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Left or Right – Part 05

They navigated through complex and intricate side passages, eventually entering a crude back room that seemed far removed from the luxurious tower’s interior. It was a space for employees. In one corner stood a small elevator, rectangular and low-ceilinged, used to transport dishes prepared in the kitchen above. Kazuya could never have found it alone.

“This should take you up three floors. If you want to go further up, you’ll have to use the emergency stairs. As for how to use the dumbwaiter…”

Joey explained how to operate it. It was quite complicated, but Troll grasped it readily.

“Got it!” he said, pounding his chest.

The three squeezed into the dumbwaiter.

“Seriously, don’t die,” Joey said worriedly. “Come back alive. Not that I think it’s possible, from the looks of things.”

“Thank you so much! You can go now. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t forget. People come to the New World for a new hope. So don’t die on the night you arrive. Please!”

The doors closed.

“Never mind, get out of there! You can’t possibly come back alive… H-Hey!”

Kazuya shook his head slowly.

“Are you really going?”

Joey’s anxious face disappeared.

It was uncomfortably hot inside the dumbwaiter. It felt like they were being baked. Kazuya wiped his sweat.

Troll stayed silent, looking worried.

“Don’t worry, you’ve got me,” Mary said. “I’m a professional.”

“Yeah. I’m sure we can count on you,” Troll replied.

With a loud clank, the dumbwaiter arrived three floors above. The doors opened slowly.

Bursting flames appeared in front of them. Mary suddenly shrieked at the sight of the fire.

“What’s the matter?!” Troll grabbed Mary’s shoulders and shook her. “I thought you said you were a professional!”

“What? What’s happening? So, La Guardia, the fifteen-year-old who sailed here alone on a ship, is already dead? Huh? Then, who’s this old lady here? What?”

In the grand hall of the Apocalypse, people had encircled La Guardia, who was seated with her golden lizard-shaped pipe. A hush enveloped them.

Bon Vivant kept cocking his head, repeating, “Huh? Huh?”

La Guardia fixed a piercing gaze at the diminutive figure draped in a gray cloth—Victorique. She had lost the composure to maintain an elegant façade. Ugly lines etched her nose, and her mouth revealed her gums partially. Bon Vivant shifted uneasily between them, while the guests watched, bemused.

Weary and pale-faced, Victorique seemed on the verge of collapse. Her slender frame trembled. Her magnificent silver hair cascaded over the gray cloth to the floor.

The guests paled, their gazes fixed on La Guardia as if witnessing a dreadful spectacle.

Quivering, Victorique pointed a finger at the lavish Tobacco Road cake depicting a story of success, an economic journey spiraling towards the future, at the sugar confections resembling a ship at its base. Victorique slowly gestured towards the vessel, then the Statue of Liberty, and finally the blue gate of Ellis Island’s immigration office.

“Moving on.”

The sound of waves. Moonlight. The middle of the ocean. Weary passengers sleeping in the cabin. Intermittent prayers echoing in various tongues.

Victorique’s raspy voice boomed. “Once more, we go back in time to recount the genuine tale of the past!”

Sixty-five years ago, on the immigrant ship.

Night gave way to a new dawn. The morning light streamed in through the porthole, casting a spotlight on the sunken features of the exhausted Betsy. She glanced down. Next to her, La Guardia was sleeping peacefully with a baby in her arms, her face angelic and unsuspecting. Her fuzzy hair glistened under the morning sun.

Betsy rose silently and took out the white lace dress from La Guardia’s suitcase. Swiftly, she disrobed, changed clothes, and took the girl’s belongings.

She glanced back at the baby. Her forehead creased, and she shook her head, hesitating. But ultimately, she hurried out of the cabin and climbed up the stairs.

The ship gradually slowed. The engine roared. A beastly growl. Immigrants stirred awake, exclaiming in various languages.

La Guardia too rose, beaming. “We’ve made it to the New World, Betsy!” She looked to her side. Both Betsy and her suitcase were gone. The baby wailed in her arms.

“B-Betsy? Where are you? Huh?”

Holding the baby, La Guardia wandered amidst the jubilant crowd on the deck, searching for Betsy. Confusion turned into suspicion, then sorrow.

The ship sailed past the looming Statue of Liberty. Cheers and sobs filled the air, exuberant voices reciting the poem on the pedestal.

Victorique, wrapped in gray cloth, stood among the immigrants on the deck, observing La Guardia darting among the dingy passengers reciting the poem, singing, dancing with fervor.

This was an accurate recreation of the scene from sixty-five years ago. The real La Guardia, gazing up blankly at the retreating Statue of Liberty, began to recite the poem.

A fifteen-year-old girl whose hope was abruptly stolen from her, cradling an unfamiliar baby to her chest.

“Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

The baby slumbered peacefully. The ship glided past the Statue of Liberty, drawing nearer to Ellis Island.

“Crossing the vast sea… passing through the Blue Gate, grasping at the beacon of hope… and… transforming into a new self… standing tall… Yes, will I become someone new and stand tall!”

Ellis Island Immigration Office. The Blue Gate.

Two women entered. One, gripping the hopeful future stolen from an innocent girl, her eyes glinting with menace. The other, dazed, comforting a baby abandoned by a stranger.

The woman freshened up in the restroom, enhanced her naturally lovely, childlike features, tied her black hair in braids, and emerged with gleaming blue eyes. Utilizing La Guardia’s passport, she breezed through inspection, navigating everything in fluent English. She appeared sharp-witted.

Raising her hand before the officer, she boldly proclaimed, “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. God blessed the United States of America!”

Her sound body, wise gaze, and fluent English earned her an approving nod and smile from the officer. A stark contrast to the treatment that Victorique received.

“Very good. Welcome to America!”

The young, vigorous, and ambitious girl truly embodied the hope of a new era. The officer regarded her with pride.

She then boarded a ferry to New York Harbor, where she spotted a young man holding an English sign.

Victorique, wrapped in gray cloth, approached. Gazing at the sign, she murmured hoarsely, “The real La Guardia would not have understood English. Her fiancé likely wrote the sign in English simply because he was in America. Nothing much to it. But the real La Guardia would not have been able to read this sign. That’s why I disagreed with the recounting of this tale.”

The woman stared at empty space and nodded to herself.

I’m going to become someone new and begin afresh in the new world. I will live. I will survive. I will seize hope and freedom. As a femina economica of the new world, I will start over.

Wearily, she staggered toward the young man. Like a wounded creature concealing its scars, she gritted her teeth. Upon noticing her, the man instantly brightened. Betsy trembled, but in the next moment, her innocent smile returned, mimicking the real La Guardia she observed on the ship. She tilted her head in confusion, before finally leaping into the man’s embrace.

“The dress I sent! It suits you so well. La Guardia, you’ve blossomed so beautifully!”

Relief flooded her as she nestled in his arms. When she looked up, she beamed like a delicate flower.

“I knew it was you right away!”

They produced two halves of a commemorative coin, joining them together. One side bore the fierce visage of a dragon, the other a charming tail.

Fortune favors the bold. Heads or tails.

She smiled innocently.

The burdens of the past crumbled from her face. Thus La Guardia, the femina economica, was born anew. She departed from New York Harbor with the man who would be her husband. Boarding a train southward from Grand Central Station, she left behind the past, journeying from a modest tobacco farm toward a prosperous future, intent on fleeing for eternity.

The remnants of an irreparable past.