Read Online Fire Flowers by Ben Byrne - Free Book Online

was waggling a small square bottle full of dark liquid.
    â€œAmerican whiskey. One of the yankiis gave it to me.”
    She unscrewed the cap.
    â€œYankiis,” she confided. “That’s what all the other girls call them.”
    She sniffed the bottle, then wrinkled up her face. “Mmm!” she murmured. “Not bad.”
    She put the bottle to her lips and took a long swallow. Her throat moved once, and she sat there, eyes wide, waving her hand over her mouth.
    â€œOh,” she said. “Oh, oh, oh.”
    She recovered her breath and poured out the drink into two teacups. She handed one to me, and I sat up and gave it a cautious sniff.
    â€œWho would have thought it?” Michiko said. “An American, giving me whiskey.”
    I took a tiny sip, and retched. The taste was disgusting and made my eyes water.
    â€œAnd cigarettes,” she said, taking out a packet from her purse and waving it at me. “Have a cigarette!”
    She slid one out and lit it carefully, frowning at the glowing end and sucking in the smoke as if she had been doing it her whole life. I took another little sip of the whiskey. It was very pungent, but also sweet. When it reached my belly, I felt a burning, relaxing sensation that was really quite pleasant. My eyes grew heavy and I wondered if I was already drunk. I quickly tipped the rest of the liquid down my throat.
    Then I really did feel dizzy. I rolled over on the bed and stared up at Michiko’s swaying shape in front of me.
    â€œHe was the nicest one, anyway,” she said, puffing away on her cigarette. “The one who gave me the whiskey. Even if he was a black one.”
    I sat bolt upright.
    â€œMichiko!” I shrieked. “You didn’t go with a black one?”
    â€œSo what?” she demanded. “What do I care?”
    She poured more whiskey into our cups and I forced myself to drink it. I closed my eyes and lay back, hoping I would fall asleep straight away. The thought of the next day loomed in my mind. A throbbing pain pulsed in my neck and I felt a tightness in my chest. Finally, Michiko blew out the lamp and slid into bed beside me.
    My mind was thick with clouds, but sleep wouldn’t come. Shapes were moving about in the darkness in front of me; I could see faces of men flickering and blurring into each other. The floor was moving back and forth, as if I was on a boat, men were heaving up and down on top of me, I was suffocating and there was a filthy, cold wetness inside me . . .
    I woke with a shriek and seized hold of Michiko. “Michiko!” I cried. “Michiko, help me!”
    She raised herself onto one arm. “Satsuko?” she murmured. “What is it?”
    I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t she understand? She was looking at me in the darkness and I could smell the whiskey on her breath.
    â€œIs there really nothing we can do, Michiko?” I whispered. “Nothing at all?”
    Her answer came sharply. “No, Satsuko. There’s nothing we can do. So the sooner you get used to it the better. Now go to sleep.”
    With that, she rolled over and pulled the covers across herself. I drew my arms around my body, shivering. A few moments later, I heard a rasping sound. She was snoring.
    Â 
    Every time I looked up, there was an American standing in the doorway. The building was hot and airless, and my room became a wretched, stinking cave. The murky bathroom where we were told to wash and disinfect ourselves after each visitor was the only refuge, but the smell in there was sickening too, and no matter how much I scrubbed myself I couldn’t get rid of the stink of chemicals and men. On the train home at night, I was sure that the other people in the carriage could smell it too, and that they were looking at me in disgust, as if they knew exactly the kind of woman I had become.
    At the end of the first week, a rumour went around that one of the girls had killed herself.