Mai sat in the dark on the third-floor of a wood-and-paper boarding-house. It was so quiet, even the cicadas had abandoned their song. It was a claust...ophobic night. The other boarders had fled the building the day before, all the servants except the cook had been dismissed, joining the endless stream of refugees trying to flee to the country, to the mountains, to anywhere. The landlady was also missing as well, as if she had left on a brief holiday earlier that morning, a journey that spiraled. Now as a single woman in her early thirties, she could not recall a time when crucifixion did not loom large in her emotional life. Even as a c***d of four, if her recollections are to be believed, Rebecca was captivated by the imagery of the Crucifixion. It seemed for her entire life, she wondered and imagined what it would be like to be suspended from the arms of a cross and to suffer the pain of torture. Later in life, when she was a teenager she wondered if this obsession was the result of. More

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