Page 46 of Peak Cruelty

Vance

T he footsteps are too light to mean anything bad. Not the heavy shuffle I’ve grown used to, but light, quick steps.

The door creaks open just a crack. I turn my head, still half out of it, and see a little girl standing in the frame. She’s about eight, maybe nine—thin, with wide eyes that look too old for her face. She’s holding a glass of water.

“Hi,” she says, voice quiet, matter-of-fact. “Mom said to bring you this.”

I take the water, my ribs screaming as I sit up. “Thanks.”

She steps in, scrutinizing me like she’s already sizing me up. “You really got the shit kicked out of you.”

I wince but chuckle. “Something like that.”

“You’re not supposed to fight.” She pulls up a chair beside the bed, unbothered, still watching me with those eyes that don’t match her age. “Mom says fighting’s bad.”

“Your mom’s right,” I say, voice scratchy. “But sometimes, it can’t be helped.”

She cocks her head, processing. “You must’ve really made them mad,” she says, voice going a little quieter, a little sharper. “Were they big?”

I smirk. “Yeah. They were pretty big.”

She nods as if that explanation is enough. “Bullies suck. But it’s okay,” she says brightly, almost cheerfully, “’cause you’re not dead.

“I'm not that lucky,” I say, forcing a grin.

She pauses. She leans in, eyes narrowing, a slight shift in her demeanor. “You know the story of the monk who gets robbed?”

I stare at her, confused for a second. “I think I’ve heard it. Why?”

She sits up straighter, voice suddenly more serious, more deliberate, as if she’s choosing her words carefully:

“So, there was this guy, Ryokan, who was a Zen master. He lived in this little hut on the side of a mountain, right? And he didn’t have much. He didn’t need much. One day, a thief comes to his hut, but there’s nothing there to steal. Nothing at all. But Ryokan comes back, and he catches the thief.”

She leans in closer, almost whispering, like she’s telling me a secret she’s too wise to be sharing. “Ryokan looks at him and says, ‘You came all this way, and I don’t want you to leave empty-handed. So here, take my clothes.’ The thief’s confused, but he takes them. And then he leaves.”

She pauses, holding my gaze for a beat too long, then continues, deadpan, without breaking the seriousness in her eyes. “Then Ryokan just sits there, all naked and calm, watching the moon. And he says, ‘Poor guy. I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.’”

My bottom lip juts out. “That’s an odd way to deal with a thief.”

She shrugs, as if that’s the most logical thing in the world. “Mom says it’s about not getting upset over things you can’t control. But I think it’s just about giving stuff away before someone takes it.”

I raise an eyebrow, letting a short laugh slip. “Guess I should’ve tried that. But I’m more of the ‘take it back’ type.”

She looks at me, still dead serious.

“Well, that’s one way to lose a fight.”

I don’t answer. She holds my gaze a beat longer, then adds, still too calm for comfort, almost absentmindedly, “You know, if you really want to get back at them, you could start with their kneecaps. Watch them crawl for a while before you finish them off.”