Golden Boy by Tara Sullivan Page A

at it with the knife, reflexively. Grain sprays everywhere and, in the confusion, I manage to climb over the rest of the pile and grab one of the bigger stools. I hold it out between me and Alasiri.
    â€œFine! I’m out, you stupid monster!” I have no idea what I’m saying. My anger is a haze at the edges of my vision, and I shout with all the breath in my lungs. “What are you going to do now? Kill me? Are you going to kill me? Well, I won’t let you!”
    For a brief second, Alasiri looks surprised. Then his smile is back, stretching across his face like an open sore.
    â€œWell, well,” he says, “so you do have some spine after all. I thought I was going to have to kill you where you hid, like a boy hunting frogs.”
    â€œI’m not a frog! Get out of here!”
    Alasiri starts walking slowly toward me, swinging the knife loosely in his hand.
    â€œ
Sawa,
not a frog. Now you’re a snake, squirming away and bearing fangs at me. But I’m still bigger than you are, little snake, bigger and stronger. Eventually, I’ll win.”
    My anger is fading and my fear returning.
    â€œGet out!” I say again, but with less force this time. Alasiri moves closer and sideways, and I see he’s trying to corner me. I step quickly to the left and away from him, so that I’m lined up with the doorway to the front room. Somehow, I have to get out of this house and into the street. Surely he wouldn’t threaten me with a knife in the street.
Would he?
    As if he can read my thoughts, Alasiri says, “Why are you running, Golden Boy? Do you think you’d be safer out there? Do you think that anyone in the street would stop me from killing you?” He pauses and takes an appraising look at me. “Do you even know what you’re worth?”
    If I just keep backing away, I can reach the door before him. Surely I can unlatch it and get out before he could lunge at me with the knife. Surely he’s lying. Surely.
    â€œDon’t think I’m lying,” he says, again reading my thoughts. “Your hands and hair alone are worth more than a year’s salary. Your skin is enough to buy a car. Your legs—ah, your legs.” He looks down and I realize that my legs have stopped moving. I force myself away from him with a lurch. He laughs and continues his slow prowl toward me. “Your legs are worth a great deal more than all the rest of you put together. Because it’s your legs, Habo, that will win Mr. Msembo this next election. Your legs will get me a position in the government, and a nice house. No more tourists for me.” He smiles, and I feel a little bit like I’m going to faint. I’m remembering how Asu told me about the cabinet of luck medicine she found while cleaning the Msembo house. I have a sudden, terrible image of Asu cleaning around a cabinet that contains bits of my dead body, never knowing it. I feel vomit climbing up my throat and I force it down.
    â€œYou’re lying,” I manage, weakly.
    â€œNo,” Alasiri says simply, taking another slow step forward. Then, “Did you know it was your sister who helped me get this job?”
    I stare at him with my mouth open.
    Alasiri smiles. “Oh yes,” he says. “Let me tell you a story while we dance across the room. It’s a story about a silly older sister who works in a fine house.” He takes another step toward me and I step away to match him, out of habit. My brain is no longer working.
    â€œOne day, this silly sister tells the other maids about her little albino brother. Isn’t that sweet?” Again, we take matching steps. “And who should overhear but the mistress of the house? Now, it just so happens that this particular mistress of the house has been looking for news of an albino. She has heard of a wonderful magic made from albino legs that can guarantee an election victory for her husband and so, when she hears this silly