Read Online Existence by James Frey - Free Book Online

return.
    Except that the day passes, and then the evening, and soon An has completed his nighttime rituals and received his daily dose of pain—easily accomplished, tonight, with a hand pressed to the fresh brand marks.
    His father is not a man inclined to explanations. But gradually, over the years, An Liu has come to understand the man’s philosophy of strength and weakness.
    Weakness derives from fear, and all fear is fear of pain.
    Thus it is only the man with no fear of pain who has no weakness;as An Liu learns to inure himself to pain, he will relinquish all fear, and he will grow strong. The theory has borne out. The body and its tortures hold no secrets for An Liu. There is nothing he will not risk, for there is nothing he cannot endure. As for that other kind of pain, the pain of losing that which he loves the most? An Liu’s father has taken care of that too. He’s stripped An Liu’s life of everything and everyone that could be loved. There is nothing left to lose but his life, and that would be a mercy. There is nothing left to fear.
    This, his father says, is how the Shang mold a Player true of spirit, capable of victory. This is his father’s claim, but An Liu has come to understand many things over the years: he has learned to read his father’s expressions, and he can see the joy on the man’s face when skin tears and burns.
    Other men may fear pain; An Liu’s father feeds on it.
    Perhaps this is why he says nothing about An Liu’s mother—perhaps he can see the desire burning in his son’s eyes, and enjoys watching as the hours pass and the fire burns itself out.
    â€œBed,” his father commands, as he does every night at precisely 10 p.m.
    This time, the first time since the day his father arrived, An does not obey. He stands up and faces his father, who is the only thing left in the world that can frighten him. An is no longer the boy he once was, no longer the soft and weak worm that his father first met. He is still a boy, yes. Still smaller than average for his age and thin as a reed, with soft features that offer the illusion of innocence. But his arms are muscled, his legs powerful; his mind is sharp, his will unbreakable.
    â€œWhere is my mother?” he says.
    â€œExcuse me?” His father looks surprised. It has been a long time since An has spoken anything but the direct response to a question.
    â€œYou said she would return when I was ten years old, and today I am ten. Where is she?”
    For the first time in An Liu’s memory, his father starts to laugh. “Did I tell you that? When could I possibly have told you that?”
    An’s hands are curling into fists. He doesn’t like to be laughed at. Especially in front of his uncles, who watch from the kitchen with avid interest. An Liu is surprising them tonight; he’s surprising himself.
    â€œThe day she left,” An reminds him. “You told me if I worked very hard and made a man of myself, she would come back. When I turned ten.”
    â€œYou? A man?” His father snorts. “You, little worm? I suppose you think you’re worthy to be the Player now too?”
    â€œYes, Father. I do.” An Liu has three more years before he will be old enough to take on the mantle officially, but he feels ready right now, to fight for the life of his people as he’s been groomed to do.
    â€œThen you’re dumber than you look.”
    This is An’s cue: to scurry away before he earns a punishment. Always before, he has done this. But always before, he had a purpose. He had this day to look forward to; he had hope.
    Now he has nothing.
    â€œI want you to bring my mother back,” An says. He’s older and wiser now than he once was; he understood long ago that his mother wouldn’t have left voluntarily. Her absence or presence is under his father’s control, just like everything else. In this home, his father is the only god.