Lair of Dreams

A woman’s shriek pierced the dream: “Murder! Murder! Oh, murder!” Something was moving in the fog, coming closer.

A church bell tolled, growing louder and louder. Suddenly, the distant roofs of Chinatown, the impressionistic streets of the old city, the limestone building—all of it curled up as if the dream been thrown into the fire.

“No! Not yet!” Henry cried, but it was too late. The last thing he saw was the girl dream walker’s bright green eyes, and then he woke to the clang of his alarm clock as it tumbled from the windowsill and landed on the floor with a clatter. On the table, the metronome ticked away. His watch showed one minute till four. He’d been under for fifty-nine minutes.

“Horsefeathers, Henry!” Theta marched into the room with her sleep mask pushed up over her short dark bangs and shut off the alarm.

“S-sorry, Theta.”

Sighing, Theta silenced the metronome. “You went looking again?”

“Theta, I think I found him.”

“You did? Oh, Hen!” Theta covered the shivering Henry with a blanket and pulled a chair for herself next to his. “Go on. Spill.”

Henry told Theta about hearing Louis’s fiddle. “Maybe he’s trying to find me, too.”

“Gee, that’s swell news. Hen,” Theta said, sounding worried, “can you move yet?”

For at least five minutes after a dream walk, Henry remained paralyzed, as if his body were still in that other world. With effort, he lifted his arm a fraction, wincing as he worked movement back into the muscles. “See? Good as new.”

“You know it scares me when you do this. What if one time you can’t move? What if you don’t come back?”

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I don’t overdo it.”

“Only one night a week,” Theta reminded him. “Only for an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Henry said. “I haven’t even told you the strangest part: I wasn’t the only one walking around tonight.”

“There’s somebody else like you?”

“Yes! A girl. When she showed up, I heard the song. Maybe she knows something about Louis. Maybe she can help me find him, Theta.”

“Well, did you get anything from her? A name?”

“No,” Henry said mournfully. “But it’s the first bit of luck I’ve had.”

“We’d better get some sleep or we’ll be dragging through rehearsal tomorrow.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Florenz Ziegfeld presents: Hocus-Pocus Hotcha! An all-new Diviners revue filled with magic and mysticism in song and dance!”

“So it’s a lousy show. We’ll make it better. It’s the one that’s gonna take us to the top, kid.”

“Take you to the top, you mean. You’re the one Flo’s grooming to be a star.”

“We’re a team. You take one, you gotta take the other.”

“Who’s my best girl?” Henry asked.

“I am. And don’t you forget it.”

Theta let out a long sigh and snuggled next to her best friend, resting her head on his chest. Her sleek dark bob still smelled like cigarette smoke. “Maybe we’re all going crazy.”

“Maybe.” Henry kissed the top of Theta’s head, and she put her arm across his stomach.

“Hen?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Can I sleep in your bed with you?”

“If you can get me there.”

Theta helped Henry to his feet and then to his room, where the two of them fell asleep side by side, arms entwined like two halves of the same whole.





In his dream, George Huang stood under the hazy sun at a late-afternoon party wearing a cream-colored suit and a striped silk shirt with fancy French cuffs of the sort he’d stared at in shop windows where they didn’t welcome people like him. The bright, fast rhythms of a jazz band echoed through the dream. Up on the hill, a sprawling white house loomed, casting sharp blades of shadow across the summer-green lawn.

George smiled, ecstatic. His good dream! Somehow, he’d made it back here.

Men nodded solemnly as George walked by. He was important here. Respected. Photographers took his picture for the papers. As George smiled and posed, he saw the boys who’d bullied him and the customers who ordered him around as if he were barely human huddled together on the other side of a tall picket fence, watching, envying. George raised his champagne glass. How do you like me now? he thought.

“Georgie! Over here! Hey!” Several pretty girls waved to him as they peeled off their stockings and jumped into a champagne fountain, giggling and splashing with abandon. George threw his head back and laughed. Oh, this was the best dream in the world! He never wanted to wake up.

On the edge of the lawn, Lee Fan appeared wearing a red cheongsam, the wind whipping her hair across her rouged cheeks.