Forty-seven

As Maud and I left the museum that evening, my chest constricted in the usual manner. Although I had celebrated the museum’s closure with the rest, these unstructured days were wearing on my nerves. Each morning I slept as late as I wanted to, without the usual pain in my feet and legs from walking through the galleries. But when I rose out of bed and stood at my window, panic descended like a dark fog upon me, lodging in my chest, a tight bridle. What would I do with the day? I had a new routine, but it occupied me for only an hour or two: a thorough foot and leg massage; a trip down the hall to check on the Aztec Children, who were usually still sleeping in their new cots. Then breakfast on the roof. After that, however, I was on my own until dinner. I did not visit the galleries. Why would I? And I had not ventured into the city. I needed new shoes and a new dress, but I had been trapped by inertia. It was the actors guild that finally pulled me from my disgusting ennui.

Maud led the way. The address was on Broadway at Prince Street, well north of the museum. Maud had worked at Niblo’s Garden for six months prior to joining Barnum’s museum and when she had discovered I was going to the meeting, she would not be left behind.

“They employed me before their conversion,” she said as we approached the building. It had a façade similar to Barnum’s, but instead of marble Niblo’s building had been created with bricks of a rather fiery orange. “Yes, Mr. Niblo the younger married into the Van Hoek family, and after that a hirsute women would never do.”

The lobby was wide and accented with three frescoes painted in brilliant tones that depicted tigers in a jungle scene. Rugs of incredible dimension lay across the promenade, and an elegant hanging sign pointed the way to the fountain. Other signs advertised the evening’s entertainments: PERFORMANCES TODAY COMMENCE AT HALF-PAST SIX WITH THE OVERTURES TO ACTÆON, AFTER WHICH WILL BE PRODUCED THE HIGHLY LAUGHABLE BURLETTA, OF ANIMAL MAGNETISM! (WITH A NEW SCENE WRITTEN FOR THE OCCASION). IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE FIRST PIECE, AND PREVIOUS TO THE INTERMISSION, MR. BUTTON WILL SING A NEW SONG, CALLED “RHYMES AND CHIMES ON THE SIGNS OF THE TIMES!” BETWEEN THE PIECES, AN INTERMISSION OF HALF AN HOUR WILL BE ALLOWED FOR PROMENADE AND REFRESHMENTS IN THE GRAND SALOON, WHERE ICE CREAMS, FRUIT ICES, AND REFRESHMENTS OF THE CHOICEST KINDS AND IN GREAT VARIETY WILL ABOUND.

Compared with Barnum’s enterprise, Niblo’s Garden was a rather breathtaking manifestation of elegance.

There was no one about, but we found a sign propped against a high mahogany counter on one side of the lobby, ACTOR’S GUILD, GREEN ROOM, with an arrow pointing the way. I passed by the doors to the main theater. Through them, I witnessed the elaborate gallery, layered with so many varieties of velvet, so many tiers of balcony, so many baubles and gilt-framed alcoves that I was nauseated and squinted to dim the glare. It was spectacularly silly.

The green room was a spacious and well-lit den with about twenty people gathered near the front. I sensed immediately that the actors, who are always recognizable by the slight arrogance of their stance, had taken one side of the room and the costume-makers the other.

“I recognize the tall one,” Maud said. “And the two women sitting down. They’re German.”

By the way their gazes lingered on Maud, I deduced these people recognized her as well.

“It’s remarkable. The manager here encourages the actors to meet like this. Can you imagine if Barnum did the same thing? Oh, my Lord! Look who it is, the Emperor himself!”

How could I have not immediately seen one of my own kind? Tai Shan, the Chinese giant, the most elusive of Barnum’s Representatives of the Wonderful, was standing against the room’s far wall. He was reading a pamphlet, which he held between two fingers of each hand. His head was level with a crystal wall sconce, and it illuminated his face quite dramatically.

