Chapter 2: The Drying Cages
Being devoid of my shell, my box, I feel exposed. I lay as still as tofu. On the hard bed where I was dropped, I lay as still as a lump of tofu. The air is hot and drying. My skin tightens around my bones.
Although my stomach complains and growls of air and emptiness, it is expected. Fresh tofu often has small holes and air bubbles in it, making it light and airy. When it is pressed, it makes a firmer tofu. It would be nice to become silky tofu but being in the Drying Cages, I do not believe that is my fate. Silky tofu would not be found in such a hot and dry place. It would be destroyed.
Angry hands yank me and I land with a thump on the warm floor of my cage in the Hot Room. Although my eyes were shocked open for a moment, I shut them again quickly, so that I don't have to see anything else. I've seen it all before anyway. Far away, I can hear cries of tofu being pressed or preserved. The ones who are nearly dried out barely move or make a noise.
The bamboo floors of the Drying Cages aren't exactly the cleanest places to be and I hope the dirt does not contaminate me, but if my cage-mate does not like me lying motionless and taking up the only bed all the time, I will not complain. Tofu has no emotions. I will not move. Tofu doesn't move on its own.
The air is hot and makes me thirsty. I want to escape back to my box on top of the Stack, being constantly washed and kept clean. The air there is cool and wet. The light is not harsh and the soothing sound of falling water masks all other sounds. If I want to, I could watch the Real Cooks below preparing real tofu for the entire Imperial Palace. Good tofu doesn't do that though.
Here, the light glares a flickering red beneath my closed eyelids. Because the air is so hot and dry, my eyes hurt if I open them. Moving hurts and my skin feels like it is becoming like paper. Soon it will shrink around my joints, drying and cracking, ready to fall off in flakes. My insides will settle and become like dried meat. If the cooks want to cook me later, they would have to stew me for a long time so that I can be chewed properly. This is no way for a good tofu to be treated, but perhaps this is part of a maturing process. Perhaps the Emperor wants me to become a matured tofu, ready for fermenting.
I don't like the idea of becoming fermented tofu. It sounds painful. I would much rather remain fresh tofu and rest under the water, but tofu doesn't have a choice in its destination. It's all up to the Emperor or cooks to determine how it should be used.
Stuck in this awkward position with my trunk facing down and my legs facing up is painful, but I can be patient. Part of being a good tofu is patience and acceptance.
It's a good thing that I don't have to wait long, because a Cage Cook has seen what happened. The cage sways with his footsteps and he kicks me onto my back. I allow my body to roll over into that much more comfortable position, while inwardly cringing at all the dirt I am getting on me. He pinches my wrist and neck to make sure I am alive. Two fingers hover under my nostrils to check if I am breathing. His fingers smell of blood and decomposing matter.
When he scratches himself, I feel dirt flakes drift down onto my bare skin, making me want to flinch or itch at the spot.
"Well? Is she alive?" bellows a voice I recognise at Potbelly Cage Cook's.
"Yes sir," replies the Cage Cook standing over me, still scratching so that the dirt flakes rain down over me, "but barely. Her pulse and breath are weak."
I don't know all the Cage Cooks. Not as well as I know all the Strong Cooks in the Tofu Hall. I guess I will call this one Flaky Dirt Cage Cook. Tofu shouldn't be naming things, but sometimes I can't help myself.
"Get her out and into a cell. We'll have to get someone to come down to have a look at her. His Imperial Majesty will have our heads if she dies. This one's a special case His Majesty has been keeping a distant eye on."
Heaving me up, Flaky Dirt throws me over his shoulder and carries me like a sack of beans. I wonder if they will wash me. I hope so. Dirt can quickly make me go bad. Flaky Dirt's shoulder is very bony and my nose bumps against his back, so that I can smell the sour sweat and old blood on his shirt. Hanging upside down, I imagine what water left in my body is rushing to my head and I can feel my head swelling, while my ears rush with the roar of water moving inside me. It makes a whirlpool of darkness that pulls me under a dizzying current.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone