Facing the wall, lowering her head with hair falling down her chest, Mei worked like a blind donkey milling and milling. And from the delicate toil of the needle, time fl ew heedlessly. She was long forgotten by the sunrise that shone beautifully through the only window, the gaps and the holes. She was locked out by the warmth and the colors that might be an allusion of perfect happiness. Her feet were frozen somewhere beyond her consciousness. Her lips were shut. Somewhere on the board within her reach, a half cup of water was no longer steaming but cooling and condensing without her noticing. The only thing that might be alert was the pain, for which, now and then, she had to drum her fi sts on the back of her neck and her back.