her own blood, “I will kill you.”
Then it came, the urge to kill. It rose to her throat. She choked it back. The power of Mahakala, her mind trumpeted. Her hand trembled, and rose higher.
She belched blood onto Tarim’s chest. He grunted.
She ripped at the blood with the knife. The clothes sliced open like paper, and she slung them back, sloshing her blood onto Tarim’s arms. She slid the knife along his breastbone, letting the point drag nastily. “This time the flesh,” she said through slitted lips. She lifted the knife erect and pressed lightly on the skin between the ribs. “Next time the heart!”
She punctuated the last word with a prick of the blade point.
Tarim gasped.
Sun Moon got off. “Stand up,” she ordered. He did. “Turn around.” He did. She planted her foot on his lower back and sent him flying into the hall. Mahakala devours men .
“Next time the heart!” she yelled, and planted her body in the door.
Tarim scurried off.
She felt the bite of vomit in her mouth, and hated it.
She knelt over her basin, washing her mouth out. She was weeping.
Suddenly she vomited into the basin.
Control! she told herself. Through an act of will she stopped the heaves. Tarim must not hear me, must not think me weak .
She listened for his footfalls and heard nothing. She held no illusions about a man of such dark spirit. He might come back and kill her while she slept. He might fear her and keep his distance.
She tasted it again now, blood and vomit in her mouth, on her tongue, on her teeth.
Lying on her cot, she flexed her fingers and wiggled her body and felt something else, something ugly. In her fingers, her palm, her arm, skin, muscles, and heart ran an itch, a yearning to shed the blood of another. She convulsed. For several minutes she shivered, and occasionally convulsed.
She remembered her lifelong teaching. She had been given this human incarnation to discover and live out compassion for all sentiment beings. For herself, she must learn to rise above the afflictive emotions: lust, jealousy, ignorance, and anger. Tarim was a sentient being, a suffering being, and she should empathize with him.
Her heart cried for blood.
I have lost nearly everything, but I will keep my vow of chastity .
She listened. She noticed that the candles were still out in the building. She heard no noises. Her breath heaved, subsided.
She ran a finger along the knife edge. Tomorrow she would re-sharpen it.
She looked in her heart. The pitilessness of Mahakala, goddess of Time .
She looked at the altar box, and the cedar beside it. She approached on her knees, struck a match, lit the cedar. Pungent smoke wafted to hernostrils. She prostrated herself, intending to pray, and it hit her. Tumult, tumult . Emotions raged through her like fever. Sensations and recollections ran up and down her body like invading hands. Memories of her abduction clanged like hunks of metal in her mind.
Much of what happened when she was abducted she could not remember. Her mind refused. Of the following weeks she had only fragments of memories of the odd reality of the lotus state, life as a sour and unreal opium dream. She remembered fearing that the bandit chief was about to violate her terribly. She remembered his ugly laugh, and his tale of the contract that would protect her for the moment. A man in America, he said, had paid well for a virgin, and he had slapped the earth that he would deliver one. Very well. He cackled. “One day a virgin, next day a hundred-men’s-wife!”
She shivered with remembered terror. She still did not remember, at all, what she knew had happened during the first attack. The bandits had assailed her family as it traveled to Chengdu. They had killed everyone but her. She had asked to go with her father and brothers to Chengdu to see the formal flower gardens at the monastery. Her mother had gone along to indulge her oldest daughter, a family holiday. So they were all dead. Her mother and father,
Then it came, the urge to kill. It rose to her throat. She choked it back. The power of Mahakala, her mind trumpeted. Her hand trembled, and rose higher.
She belched blood onto Tarim’s chest. He grunted.
She ripped at the blood with the knife. The clothes sliced open like paper, and she slung them back, sloshing her blood onto Tarim’s arms. She slid the knife along his breastbone, letting the point drag nastily. “This time the flesh,” she said through slitted lips. She lifted the knife erect and pressed lightly on the skin between the ribs. “Next time the heart!”
She punctuated the last word with a prick of the blade point.
Tarim gasped.
Sun Moon got off. “Stand up,” she ordered. He did. “Turn around.” He did. She planted her foot on his lower back and sent him flying into the hall. Mahakala devours men .
“Next time the heart!” she yelled, and planted her body in the door.
Tarim scurried off.
She felt the bite of vomit in her mouth, and hated it.
She knelt over her basin, washing her mouth out. She was weeping.
Suddenly she vomited into the basin.
Control! she told herself. Through an act of will she stopped the heaves. Tarim must not hear me, must not think me weak .
She listened for his footfalls and heard nothing. She held no illusions about a man of such dark spirit. He might come back and kill her while she slept. He might fear her and keep his distance.
She tasted it again now, blood and vomit in her mouth, on her tongue, on her teeth.
Lying on her cot, she flexed her fingers and wiggled her body and felt something else, something ugly. In her fingers, her palm, her arm, skin, muscles, and heart ran an itch, a yearning to shed the blood of another. She convulsed. For several minutes she shivered, and occasionally convulsed.
She remembered her lifelong teaching. She had been given this human incarnation to discover and live out compassion for all sentiment beings. For herself, she must learn to rise above the afflictive emotions: lust, jealousy, ignorance, and anger. Tarim was a sentient being, a suffering being, and she should empathize with him.
Her heart cried for blood.
I have lost nearly everything, but I will keep my vow of chastity .
She listened. She noticed that the candles were still out in the building. She heard no noises. Her breath heaved, subsided.
She ran a finger along the knife edge. Tomorrow she would re-sharpen it.
She looked in her heart. The pitilessness of Mahakala, goddess of Time .
She looked at the altar box, and the cedar beside it. She approached on her knees, struck a match, lit the cedar. Pungent smoke wafted to hernostrils. She prostrated herself, intending to pray, and it hit her. Tumult, tumult . Emotions raged through her like fever. Sensations and recollections ran up and down her body like invading hands. Memories of her abduction clanged like hunks of metal in her mind.
Much of what happened when she was abducted she could not remember. Her mind refused. Of the following weeks she had only fragments of memories of the odd reality of the lotus state, life as a sour and unreal opium dream. She remembered fearing that the bandit chief was about to violate her terribly. She remembered his ugly laugh, and his tale of the contract that would protect her for the moment. A man in America, he said, had paid well for a virgin, and he had slapped the earth that he would deliver one. Very well. He cackled. “One day a virgin, next day a hundred-men’s-wife!”
She shivered with remembered terror. She still did not remember, at all, what she knew had happened during the first attack. The bandits had assailed her family as it traveled to Chengdu. They had killed everyone but her. She had asked to go with her father and brothers to Chengdu to see the formal flower gardens at the monastery. Her mother had gone along to indulge her oldest daughter, a family holiday. So they were all dead. Her mother and father,
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