To the girl’s great relief, the senior sister didn’t insist they skip lunch to carry out the rest of their work. She felt much better after she had some food in her belly.
“I still feel like we get saddled with all the hard labor,” she groused.
“Ah ha ha, I get what you mean. Technically, we do take turns with the rest of the sisters,” said the redhead.
Duties were doled out in rotations to keep everything fair. In that case, why did the girl always feel like she was stuck with the worst of it? She knew what the senior sister would say if she asked. “You think that way because you have a terrible, nasty personality,” she would snap.
It was true that all the sisters had cracked, patchy red hands. Still, the girl wanted to protest. The work they did wasn’t easy. Maybe her concerns seemed trivial to a woman who’d run from an abusive husband, but to the girl, there was nothing more depressing than the hard labor thrust upon them day in and day out.
I wonder if I think this way because I’m still so ignorant.
She couldn’t put a blithe smile on her face and try to find moments of enjoyment like the red-haired sister did.
The girl noticed the senior sister approaching, and her feet turned to lead. It was time for them to deliver their wine to the restaurant in town. She followed the senior sister, grabbed the handles of the cart, and hauled it forward. The red-haired sister, who’d become the girl’s close partner, pushed it from behind. There was a downhill slope all the way to town, so once they hit it, the sister would have to cling to the back and dig her heels in to slow the cart down and keep it under control.
The girl, who disdained backbreaking work, felt dark clouds swirling in her heart. Ironic that the exact opposite was happening in the skies above. The winds were strong enough to sweep away the cloud cover, leaving an expanse of clear blue. Small bits of dirt got caught up in the gusts, pelting the girl right in the face. Her skin was more sensitive than usual, perhaps because of the chill.
Upon their arrival, the girl endeavored to ignore the gazes of the men in town. It was at times like these that she found herself grateful for the senior sister’s presence. The woman was a nag, to be sure, but she’d protect them from the men.
Stalls lined the streets. Peddlers showed off their wares, their cloth awnings faded from the sun.
A sad sight, thought the girl. Maybe it was the lack of foot traffic that made the stalls look so forlorn to her, or maybe she was too preoccupied with how plain and boring the stalls and goods looked. Whatever the reason, the girl felt no excitement at seeing them. The only saving grace of the town was the rich, warm smell of wheat that hung in the air.
The entrance to the restaurant was thrown wide open. It was so cramped inside that one of the chairs near the front door jutted out awkwardly. It would be a stretch to call this restaurant clean or beautiful, and the paint was peeling in places. But at least now that they’d brought the wine, all they had to do was make the return trip.
No sooner had the red-haired sister and the girl switched places than a sharp cry echoed through the streets.
“Thief!”
Thus ensued the flurried rush of numerous bodies, their feet kicking up sand, effectively blinding the girl.
This really couldn’t get any worse, could it?!
Her stress was already at an all-time high between the arduous labor and the forced visit to a town she would’ve rather steered clear of. All she wanted now was to hurry home and rest. Instead, the fuss had postponed their return. Her blood nearly boiled in fury. All these onlookers who’d rushed out to see what was going on were a nuisance. The streets were already cramped; there was no room for their cart to navigate.
Can’t you people be a little more considerate? Don’t you see us trying to get through? The girl was sorely tempted to scream at them, but the senior sister was nearby. She kept her complaints to herself this time.
“Hey, isn’t that kid they caught awfully young?” said the red-haired sister, shooting a worried glance back at the girl. Judging by her commentary, the thief hadn’t made it far. The authorities already had the culprit pinned to the ground.
The girl moved to join her partner. As long as this many onlookers were gathered, they wouldn’t be able to move their cart.
“You’re right,” she said. “He’s just a boy.”
“He’s skin and bones, so it’s hard to tell, but I think he’s only around six years old.”
The boy’s skin drew taut over his bony arms, which cradled a bread bun. An adult had caught him and pushed him into the dirt. He had no chance of freeing himself. Yet despite his crimes, he yelled out, “I have a younger brother! If he doesn’t eat, he’ll starve to death!”
