Page 25 of The Tainted and the Tamed
Murasaki gestured.Harder. Again.
It hurt. But the pain of the cough and the terror of being unable to breathe hurt worse.
At last, Murasaki spat up the offending phlegm. But the ache in her chest would not abate. Her lungs were full of the stuff.
Gasping for air, she leaned back until she was seated, her head spinning. She held the handkerchief tightly in her fist.
“Is it tuberculosis?” Kanako asked.
Murasaki shook her head, the corners of her eyes wet from tears. Her heart still hammered in her chest, trying to force air into lungs that could not obey.
“It’s the cities,” Eriko answered for her. “The ones with all the factories, like where Ms. Mukai came from. The air makes even healthy folk sick.”
“Poor Ms. Mukai! What can we do while we wait for the doctor?”
Murasaki’s voice was little more than a husky rasp. “Hot water and a towel.”
“I’ll be quick.”
Kanako left, the floor squeaking uproariously as she hurried down the hall.
The moment she and Eri were alone, Eri set her hands on her lap, frowning in Murasaki’s direction. “How bad is it really?” she asked.
“This is the worst”—Murasaki paused for breath—“in a while.”
“It’s why you came here, isn’t it? The air up here is good. So is Dr. Setouchi. Have you met with him already? What am I saying? Of course you have. What did he say?”
Murasaki couldn’t admit it. Saying it aloud would make it real.There’s little he can do.“He gave me pills,” she said.
“Where are they?”
Murasaki gestured to the closet, where her bag of personal effects was stored.
Eri rose and fetched the bag immediately. Scarlet and covered with flowers, it was pleasant to look at. Unlike its contents.
Inside it were the reminders of everything Murasaki had tried to hide, the proof of how ill she was. She didn’t want the other maids to see her this way. With her assignments already restricted, she feared she’d be seen as unfit to work—or worse, they’d all treat her like she did not pull her own weight.
She worked just as hard as them—harder, even, for the fatigue and constant chest ache she had to push through. Even when that tightness in her chest or burning in her throat returned, she managed to set up the chairman’s receiving room in time. Even if she was a little too slow for Eri’s liking.
Now all that was ruined. They’d look at her differently now. Pityingly. Unequally. Or, just as bad, they wouldn’t believe her condition was as severe as it was, and whisper that she was being dramatic and getting special treatment she didn’t deserve.
Such responses were the reason she’d left her job at the factory, just as much as that rapid decline of her health.
She couldn’t take that again. Being sick like this was difficult enough. The weight of others’ judgment was too much to bear on top of it.
Even now, Eri fished through her bag, as if Murasaki was incapable of doing so herself.
“Here,” Eriko said, procuring the glass jar of pills at last. The way they rattled reminded Murasaki of how few were left.
That, at least, was something Murasaki could be blamed for. After receiving the pills, she’d felt wonderful at first—better than she had in years, possibly ever. But gradually, their effectiveness began to wane. So she increased her dose. Just an extra half capsule, at first. When that did not make her sick, she began to take more.
Why wouldn’t they work anymore? Was this really to be the end?
She turned, startled. Someone had slid open the door to the room. Murasaki hadn’t even heard the floor.
Yet there she was: Ms. Tanabe, looking strangely put together at this late hour. Even in worry, her face seemed stern.
“What’s that you have?” Ms. Tanabe asked.
