The door slammed shut, leaving them alone. The girl kept her eyes on him but did
not say a word. The haunted expression in her eyes drew his attention away from
the two large, irregular scars that disfigured her face.
Don’t worry, he assured her. I have much honor but little else and would not
do that if I could.
The ice was broken, and she relaxed a bit. What do you mean, if you could? Her
voice was high and nasal, her Mandarin dialect colored by a peasant’s accents
and tone.
It is too embarrassing to discuss.
There is nothing too embarrassing for me. I have lost even my honor. They—they
gave us to the male guards for two days and nights before cleaning us up for
this.
He was not certain what to say to that. Finally he managed, You need not feel
shame at that, at least / think not. It was not of your doing, and it is they
who have dishonored themselves, not you.
She stood there a moment, then, slowly, tears came to her eyes and she began to
cry. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. Finally he went over to her, and she
leaned against him and just cried and cried as he held her. He was just at the
stage where he was finding girls different, exotic, and strangely important, but
this was the first time he had ever held one in his arms. It felt good to lend
some strength to her; he had been treated harshly, but she had endured far more.
Clearly this cry had been a long time coming, and he eased her onto the floor
mat and just sat beside her, holding her until she had it cried out. She clung
to him as if he were very important, yet they had only just now met and did not
even know each other’s names.
When she was done crying, he asked her if he could get her some water, and she
nodded. He brought her a cup and a paper towel to dry her eyes.
She had been attractive once; he could see that. No great beauty, but it had
been a good face, and because of that, the scars were an even greater
disfigurement. One ran from the left side of her mouth up her cheek and then
back toward her ear, pulling the corner of the lip up grotesquely and
permanently exposing two teeth; the other was a huge, deep horizontal gash. Both
were built up like mountains on her smooth skin by scar tissue that had partly
turned purple and brown. Still, as he looked at her now and helped her dry her
tears, he felt odd stirrings inside him, and though he could not forget the scar
tissue, for the moment it did not seem very important.
I’m sorry, she managed, blowing her nose. I—I was always the strong one. I am
sorry that I permitted you to see me this way.
It is all right, he responded. You must be strong indeed to go through that
and not be mad.
Perhaps I am mad, she responded. I have been living what can only be a
nightmare, in which you are the first man to show any kindness.
Only half a man, he responded, not realizing how much truth there was in that
description. Because she had told him her ultimate shame, he felt not only that
he could tell her his secret but that it might give her some idea that suffering
was not exclusive. The guards beat me terribly where that which makes me a man
is, leaving it battered, bruised, and perhaps broken. There is no pain, but it
will be a long time before I know. That is what I was too embarrassed and
ashamed to say before.
Oh! I apologize for asking. Please forgive me.
He shook it off. What is done cannot be undone, and who knows what was done?
Only time will tell that. I am otherwise whole and very angry at all this. My
people taught us that the world was ruled by monsters in human form, but I did
not really believe this until they came for us. I am Chu Li, by the way,
sometimes called Rat because of my small size and the year of my birth.
I am Chow Dai. My sister who suffers with me is Chow Mai. As you might guess,
we are— she touched the scar on her right cheek —were twins.
I hope that my cousin, Deng Ho, is honorable with her and that they get along.
He is more likely to be crying on her shoulder, I fear, though he has held up
better than I would have guessed. Sparing little, he told her how he and his
cousin had come to be there and what his own people had been like, free of the
tyranny of the machines.
She listened, fascinated. I have nothing of that in my past, she told him. I
fear I have never known even that much freedom. Even the women of your people
were free and educated.
You are not of the Center?
No. Oh my, no! We are simple peasant girls. The family was very big, and we
were always hungry, it seemed. When a time of drought came, my parents had no
way to feed us all and no money to marry us off. Unlike some of the others of
their generation, they did not believe in drowning baby daughters, and so had
too many.
He was appalled. They drowned babies?
She seemed surprised at his reaction. It has been the custom for thousands of
years. They try and wipe it out, but in bad times it returns. Sons may return
what they consume and care for the parents in their old age. Daughters are a
burden, for you must pay even to marry them to someone. We understood this.
There was a petition to the Lord of the Estates, who had always encouraged even
the poor families to keep their daughters, and he listened. We were sold to the
household of Colonel Chin, a mighty warlord, to be personal servants to his own
daughter.
Sold? He could hardly believe this. Hers was a world far removed from his
experience.
We didn’t mind. Our parents were relieved of their burden, received some sum
they could use, and knew that we were honorably employed. Our mistress was harsh
and demanding, but we had fine clothes, food such as we had never dreamed of
eating, protection, and something of a position.
As a slave, you mean.
No, as a member of the household staff. It has far more standing than planting
and picking rice, and we were very young. Then we were taken one time to Center,
a place we had never dreamed existed. It was like a high-born’s heaven. It was
our undoing, though, in the end. We helped the mistress bathe and clothe
herself, tended to the personal things, but much of the other work was done by
the machines. We were not permitted out of the quarters except in the company of
our mistress, so it was very boring. We could not even sneak out, for we did not
know how to open the locks.
I would have spent the time reading. Surely there were many books and tapes
around on many topics.
Again she looked embarrassed. I—we—cannot read or write.
He felt foolish and ashamed of himself. In the colony there were many who were
never able to master most or all of the more than thirty thousand characters of
the alphabet. He himself had had help with machines and special training to
allow him to read at a level far beyond what one his age, even if very bright,
would have managed without them. Most people in China could not read, in fact.
Literacy was what truly set the classes apart, the heart of their division. If,
somehow, a peasant could learn to read and take the examinations, he could rise
in society. The better one read and the more one read, the more complex the
examination one took. It was the one road to social mobility open to all
Chinese, although, of course, it was next to impossible for a peasant to learn
to read, while the child of a stupid or slow highborn who could not manage the
skill was never demoted to peasant.
I am sorry. I will make no more stupid remarks, he said lamely. Please tell
me more of how you came here.
Her smile told him that all was forgiven. One day a man came who was an expert
on locks. A security man of sorts. He was young and very handsome, and we made a
fuss over him, I’m afraid. He began to brag about his trade and show off his
knowledge of the locks and security systems, and even explained some of his
tools. It was quite an education. He didn’t think mere peasant servants could
understand what he said, but it was actually quite simple. We soon found basic
apartment locks no problem at all. Some other locks and doors were more
difficult, but even ones requiring fingerprints were beatable. Once you
understood the principle, it was simple to find a way around each.
Some of those would still require special tools to defeat, he noted. You said
as much yourself.
Some tools were simple and could be made from other things. Others, the
complicated mechanical tools, you could get if you wanted. We once had an uncle
who was something of a magician. A criminal, really, but a minor one. He would
put on little magic shows and phony gambling games in the village. Sometimes he
arranged to lose, for he would then simply brush against you, and the contents
of your purse would be in a hidden pocket in his shirt. Anyone with long
fingers, nerve, and short nails could do it if they practiced, and he showed us
all the tricks. We kids would always be doing it to one another and to others
just for fun. We never—hardly ever—kept anything.
You said you used to have an uncle. He is dead now?
Yes. Hanged when I was twelve. The trick is even easier with two, and my sister
and I are very good at it. So, when we saw a repairman with tools we wanted
walking along, we had no problem getting them. The highborn used to be the
easiest, but those of Center are easier yet. They are ignorant of the trick and
casual about it.
He nodded, his appreciation of her skills growing. So you were not bored
anymore.
No. Oh, it was really all just a game. Slip out and slip into the dwelling of
some highborn who was not in at the time and take something minor, something