Obviously, the meal service the church offered once a week—or twice at most—wasn’t enough for the people who truly needed it. The malnourished state of the boy’s body was proof of that.
The onlookers regarded the boy with furrowed brows, their whispers flitting about.
“Where’s his parents?”
“They must be vagrants.”
“This is why the homeless are a blight on our society.”
No one was even trying to help him. Scratch that, there was one person who wished to.
“Sister, can’t we do anything?” the red-haired girl pleaded with the senior sister. “He’s a child, and he only stole to feed his younger sibling.”
Her eyes darted between the senior sister and the boy even as she spoke. She was probably picturing her own siblings in her mind, the ones she hadn’t been able to save from starvation.
The senior sister’s face hardened. She shook her head. “A crime is a crime,” she said. “No matter his circumstances, he must pay the price for what he’s done. For robbery, an adult receives ten lashings. A child receives five.”
“They can’t! He’ll die!” cried the red-haired sister.
The girl had to agree. She very much doubted this scrawny little boy would survive the punishment. She scrutinized him; since he had been caught in the act, the authorities would mete out his punishment here. That was why he was kept pinned down. One of the guards reached for the whip hanging at his side.
No one made to turn away. No one left. The onlookers watched closely, their faces distorted with anxious anticipation, eyes gleaming as if they’d already pictured his suffering in their minds.
What the…?
The girl never would have noticed their expressions before. She’d never had an interest in anything that didn’t directly affect her. But having spoken with all the other sisters, having learned to observe her surroundings more, she had come to an all-new understanding and appreciation for the world. That’s why she was so unsettled.
This is so messed up.
Violating the law had consequences. Carrying out those consequences in front of everyone when the culprit had been caught red-handed was the authorities’ way of making an example out of him. Of warning others not to make the same mistake. That was what they said, anyway. But was it true?
This feels more like an exhibition.
None of the onlookers showed an ounce of sympathy for the boy. They looked down their noses at him, watching him grimace from the pain as he knelt in the dirt. His agony fed them with a sense of superiority.
This was entertainment for them. Something out of the ordinary to watch and enjoy.
This is no different than those peeping Toms.
She recalled when the men had used that hole in the monastery wall to peep at the sisters. A chill ran down her spine, and bile crawled up her throat. The bitterness of it lingered on the back of her tongue.
Is it this town that’s abnormal? This was an island. Perhaps the isolation had done something to them. Or is this considered normal in the world at large?
Tremors ran through the boy’s body, his eyes wide with fear as they latched on to the whip. His voice was muted as it slipped past his trembling lips, making it impossible to hear. But she caught the way the blood drained from his face.
The air became heavy with tension as the crowd waited eagerly for the first crack of the whip.
There’s something wrong with you people. The girl’s hands clenched into fists. She didn’t want to be lumped in with them.
The red-haired girl threw herself at the senior sister, clutching the older woman’s dress desperately. “Please, sister! I beg of you, save him! He can’t survive that whip. He just can’t!”
“There is nothing I can do.”
When she realized her impassioned plea hadn’t moved the senior sister at all, the redhead fell to her knees. The senior sister was as hard and unbending as the law itself. Her expression betrayed no emotion as she stood there, staring blankly at the boy. There wasn’t the same morbid curiosity as seen in the eyes of the onlookers, but she was like an immovable object.
The girl glanced at the senior sister, then at the boy. There was nothing else she could do. Soon enough, the guard holding the whip raised it in the air. Time slowed to a crawl. If she was going to stop this from happening, she had to do it now.
But how?
She wasn’t sure.
Tears welled in the red-haired sister’s eyes. The onlookers watched with vested interest. The shop owner whom the boy had stolen from looked smug.
What can I do to save him? She didn’t know. She just didn’t know.
Someone had peeled the boy’s threadbare shirt up, exposing his back. He was now wailing “I’m sorry!” at the top of his lungs.
I don’t know! What am I supposed to do?!
The girl ached to save him, but there was nothing she could do. Her brain wasn’t working properly. She was so frustrated, she wanted to scream. If only the boy had proper access to food in the first place, he never would have tried to steal it.