" "Livinia, how old are you?" She looked down into her lap, where her hands were torturing the loose ends of the robe sash." "Livinia, how old are you?" She looked down into her lap, where her hands were torturing the loose ends of the robe sash. "Twenty-six." "And Sabrina was twelve three weeks ago." She nodded. I lifted her chin and turned her face toward me. "Just about what I thought." "You knew?" "I guessed." "But don't you get angry -- " "That was a long time ago. I'm just sorry it was rough on you." And then it all came out, bit by bit and then in a torrent. Her family had lived not far from Bataan. Times had gotten tough when some of the industries in Manila went belly-up and suddenly unemployed people who had been sending some money home came home themselves, bringing hungry bellies. But families were there and people shared. Privacy, always at a premium, became nonexistent. She'd always enjoyed bathing herself Down There. Being slapped for it and spanked only made the thrill forbidden and more exciting. "I always knew I was different there because I'd seen the other girls and some of the little boys and I wondered if I was a girl or a boy, because it was so big." Then, when she was eight, her father was killed in a logging accident. His brother, as expected, assumed the manly responsibilities, taking care of the needs of the family...and sometimes the widow's needs, whether she wanted them cared for or not. "Sometimes we would hear her cry and scream, but no one ever came to help. She would be black and blue for days afterward." And he would go away for weeks at a time and return with money from unexplained sources. Then, when she was nine, he came home unexpectedly. |