The Rock Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

frightening. His eyes were cold as ice-covered stones. And he was permitting her to see that. He was letting her know.
    He gestured for her to enter by the open flap. She stepped through and put her hand on the cot intended for whoring. Oh, to be alone .
    “Many barbarians actually prefer Chinese flesh.”
    Her mind sloshed like water in a swaying bucket. My chastity may be taken from me, but not my spirit . She fixed him with her eyes. “I am not Chinese, I am Tibetan,” she repeated.
    He looked back at her hard. No, it wasn’t anger in his eyes, it was amusement.
    “I will never be a hundred-men’s-wife.”
    Tarim chuckled, and closed the door.
    Nowhere to run.
    During the journey to Canton, she had been drugged, her spirit defeated. On the ocean during the passage, where could she go? When Yoo Wong threw herself overboard, Sun Moon had felt envious. But she couldn’t follow—this precious incarnation as a human being was not to be thrown away; dying prematurely would be ill karma.
    In Gam Saan, San Francisco, she remembered Mahakala, the protectress, and began to recover her spirit. She would have risked anything to escape, but Ah Wan kept her bound and got her quickly onto a ship for Oregon. Then she was thrown onto Jehu’s wagon with the rest of the freight headed for the interior. The interior of Gum Saan, a country she had barely noticed on maps. Soon she acquired enough English to find out from Jehu she was in the United States, not Mexico. Now she began to feel the Khampa within her, and the warrior. Thank you, Mahakala .
    After a week Jehu untied her and let her sit on the bench like a human being instead of lying on the floor with the sacks of flour. Why not—where could she go? She was no longer crossing a wide ocean, true enough, but what troubles faced her: Her English was poor. She didn’t know where she was. If she escaped, she would be helpless. She knew the end—someone would turn her over to a tong. She remembered the women peering out of the windows of little cells, faces paper masks, brittle on the outside, empty on the inside. No, the way of the warrior was to wait.
    Now she calculated. She turned all the way around in her tiny room once, then all the way around the other way. I will wait. I will learn English, learn the country, learn the people . She sat on the floor, crossed her legs in the lotus position, consciously straightened her spine, took the first relaxing breath …
    Suddenly the door flap opened. Tarim came in with rice, a few spoonfuls of vegetables, and tea. No, no, he won’t starve me to death, she thought appraisingly. I am a valuable property .
    She looked at him sharply. He grunted something, set the bowl and cup down, and retreated. She reached for the food. Stopped. What would I not give for some tsampa in tea? It was roasted barley flour. She took thought and placed the bowl back on the floor. She turned her consciousness inward and breathed deeply. She felt the breath come in, felt it go out. First the spirit, she thought, then the body. Then war .
3
    The celestial heathen gave a copper with one hand and took silver coins with the other. The coppers were cent pieces, used to copper bets. Porter Rockwell looked around the room at men who reeked of greed and lust. He could taste it, foul as brackish water. Damned Chinee. Celestial? Bear’s ass.
    Fourteen men, as Rockwell counted them. Thirteen drunk, all but himself. All were white, though half of the population of Hard Rock City was yellow. And the sheriff, Conlan, was among them, come to debauch a nun. It confirmed Rockwell’s opinion of American lawmen.
    A corner of his mouth lifted in a bitter, one-quarter smile, as muchas he’d permitted himself in near twenty years, since that day at the Carthage jail when the best friend he ever had was murdered by a mob. The friend was Joseph Smith. Porter Rockwell had been the Prophet’s protector, and he failed Joseph that day. He hadn’t smiled since, not really.
    Drunk