The Windup Girl

She is New People, and she moves through the crowds so smoothly that they do not know she is there. She laughs at them. Laughs and slips between them. There is something suicidal ticking in her windup nature. She hides in the open. She does not scuttle. Fate has cupped her in its protective hands.

She slips through the crowds, people jerking away startled from the windup in their midst, from the bit of transgressive manufactuary that has the effrontery to stain their sidewalks, as if their land were half as pristine as the islands that have ejected her. She wrinkles her nose. Even Nippon's effluent is too good for this raucous stinking place. They simply do not recognize how she graces them. She laughs to herself, and realizes when others look at her that she has laughed out loud.

White shirts ahead. Flashes of them between the trundle of megodonts and handcarts. Emiko stops at the rail of a khlong bridge, looking down into the waters, waiting for the threat to pass. She sees herself in the canal's reflection with the green glow of the lamps all around, backlighting her. She feels perhaps she could become one with the water, if she simply stares at the glow long enough. Become a water lady. Already is she not part of the floating world? Does she not deserve to float and slowly sink? She stifles the thought. That is the old Emiko. The one who could never teach her to fly.

A man approaches and leans against the rail. She doesn't look up, watches his reflection in the water.

"I like to watch when the children race their boats through the canals," he says.

She nods slightly, not trusting herself to speak.

"Is there something you see in the water? That you look so long?"

She shakes her head. His white uniform is tinged green. He is so close he can reach out and touch her. She wonders what his kind eyes would look like if his hands touched the furnace of her skin.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he says. "It's just a uniform. You haven't done anything wrong."

"No." she whispers. "I am not afraid."

"That's good. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be." He pauses. "Your accent is odd. When I first saw you, I thought you might be Chaozhou…"

She shakes her head, slightly. A jerk. "So sorry. Japanese."

"With the factories?"

She shrugs. His eyes bore into her. She makes her head turn-slowly, slowly, smoothly, smoothly, not a single stutter, not a single jerk-and meet his eyes, return his steady gaze. Older than she first thought. Middle-aged, she thinks. Or not. Perhaps he is young and only worn down by the evils of his job. She stifles the urge to extend pity to him, fights her genetic need to serve him even if he would sooner see her dismembered. Slowly, slowly, she turns her eyes back to the water.

"What is your name?"

She hesitates. "Emiko."

"A nice name. Does it mean something?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing important."

"So modest, for a woman so beautiful."

She shakes her head, "No. Not so. I am ugly-" she breaks off, sees him staring, realizes that she has forgotten herself. Her movements have betrayed her. His eyes are wide, surprised. She backs away from him, all pretense of humanity forgotten.

His eyes harden. "Heechy-keechy," he breathes.

She smiles tightly. "It was an honest mistake."

"Show me your import permits."

She smiles. "Of course. I'm sure they are here. Of course." She backs away, flashbulb movements broadcasting every kink in her DNA. He reaches for her, but she pulls her arm from his grasp, a quick twist, and then she is turning away, breaking into flight, blurring into traffic as he shouts after her.

"Stop her! Stop! Ministry business! Stop that windup!"

Her whole essence cries to stop and give herself up, to bend to his command. It is all she can do to keep running, to push herself against the lashings of Mizumi-sensei when she dared disobey, the disapproving sting of Mizumi's tongue when she dared to object to another's desires.

Emiko burns with shame as his commands echo behind her, but then the crowds have swallowed her and the surge of megodont traffic is all around, and he is far too slow to discover which alley hides her as she recovers.

* * *

It takes extra time to avoid the white shirts, but at the same time, it is a game. Emiko can play this game now. If she is quick and careful, and allows time between her sudden surges she evades them easily. At speed, she marvels at the movements of her body, how startlingly fluid she becomes, as if she is finally being true to her nature. As if all the training and lashes from Mizumi-sensei were designed to keep this knowledge buried.

Eventually she makes Ploenchit and climbs the tower. Raleigh is waiting by the bar, as he always is, impatient. He glances up. "You're late. I'm fining you for that."

Emiko forces herself not to feel guilt, even as she apologizes. "So sorry, Raleigh-san."

"Hurry up and get changed. You have VIP guests tonight. They're important, and they'll be here soon."

"I want to ask you about the village."

"What village?"