1897

There, on the cold floor of that hut, amidst a few leftover seeds, we once were. So much rain had now
withered its straw roof, crumbled its walls, stunted its platforms of pine and bamboo, leaving it as a
disdainful stain in these green hills. Yet in my mind, bless it, it softens the blow of time. I see a younger
face, my image caught in your wet eyes. Crackling and swerving with the breeze that teased the flame,
that teased the light. That teases now, my memory of you. It was our shelter from the rain, that night
we ran away, ran away from spitting relatives, from screams and from threats, to us and to themselves.
There shall be no more lunacy today! the old man had spat, while aunty seemingly wailed at these
misprobates of fortune. I could see all that direness had made you nervous I know. Yet, without
hesitation, you determined to heed me. I had decided that foolish men would not seal our lives to their
drunken words. We were lucky both our mothers were no more, but not so lucky that their men had too
much drink and time with which to consider our fate. So you followed me, my foolish little one, to your
end! Oh how foolish I was to think my doggedness would lead us somewhere else, a better day, away
from that mad dance of rolling eyes and flailing arms. They did not know we had set our mind to flee,
having caught us that day, they cursed our youthful abandon, and presumed to dismiss it as such
thinking that the words would set us straight.