Alif ====
1
"Whatever thoughts, fantasies or conjectures you may have about working
in a Brothel - especially a State Brothel - you should dismiss straight
away. It really is no different to working anywhere else. You will not be
expected to behave any differently to a secretary or personal assistant
employed in any other business."
Ana nodded. This was what she'd hoped to hear. Although her
interviewer was just a little bit more flamboyant than most, - as befitted
the Director of the largest Brothel in the country, - she had been afraid
that he might have been far worse. Mr Madir was not a tall man, but when
wearing his top hat he had a bearing and demeanour that more than
compensated for his vertical disadvantage. His stubby fingers were either
fiddling with his cigarette holder or, as at the moment, delicately holding
a cigarette a small distance from his mouth. Although his fingers didn't
have the yellow stain of nicotine associated with a habitual smoker, there
was a suggestion of roughness about them.
Ana had never visited the City of Blad before. She had never been very
far from her home in Rif, a rural district in the heart of Alif renowned
more for its wide open plains and sugar beet than it was for providing
employment. She'd despaired of ever finding a job when one of her very
many applications was returned not with the usual polite regrets but with
an interview date. And now she was here, the interview was almost a
formality. As soon as her duties had been explained to her and the
Director had confirmed that she'd gained the requisite grades in her
secretarial examinations, the tone of the interview shifted quite markedly
from if she were to work as his secretary towards when.
However, this might not be so surprising, Ana reflected. Not many
people would be attracted to working in a Brothel. Initially she had been
very reluctant to post off her application form, despite all the effort
expended in its completion. Some of Ana's friends seemed simultaneously
shocked and titillated by Ana's potential job offer, while others advised
her that with jobs so hard to find, especially in Rif, she shouldn't ignore
any opportunity. It was also true that this job had its attractions: the
pay was good and accommodation would be provided free of charge (not, as
Ana was relieved to discover, in the Brothel itself).
The Blad State Brothel was an imposing building. It was difficult to
determine the building's shape because from whatever direction it was seen
other buildings in the narrow winding roads obscured some of it. Its
entrance was a wide doorway, many times higher than the tallest man,
leading to a foyer where were sitting on armchairs or anxiously milling
around. At first Ana was unsure where to go, but she breathed deep and
strode towards the scantily dressed lady at the reception desk. She would
not be deflected at this last hurdle. At the very least, she'd want to
reclaim her not inconsiderable travelling expenses.
When Ana introduced herself, she was treated in exactly the same
officious way she'd associated with receptionists at other interviews she'd
attended. Mr Madir was informed by telephone that Ana had arrived and
then, because he was such an important man, the receptionist escorted Ana
into his private elevator and up to his office. Even then, Ana had to wait
with the plants and plaques in the anteroom for nearly half an hour beyond
the official scheduled time of the interview before the Director could see
her. Ana speculated that this might be because there were other candidates
for the job, but when he opened his door to invite her in there was no
evidence of what might have delayed him.
"However, this is a Brothel," continued the Director, smoke billowing
through the nostrils of his long thin nose. "And it is worth your while
knowing how the institution works. No doubt, like many country bumpkins,
you have some very peculiar ideas about it. And from what I've heard of
State Brothels in the provinces, this may not be entirely due to rustic
ignorance." He leaned forward to gaze into Ana's face, forcing her to lean
back while still maintaining a fixed bland smile. "Do you have any idea
what motivates women - or - to work as prostitutes?"
Ana swallowed slightly. "No," was all she managed to eructate.
"None of your friends have ever been prostitutes? None of them ever
considered it as a career?"
Ana shook her head. What must Mr Madir think of her?
"There are many different reasons for a woman, - and most of the
prostitutes here are women, - to work as a Prostitute. The most positive
ones are held by those attracted to prostitution as a profession, and who
take it every bit as seriously as the legal, medical, pedagogical and, I
dare say," the Director sniffed a little dismissively, "the secretarial
professions. These are the prostitutes I most admire. They are the ones
who have ensured that, over the centuries, the State Brothels continue to
provide the highest possible level of service and satisfaction. A standard
which would have ensured a state monopoly even if the law didn't already
prescribe it.
"Then there are those attracted purely for the remuneration.
Prostitutes are very competitively salaried, and the bonuses, overtime and
fringe benefits are really second to none. Quite a few Prostitutes, and
not just the Alpha grades, earn substantially more than myself. Why an
employee wishes to earn so much money is really none of my business and I
do not wish to pry. However," and again Mr Madir leaned uncomfortably
forward, "one hears terrible things about their private habits. Some even
drink alcohol. And for a filthy habit like that they need the money to buy
it on the black market. And some have children. You don't have children,
m'dear?"
