Two nights after the climb I decided to treat myself to a massage. I'd never experienced a Chinese massage and was certain it would heal and refresh me. As I took the elevator down to the hotel spa I imagined I would soon be melting in relief.
I made my way onto the table and the tiny therapist went to work.
Pressure is fine, Madam? she asked.
Yes, I whispered.
That was a complete lie. I swear to God, this woman's hands were right out of a Black & Decker toolbox. Fingers like drill bits drove into my back. She was disintegrating my kidneys.
Fine, madam?
Yup, I choked.
What is wrong with me that I can't say no? Because I don't want to show weakness? Because I'm afraid of losing face? How very Asian of me.
Through the little hole in the massage table hung my face...a mask of pain, a Gorey-esque scream, my eyeballs bulging out of my head.
You're very tense, madam. You need ninety-minute treatment.
Not the cheapo forty-five minutes I'd agreed to. I wasn't sure I could last another forty-five seconds in the hands of my torturer.
Okay, was all I could answer.
When she got to my legs, I stifled screams. Squeezed my eyes shut, gritted my teeth and swooned when her knuckles pressed into my calves. Holy Mother of God.
That was good, madam? she asked, her face bright with pride.
Excellent, I murmured and stumbled back to the elevator. After a long soak in a hot bath, I crawled into bed and slept more deeply than I could ever recall.
That massage therapist knew her business. That breaker of bodies was a serious pro.
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