SundayMarch 22, 1970Her new consort has purchased her services until Wednesday. Three nights. He remains gentle, quiet, and to Judy's amusement, completely unaccustomed to the clamor and crowds of the city. She guides him across streets amid the throngs of cyclists, rickshaws, and automobiles to his hotel, skillfully avoiding collision and delay while returning his pleasantries in conversation. Yes, there is much to see and do in Hong Kong. Yes, she enjoys the city very much. No, it is not expected to rain today. Once in the room, however, it is his turn to guide. A request. Quiet but firm. Unusual in that she had never before been asked to remove the makeup. Many clients liked the fantasy of buying a China doll, holding her, playing with her, commanding her firmly in a world of anonymity for both. But this man, Jack, asks her to take off her makeup, all of it. "I want to see you," he says, offering no other explanation.Judy pauses, weighing the danger of breaking protocol with her duty to please her customer, and decides little harm can come of such a request. If he believed washing away some paint and rouge would reveal to him her true nature, then so be it. He would be happy, she would require less time to prepare for each day, and it was only until Wednesday. She closes her eyes as the warm water erases her facade, raises a towel to pat her skin dry, and again becomes the guide, this time to the carnal pleasures that men cannot deny, their strain at being strangers in a world they are taught to control coiled so tightly that only the deft movement of body against body, the mysterious chemicals of male and female rising, pulsing, exploding, and collapsing can relax and release. As the full moon crests the city sky, his shudderings cease and soon the room is darkened but for the sound of his breathing taken in sleep.Judy watches him, satisfied at another day done, another day closer to repaying her debt and an assignment until Wednesday that will be easily fulfilled. The thought of early this morning is dismissed as an errant remnant of sleep. She was wrong. Today was the same as any other day. The sun rose, the moon slept, the traffic roared, the customers landed. And now the sun has set, another soldier of the world has been released to rest and the moon again rules the night. All is as it should and will be.Her eyes pace the length of moonbeams flowing through the gap in the curtains, observing quietly as they caress the face of the one in sleep. She finds herself drawn to touch the moon for herself and slowly she raises her hand, tracing its glow on his cheek, down his chin, and along the line of his jaw, his face surprisingly smooth for a full-grown man in combat. Her caress drifts downward toward his collarbone and pauses at the chain around his neck, the metal tags clanging softly as she fingers each ridge and symbol in curiosity. Brandugan John JJudy frowns at the different name, until she realizes that Jack is a common nickname for John. Even a past President of the United States, the handsome one whose death made millions cry, was referred to as Jack when not the more formal John F. Kennedy. Her fingers return to the tags, warmed now by the heat of her attention. She feels the letters US followed by a series of numbers. His service number. Who and what he is in the eyes of the army that feeds, clothes, and pays him in return for his conscription and labour. O+. His blood type. Universal donor, one who can share his blood with anyone. Another series of numbers. Social Security, who and what he is in the eyes of his government. Judy finds her mind drifting to the small pink card in her satchel. Judy Leung. Sakura Bar. Not who she is, but what the world needs to know. Exploration done, she slides her hand from the tag to the chain, halting at the one scar of battle she could find, a patch of skin about the size of a dime chafed red by the steady wear of steel beads against his neck. Again, she pauses. His skin, so ill-suited to the rigors of combat, tanned a handsome shade of leather by his hours in the Asian sun, is now alabaster in the glow of the moon. She smiles to herself at the image. He is as a China doll. But he is not a doll. Nor a soldier, it seems. What, then?A child’s toy. A puzzle. A puzzle in disarray, aching for completion so it may show its full image to the world. Today will be different. The thought from the morning returns with the force of a thousand monarchs startled into flight and for a moment, she yearns to take flight with them. She is to provide simple pleasure, common companionship, a professional service for a promised fee. That is all she is required to do. That is all she must do if she is ever to complete her service and gain her freedom. What she glimpses is brilliant in full moonlight but dark as a clouded sky, an unknown path hiding a cyclone or trap door that could suck her from her carefully-tended life into a world masked as ecstacy but rooted in despair. Her muscles tense as she eyes the door, debating whether to rise and exit before he awakens. She could tell Mama San that the match will not work, that any other girl will do. She could send word to any of her top customers and offer her services for more money than this man has paid, freeing her from Mama San’s ire and this unsettled feeling she cannot place. Before she can stand, her breathing calms. New experience leads to knowledge. Knowledge leads to better service, better pay, and a closer step to her freedom. This mysterious darkness in a man so plain, the ability to assemble that which seeks unity, could serve her well. It is a good business decision to stay. Her legs relax in response.Judy again touches a moonbeam on the cheek of the sleeping man, mentally retracing her steps and reframing her thought down to the phrase that has nagged her from sunrise. She could not erase it, could not forget it, but she will control it. Today was not different, she affirms. Tomorrow will not be, either.She lies down beside him, as taught, as expected, to rest until needed. Her mind drifts to the activities that may interest him in their time together, the places he would like to see, restaurants appealing to American palettes and egos. Then she prepares to quiet her voice as well as her mind. This is his puzzle, his life, his story, she reminds herself as sleep finally overtakes her. He must tell it, whether he wants to or not.