Ana shook her head. She felt distinctly ill at ease. Even in her smart
and demure interview outfit, - which rather exaggerated any stiffness or
primness she might already possess, - the Director's pale brown eyes seemed
to unclothe her.
"Good. And then there are those here in penal service. They most
definitely do not enjoy the career advantages of other Prostitutes, but
many choose to linger on as employees after serving their sentence. I
don't enjoy my dual role as Prison Governor and Managing Director, but I am
above all a servant of the Government and in that capacity I am thoroughly
loyal. Do you have any questions?"
Ana couldn't think of any, and rather hoped the interview would end
soon. It was difficult to avoid looking into the Director's face, and every
time she did his eyes pierced straight through her. No doubt it was his
profession that made him appear like this, thought Ana charitably. Or
maybe, she wondered less benevolently, it was what he was already like that
had decided his choice of profession.
"Irrespective of the terms of their employment all the Prostitutes are
strictly graded according to their appearance, performance and special
services. This is categorised by Greek letters. The highest grades are
the Alphas with the Alpha Double Plus being the highest quality, most
well-paid and, as far as the client is concerned, the most expensive. At
the other extremes are the Epsilons. These might be considered bargain
basement by the clients, and their services are usually only retained
because of the demand for cheapness. Epsilons mostly consist of convicts
and economic migrants. Personally, I would never avail myself of their
services, but there are many poverty-stricken clients with sufficiently
less discretion than myself.
"If you were employed as a Prostitute, I imagine that you would be
categorised as Beta Plus which is no bad thing to be. There are
opportunities to work part-time as a Prostitute. Should you ever consider
it, it's a very good way to improve your salary quite substantially." The
Director paused to pull another cigarette from the silver cigarette case on
the desk. He tapped it on the exterior, though there seemed no reason to
suspect it needed such attention and fixed it in the end of his cigarette
holder. "Does the prospect of such extra employment attract you at all,
m'dear?"
Ana blushed. Revulsion gripped her stomach. She'd rather die! A
heroic image of herself jumping out of the Director's window onto the city
streets many floors below came to mind as she vehemently and speechlessly
shook her head.
"Well, you may come to change your opinion with time and acquaintance,"
mused Mr Madir, who adjusted the cigarette holder in his lips and flicked
open his cigarette lighter. He lit his cigarette carefully, watching the
smoke rise. Ana averted her eyes from the smoke and focused them on the
ponderous gold ring on his forefinger.
The remainder of the interview concerned more mundane aspects such as
the starting date, salary, holiday allowance and the accommodation she
would be offered. Ana soon found herself committed to commencing the very
next day and despite her reservations about the Brothel and the Director
himself, she could articulate no good reason for not accepting the offer.
The Director had a tendency to digress and talk about his own job and
responsibilities, and in these moments Ana had the opportunity to inspect
the office. This was to be the place, she began to accept, where she'd be
spending most of her working day, taking down short-hand, typing letters
and exercising the Director's more menial duties. The office was very
plush, as befitted the Director's status, and above his head hung an
impressive portrait of President Marmeluke, dressed in a more flamboyant
military uniform, gazing imperiously down on his two subjects.
After the interview, the Director escorted Ana to the Brothel Canteen
along endless corridors and staircases. Ana wondered if she'd ever become
familiar with the building's geography. Along the corridors were closed
doors with a bright light above each one. Some were red, some were green
and some were switched off. The Director explained that these described
the Prostitute's current status. When the light was red, the Prostitute
was engaged with a client and was not to be disturbed. When green, the
Prostitute was on duty but was not at that time engaged with a client. And
when switched off, the Prostitute was off duty.
Generally, the corridors were fairly empty. Occasionally they passed a
man escorted by one of the receptionists wearing the regulation tight,
rather revealing, leather uniform tottering on painfully high heels. These
were clients being taken to a Prostitute, Mr Madir explained. Or, of
course, he added, being escorted back to reception. No client was
permitted to wander freely about the building. There were also Prostitutes
walking singly or in pairs. These were off duty, the Director explained.
But even then they had to dress as Prostitutes in case the client saw them.
And indeed the scanty skin-tight clothes, the high heeled stilettos, the
thick make-up and, in some cases, total absence of clothes, left little
doubt as to their profession. Ana had never seen so many provocatively
dressed, or undressed, women in all her life, and she felt embarrassment
warm her cheeks and a curious excitement her body, which made it difficult
to breathe or talk in a natural way.