Each of the few times I’d seen the Chinese giant he’d worn a different, richly patterned silk tunic, with similarly colorful loose trousers underneath. Tonight he was swathed in a robe of red silk alternating with bands of purple and panels of a textile embroidered with poppies. I had to admit the clothes looked exceedingly comfortable. I watched him put on a pair of spectacles and lift the pamphlet to eye level. His face was impassive, strikingly angular and made more so because of his bald pate. I guessed he was younger than I, but it was impossible to know for sure. He was the recluse of the fifth floor and never made an effort to talk with any of us, so we never bothered to speak to him. Neither Maud nor I went over to him.

We found two seats and in due time a man rose to address us. Based on his humble manner and long, elegant fingers I assumed he was a costume-maker. He welcomed the group, and then welcomed the newcomers, looking pointedly in our direction. He paid no attention to Tai Shan.

The costume-maker continued by summarizing the previous meeting, which included various items almost unfathomable to me, including guaranteed annual contracts and schedules that included ten Saturdays off work each year. He sent a petition around the room, the subject of which he did not reiterate for those who had missed the previous meeting.

“But before we continue these discussions, we have an item of new business. We are a small group here,” he continued. “When newcomers arrive, we like to give them a chance to tell us something about themselves. Please, ladies. Indulge us.”

Everyone in the green room turned to scrutinize us; in a maddening gesture, Maud looked at me as if she’d never seen me before, her lips pursed. It was a clear sign that I was to be our spokesperson. I did not stand.

“We’re from Barnum’s American Museum. There are certain issues among the employees there, including unfair pay, inadequate care for children, and a prevalent general disorganization that precludes the resolution of these issues. You may have heard of the recent arrest of the Martinetti family of acrobats. They are entirely without representation, legal or otherwise. I saw your advertisement in the Evening Post this morning. We are not actors in the conventional sense of the word, but I believe we fit into the same arena. I’m hoping to listen to your discussion and ask for your advice and guidance to help remedy the situation at the American Museum.”

None of the actors regarded me, or the details of my little speech, with particularly friendly expressions, but I was still unprepared for what followed. From one corner of the room, a voice that was registered somewhere in the lowest regions of the bass clef and shockingly loud emitted a mind-splitting barrage of language. Everyone jumped, including the mild costume-maker who stood in front of us. The instrument of this noise was a robust male, of above-average height and stormy complexion, who had risen from his seat and now glowered at Maud and me while spewing chains of words in German.

It also soon became clear that everyone else in the room knew the German language. I was incredulous. On the fifth floor of Barnum’s museum, one could not find a group of more than five or six who spoke the same language, English included.

“They’re all German?” As I whispered to Maud, the terrible shouter began waving his fist at us, and at the costume-maker, who visibly recoiled.

“Most are. That’s one of the reasons I left; they revert to German to discuss real business.”

“I thought you were fired.”

“It was practically mutual.”

“Sir?” I raised my hand and addressed the costume-maker. “Would you mind enlightening my friend and me as to what is going on?” At the sound of my voice the shouter paused.

“There is some discussion —” he began.

“That is clear,” Maud snapped.

“Why should we help you?” The shouter switched languages seemingly mid-sentence, his voice retaining the volume and force of a pipe organ. “Since your museum closed, attendance here at Niblo’s has doubled. Why should we help you?”

“Not everyone is agreeing with Mr. Messner, madame,” the costume-maker offered. Mr. Messner had reverted to his native tongue and now addressed the seated actors. The costume-maker cleared his throat and switched to German, calling out to the group. Mr. Messner did not immediately back off, and several of the assembled people shouted their opinions in German over his voice.

“Your meetings are advertised as open to the public,” Maud shouted over the din. “I’m surprised that you would put in the effort and money to place these ads if you did not really mean what they say.”

“Mr. Niblo places the ads” — Mr. Messner growled from his seat — “so people will think his establishment progressive, as they say. Nothing more.”

