A loud clicking sound draws my gaze downward. The woman has one hand lifted to the table. The sound comes from her long, curved nails tapping against the surface.
I lower my head in a bow and wait for her to speak, staring at the uneven floors. They’re scattered with dirt and splinters of wood. The incessant clicking of her nails continues as they tap, tap, tap upon the table.
The paper boat feels heavy in my hands.
Finally the tapping ceases.
I look up. The goddess’s eyes are focused beyond my shoulder, a bitter smile creeping over her wide mouth.
“What do we have here?” she says, her voice oily smooth, as if she eats the hearts of clams day in and out. “Why, if it isn’t Lord Shin. What have I done to deserve such an honor?”
“The honor is ours,” Shin says evenly. “We’ve come to ask you for a favor.”
“We…？” Her eyes slide to me. “And who are we?”
“My name is Mina,” I say, stepping forward. “I have a wish.”
The goddess blinks. “A wish?”
“It’s not for me.” I lift up the paper boat. “I’ve come on behalf of another.”
She holds out one hand, heavy with jeweled rings. I begin to hand over the boat, but she clicks her tongue. “First, I require payment.”
I stare at her smooth white hand, palm up and steady in the air. I’m reminded of the girl’s hands as she put the boat in the water. The way they trembled.
The goddess, impatient, snaps her fingers, and I blink away the image. “I won’t grant the wish unless I’m paid.”
My throat feels dry, and I have to swallow saliva to speak. “I have a knife. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother. It’s all I have.”
The goddess scowls, and her fingers curl back into the shadows. “Worthless. I won’t grant the wish unless I’m paid in gold.” She turns away from me, from the paper boat I still hold outstretched before her.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “You’re a goddess of mothers. Of children. With or without gold, you should want to answer her prayer.”
“Don’t be foolish, girl. Nothing in this world is ever freely given.”
Tears spring unbidden to my eyes. “She was by the bank of a stream. She was crying. And all the hope that she had she poured into a wish to you. She believed in you. What more could you want?”
The goddess doesn’t even blink. She stares at me, as if I’m the one who should be pitied. As if I’m the one who doesn’t understand.
Shin throws a string of gold coins onto the table. She snatches the coins up, and they disappear into the sleeve of her dress.
Reaching out, the goddess plucks the paper boat from my feeble grasp. I watch as her hands run along the paper, her nails scratching the charcoal ink.
She starts laughing, a terrible high-pitched sound. “Where did you get this boat, girl? Do you know how old this prayer is? Months old. Years old. This girl is dead. Her child is dead. Her prayer was never answered. This is just a memory, one forgotten a long time ago.” Lifting her hand in the air, she flings the paper boat into the fire.
“No!” I scream, lunging forward. My hand rips through the flames. A terrible sound comes from my throat, an agonized cry that has less to do with my burning hand and more to do with my breaking heart.
Shin grabs me from behind, pulling me back. He drags me from the room, the sound of the goddess’s laughter ringing loudly in my ears.
Outside on the street he releases me, ripping a piece of cloth from his sleeve and forming a makeshift bandage. “We have to get you back to Lotus House,” he says.
“How could she? How could she not care? She’s the goddess of—of children!”
He reaches for my hand, but I back away. “Mina,” he says carefully, “we need to treat the wound or it will fester.”
“What is wrong with this world? What is wrong with the gods?” I can’t stop shouting. Tears stream down my cheeks, and my heart beats wildly in my chest. Shin manages to catch my injured hand. With the torn cloth, he wraps the wound. I feel nothing, a strange numbness having overtaken my body.
“They love them,” I whisper. It sounds like an accusation.
Shin ties the knot, looking up. “They…？”
“My people. Everyone. My grandmother. Every day she goes to the shrine to pray, kneeling on the floor for hours, though her joints ache and her back hurts. My sister-in-law. Even when she lost her child, she never blamed the gods, though she walks in silence and cries when she thinks no one is watching. The people of my village. The storms may blow away their crops, but still they leave offerings to the gods of harvest. Because the world may be corrupt and broken, but as long as there are gods, there is hope.”