Soon enough, they passed through some swing-doors with Entry Forbidden
to Clients etched on the glass, and the doors now had titles, like Internal
Examinations, Catering Clerk and Foreign Services, with which Ana felt more
comfortable. And there was an arrow that said To Staff Canteen.
The Brothel Canteen really could have been a canteen anywhere, sharing
the same air of temporary reprieve. It was larger than any canteen Ana had
seen before but there were all the expected features: formica-top tables,
counter and canteen staff, plastic trays and cardboard coffee cups.
The Director beckoned over one of the canteen staff, a harassed middle-aged
woman in an apron and simpering smile, who scurried forward to take his
order for coffees.
"Where shall we sit, m'dear?" the Director asked.
"I don't really mind," said Ana who had nevertheless scanned the tables
and saw many that she probably would mind sitting at. On some tables there
was the customary chaos of empty cups, wrapping paper and coffee stains.
On others, there were women in several states of dress and undress gathered
in pairs or groups, some observing Mr Madir and her rather warily.
"I'll introduce you to some of the workers," announced the Director
striding towards a table with three women sitting at it. Ana tailed him,
her reserved interview clothes very much out of character.
The Director briefly introduced the three women in turn, before sitting
in a chair. Ana sat next to him. One girl, Ferhana, was slim and black,
wearing black suspenders, and black lace underwear. Her hair was
fairly short and she beamed at Ana with a peculiar mischievous grin.
Opposite Ana was Binta, who had long mousy brown hair to her waist and wore
no clothes at all. Ana found the prospect of sitting so close to a pair of
round naked and their lightly pronounced nipples curiously
threatening. The third girl, Bezaffa, was extremely plump with very soft
white skin, most of which was clearly visible through her skimpy, nearly
transparent, dress. Although fat, she was not at all unattractive, her
friendly, welcoming face framed by shoulder-length hair.
"Ferhana's a foreigner as you can probably tell," the Director continued
after the canteen assistant had produced two cups of coffee, both in
somewhat superior china with sugar cubes and a spoon resting in the saucer.
"Not many jobs where you come from are there, m'dear?"
"Very few," admitted Ferhana, who spoke with a flat accent. "Haj is a
very poor country. Not like Alif. Many people do not have enough to eat
and the cities are very dirty. That is why I have come here." She smiled
broadly and gazed straight into Ana's eyes.
"We don't have many niggers in Alif," explained the Director, "so they
possess premium value in the Brothel. You're doing quite well here aren't
you, Ferhana dear?"
"Yes," she admitted. "When I first have come to the Brothel, I was just
a Beta Plus. But I have done many tests and many exercises. Now I am an
Alpha Minus and many more clients want me. I have learnt how to look after
my body so I am much more good at my work and much more good to look at."
"Actually Ferhana's serving time here," elaborated the Director. "She
was found guilty of smuggling alcohol into the country, weren't you?"
Ferhana looked remorseful. "Yes, that is true. In Haj it is not
against the law to buy and sell alcohol. And I made very much money
selling it. But I was caught and I was sent here to be reformed." She
smiled at the Director. "But I am reformed now. And soon I will work here
and make very much money selling my body."
"A much more creditable way to make a living," he said approvingly. "It
always fills me with pleasure when in my care are reformed. It makes
the custodial aspect of the Brothel much easier to bear."
Ferhana sipped from her cardboard cup fixing her eyes on the Director.
"It is good to know that I have a good career waiting for me at the end of
my sentence."
"Binta's also here for remedial purposes," the Director continued.
Binta visibly jumped at being addressed, but nervously composed herself.
"Like Ferhana she was classified on arrival as a Beta Plus, and I'm sure
that she too could attain an Alpha grade if she worked at it." Binta nodded
but her eyes wandered away from the Director and towards Ana. "These two
girls are actually quite untypical, m'dear. Most of the prisoners we get
are quite poor grade. Most are Gammas and Deltas. We even get a few
Epsilons. My greatest reservation of government policy in placing
criminals in my care is that they tend to lower the general standard. And
so few of them are properly motivated. Isn't that true, Binta?"
"Probably," she answered noncommittally.
"I don't think Binta's got quite the right attitude," the Director
sniffed. "But, Ana, what do you think about the way she dresses?"
Ana blushed. "I'm sorry. What ...?"
