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mother. This power is something to be respected and feared. You're not eating, Old Hawk says to his daughter. His eyes meet hers, and dissimulation falls away. She can see the apprehension. I am fine, she announces. Her father's apprehension is now outright anxiety. You are sure? he says. Some more soup, her mother beams. Are you fine? she says to him. To many, I am an enemy, he murmurs. His face red from too much rice wine, he stands stiffly. I 
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have many debts. Too many to pay in a single life. Every day I believe this is the day . With a firm push, her mother shoos him away from the table, and hisses at her, not unkindly, Please finish your dinner! Later that night she watches him from her win- dow, as he stands alone in the courtyard, his hands crossed behind him. Why prepare for something you repeat every day? she wonders. Overcome with curiosity, she wanders down- stairs in her bare feet - the ruckus her mother would cause if she came upon her now! - and up to the entrance to the courtyard. Her father remains still, his clothes charcoal in the moon- light. She is mere feet away from him now. For the first time, she sees the knife in his hand, as  |
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