Violet Testimony Arista Devi

Tears! Once again I saw her shed tears for the umpteenth time. It seemed as if she owned a lake where the angels o ften descended from the rainbow ladder to play in the crystal clear water. Is it possible that she kept that beautiful lake in the depths of her eyes? If not, it is not possible that there could be so much water that so o ften over- flowed and streamed down her two cheeks, before sliding down to the tip of her chin.

“Why must all of this happen to me?” Ah, she asked me. No. Not asked, more precisely she complained,

if not moaned. As usual, I was not able to answer all of the questions she flung at me and only let her paint the rain until her sobs subsided on their own.

I don’t know why—because of exhaustion or what—she finally fell asleep while hugging me, drenching part of me with the remains of her tears. It was cold. I could feel how this chill would make her shiver in gnawing pain. If I could only warm her or relieve her of her burdens just a little, I would be very pleased. But it was useless, as much as I thought about it; I still could not do anything except listen to her complaints. That was all I could do.

“She’s really too much! She thinks I’m a slave and she treats me like

a dog! Don’t they know that I’m a human being? A human!” Her hands were shaking. I did not see the usual tears. Today, I saw

fire in her eyes. Yes, raging fire. What had happened to her? Why did she appear to be so upset? Ah, her sweet face, although a bit pale, appeared to be rather flushed. She still radiated beauty; a natural, simple beauty.

“That woman hit me! She accused me of flirting with her husband! That’s something I’ve never done. I’m loyal to the people that I love and who love me. I could never betray them. I’m willing to be tortured like this because of my love for them.”

She cried again, this time pretty hard. She repeatedly kissed a photo that she held in her hand and then, as if she was storing away an amulet, she slipped the photo under her pillow. I know how much She cried again, this time pretty hard. She repeatedly kissed a photo that she held in her hand and then, as if she was storing away an amulet, she slipped the photo under her pillow. I know how much

Several days passed a fter the night when she cried so hard. She day- dreamed more o ften as if she didn’t want to be confused and tell me anything more. Her gaze was o ften empty as if she had lost all hope.

I was very worried about her. I really was. It would be far better if she would complain, cry or show some anger towards me rather than just be silent, still. Her face grew paler, even though her eyes were no longer swollen.

“Hahaha ... haha ... ha ....” One day I saw her laugh suddenly. I almost jumped for joy, joining

in her happiness, hearing her laugh that I had not heard for three months. But in just a moment, I was struck speechless and stared at her in bewilderment. She was really laughing, roaring with laughter as if she was watching a comedy show. Tears flowed. But why were there tears? Tears streaming down her face. She let them flow freely without trying at all to wipe them away. Heartbreaking tears in laughter. Had she gone crazy? I looked closely at her face, waited for her to come closer and tell me all of the reasons that made her so frightening. It was painful as well as terrifying when it became clearer as I mapped every inch of her face. There was su ﬀering, there were wounds and there was underlying desperation.

“Satan! He really is the devil! He raped me! He forced me to commit adultery when his wife was gone!”

I was shocked. I did not suspect that the wound on her face was the wound of self-respect. I wanted to instantly heal her wounds. But how? Ah! I truly felt useless.

“Forgive me, God … forgive your servant … forgive me, my husband and my child … I … I am soiled. I am ashamed. I failed to protect myself for all of you …”

She moaned pitifully, stammering in heartbreaking sobs. I wanted to wipe away her tears, but it would be useless. Surely she would refuse. If she wanted to dry her tears, a small handkerchief would

be more useful. I remained dazed in the corner of the room, looking at her, letting her tend to her own wounds. Perhaps she no longer be more useful. I remained dazed in the corner of the room, looking at her, letting her tend to her own wounds. Perhaps she no longer

Shortly, her tears subsided. I saw her move to leave the room without turning to look at me. I wanted to shout out or run a fter her, but

I just watched her back recede. Ah, suddenly I felt that I had lost her.

I wanted her to be with me to share her feelings, just that, nothing more. But several days passed, I did not see her return to our room, the place where we had shared our feelings during the past three months. I don’t know where she went.

Ever since the last time that I saw her on that day, I wondered why she le ft just like that, without taking me with her, whereas when she le ft her kampong and when she left her country to come to this foreign place, she always brought me along. I am devastated. Without her now I’ve been thrown out here in a place that is full of trash. I hope that she will find me soon. I want to be together with her again.

A domestic worker who has worked in Hong Kong for about three months was found to have fallen from the sixth floor of the building where she was employed. It is suspected she fell because she was careless when she was cleaning the windows of her employer’s apartment.

My eyes are wide open; my chest is tight. I re-examine the writing that is printed on a piece of crumpled newspaper that lies near me.

I want to reassure myself that this news story is not about her. But the address printed in the article is the correct address of my kampong and the name of the foreign place where we lived.

Arggh!! I want to scream. The news article is wrong! Why don’t they write that the reason for the accident is because the woman was lost and senseless, because her spirit had been sliced to shreds? The lady boss had tortured her and the man boss had raped her. And the woman only had me, just me. They should have asked me for my testimony because I know everything. She always complained about all of the horrendous treatment that she had to endure. I am willing to testify! I want those evil employers to be tried and sentenced because they caused the death of an innocent person!

It’s scorching hot. I suddenly feel hot, as if I am engulfed in the flames of my own anger. I can feel each part of me, one by one, grad- ually turning to ash. I’m trying to resist. It turns out that the flaming It’s scorching hot. I suddenly feel hot, as if I am engulfed in the flames of my own anger. I can feel each part of me, one by one, grad- ually turning to ash. I’m trying to resist. It turns out that the flaming

I am only a book, a diary with a cover of violet.

On My Deathbed Xu Lizhi

I want to take another look at the ocean, behold the vastness of tears from half a lifetime

I want to climb another mountain, try to call back the soul that I’ve lost

I want to touch the sky, feel that blueness so light But I can’t do any of this, so I’m leaving this world Everyone who’s heard of me Shouldn’t be surprised at my leaving Even less should you sigh or grieve

I was fine when I came, and fine when I le ft.

Violet Testimony Arista Devi