"Or the way she doesn't dress," the Director continued. "It's not my
choice. I prefer the to be smartly turned out like Ferhana here. A
good pair of heels. Well- applied makeup. But the Department of Public
Services has quite a liberal attitude and it allows this nudist look. What
do you call it, Binta?" Binta frowned. "Naturism, isn't it? There is a
sufficiently large demand for naked for this kind of appearance to be
permitted. They can get away without wearing any makeup or other kind of
prescribed body care as long as they remain naked all the time. Isn't that
so?"
Binta nodded. Her eyes wandered back towards Ana who caught a flash of
insolence before they lowered in token subservience.
"Binta's not the only nudist you'll see here," the Director continued,
"but thankfully there aren't too many of them. I wouldn't like the Brothel
to look like some heathen place. But I can't answer for the clients'
tastes. And it's the public to whom I'm ultimately answerable." He pulled
a cigarette out of its case and tapped it on the Formica surface. "But
you'd say you're a reformed girl, wouldn't you Binta?"
"Yes, of course," she said firmly but without enthusiasm.
"President Marmeluke's government doesn't lightly institute policies.
There's a great deal of reasoned debate. And it's very cheering to see
demonstrable proof of its wisdom. Binta won't treat public morality with
such disrespect again, will you?"
Binta shook her head. Ana felt herself sympathising with Binta's
somewhat sullen attitude towards the Director. Indeed, now that she'd got
over the original shock of sitting opposite a naked woman, it no longer
seemed so strange. Indeed it would probably have detracted from Binta's
fresh-faced attractiveness if she'd been dressed in underwear with such
pronounced makeup as Ferhana. Perhaps not all prostitutes are sluts, she
reflected.
"However, for a for my other employees there can be none better
than Bezaffa. Can there, m'dear?"
"You flatter me," smiled Bezaffa coyly.
"Unlike these other two, Bezaffa came into the profession by choice.
And she's a true professional. An Alpha Plus. Isn't that so?"
"It is," Bezaffa agreed modestly.
"You might wonder how someone as ample as Bezaffa, someone as
voluptuous, could get such a high rating. But that's because certain
species of employee are classified appropriately for their particular
virtues. And for her type, Bezaffa is quite simply top notch."
"It's hard work maintaining it," confessed Bezaffa, smiling
confidentially at Ana. "I have to spend a lot of time every day practising
and keeping myself in shape."
"No hardship keeping your figure, though," the Director commented,
leaning towards Bezaffa. Ana reviewed Bezaffa in an attempt to evaluate
why she should have such a high rating. She supposed that she did seem
peculiarly attractive for such a large woman. Her face, in particular,
shone with a fresh gleam with dark blue eyes and light hair. Her
smile had a flirting seductiveness which dimpled her round smooth cheeks.
Her swelled over the roundness of her belly with her pink
nipples clearly showing through the skimpy white dress.
"Bezaffa's very much in demand. Indeed most of your work is spent
visiting clients rather than them visiting you here. And you're booked
quite a few days in advance."
"Well, I do have my regulars - which ensures a very full appointments
diary."
"And I bet they give you a little extra on the side," the Director joked
slyly.
"I wouldn't admit to that, would I, sweetie?" Bezaffa answered. "But I
can refuse clients I don't like. That's almost the greatest privilege of
being an Alpha Plus."
"Don't say that too loudly," laughed the Director. "Or the other will be even more jealous of you!"
"It's not very often I exercise my prerogative, of course," Bezaffa
elaborated. "I like all my clients. Especially the regulars. In fact I
really enjoy my job."
"It's a good career, isn't it?" the Director enthused. Ana noticed that
Binta didn't seem to share Bezaffa wild-eyed enthusiasm. Indeed she
scowled at the very suggestion of the profession's appeal. "Tell Ana about
the advantages of your work."
"It's a good career. It's a good way to meet a lot of very interesting
people and it keeps you terribly fit. In fact it's almost all I can do to
keep myself as plump as I am. There can't be many jobs where you're paid
to enjoy yourself and get paid so well. The holiday allowance is very
generous, there's an index-related pension and plenty of opportunity for
overtime. You ought to do some part-time work in it yourself, dear. You
can certainly earn quite a bit of extra cash - more than your regular
income. Have you considered that option at all?"
Ana blushed. "No, not at all!"
"Well, I'm sure you'll get round to the idea. Your predecessor, Inta,
was just like you to start with but after a while she got to be quite
enthusiastic about it."
