“I live alone. Well, I did. Now you live with me.”
“This is allowed?” asked Min.
“It is allowed everywhere except in the camps,” Chung-Cha answered.
The first order of business had been to prepare Min some food. Not too much and not too rich—not that Chung-Cha possessed any rich food. But even too much white rice could make Min sick. Chung-Cha knew all of this because it was what those who had freed her had done. So the meals would be simple and small, to start.
The next order of business was a shower, a very long, hot shower with plenty of soap and elbow grease.
Chung-Cha did not let Min do this alone, because the girl did not know how to properly clean herself, so Chung-Cha had scrubbed her down. The filth that poured from her skin, hair, and orifices would have made most people sick. It did not faze Chung-Cha. She had been expecting it. And Min exhibited no shame as she watched the dirty water going down the drain. She knew no better. She just wanted to know where the water went.
“Into the river,” answered Chung-Cha, because that response, she knew, would suffice for now. It would take many more cleanings for the girl to be truly free from her years of filth.
She laid out sheets and a pillow on the small sofa, which would be where Min would sleep for now. Chung-Cha had already purchased clothes and shoes for her, correctly assuming that a camp girl would be smallish. They fit very well, far better than the rags she had come here in. Those went into the trash.
Chung-Cha showed Min how to brush her teeth, cautioning her against swallowing the paste. Then she cleaned her nails, which were caked with years’ worth of grime and crud. Next, she combed out Min’s long hair, untangling knots and trimming errant strands with scissors. Min sat patiently while this was done, staring the whole time in the mirror Chung-Cha had seated her in front of in the small bathroom.
She well knew why the girl was studying herself so closely. She had never been in front of a mirror before. Thus she had no idea what she looked like. Chung-Cha could remember herself slipping out of bed at night and going to the bathroom, not because she had to relieve herself but because she wanted to see what she looked like again.
She fed Min another small meal and then attended to her multiple cuts and scabs with peroxide, salve, and bandages. Then she put Min in her makeshift bed under her clean sheets and wearing a new pair of shorts and a top. Even though she had tended to the girl’s many injuries, healing cuts and scabbed-over old wounds as best she could, Chung-Cha had scheduled a visit to a doctor the next day. She wanted all of these seen to. Infections were rife in the camps and had killed many prisoners. She had not freed Min to watch her die. And ordinarily before prisoners were released from the camps they had to show that they were free from infection or disease. Since this was nearly impossible they almost never achieved their liberty. Chung-Cha had thus pledged in her signed paperwork to have a doctor thoroughly examine and treat Min within one day of leaving the camp.
After settling Min on the sofa, Chung-Cha turned the light off.
She heard Min gasp and then say, “Can you make it light again, Chung-Cha?”
She turned the light switch back on, then went over to Min, perching on the edge of the sofa.
“Does the darkness cause you fear?” She knew that the prison huts had no electricity, and that while Min had probably seen electric lights, she was not accustomed to them.
Min said, “I am not afraid.”
“Then why do you want the light on?”
“So I can see where I live now.”
Chung-Cha left the light on and went into her bedroom. She kept the door partly open and told Min if she needed anything to come wake her.
Chung-Cha got into bed but did not go to sleep. Not much scared her anymore; it simply wasn’t possible after all she had experienced. But what she had just done frightened her more than beatings or fear of death possibly could. Her whole life had been spent alone, and now she had assumed responsibility for another human being.
She listened to Min’s even breathing, which, because of the tiny size of the apartment, was happening only a few feet away. She wondered