“Yes, my dear. It was a question,” the nurse said. “And I need your answer.”
“The question is foolish. That’s what is foolish.”
“Is that—”
“Yes,” London interrupted. “That is my answer.”
“Next question. Yesterday the police found the body of a girl cut into eighteen pieces. They believe that she killed herself. What is foolish about this?”
“She was obviously murdered by a butcher.”
“Is that your answer?”
London answered the rest of the nurse’s questions without bothering with whether or not she was getting them correct. Instead she focused on not planting her fist into this woman’s face and taking off. She’d seen there were no guards standing outside the building, and none down by the open gate. But it was a bad plan, running now. She’d be too easy to spot in the daylight.
At the end of the interview, the nurse announced that London appeared to be, “healthy and without marked physical defects, and although wild and unmanageable upon arrival, was now considerably calmed. However, the test plainly shows you to be a high-grade moron, as well as a menace to the community due to your sex interests and lack of self-restraint. I’ll have the doctor take a look at my results and confirm tomorrow. For tonight, let’s get you settled in.”
London didn’t give a damn what this nurse thought she was or wasn’t. All she cared about was convincing the nurse she was harmless, which she had succeeded in doing. That was why she was being lined up in a group of other girls about her age instead of being locked up in some cellar. London had often been locked in cellars.
A woman attendant walked them out of the room full of clothes and into a room full of beds. It was a queer hour for bed, but this was a queer place. London didn’t think too much on it, except to keep her eyes away from the attendant. A woman like that could ruin her escape plan.
London noticed they were on the second floor that faced the front of the building, and that there looked to be three or more other rooms full of beds besides the one she had been led into. Each room held about fifteen girls. Her group included the two thugs London already felt were the only reason to stay the night, so she could play about with them some tomorrow. The Missus would have had opinions on these two. Alby hated when London got into fights. As the son of a prosperous butcher, the only blood on his hands came from the daily slaughter. But the old woman had admired London for it. Always muttering how she wished she could get a look at “the other palooka.” She understood London in a way Alby never would.
London sighed as she filed into the room in line with the other girls, knowing she couldn’t return to Bennington Street for at least a night or two. She’d have to bust out and then find someplace to hide—let them think she’d kicked it in a ditch somewhere. She remembered it was Wednesday, and figured by Sunday the world would return to not caring two shits about her.
London was shown to a cot near the window, which was perfect. She’d already scoped out the front of the building and noted the gas pipes. It was late October, but London could tell they weren’t heating this dump before they absolutely had to. The grass was cut nice, and the brick buildings loomed, large and impressive, but the wet holes in the ceiling of the hallways upstairs and the worn-out boots on the feet of the girls who lived here had not gone unnoticed by her. They weren’t overspending in this joint, especially where people weren’t looking.
The girls all climbed wordlessly onto their cots. London had spent a considerable amount of time in orphanages, and so knew that the attendant walking up and down the main row was the cause of the silence. London made sure to keep her eyes down. She didn’t want to capture the attention of this one.
There was a tension in the air as the attendant stood in the center of the room, and all the girls lay still on their cots, and London tried to figure out what they were waiting for. She pretended to close her eyes, knowing the eyes of the attendant were focused on her.
A loud whistle blew, but London didn’t move. She’d known something was about to happen and would be damned if she’d react and give pleasure to this woman, even if it cost her a scowl. It was worth it. After another minute, the woman lost interest and walked out of the room, locking the door behind her.
The key hadn’t finished twisting in the lock when the girl in the cot next to London poked up her head like a rat from its hole.
“Hi.”
Her bedmate immediately yanked her back down.
London figured the bedmate was a night-crawler. They existed in almost every place where London had ever closed her eyes to sleep, creeping over in the night and demanding things from you. Night-crawlers always preyed on the weak. And the smiling girl was a Mongoloid.
The girl’s head popped up again, the smile already large on her face, but she didn’t even get the chance to push the H sound out of her mouth before the other girl again pulled her back down.
“Rose, it’s time to sleep.”
Her voice was kind. She wasn’t a night-crawler. Although, whoever she was, she wouldn’t look at London. Instead she wrapped her arm around her bedmate and pulled her in close, protectively. And then she reached out and gently ran her hand down the face of the girl she had called Rose, shutting her eyes.
As soon as her hand had passed over Rose’s lids, Rose’s eyes popped back open, reminding London of what she’d once seen corn do when set on a hot coal stove, and London actually laughed.
Now another head popped up… from the cot on the other side of the two girls. The Negro girl’s stare couldn’t be missed, along with its meaning. But just in case London hadn’t understood, the girl then pointedly stared at the door to the dormitory where the attendant had exited.
London rolled her eyes at her. She didn’t need to be told what not to do. She knew she shouldn’t have laughed. But this Rose was funny.
The girl laid back down with a light thump.
London needed to get the hell out of here. But it was still so light out, even with the rain. Why were they all in bed at half past five in the afternoon? She settled in with a sigh and tried not to look over at Rose looking over at her from her cot, although it was tough, since they were less than a foot from each other, and that little bird wouldn’t stop staring.
London broke down and turned to face Rose.
Rose went absolutely wiggly.
Her bedmate gave her an annoyed bump from behind. A warning. Rose opened her eyes more widely and smiled even more brightly at London. Then she slowly began to pull something out from under the covers to show London. It looked like a stick from a tree. And when it emerged, London saw that it was a stick, a very worn stick. The girl hugged it closely to herself, showing London how much she loved it.
A bed creaked across the room, and London gestured with her chin for the girl to hide her stick. In places like this, things that were loved needed to be hidden. Rose immediately buried her stick under the blanket, and London saw that the girl understood how things worked.
The movement alerted Rose’s bedmate, who turned around in the cot without disturbing a single coil in the sloping mattress. She whispered something into Rose’s ear and gently ran her hand over the girl’s eyes again, this time more slowly than the last. But as soon as her hand reached Rose’s cheeks, Rose reopened her eyes, and so the bedmate repeated it, over and over, like she was gently washing Rose’s face. London noticed how the bedmate never looked over at her. London understood, and didn’t take offense. This girl was protecting herself. She didn’t know London, but she obviously cared greatly about Rose, and needed to focus on keeping her safe. Probably not an easy job in a place like this. As if on cue, London heard the big brute with the bangs cough meaningfully.