"She did very well," agreed the Director. "But don't you worry, if it's
not for you, then that'll be respected."
"Of course, sweetie," Bezaffa agreed. She glanced at the tiny plastic watch which pinched into her swollen wrist. "Well, it's been nice
talking to you, but I've got a client to visit so I'll have to be going."
She eased out of her plastic chair and heaved herself up. She leaned
over and kissed Ana tenderly on the cheek. "Welcome to the Brothel. I'm
sure you'll enjoy working here. And I'm sure we'll see a lot of each
other." She then bade everyone farewell and walked off in long confident
strides on stilettos which demonstrated a degree of delicate charm not
often associated with such large women.
The Director glanced at the canteen clock. "One o'clock!" he announced.
"I must get back to the office. And it must be time for your shift, too,
Ferhana m'dear."
"Oh yes!" she answered, promptly leaping to her feet. "I was just about
to go."
"And what about you, Binta?"
"I'm on a later shift," she announced.
"Right, m'dear!" The Director stood up and shook Ana's hand. "So, we'll
be seeing you punctually first thing tomorrow morning. I'll go through
your duties with you then."
Ana nodded, still unsettled by her changed circumstances, and watched as
the Director and Ferhana disappeared together through the canteen doors
which slammed shut behind them with a puff. Ana was left sitting just
opposite Binta and not at all sure where to direct her eyes. She couldn't
very well look away from Binta as that would seem too rude, but she felt
very nervous gazing at a naked woman however natural her nakedness might
appear.
Binta smiled reassuringly at Ana. "You're new to Blad, aren't you?"
"Yes. I've never been to the big city before."
"It must seem very intimidating. I've not seen much of the city myself
- except, you know, what I can see from the Brothel. And that's not a
lot."
"Are you here all the time?"
"Yes. I'm never let out! I might run away, you see!"
"You really are a prisoner here!"
"Nothing could tempt me to stay here otherwise," Binta affirmed. She
examined Ana quizzically. "You poor dear. All this must seem very queer
to you. If you like I'll show you more of this place. Would you like
that?"
Ana glanced around the rest of the canteen at all the strange women and
the counter staff more animated now that the Director was gone. "That
would be interesting."
"I'll show you my room. It's not much, but it'll give you more of an
insight of what the Brothel's about."
2
Binta escorted Ana from the Canteen, along another series of corridors,
illuminated by lights over the doors, around a confusion of corners and up
disconnected flights of stairs. Ana felt very self-conscious of
accompanying a naked woman and averted her eyes as much as possible. She
had no idea where they were in relation to the Canteen, and the elevator in
which she had originally arrived, but she understood better the scale of
the Brothel. Binta chatted idly to Ana and greeted the prostitutes they
passed either by name or by just a smile. They differed somewhat in age
and appearance. Not all were particularly attractive and many were
immigrants. Most wore make-up and provocative clothing, which gave the
impression that they had been unexpectedly interrupted while getting
dressed.
"So you come from Rif?" smiled Binta. "I don't know it, but it's
probably quite similar to Jebel, the district I come from. Do you know
it?"
"No, not at all. I've never travelled far from Rif before. It's so
expensive!"
The door to Binta's room was identical to all the others, paced out in
both directions. The light above the door was switched off, but the light
above many other doors was green. The one above the door to the right was
red. Binta pushed open her unlocked door to reveal her room. "It's really
nothing special," she said desultorily, waving her arm around theatrically.
"Almost all the bedrooms are exactly the same. Their official title is
boudoir, but since it's where I sleep and stay when there are no Clients
it's mostly just a bedroom to me."
The room wasn't especially exotic. It was dominated by a plain double
bed with a very robust mattress covered by synthetic silk sheets. Lining
one wall was a wardrobe and book-case adorned by paperback novels and
inexpensive ornaments. Next to that was a small alcove enclosing a sink, a
mirror and a plastic shelf supporting an array of scented soaps, shampoo
and tooth-paste. On the other side of the bed was a simple arm-chair and a
full-length wall mirror. A sealed double-glazed window was beside the bed,
through which was a view of office blocks and a distant park. The only
evidence that the room served as a boudoir was the predominant rich sherry
red of the room and the three pictures on the wall displaying women in
states of undress. One was a black and white photograph and the other two
were prints of paintings by not particularly talented artists.
"No, I didn't choose the decor!" laughed Binta, sitting on the edge of
the bed while Ana cast her eyes around. "I hate the pictures and is
not my favourite colour! I'd have painted it green, I think, if I'd had
the choice. But at least I get a nice view."
Ana smiled shyly, closed the door behind her and strode to the window to
view the City of Blad below. It still seemed intimidating but exciting.
Would she ever get used to the hustle and bustle? She turned around, her
back to the window, and mused at her reflection in the mirror. She was
such a timid with none of Binta's natural self-confidence. She
could never walk around a Brothel with no clothes on.
"It's a very nice mirror!" Ana remarked, her eyes tracing her figure
from her buckled low-heeled shoes to the straight hair that felt so lank
and unmanaged.
"It's in a very commanding position, don't you think?" Binta commented,
also regarding Ana's reflection.
"Yes," Ana agreed. It was set at forty-five degrees from one wall to
the other and cut a corner off the room. "You can see every part of the
room in the mirror."
"And it can see you in every part of the room as well. It has a
television behind it, you know."
Ana gasped. "What! To spy on you?"
"All the Prostitutes have them! It's no big deal. It's so that the
Clients can view us from the selection room when we're on duty. They scan
a live relay of prostitutes to choose the one whose services they
want to purchase. When on duty, we have to stay in our rooms all the time,
so they can examine us like that. Do you see the light above the door?"
"It's just like the one outside."
"When it's green, that means that I'm being looked at, so I have to
advertise myself and look like I'm really keen to provide my services -
though of course I haven't got any idea at all of who to!"
"Ugh! That's sounds horrid!"
"You really don't like prostitution at all, do you," smiled Binta
indulgently. "...And when they've chosen you, the light goes and you
know that for the next half hour or an hour you're not going to be able to
continue doing the crossword, reading the paper or whatever else you might
have been doing before." Binta lay on her back on the bed, her head resting
on the pillow. She rolled over to observe Ana who was still standing by
the window. "My theory is that that's not all they use the mirror for. I
think they record us having sex with Clients and make pornographic videos."
"I can't believe they would do that!"
"Well, I don't know for sure, of course. But I wouldn't put it beyond
them. I often think someone out there's watching what I'm doing and
evaluating my performance!" Binta smiled wickedly. "You mustn't forget
that this is a Brothel, you know."
Ana felt uncomfortable, so she sat in the armchair, after facing it away
from the mirror. "But living here is not all just being a prostitute is
it?"
"No, not at all. It's a prison as well. It's all things. It's home,
work and prison. And it's most like a prison when it's work. Then, I'm
confined here waiting for the green light to come on. And when the light
is red, no matter how bad I feel, or whether it's one Client or ten, I have
to provide a service. The more Clients I serve and the more satisfaction I
give the more likely I am to be offered remission for good behaviour. On a
very good day, the light never goes red."
Binta rested her head against the wall and supported her body on her
shoulders. Ana's eyes nervously wandered down the length of Binta's slim
tanned body to focus on the mass of brown hair between her legs, but she
checked herself and raised her eyes up to gaze at her face.
"I can do what I like when I'm not working, as long as I don't leave the
confines of the Brothel. I can watch television in one of the television
rooms. Visit other who're not on duty. Drink tea in the Canteen.
Keep fit in the swimming pool or gym. And even tend my garden on the roof
and enjoy the little bit of fresh air that I am allowed. It's not such a
bad life, I suppose, when I'm not working. There are people in Alif, not
in prison, much worse off than me. I can see the beggars in the streets
below. I've heard about the poverty and famine in the remoter regions of
Alif. But I hate the work. I hate sex with these nauseating men! And I
hate never being able to leave the Brothel!"
Ana shivered at the mention of the men, and Binta noticed that. "You're
even more appalled by prostitution than Inta, aren't you? She hated it
too, although not as much as me, I think! After all, she volunteered for
it in the end. Do you have much prostitution in Rif?"
"Not very much at all. There's a brothel in the County Town, but I
don't know anyone who's been there and I've never even seen it."
"Much the same for me in Jebel," admitted Binta. "I always thought
prostitutes were repugnant and filthy. I never believed I'd ever become
one. And all the obnoxious obscene perverted things I thought that would do: it's all true. And worse! I don't know how can live with
themselves. They're all perverts. I didn't like before I came here,
and I'm certainly never going to like them after the personal hell they've
put me through."
Ana's gaze wandered away from Binta and through the window. The sight
of the blue sky and the seagulls flying over the city buildings made it
easier to listen to Binta. Ana's knowledge of was not very
comprehensive and Binta's account generated a sensation of abhorrence. Her
gaze floated back to Binta and unconsciously centred again on the pubic
hair, which confirmed to her how different one woman could be from another.
