Chapter 7 New Clothes and Ointment
Just as I ground my teeth plotting whether to tear down the yard or dig a tunnel to escape the side door creaked open.
Speak of the devil.
Fa Hai had returned.
He carried several bulging supermarket plastic bags that looked heavy. He had changed out of the bright kasaya into a plain gray layman's robe and a matching gray cap pulled low.
What new disguise was this? Afraid of being caught as the large wild animal?
He entered looked up and caught me fuming in place.
Our eyes met. He paused slightly then walked in expressionlessly and placed the bags on the stone table.
"Hmph." I crossed my arms and gave him my back showing my displeasure.
The bags rustled. He stayed silent but I felt his heavy gaze on my back.
After a pause he spoke first. His voice stayed stiff. "Come here."
"What for?" I snapped turning.
From one bag he pulled out a tube of ointment and a box of panties plus a neatly folded set of women's clothes and pants. They looked cotton-linen plain but new.
My rage stalled.
He avoided my eyes staring at the ointment as if it held supreme teachings. "...Ointment and clean clothes."
My gaze darted between the pain-relief ointment the cotton panties box the new outfit and his reddening earlobes.
The anger in me deflated.
Replaced by a strange ticklish itch.
This monk...
I shuffled over picked up the panties box and checked the size.
It was exactly mine.
I looked up at him.
He jerked his eyes away as if burned. His Adam's apple bobbed. The side of his face under the cap tightened.
"You..." I opened my mouth. My cheeks warmed. "How did you know..."
He cut me off sharply. His tone turned harsh with embarrassment. "Have your measurements changed in eight hundred years?"
I fell silent.
Fair point.
He had chased me for eight hundred years. He knew me better than I knew myself.
My clothes size my allergies my escape habits... he had it all down.
I squeezed the panties box. The plastic crinkled.
My heart felt even stranger. Like cold water hitting hot oil sizzling chaotically.
I shook out the new clothes. They were gray-blue loose and baggy fitting the temple vibe.
"Thanks." My voice sounded dry as I tried to stay normal. "Though your taste is not great."
He did not reply. He just pushed the ointment closer then grabbed the other bags like they burned and hurried to the old cabinet in the meditation room corner.
I watched his hasty back then looked down at the items in my hands.
So he had gone out specifically to buy these for me?
A monk who had hunted me for eight hundred years wishing me dead after our messy tumble in the ruins not only refrained from killing me but covered me with a blanket bought medicine and bought intimate clothes?
Was the script wrong?
I held the cool ointment tube. The chill spread from my fingertips but could not stop the strange heat rising in my chest.
"Hey." I called to his back.
He froze opening the cabinet without turning. "What now?"
"You..." I licked my suddenly dry lips. "Put some ointment on your neck too."
Those scratches were deep.
His back went completely rigid. After several seconds he replied stiffly "No need for your concern."
Then he stuffed the bags rice flour oil and such into the cabinet and slammed the door hard as if it owed him.
I stood in the courtyard holding the ointment and new underwear watching him squirm and try to hide it. Suddenly I wanted to laugh.
That dead monk.
Seemed not so deserving of death after all.