Of Metal and Wishes Read Online Free PDF

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    The clothes are made by the girls in Gochan Three. They make other things, of course, things that ship all over the country, and to wealthier countries that find it cheaper to buy from us than pay their own people to do the job. Here, One supplies Three with meat, and Three supplies One with brown things. The color of the puddles in the road after a rainstorm. The color of dead leaves. I wander around the store for a good long while, avoiding the inevitable, but then I try on a basic work dress, the same as Vie’s and Onya’s and Jima’s, the same as every secretary and office girl who works here. It doesn’t feel right at all. The size that fits in the chest is loose on my waist, and the size that fits my waist prevents me from drawing sufficient air into my lungs. I go for the size that permits me to breathe and almost cry as I stare at my new getup. No longer a peacock, I am a mud hen. No longer my mother’s child.
    “Get over yourself, Wen,” I whisper to my reflection, swiping hot tears from my eyes. I fold my forest green dress and shove it into a paper sack, then sign the promissory note that makes me the owner of this ugly brown dress that would have made my mother gag.
    My old dress feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I carry it back to my home above the clinic. I don’t spot the blood on the floor until after I’ve passed the administrative offices, but then I wonder how I missed it. I raise my head and see the clinic door is hanging open.
    There’s been an accident.
    My heart picks up its pace, as do my feet. I glance down to see the droplets, then a bloody boot print, then a long smear leading straight through the clinic’s entrance. I lift my skirt and jog, watching my steps so I don’t slip in the blood. I haven’t dealt with anything more than a deep cut or a throaty cough, and this looks worse than that. I’m glad this didn’t happen this morning when I was here alone. But now my father is here and I can help him. I like to be useful, because it’s in those moments of complete concentration that I feel best, most protected from the noise and strife and grief that has invaded my world.
    A long, low moan is followed by a higher-pitched gasp, desperate enough for me to hear it echo down the hall. I swallow back dread and plow forward, tossing my sack into the corner as I come through the doorway.
    And stop dead. The impish Noor boy is on my father’s exam table, sweat dripping from his forehead as he stares down in horror at his foot. I can’t tell how bad it is because my father is hunched over him, blocking my view. The imp’s right boot is lying on its side in front of the table. Right next to it is another set of boots, and those happen to belong to the rust-haired boy, who is standing by his friend’s head. His gaze darts over to me, and his already strained expression tightens.
    The imp cries out, and Rust-Hair offers him his hand. Imp clutches it, his tanned knuckles turning white. It must be hurting the rust-haired boy, but he only whispers softly to his friend in their throat-catching language.
    “I need to put him to sleep, Melik,” my father says to Rust-Hair. “So I can set the bones and repair the lacerations.”
    Melik nods. “I’ll tell him.” He leans over and speaks to the imp, gently stroking the other boy’s barely-there hair. The imp’s eyes go wide as Melik translates. He shakes his head frantically, sending drops of sweat onto the cloth that covers the table.
    I take a step to the side, unsure of whether to run upstairs or offer to help. My father must hear my tread, because he looks over his shoulder and makes my decision for me. “Ah. Wen. Perfect timing. Get a soporific sponge ready for me, will you?”
    Melik’s eyes are back on me. His gaze travels down my body to the sack on the floor, where the sleeve of my green dress has unfurled. With my head bowed, I tie on my apron and go to the basin to cleanse my hands. I scrub at my fingernails with