Buddha's money

28

Drops of water from the leaking faucet splashed onto Mi-ja's swollen tongue. It reeked of rust, but it had been a long time since she cared. All she knew was that her throat was burning dry.

Bound wrists throbbed beneath thick knots of hemp rope. Her left ear still ached, as if some evil beast had chewed it oft" just moments ago. Her sliced finger shot globules of pain up the length of her arm.

She hadn't eaten in three days. She was still alert enough to know she should be hungry, but the muscles enveloping her stomach were clenched in a tight ball that refused to relax or complain.

She heard footsteps.

As the wooden door of the bathroom creaked open, she pulled as far away from the sound as she could. The chains around her ankles rattled.

The door popped open. Mi-ja clenched her eyes tightly shut.

The man squatted in front of her.

She relaxed somewhat. He was the oiler, the man who had prepared her before taking her to the leader. At least he wasn't the cutter. At least she wouldn't lose another ear or a finger or a toe.

She noticed he didn't have the bottle of oil in his hand. Why was he here?

The man checked her chains and the hemp ropes binding her wrists. When he was satisfied that they were secure, he smiled.

To Mi-ja, the smile was nothing more than the grimace of a skeleton. A death's head.

The man reached into his tunic and pulled out a handful of straw. The smell of it was strangely comforting to Mi-ja. She remembered the animals on her father's farm. The small black goats that were raised for meat. The large ox of which her father was so proud. And she remembered the tears that welled up in his eyes the day he had taken the ox to the market to be sold.

Had he cried like that the day she had been sold? Mi-ja didn't remember. So many things were fading from memory now. She tried to remember her mother's smiling face. It wouldn't appear.

The man squatting in front of her slid a long straw out of his fist. He held it in front of Mi-ja and smiled again. He opened his mouth, mimicking what he wanted Mi-ja to do.

At first she hesitated, cringing, turning her face away.

The man waited patiently until she looked back at him. Then he slid a cup of water in front of her. He pointed to the water and then he pointed to the straw.

Mi-ja understood what he was trying to tell her. She could have the water, but then she would have to open her mouth and accept the straw.

What was this for? Why did these mute foreigners want her to eat straw?

Mi-ja stared at the water. It looked like everything she had always longed for. Slowly, she nodded her head.

The man held the cup aloft, tilted it, and allowed a little water to splash onto Mi-ja's teeth. She tasted the wonderful wetness of it.

The man set the cup down. Then he held up the stiff piece of straw.

Mi-ja glanced again at the half-full cup of water. She was still dying of thirst. That little splash of moisture had only made her desire more rabid.

She made her decision. She must cooperate if she was going to be given anything more to drink.

She opened her mouth wide and said "aah."

The man slid the single strand of straw down Mi-ja's throat. He waited, making sure that she didn't gag. When he was satisfied, he reached down, picked up another dry twig, and slid it carefully down the throat of the helpless little girl.

After a small clump was in place, the man splashed a little more water down Mi-ja's throat.

Moisture seeped into the straw. It started to expand.