I could see this detail ruffled Maud, but it was clear by the set of her jaw and the tilt of her shoulders that we would stay to the end.

“Entschuldigen Sie bitte.” The racket ebbed suddenly with this new voice. Tai Shan had stepped away from the wall and now addressed the group. “I hope you will allow me to translate my colleagues’ concerns. They are asking for your help. Surely you will give it to them?”

He was graceful. He gestured for me to continue. I hardly knew what to say.

“In Barnum’s museum there is no recognized method for us to enact change. All of our contracts are privately signed.”

Tai Shan’s voice was gentle and steady even as it navigated the rugged topography of the German tongue. People’s heads turned from one to the other of us as we alternated.

“Barnum is constantly expanding the museum according to his whim. I’d like to negotiate with him and try to centralize the contracts, and to include certain benefits for us, like what you’re doing with your schedule of Saturdays off work.”

After Tai Shan concluded his translation, an actor was the first to speak. He addressed me directly. “You must show him that you and your group have power in the museum. Without you, he would have nothing to exhibit!”

A costume-maker nodded. She could have been my mother’s age, wearing a faded kerchief around her gray hair. Tai Shan translated her words. “There can be only one representative of your group. You and you only must negotiate with him. Everyone must agree to the terms of your guild. She says the guild will work only with this unity.”

By the end of the discussion, people talked excitedly about the museum, the change that was possible. I nodded and tried to remember everything that was said. When the meeting ended, several actors nodded good night and wished me luck with the endeavor.

Maud stayed at Niblo’s to talk with several of her former colleagues, so Tai Shan and I left the theater together.

On the street, the evening air promised summer. Families walked in groups beside lone men hurrying home. We walked in silence, two pillars above the swarm. An old man and his stooped wife approached us from the opposite direction, barely holding steady in the throng. They hobbled between faster-moving pedestrians, the man navigating not just his two feet but a cane as well. The woman seemed to be the eyes for the pair; while he focused on the ground in front of him, she peered up Broadway, perhaps scouting for obstacles. When she saw us she nudged her husband and they straightened up a bit to look. They beheld us as if we were a miracle, their expressions simple wonder. Perhaps I was just exhilarated by our success at Niblo’s Garden, but their faces filled me with an abrupt joy; they had received our gift. I wanted to turn to Tai Shan. Had he seen them? But in the end I didn’t, because I didn’t want to break our silence and lose the delicious sensation of struggling to keep up with someone else.

The two policemen stationed at the entrance opened the doors for us before we had even reached the museum side of Broadway. They were in the process of tipping their hats as we brushed past them when a voice stopped me.

“Miss Swift! Wait!”

I swung around in the entryway. As Tai Shan continued on, disappearing into the museum, both policemen lunged forward to apprehend a smallish figure.

“Not you again,” one of the policemen growled. “It ain’t gonna work.”

From between their arms I perceived the pianist Thomas Willoughby struggling to free himself. The police held him in such a way that his legs windmilled uselessly.

“I know this man,” I told the officials.

“He’s been trying to tell us he lives inside. But our orders are no one but performers and cooks go in. He ain’t a cook; that much is certain. And he doesn’t look like a performer to me.”

I had never seen Thomas looking anything but rumpled, but he had exceeded all previous levels of disarray, appearing now with ripped trousers, a dark stain down the front of his frayed overcoat, and at least three leaves stuck in the chaos of his hair, one of them a particularly bright shade of green. He cast furtive looks at the policemen.

“I’ve been trying to tell them, but they won’t believe me.”

“Oh?”

“That I’m a clairvoyant,” he said flatly.

I wouldn’t have believed it, either. Oh, Thomas. Why didn’t you just say you were one of the animal keepers? I suppressed a smile.

“We asked him to prove it by telling O’Connor’s future, but he won’t do it.”

