva. A big kid in a small body. But seriously, this is the land of new workers. So, the mysterious princess you were, you might turn into a hardworking lady, baking pizzas in a big oven, scrubbing entire buildings until they shine. No, wait. Hmm… does that make sense? It just doesn’t feel quite right to me… Something’s off… But what could it be…? Maybe everything? Hey, Victorique, are you even paying attention?”

Victorique narrowed her emerald eyes sharply. “The Wellspring of Wisdom has spoken,” she said solemnly, looking as disgruntled as possible, almost menacing.

“I can’t shake off this bad feeling.”