work,’ he shouted. ‘You earn nothing!’ ‘But with the money you earn,’ she had started. He reached across the table and slapped her hard across the side of her head. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he smiled. ‘Where do you think I get the money to pay for everything?’ ‘I don’t know,’ she was holding the side of her face. His hand had stung her. She felt the jolt of his blow run through the bones of her face. Her ear rang with pain. Her cheek felt as though it were glowing red under her hand. ‘The boys pay, Siswan. They pay to do what they do to you,’ his voice was cold. He was enjoying this, she thought to herself. He was enjoying telling her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He didn’t work. He did nothing. The boys in the village had been giving him money! The household bills, the food, clothes, even the motorbike he took so much time cleaning, it all came from what she did in the fields. Everything. The small knife lay on the table beside her. She looked at him. Saw the laughter in his eyes. Saw the grin spreading across his face. He found it funny. He was watching her. Laughing at her shock, her horror. He laughed aloud. ‘And, my little sister, you have to keep doing it. Mama and Papa need us now. We have to take care of them,’ he told her. Their father lay upstairs in bed. Too ill even to come downstairs anymore. Their mother sat with him and was past caring. The last coherent words she had spoken were to condemn her daughter. Bak was right. She had to take care of them. What else could she do? The tears began to fill her eyes. She wiped them away angrily. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. Not again. Not ever. She clutched the handle of the knife. ‘How much do they pay?’ The question caught him off guard. Bak had expected her to cry. Had expected the sobs. In a way he had been looking forward to them. He liked to see his sister cry. Something about a girl crying in front of him gave him a feeling of power. He was more like his father than he knew. The question she asked was unexpected. He took another drink of whiskey before replying. She was looking at him. Her face was red from where he had hit her. He wanted to hit her again but he didn’t want to spoil her looks. ‘Why?’ he asked. She had caught the fleeting look in her brother’s eyes. He had looked shocked for a moment. She fought down the urge to cry. Something inside her hardened. A cold tremor ran down her spine. Her mother had condemned her. ‘I want to know,’ she said, calmly. ‘Not a lot. More later,’ he answered. ‘Why more later?’ ‘You have something that men will pay for, Siswan,’ he sneered. ‘They will pay a lot.’ ‘What?’ her voice was cold. ‘I want to know everything, Bak.’ ‘All in good time,’ he said. She looked at the arrogant young man sat cross legged in front of her. He was reaching for the whiskey bottle. There was a knowing smile on his face. He knew something that she didn’t know and it annoyed her. From somewhere deep inside her an anger grew. A slow and purposeful anger. Something that she had never felt before. She wouldn’t allow it to explode into a sudden burst of temper. That would be a waste. She had to control this feeling. Control the anger. Use it. Her mother had condemned her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Now. I want to know now.’ He looked unsure. A hesitation as he poured more whiskey into his glass. A fleeting look of something. Worry? Fear? She didn’t know. As she watched him she remembered the young boy who had chased the fish in the pond. How she had laughed and how he had smiled in the sun. A young boy who had held her at night when their parents fought. A young boy who had been so scared of the scorpions in the field. She didn’t see that boy now. What she saw was her father. A spiteful, mean man whose only kindness had been to give her the silver chain and Buddha that still hung around her neck. She concentrated on the