I took a deep breath. “He performs in the theater on Tuesdays and Fridays at two o’clock,” I offered. “He has a booth as well. On the third floor. But I suppose my word isn’t enough, is it?”

“He just doesn’t seem like a clairvoyant, is all.” The one called O’Connor scrutinized Thomas. “We don’t trust him. And isn’t it only the real freaks that live in there, anyway?”

“Barnum includes Mr. Willoughby among his Representatives of the Wonderful because of the unwavering accuracy of his predictions and the delicacy of his constitution. Just look how the harsh city has affected him! He really must return to his apartment. The crowded streets overwhelm him.”

“I can sense people’s destinies,” Thomas offered softly.

“Then what is mine?” O’Connor leaned ominously over the pianist. “I’m sure if you tell me a little something about my future, we can allow you in.”

I couldn’t help. Thomas gulped some air.

“The reason I am so hesitant, sir, is simple enough.” Thomas still had a wild look in his eye, and I wondered if he had been out somewhere smoking opium. “Generally, people are eager to hear their fortunes when there is love on the horizon, or exotic travels.” His voice settled into a surprising, authoritative tone. “But it’s altogether different when the news is bleak. For example, when the unforeseen event is an accident” — Thomas raised his eyebrows suggestively — “people are far less interested to know the details.”

O’Connor took a step back.

“Yours is a profession fraught with danger, Mr. O’Connor. Given this warning, do you truly want me to continue?”

“I don’t believe I do. No, please don’t.” Mr. O’Connor stepped away from the door, and I pulled Thomas inside by the collar.

“Good Lord, Thomas. That was a bit extreme.” I let him go and we ascended the marble stairway.

“I could think of nothing else!”

“You look as if you’ve slept on the street.”

“I have.”

“You have?”

“But I am inside now, thank God. I shall eat and play the piano and look at the whale.”

He trotted to keep up with me, his head bobbing up and down with its crown of leaves. He caught me looking at him and smiled.

I stopped on the landing to laugh. “I’ve seen worse clairvoyants, Thomas. But, ‘I sense people’s destinies’?”

“It’s true, in a way.”

Thomas revealed that for a full month leading up to the museum’s closure, he had slept each night in the glassblowers’ studio on the fourth floor. Quite comfortably, he insisted. It was easy to keep a bit of a fire going in the forge, he said, and now it was warm enough that he didn’t need one.

“Don’t you have an apartment? You must be making enough money here to sustain yourself.”

“I have a room on Hester Street, yes. But it’s a difficult neighborhood. I had an unfortunate incident involving my neighbor and one of her … clients. She’s a pleasant woman, really. But I’m afraid I made an enemy out of her. Since then I’ve been hesitant to go home. And the truth is, there’s no piano on Hester Street. It suits me fine to stay here. I like it.”

It was true, now that I thought about it, that Thomas was always at his post on the balcony in the mornings when I made my first rotation of the galleries, long before the fiddler and the horn player arrived. And he was always there at the day’s end, when I retired upstairs. The museum opened at sunrise, it was true. And closed at ten o’clock.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No need to pull anyone else into it.”

We made our way across the galleries to the corner stairwell. We took one flight up. Thomas stopped at the landing.

“You’re coming with me,” I told him. “I’m not leaving you down here to nest like a squirrel when there is a perfectly civilized apartment building upstairs.”

“Squirrels are resourceful creatures,” Thomas muttered. But he followed me.

A handful of oil lamps lit the Indians’ camp but the rest of the fifth-floor gallery gaped like a great cavern, with only slivers of moonlight casting white shadows into its farthest reaches.

“This might be my favorite room in the museum,” I told Thomas. “It seems to me that every museum should have an empty gallery. For balancing the senses. I am truly fond of the effect of walking through an emptiness like this. It makes me feel … the right size. The Giant’s Lament, Thomas. You finally heard it.”

