the turn, and her anger, and her relief.
“And we’ll have some real food,” snapped Gretel.
“Yeah!” said Hansel.
Tarim grunted and pulled Sun Moon away. She followed, half-stumbling.
In the back room, she mustered, “I’m going to be sick.” She held her hand at her mouth like she was going to vomit.
Tarim shoved in her the direction of her door flap.
She collapsed onto the bed. Feelings surged over her like waves on the ocean. Anger, relief, shame, each rose in a rhythm, lifted her up, and let her fall into the trough of despair. Tears sprouted on her cheeks.
In a few minutes Tarim’s voice came. “You are needed in the store.”
“Just a minute,” she said.
She struggled for control. The iron band was back around her throat, gripping.
She sat up. The band allowed her to control her face, and she was glad of that.
It hurts .
I need it .
In a few moments she stopped the tears. She wiped her face carefully and composed it. Not a whore. Not yet .
When she walked into the store, her body was still numb. Her hands were restless, nervous. Her face was blank, inscrutably pleasant.
CHAPTER FOUR
1
She was standing to the left of the door flap, a short miner’s hammer in her hand. She controlled her breathing, staying ready.
Tarim was being childish, really. He was a silent man, and would never give himself away by movements as audible as pacing. But did he think she was not used to his slightest sounds? Did he think she could not read his heart? Since the confrontation with the whores, more and more often he had looked at her appraisingly, as a man does when he thinks of taking a woman. Today he had done it repeatedly. Now the tavern was closed. It was past the hour of midnight, perhaps far past. He hadn’t gone to his woman tonight. Sun Moon stood ready.
She flexed her fingers on the handle of the hammer over and over. It was heavy enough to stun, light enough not to fracture. She hoped.
No whore . She had told Dr. Harville. He said to stick up for herself, which was a funny white man way to say it. Dr. Harville was a good man. She prayed for him, and gave thanks for his help.
She kept telling Tarim in Chinese, “No hundred-men’s-wife.” He smirked at her. The only thing he would understand now was the hammer. She asked Mahakala for strength under her breath. Destroyer and Creator .
Her door flap stirred. Tarim had put all the candles out, so she hadonly faint moonlight through the back door window to see by. But Sun Moon’s eyes were accustomed to the dark. She rubbed the steel across her open palm.
A finger eased the flap open an inch.
I shall try not to kill him! Tarim was her protection from the white men, such as it was. They didn’t respect her person, but they seemed to respect his property. As long as he owned her, they would not expect to rent or buy her without paying. Besides, she was afraid of the white-man law. Dr. Harville told her the white men hanged people for murder. And they would see this as murder, he added, the rebellion of a servant against her proper master.
No, killing would be stupid . So she told herself. But she wondered whether she was simply afraid to release with abandon the joyously destructive spirit of Mahakala.
We Mahayana Buddhists do not kill .
Mahakala transforms and redeems living beings through killing .
The finger pulled the flap well back. Sun Moon was standing in deep shadow. Tarim was outlined by the faint light. He stuck his head in and peered into the shadowed room. She held her breath and hit him in the temple with the steel, hard.
Tarim staggered.
She grabbed his hair and slammed his head down onto her knee.
Tarim growled and fell backward onto the floor.
She felt her own mouth fill with blood, and her tongue protesting. She had bitten her tongue hard!
She pounced, knees on his stomach, dropping the hammer. In an instant she had the point of the pocketknife pressed against his throat.
“If you try to rape me,” she gasped through
“And we’ll have some real food,” snapped Gretel.
“Yeah!” said Hansel.
Tarim grunted and pulled Sun Moon away. She followed, half-stumbling.
In the back room, she mustered, “I’m going to be sick.” She held her hand at her mouth like she was going to vomit.
Tarim shoved in her the direction of her door flap.
She collapsed onto the bed. Feelings surged over her like waves on the ocean. Anger, relief, shame, each rose in a rhythm, lifted her up, and let her fall into the trough of despair. Tears sprouted on her cheeks.
In a few minutes Tarim’s voice came. “You are needed in the store.”
“Just a minute,” she said.
She struggled for control. The iron band was back around her throat, gripping.
She sat up. The band allowed her to control her face, and she was glad of that.
It hurts .
I need it .
In a few moments she stopped the tears. She wiped her face carefully and composed it. Not a whore. Not yet .
When she walked into the store, her body was still numb. Her hands were restless, nervous. Her face was blank, inscrutably pleasant.
CHAPTER FOUR
1
She was standing to the left of the door flap, a short miner’s hammer in her hand. She controlled her breathing, staying ready.
Tarim was being childish, really. He was a silent man, and would never give himself away by movements as audible as pacing. But did he think she was not used to his slightest sounds? Did he think she could not read his heart? Since the confrontation with the whores, more and more often he had looked at her appraisingly, as a man does when he thinks of taking a woman. Today he had done it repeatedly. Now the tavern was closed. It was past the hour of midnight, perhaps far past. He hadn’t gone to his woman tonight. Sun Moon stood ready.
She flexed her fingers on the handle of the hammer over and over. It was heavy enough to stun, light enough not to fracture. She hoped.
No whore . She had told Dr. Harville. He said to stick up for herself, which was a funny white man way to say it. Dr. Harville was a good man. She prayed for him, and gave thanks for his help.
She kept telling Tarim in Chinese, “No hundred-men’s-wife.” He smirked at her. The only thing he would understand now was the hammer. She asked Mahakala for strength under her breath. Destroyer and Creator .
Her door flap stirred. Tarim had put all the candles out, so she hadonly faint moonlight through the back door window to see by. But Sun Moon’s eyes were accustomed to the dark. She rubbed the steel across her open palm.
A finger eased the flap open an inch.
I shall try not to kill him! Tarim was her protection from the white men, such as it was. They didn’t respect her person, but they seemed to respect his property. As long as he owned her, they would not expect to rent or buy her without paying. Besides, she was afraid of the white-man law. Dr. Harville told her the white men hanged people for murder. And they would see this as murder, he added, the rebellion of a servant against her proper master.
No, killing would be stupid . So she told herself. But she wondered whether she was simply afraid to release with abandon the joyously destructive spirit of Mahakala.
We Mahayana Buddhists do not kill .
Mahakala transforms and redeems living beings through killing .
The finger pulled the flap well back. Sun Moon was standing in deep shadow. Tarim was outlined by the faint light. He stuck his head in and peered into the shadowed room. She held her breath and hit him in the temple with the steel, hard.
Tarim staggered.
She grabbed his hair and slammed his head down onto her knee.
Tarim growled and fell backward onto the floor.
She felt her own mouth fill with blood, and her tongue protesting. She had bitten her tongue hard!
She pounced, knees on his stomach, dropping the hammer. In an instant she had the point of the pocketknife pressed against his throat.
“If you try to rape me,” she gasped through
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