“What was that?” the client asks.
“Oh, must be a rat,” Mother says. My stomach churns. “Know any good exterminators?” Mother purrs. My shoulders tense. I hate when she jokes like that. “I need to kill this little rodent. It’s been pestering me for a while now.”
“I know a few people,” the client murmurs.
I want to see if she’s joking, so I peer through the hole. They’re kissing, and it seems normal, so I close my eyes and carefully rest against the side of the box. Crouched like this, it’s hard to get comfortable, but once enough time passes, I always fall asleep.
In an hour, the front door slams shut, and I startle in the box. Mother’s heels clack over the linoleum. She bangs on the top of the box, the wood rattling with hollowness.
“Are you stupid?” she hisses. “Can’t you see I’m working right now? Or do you want to go without food for another week? You want to starve us again, little boy?”
I close my eyes, trying to push out the emotions. This is my fault. She’s doing this forus.If I had been quiet, she would let me out right now.
“Fuck it,” she says. “I’ll get water this time. No one will be able to hear you through that, will they? You little—”
A fist pounds on the front door. Mother freezes.
Then she straightens, pulling her dress back into place.
“Be quiet this time,” she warns.
Her heels tap the linoleum. The door creaks open, and I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to be quiet. I have to be out of sight.
It’s better this way.
“Oh, hello,” Mother says. “You want to party tonight?”
“I’m looking for an associate of mine,” a man says, his voice raspy. “Rumor has it he was a client of yours. Can you tell me where this man is?”
He must be showing Mother a picture.
He’s not a client, then; he’s someone else. He won’t hurt Mother. I try hard to block it all out. They talk for a minute. Something about it seems different though, and when the man’s voice becomes slightly aggressive, a protective streak shifts in me.
I hate it when they hurt Mother. I cried and failed to stop it the first time, and the man ended up beating me too. That’s when the box came. Now, I force myself to watch so that I know exactly what happens. So that I can know what she went through forus.
Through the hole, I can see the man. He’s average in height, and he seems younger than most of her clients. Most of them have gray hair or wrinkles, buthehas black hair and brown eyes. He even looks Japanese, like Mother.
I shift my eye over the hole, searching for danger. The box creaks, and I grunt.
Fear grips my stomach. I bite my tongue until I taste blood. Why am I so stupid? I don’t pay attention, and then I make noise. I have to be silent.
“What was that?” the man asks.
“A rat,” Mother says through her teeth.
“I heard a noise,” the man insists. “A boy. Where is he?”
If he finds me, it’ll be my fault. Mother will lock me in the box and fill it with water, and I don’t know if I can drown again. I almost died last time.
The man’s steps echo through the room. I hold my breath. The padlock jiggles on the crate, and then a whir of motion blurs across the hole.
The man kneels down.
Eye to eye, he’s older than I first thought. There are slight wrinkles around his eye.
I lean back, and the box moans again. I’m afraid of what may happen. If this man doesn’t hurt me, then Motherwillpunish me.
And I deserve it.