“But this gallery isn’t empty. It houses the museum’s greatest marvel, remember? I’m going to have a quick look.” Thomas swerved toward the beluga tank.

Only three Indians sat together in the makeshift living room of the camp. As I approached I realized that one of them was not an Indian at all, but the Australian tribesman, sitting on a stool next to the eldest Sioux. The third figure was the young man who had translated for They Are Afraid of Her during my English class. The old man, in his black wool frock coat and satin top hat, was speaking to the tribesman so softly I could not recognize the language, or even hazard a guess as to which it could possibly be, for them both to understand. The younger man rose to apprehend me before I could interfere.

“He can’t understand you,” I said.

The man did not look at me, but the corner of his mouth curved into a sneer. “If you say so,” he said.

“Who is he?”

“Who do you think he is?” The Indian took a step toward me. Mocking me somehow, though I didn’t understand his parameters. “Who could he possibly be, in this place?”

“Someone whose home is a long way from here. As it is with all of us.”

“And so the Grandfather welcomes him.” With that, the man abandoned me abruptly to return to his grandfather’s side.

Out in the middle of the gallery Thomas had climbed the scaffolding up the side of the tank, facing away from me. I could see his head moving side-to-side as he followed the animal’s movements. He did not see or hear me approach, even when I stood near him and peered over the edge of the tank.

The beluga was not alone. It slipped through the black clear water, luminescent as usual and silent for once. A woman glided with the whale, equally luminous and equally silent, her arm flung over the animal’s barely discernible neck, her body, barely concealed beneath the soaked fabric of her blue shift, lying flush against the beast. The whale propelled them both with slow vertical sweeps of its tail. They went around and around, the woman with her eyes closed, her short hair lying flat and smooth against her skull.

Thomas stared at the two creatures until he saw me. Then he turned crimson and tripped over himself to descend the ladder.

“Who is she?” he whispered.

“An Indian. They Are Afraid of Her.”

“Why?”

“No, that’s her name.”

“She must be cold. I’ve never seen her before.”

“And now you’ve seen more of her than most.”

They Are Afraid of Her, who must have heard Thomas’ commotion, hoisted herself out of the tank. She wrapped herself in a blanket that she’d hung on the scaffolding.

“Wait,” she said softly. She came halfway down the ladder so that she was level with my head.

“Hello!”

“Your English is improving,” I observed.

“Practice. My cousin knows.”

She regarded Thomas, who simply stared at her. She extended a hand and fluttered her fingers. “You,” she offered. She reached her other hand out and fluttered both hands until her blanket slid precariously and she clutched it around her.

“Yes! I play the piano!” He pointed at himself. “Thomas.”

They Are Afraid of Her nodded.

She looked between us, and then over her shoulder toward the encampment where a couple of Sioux sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

She pointed to the door to the apartments. “I want to live.”

“Me too!” Thomas responded excitedly.

“That’s not what she means, Thomas. She wants an apartment.”

“Don’t you want to stay with your people, your relatives?” Thomas asked.

She shook her head.

“I’ll see if an apartment is available,” he gushed.

“Thomas, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” I tugged his arm. “Let’s go.”

Thomas tipped his hat as he backed away from her. “It is an exquisite pleasure to meet you.”

They Are Afraid of Her watched us go.

“That was a bit rude, Ana.”

“We can’t get ourselves involved in something we don’t understand.”

“Speak for yourself. If I avoided things I didn’t understand, I’d never do anything! I’d have to avoid music, for goodness’ sake. Where would I be then? She is very beautiful, you have to admit.”

I led Thomas to the Martinettis’ abandoned apartment, the largest on the fifth floor. Since the arrest of the acrobats, the other residents had been arguing over who would move in. Of course they could not decide, so the two adjoining rooms remained empty. I ushered Thomas into them and got him settled, reassuring him that no one would mind if he joined us. The pianist was delighted, and he began to fret over what he would do first: go back to the whale or downstairs to his piano.