"I don't suppose you're used to being with a naked woman, are you?"
commented Binta, covering her crotch with a hand. "It's not what I would
normally choose to be myself. I'm no more a naturist by conviction than I
am a prostitute, but I'd rather wear no clothes at all and pretend to be
one, than walk around in underwear all day. Or in leather. Or squeeze my
feet into those horrible shoes with the ridiculously high heels. Or spend
my life in front of a mirror covering my face with rouge, paint and
lipstick. The reason I'm officially a naturist, is simply to avoid all
that. And I get away with it because enough think it's sexy. But it
does mean that I own absolutely no clothes whatsoever, and that, once a
month, I have to be especially clean."
"Most Prostitutes have to wear those clothes?"
"Of course. They're Brothel issue. Those who're not designated
naturist are issued with a wardrobe and can wear nothing else at all when
in the Brothel. There's not much variety. It's all rubber, leather, lace,
nylon, silk or gauze of one kind of another. It's stilettos, suspenders,
basques, and collars. And the make-up! It makes everyone look
like aliens from another planet. What do you think?"
Ana nodded. "I've never seen people dressed like it before!"
"I suppose that's the idea of it. If Prostitutes looked like everyone
else, then the Clients would realise that they're just human. And that
would never do!"
"If you hate prostitution so much, why are you here?"
"Well, it was either this or an all-woman's jail, where the conditions
are much worse and the male warders might rape or molested you, or a
convent. No convent would accept me because I never go to church and I
don't want to go to the jail."
"But what crime did you commit? Was it drugs?"
"No, I've never been a drinker!" laughed Binta playfully. "What do you
think it might have been?"
Ana wondered. She couldn't imagine Binta as an armed criminal or
terrorist, even with clothes on. She was too well-educated and
intelligent. Perhaps it was tax evasion, but Binta was too to have
earned enough taxes to evade. And it certainly would not have been
freelance prostitution. She shook her head. "I've no idea. None at all!"
Binta smiled. "No idea! I was beginning to think it was written all
over my face. You really don't know? I'm not sure I know how to tell you.
You might be shocked or alarmed!"
"Is it murder?" gasped Ana, suddenly rather frightened.
"No, it's lesbianism."
Ana wasn't sure that she heard right. Did these people actually exist
and was she actually sitting in the same room as one? "What did you say?"
"I'm a lesbian," Binta repeated. "I'm here for repeatedly and
unashamedly performing acts with another woman. It doesn't
matter that she was a consenting adult. I have committed the serious
offence of lesbianism."
"And you're in the Brothel for that?"
"I can be grateful for small mercies. It was once a capital offence.
Lesbians would be stoned to death or disembowelled or something. Now it's
just a period of incarceration."
Ana looked at Binta's naked body with trepidation. So, this is what a
lesbian looked like. She had no preconceptions of what they were like, but
she knew that lesbianism was wrong. Not only wrong but perverse:
contradicting the natural, God- given order of the world. And Binta was a
lesbian. Was she safe being in the same room as her?
"I suppose just as you've never met a prostitute, you've never knowingly
met a before," Binta commented, sitting up, her hair falling over
her and obscuring her crotch.
"Knowingly?"
"Well, you've probably met without knowing it."
"Do you think so?" This was a novel concept for Ana. "I thought it was
obvious."
"Of course, it isn't! What did you think?"
"I just had no opinions at all," Ana confessed.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to attack you!" Binta said comfortingly.
"You really are as naive as you appear, aren't you?"
"Yes," admitted Ana, feeling a little foolish. "Rif's a very quiet
place."
"Don't worry about me being a lesbian," continued Binta, reassuringly.
"It's just one of those things. Think of it like as if I were black. Or
disabled. Or a talented artist. I'm just a little different that's all.
If it weren't illegal, you wouldn't think anything of it."
"Are you sure?" wondered Ana uncertainly.
"I'm sure. After all lesbianism's not illegal in every country, so it
can't really be that bad. Everyone knows that Alif's a repressive country.
Lots of things are illegal in Alif that are legal elsewhere."
"Is that so?" queried Ana who hadn't known this before. "What things?"
"You know: trades union membership, alcohol, gambling, women driving,
lots of things."
"And there are countries where they are legal?"
"Not just legal. Almost encouraged. Have you never thought about it?
What about alcohol? Why do you think it's banned here and not everywhere?"
"I always thought Alif was somehow a better country for banning drugs
like that."
