Page 67 of The Girl with a Thousand Faces
Nighttime, Shek Ham Chau.
You are in your own bed, soaked in so much sweat that the sheets are damp. Immediately, your skin itches with irritation.
Mami is standing over you, and for one awful, confused moment, she is both old Daiyu the middle-aged mother, and young Daiyu, who is an elder sister.
“Siu Yin!” she says again, looking worried but sounding angry. “Wake up! It’s only a dream.”
“I’m awake,” you protest. “My eyes are open!”
“They were open when you were shouting, too,” she says, which shocks you.
“How… how long was I…”
“A little while. I heard you making noise, and came in when you couldn’t seem to wake.” Mami looks up and down, adding, “Best if you change out of those clothes.”
Nod slowly. It won’t do to sleep in clammy, sweat-soaked fabric. Carefully, feeling weirdly embarrassed, you climb out of bed.
“What were you dreaming of?” She hands you a fresh shirt as you peel off the soiled one.
“A nightmare.”
“That’s obvious,” she says, sounding annoyed. “What kind of nightmare?” She’s so cold and stiff, not like the younger version you saw moments before.
“I dreamed about your sister.”
Mami is still for a long moment. “What do you mean?”
“It was like that folktale you used to tell me, years ago. About the little girl who was driven to her death by superstitious men, because they thought she was a necromancer? Only in this dream, the unlucky girl was your sister.” For some reason, it feels weird to admit thatyouwere her sister, in the dream—so, you don’t. Some inner sense warns you that this will upset her deeply.
Mami grimaces, and says nothing.
“Mami?”
“A ghost dream.” She pulls the damp sheets off your bed, piling them on the floor. “It happens, on places which are haunted. Sometimes they can bring on a fever, but you seem to be healthy enough.”
“A ghost dream?” You’ve heard of such things, but never experienced one before. “Was it real, then? What I dreamed about?”
“I’m not a mind reader, I don’t know exactly what you saw,” she snaps, spreading a clean sheet atop the hard, wooden bed. “But the folk story I told you is mostly true. My sister was that girl.”
You stare at her, aghast. “That’s awful. I didn’t know they treated your sister so badly.”
“Most people didn’t. A few of the men didn’t like her, that’s true, but many of the villagers were kind and good,” she says. “Can you get back to sleep?”
“I think so, but I want to write some more wards for my room, first.”
“If you must,” she says, already walking to the door. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Alright,” you say, but she is already out in the hallway, retreating back to her own room.
Sigh, reach for some paper and ink, and start drawing your fu talisman.
Swiftly, the shape of your days begins to change.
The dream doesn’t return, probably because of your fu talisman, and its details fade with time. It helps that you’re relatively busy in the day. The garden still needs weeding and watering. There are still everyday chores like drawing water, or cleaning the house. Apparently, the ghosts no longer feel the need to do it, now that you’ve moved in.
Between you and Mami, those tasks get done, more or less. If there’s the odd day that someone forgets to tend the garden, or a few extra plates are left lying around, neither of you comments. Truthfully, you’re rushing through those activities, mind elsewhere, and she is doing the same.
After lunch, you both drift apart to separate worlds. You don’t even make excuses to Mami anymore, nor does she in reverse. Simply disappear to swim, and she hardly notices. Mami spends her free time talking or dancing with the dead, locked in a fantasy where you are not welcome or needed.