I continued down the hall and knocked on Tai Shan’s door. He appeared in the doorway, already changed into a soft white robe and trousers. “I don’t mean to disturb you, but I just wanted to thank you again for what you did at Niblo’s.”

“It was your idea to get their help. Thank you.”

How had I convinced myself he was pompous? Tai Shan was elegant, certainly more educated than anyone else on the fifth floor, but the arrogance I had seen was actually a reserve that now seemed closer to shyness. How could I have misread him? My eye for seeing through layers of pretense clearly was not trained for my own kind. Nor had I noticed that his head was not entirely shaved; a thin, tightly braided plait hung over his shoulder all the way past his waist, at least four feet in a shiny silken cord. It was quite stunning.

“I also wanted to apologize for being unfriendly toward you,” I stammered.

“I didn’t think you were unfriendly.”

I laughed. “No? I can’t imagine how else you could have interpreted my coolness. Good Lord! Your room is half the size of mine! Less!”

He smiled and pushed the door open wider.

“Is this a joke? Do you really live in here?” The room was ten feet square with a minuscule window facing Broadway.

“Of course.”

“But there’s no furniture! I’m sure Barnum would switch you into a larger room.”

“Yes, there is furniture. Don’t you see it? I have a table there, and a rug made for me by my uncle.” He pointed, and then I saw it: a very low narrow table along one side of the room, too low even for an average-sized person. The rug was woven from coarse fiber. He gestured me in. The room smelled pleasantly of beeswax.

“Where on earth do you sleep?”

“There.” He pointed to a cylindrical bundle of rolled blankets. “I put it away during the day.”

“But where do you sit?”

“Here.” He pointed to the floor. I looked dumbly down. He sat, as if to demonstrate it could be done. From his position, the table was a good height for eating or work.

The table was covered with small tools, pieces of bone, and stones of various colors. On one side of the tabletop stood several rows of tiny carved animals: two rabbits, several monkeys, a bone owl, and a horse with a gracefully fluted tail. They were the same figurines I had seen for sale at a concessionaire’s booth on the third floor, the same as the yellow-green soapstone elephant Beebe had given me.

“You make these?”

Tai Shan surveyed his work carefully. “Yes.”

“You could double your profits if you advertised that these miniatures were made by a giant.”

“I know. But this is my hobby. It is my own private joke. Besides, my cousin sells the animals; he operates the booth downstairs and makes a good income from the statues.”

Tai Shan fiddled with a small pair of pliers. I hated towering over him so I sank to the floor, my skirt billowing and my corset pinching. I felt decidedly silly with my legs sticking out in front of me. Tai Shan appeared not to notice.

“Were you born in China, or here?”

“China.” He pointed to a scroll on the wall. It was covered in spidery crosshatched characters. “I lived in the Imperial Palace.”

“So it’s true. Your story, the one out there” — I gestured in reference to our booths — “it’s true?”

“Of course. I arrived in this country only last October. I was briefly employed in Paris, but I wanted to live in New York because my remaining family lives here. My uncle and aunt, their son and his wife.”

“Is that where you go when you’re not working? I’ve noticed you’re rarely here in the evenings.”

Tai Shan smiled. “I go to them quite often. I stay with them for the night and return here in the morning. My cousin’s wife is expecting a baby. I’ve been helping with the preparations.”

The more I watched Tai Shan, the more baffling his delicate angularity became. He exuded lightness despite his physical bulk. He sat comfortably cross-legged, creating a nest of his lap big enough to hold several children. Above his peaked cheekbones his eyes remained fixed on me as he spoke softly about his family. I took in the details of his room: more animal figurines on his tiny sill, a painting of a gibbous moon over pyramidal mountains. He had very few possessions, even for a performer. In comparison with his sleek and simple dwelling, my room was a chaos of ill-fitting furniture, my booth a self-administered prison cell, and my life, in its floundering and self-importance, a terrible mistake.

