She lowers her head, sighs, and shakes her head. “You failed,krolik.”
“What are you talking about?”
Doubt creeps into my stomach. I loop my forefinger through the handle of the teacup, trying to keep my hand from shaking. Is this something I’m already supposed to know? How could I have failed without so much as a word?
“What do you know about honor?” she asks.
I shrug. “I know it’s loyalty to the people you love. Or I guess your family.”
“Wrong.”
“Okay, I’m wrong. So why don’t you tell me? What is honor?”
She sighs. “How do you get information?”
“Uh, by asking?”
“Correct.”
Hope renews, but confusion lingers. “I don’t see what this has to do with—”
“But you don’t ask just to know, do you? You ask to get something more—leverage, blackmail, control.”
“I don’t get it.”
She raises her eyebrows as she sips her tea. Her eyes are two unreadable stones. No emotions linger there. She’s really good at this resting bitch face thing.
She sets her cup down and continues, “Questions establish dominance. A lion does not concern himself with the opinion of sheep. He does not answer a sheep’s questions. But a sheep must answer to a lion, or suffer the consequences.”
Realization threads its way into my brain. “That’s why you kept dodging.”
“This is the rule of the old country, forged in the cruel prisons of Russia. No question is innocent, no matter how friendly your interrogators or your cellmates are. You must stand ready to throw everything back in their faces. Why do they need to know? They don’t. You ask to show them you know what they’re doing.”
“But I don’t know what the other person is doing.”
“You do,” she says. “You know they’re attacking you, even if they do it with a smile on their face. In such instances, you must go on the attack and putthemon the defense. It keeps them from thinking they can demand things of you.”
“So, I just keep asking questions until…?” I frown. “I don’t think I’m fully following this.”
“If you answer with an explanation, then that means you’re weak. You’re open to exploitation.” She lifts her teacup and points to me with it like it’s a dagger. “It means you’re only fit to sleep by theparasha, that you are a cock.”
I blink rapidly. “Awhat? Bywhere?”
“Cocks have no rights,” she replies. “They sleep by theparashas—toilets—and their bodies are the property of everyone in their vicinity. Act like one, and be treated like one. Better to deflect, ask questions, and prevent them from ever coming on the attack.”
“Is it always worth fighting though?”
“How else can you show that you are no cock?” She nods. “How do you become a cock other than by consenting to it? Nobody voluntarily agrees to be a cock. But by being defensive, you show that you will not fight back. If you do not fight back, then that is the very definition of being a cock. Do not be knocked down the ladder by others. Push back on your attackers, and knockthemdown the ladder. Remind them that they have no right to question you. Ever. Are you following now,krolik?”
“I think so,” I say while tapping my chin. “I have to be prepared to use the claws even if I’m scared that they’ll do something bad to me?”
“Precisely.” She sets her teacup on the saucer pointedly. “That’sthe true meaning of honor. It’s not about being loyal or trustworthy. It’s about making sure you look strong, so nobody tries to hurt you.”
I nod. “Appearances are everything.”
“The attacker might not push if you claw him first. And then the next guy may not want to try it.” She taps the table with her nail. “But if you defend, then you are telling them of yourweakness. If you are weak, the next guy will fuck you. And then the next. And then the one after that.”
“Until I’m a cock sleeping by theparasha.”