The Windup Girl(95)

She and Anderson-sama enter the elevator, and the elevator woman calls out the estimated weight, her face carefully expressionless.

Safely inside his flat, they come together. Emiko is surprised at how happy she is that he delights in her, that he runs his hands over her skin, that he wishes to touch her. She has forgotten what it is to look almost human, to be nearly respected. In Japan, there was no such compunction about looking upon her. But here she feels as if she is an animal every day.

It is a relief to be loved, even if it is only for her physicality.

His hands run over her br**sts, down across her stomach, slip between her legs, burrow deeper. She is relieved that it is easy, that he will know her pleasure. Emiko presses herself to him, and their mouths find one another, and for a time she forgets entirely that people call her windup and heechy-keechy. For a moment she feels entirely human, and she loses herself in the touching. In Anderson-sama's skin. In the security of pleasure and duty.

But after their union, her depression returns.

Anderson-sama brings her cool water, solicitous of her exertion. He lies down beside her, naked, careful not to touch, not to add to the heat she has built up. "What's the matter?" he asks.

Emiko shrugs, tries to make herself into a smiling New Person. "It is nothing. Nothing that can be changed." It's almost impossible to speak her needs. It goes against all her nature. Mizumi-sensei would strike her for it.

Anderson-sama watches her, his eyes surprisingly tender for a man with scars that crisscross his body. She can catalogue those scars. Each one a mystery of violence on his pale skin. Perhaps the puckered scars on his chest came from spring gun attacks. Perhaps the one on his shoulder came from a machete. The ones on his back look like whip marks, almost certainly. The only one she's certain about is the neck scar, from his factory.

He reaches out to touch her gently. "What's wrong?"

Emiko rolls away from him. She can barely speak through her embarrassment. "The white shirts… they will never let me out of the city. And now Raleigh-san has paid more bribes to keep me. He will never let me go, I think."

Anderson-sama doesn't respond. She can hear his breathing, slow and steady, but nothing else. Her shame is all encompassing.

Stupid greedy windup girl. You should be grateful for what he is willing to provide.

The silence stretches. Finally, Anderson-sama asks, "You're sure Raleigh can't be convinced? He's a businessman."

Emiko listens to the sound of his breathing. Is he offering to buy her free? If he were Japanese, it would be an offer, carefully couched. But with Anderson-sama, it is hard to tell.

"I do not know. Raleigh-san likes money. But I think also that he likes to see me suffer."

She waits, straining for a clue as to what he is thinking. Anderson-sama doesn't ask for more information. Leaves her hint dangling. She can feel his body though, close to her, the heat of his skin. Is he listening still? If he were civilized, she would take this lack of response as a definitive slap. But gaijin are not subtle.

Emiko steels herself. Presses again, almost gagging with humiliation as she overcomes her training and genetic imperatives. Fighting to keep herself from cowering like a dog, she tries again.

"I am living in the bar, now. Raleigh-san pays the bribes to keep the white shirts away, triple bribes now, some to the other bars, and some to the white shirts, to allow me to be there. I do not know how much longer I can last. My niche is vanishing, I think."

"Do you…" Anderson-sama breaks off, hesitating. Then says, "You could stay here."

Emiko's heart skips. "Raleigh-san would follow, I think."

"There are ways to handle people like Raleigh."

"You can free me from him?"

"I doubt I have the funds to buy you out."

Emiko's heart crashes as Anderson-sama continues, "With tension so high, I can't provoke him by just taking you away. Not when he could just send the white shirts hunting here. It would be too risky. But I think I can arrange for you to sleep here at least. Raleigh might even appreciate the lessened exposure."

"But would this not create problems for you? The white shirts do not like farang, either. You are very precarious now." Help me fly from this place. Help me find the New People villages. Help me, please. "If I were to pay Raleigh-san's fines… I could go north."

Anderson-sama tugs her shoulder gently. Emiko lets herself be pulled back to him. "You hope for too little," he says. His hand traces across her stomach. Idle. Thoughtful. "A lot of things may be changing soon. Maybe even for windups." He favors her with a small secretive smile. "The white shirts and their rules won't be here forever."

She is begging for survival, and he speaks of fantasy.

Emiko tries to keep her disappointment hidden. You should be content, greedy girl. Grateful for what you have. But she can't keep the bitterness from her voice. "I am a windup. Nothing will change. We will always be despised."

He laughs at that, pulls her close. "Don't be so sure." His lips brush her ear, whispering. Conspiratorial. "If you pray to that bakeneko cheshire god of yours, I might be able to give you something better than a village in the jungle. With a little luck, you might end up with a whole city."

Emiko pushes away, looks at him sadly. "I understand if you cannot change my lot. But you should not tease me."