When next he woke, he noticed that his surroundings had changed drastically. He now lay on a pile of cloth rags. His hands were bound and one of his legs was attached to a metal rod that had been planted into the hard packed dirt of the building floor. Daylight could be glimpsed through the cracks in the board roof and outlined by the cloth-covered windows.
The woman noticed he was awake and watched him silently from her corner. It wasn�t the first time she had seen an American, but this was the first that the American wasn�t a soldier...sure, the others had denied it also. This one was different.
His eyes traveled around the small room before lighting on the woman in the corner. She was watching him�guarding him. She seemed content to just stare, so he stopped his gaze, not in the mood for a staring contest with a lady who had a gun within easy reach. His head still pained him and he reached up with his hands and felt the dried blood in his hair.
The Korean saw him wince. She took three strides to reach his side. The quick movement caused him to jump.
He slowly lowered his hands, wrists still bound, his fingers spread wide to show he wasn�t pulling any tricks. When she reached out to touch his wound, he flinched, then held still as she felt around the cut. She applied some pressure to it and he gasped and tried to swat her exploring hands away.
�Still,� she ordered him. Then she stood and poured some water into a small basin, grabbed a cloth, and returned to his side. �What your name?� she asked, more to make conversation than actual concern. The way he blinked at her after the question made her wonder if his head had been hit harder than it looked. �Name,� she said slowly, as if speaking to a 5 year old.
He mumbled something.
�What?�
�I�I don�t know.� He looked shocked. In fact, the thought of not remembering his name terrified him. Without a name, you are nothing.
***
�Check tags.�
�Huh?�
She pointed. �Shiny metal around neck.�
He looked down at his dogtags for a moment before reaching down and reading the name off of it. �Hunnicutt, BJ.�
She shrugged, then dipped the cloth into the basin. �Keep still.�
�Not that I am not grateful,� he began as she started cleaning away the dried blood, �but why are you doing this?�
�My beef is only with soldiers.�
�What happens when you find one, or one finds you?�
�I bring them here, my brother gets them.�
He noticed for the first time some dried blood on the floor, disappearing underneath the cloths he sat on. �Comforting,� he mumbled. �What makes you think that I am not a soldier? How do you know when I do not?�
She shrugged. �No gun. No unit. Uniform not GI. Most soldiers holler what they will do to me if they ever get free. Can�t stand a woman capturing them.�
�Wars are stupid.� A simple fact. �They make people stupid.�
She nodded. �Like my brother.� She finished cleaning the wound. �No bandage. Nothing clean enough.�
He watched her back away, her movements still cautious. �Since we both now know my name�what�s yours?�
�Jo�an.� She turned away, ending any further chance at conversation.
To him, it seemed as if she meant no harm�but then why keep him? To give to her brother like the others? Would his blood be coloring the floor? He shivered at the thought.