The tone reverberated through the room. Picking up a small ladle she poured water over her head and then slipped into a silk robe. Grabbing some small...trays, she came over to the mat and knelt beside him, water dripping from her hair and beads standing on her partially exposed breasts. She made ink by grinding a black stone in a small tray, mixing it with water. There was no tattoo machine, only slivers of bamboo with needles set in their ends. When the ink was ready, she began. First, she. Miss did not speak about her, and I did not dare ask. If she was free, out there, recovering her old life, trying to forget those things had ever happened, I wished her well.My acceptance of this did not imply any kind of numbness. I felt it all acutely and powerfully. Miss knew just how to work upon my mind, escalating her plans slowly and inventively, always keep me off balance. I never seemed to lose myself completely into a new world, and never quite became used to it.I still felt. More

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