Mr. Joe’s words were ambiguous, as though laying a trap. Then I realized he was stalling before making a decision. He had never found himself in this kind of situation before, I was sure of it. None of his girls had ever escaped his grasp and fled with a customer. Yes, that was certainly what was going on. Mr. Joe was buying time as he looked for an appropriate price for giving up Shaygha and saving face. Then I realized that I was bargaining for a human being, and haggling with the buyer over the price! God! And they say that the time of slavery has passed, never to return. No! We’ve never had the freedom people claim we possess. For as long as we are the slaves of ourselves, the slaves of our families, the slaves of our feelings, the slaves of our impulses, the slaves of our society, the slaves of base and unjust life, the slaves of masters and the masters of slaves, we will subjugate and be subjugated because of skin color, because of geography, because of money, because of gender, because of status, because of weight, because of climate, because of shit, because of … we will enslave whosoever may be, howsoever we may, always and for all eternity.

Luqman suddenly appeared and slapped me on the nape of my neck. He stood behind me and whispered, “Enough of this prattling! Her life is now in your hands. Offer a price for her, and don’t go overboard. Start at five thousand, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Five thousand dollars!” I stammered.

Mr. Joe was inspecting the details of the room around him, frowning, guessing that I must be able to do much better than that. I thought about doubling the price, but Luqman whispered a rebuke at my back: “Be firm! Don’t raise the price one cent! Remind him that she is Nepalese, not Filipina, if you must.”

Luqman persuaded me. I held firm and did not suggest the number I had intended. By then, I found myself maneuvering cleverly, sure of myself, and I added, “If you want, we can go straight to the bank. I’ll give you the money, and we’ll forget everything that happened. I promise, you’ll never hear from us or see us again.”

Mr. Joe nodded. Then he made a sign to the goon holding me to let me go and come close. He stepped forward, and Mr. Joe whispered a brief order in his ear. The goon went out for several seconds before coming back, holding something behind his back that I couldn’t make out. The second goon smiled. He looked as rough and mean as the first. He sat Shaygha on the bed. Her body went limp and she lay back. The goon approached and put into my mouth a small wooden ball he had taken out of his pocket before winding a handkerchief across my mouth and tying it behind my head. I turned my eyes to look for Luqman but couldn’t see him. I tried to call him up again in my mind in case he would recommend what I should do now, having followed his advice, but he did not come forward. I knew that I, as usual, was alone to face whatever was to come, something that appeared for the first time to be too heavy for me to bear.