Astonished, I began to shed tears. My eyes stung fiercely and my breath grew ragged.

“Here.” Tai Shan’s voice was soft and neutral. He held out a blue silk handkerchief.

“No, it’s all right.”

“Take it.”

“But it’s too fine. I would —”

“Please.” Tai Shan laid the handkerchief on my knee. I started to rebuke him but he held up his hand and shook his head. I patted my eyes with the cool fabric as deeper shudders racked my rib cage. Tai Shan gazed at his folded hands as I continued crying.

“I lived in the emperor’s palace for ten years,” he began. “In my quarters hung portraits of the giants who had come before me. Seven generations. When a court giant died, families with children like us appeared from across the country to seek an audience with the emperor, to apply for the post. Usually there were a dozen giants to choose from. My father prepared me for this interview from a very young age. He taught me languages, swordsmanship. There would be no greater honor for him than to be associated with the court.

“When we arrived for our interview, we found that it was not the emperor himself who chose the giant, as in earlier times, but a deputy. A man no one recognized. Instead of the elaborate performance that my father had taught me, I simply stood in a line with four other men. The emperor’s deputy chose me, I believe, because I was the tallest.

“Soon after I moved into the palace, I realized that giants had fallen out of fashion. Most days I had no appointments. During festivals I dressed in red and joined in the parades with the rest of the court. When dignitaries from abroad visited the emperor, which wasn’t often, I would sometimes be called upon to serve tea or perform some small entertainment. I was treated with respect, but my duties gradually shifted, until my main occupation was tutoring the children. One day the emperor called me into his chamber. He said I was to be the last court giant. There would be no successor. It was then that I decided to leave.”

“It was that simple?”

“Yes. My father was dead. My mother was dead. The court was indifferent, occupied with bigger troubles. My only remaining family, as I’ve told you, was here. There was nothing for me in China except a dead tradition.”

“And you don’t mind working in a place like this?”

“There is no other place like this museum! Not in Philadelphia, London, or anywhere. That’s what makes it interesting. This kind of work is easy; in America I meet people from all over the world. Yesterday, I spoke with a Portuguese duke and duchess visiting the museum! Very nice people.”

Very nice people. When had I ever thought so well of museum visitors, or anyone? I sniffled.

“In China everyone has seen a giant. It’s unusual, of course, but nothing extraordinary. Not like here. And you! You are the most extraordinary of all Barnum’s wonders.”

I coughed. “How on earth do you mean?”

“The world’s only giantess. Who else can claim to be the world’s only anything?”

“A lot of people, in this business. Whether the claims are valid seems to be beside the point. But in all my years traveling and working, I haven’t seen another giantess, it’s true.”

“Amazing.” Tai Shan shook his head.

“They must be out there somewhere.”

The gale blowing through my rib cage subsided. Tai Shan sat with his legs neatly folded. Behind him the small rectangle of sky deepened to indigo. A flock of pigeons spilled across it, the undersides of their wings flashing in unexpected unison.

“Doesn’t it bother you that we die so young?” My voice was childlike, full of breath.

“Fear of death is common to all of us.”

“That’s a diplomatic approach.”

“If I lived as if I’d been cheated, that wouldn’t be living at all. It does no good to covet a type of life that is not in our nature.”

“Yes, but … it’s horrible. It’s not fair!”

Tai Shan laughed, his angularity breaking into pleasant ripples. “It sounds like your particular justice has a narrow parameter —”

“What were the odds that I would be born this way?” I sputtered, leaning toward him. “A million to one.”

“Some would call that a miracle.”

“I call it Nature’s terrible sense of humor.”

“No one sees the world like you. People could benefit from the way you see it.”

“I see death in every shadow and behind every door.”

“So did the sages, Miss Swift,” said Tai Shan, still chuckling. “That’s what gave them a sense of humor.”