"Why does it have State Brothels, then? Why do people smoke so much?
Why is there so much poverty?"
"I don't know. I don't know at all!" parried Ana. What was she doing
sitting in a room with a convicted criminal (a pervert at that!), listening
to all this seditious talk? Perhaps Binta would ask her to take her
clothes off and indulge in sex and drink alcohol. Ana thought this
image would inspire absolute disgust, but the tremor of fear that shook her
was precisely because it did not do so.
3
Binta swung round and sat on the edge of the bed facing Ana, her feet
trailing on to the nylon carpet. "I may be a but in my heart I
know that it is for love not vice that I've been condemned. The fact that
my love is for a woman is not material. My love is what I imagine the love
of a must be for most women. My love is a passionate love. A romantic
love. A true love. As real as any love."
Binta's passionate pleas comforted Ana. She felt great sympathy for
anyone's love for another person, and she reasoned that it was probably
just odd that it should be for a woman rather than a man. "Who were you in
love with?"
"Am in love with!" Binta emphatically corrected. Her eyes wandered
around the room, briefly resting on her reflection in the mirror and then
back to Ana, her face expressing sadness and almost tragedy. "Her name is
Mezyana. To me she is the most beautiful in the world. She has - or
had - long brown hair, almost as long as mine. She's a bit thinner than
me. And I've known her all my life. We were schoolfriends long before we
were lovers. We never imagined we were that horrid thing known as when we first declared our love for each other."
Binta looked down at her hands clasped together over her knees and let
her hair flop down to cover her face. Ana felt quite uncomfortable. She
had only just met this and now she was acting as her confidante.
"Mezyana's quite different from me," continued Binta, raising her head
and pushing a stubborn lock of hair away from her face. "She's much more
moral in many ways. Ethical, you could say. She's got very strong
religious and moral beliefs. Whilst I never go to Church, she goes - or
used to go - every Sunday without fail. She even worked voluntarily as a
Sunday School teacher. I could never see the point of it myself, but she
finds comfort in it and I've always respected that. She would join in the
singing, the prayers and all the other things you do in a Church. How she
never finds it boring, I'll never know. But naturally it's quite difficult
to be religious in this country if you're also a lesbian."
"Doesn't the Bible have some rather harsh things to say about
homosexuality?"
"I really don't know," Binta admitted. "But it can't be too severe
because there are plenty of countries where homosexuality is allowed with
the Church's blessing. But it's not easy to be in this country.
Mezyana would say that God made her a to test her faith. I'm not
sure she meant that she had been tempted by love of a woman and had failed
the test, or if it was some other more subtle test she was undergoing. But
she did say - or she said it once or twice - that the love we felt for each
other was so strong and so good, that it must be blessed by God!"
Binta paused again and Ana felt sure she saw a glint of moisture in her
eyes. Her voice had become quieter, less confident and somehow a little
distant. Ana wanted to comfort her, but was afraid of doing so by touching
her in a reassuring way.
"We were schoolfriends, Mezyana and I. From such an early age. We were
best friends. We sat next to each other in all the classes. We walked
home together after school. We played games with each other at school and
at home. We would always be visiting each other and staying the night at
each others' homes. It was a friendship between two school-girls no
different to any other. Perhaps stronger than most, but not unusually so.
The games we played, like Doctors and Nurses, Mothers and Fathers, and so
on, were just the innocent games that always play. My and
Mezyana's were ordinary people: caring, helpful, friendly. There
was no history of sexual or drug abuse. In Jebel, our families were
considered respectable and unremarkable.
"I don't know how it evolved into a love affair. There certainly wasn't
a day when I said to Mezyana 'Let's be lovers.' And I'd certainly never
have said 'Let's be lesbians.' As children we declared our undying love for
each other: but that was quite innocent. It wasn't sexual love at all. It
was simply an expression of the strength of our feelings as best friends.
It was expressed as love, because other words never seemed strong enough.
And anyway we were always encouraged to declare our love for our and, in Mezyana's case, for God. But we recognised from a very early age
that we loved each other."
Binta paused again, looking not at Ana but at her reflection, seemingly
lost in thought. Ana recalled her own best friends at school. She had
never declared love for any of them, but she acutely remembered the strong
bonds that tied them together.
"Mezyana was a Church-goer from the beginning. Her went to
Church regularly, and she continued going, even when she no longer had any
compulsion to do so. I'm sure they would have understood if Mezyana had
decided not to. Mezyana's religious passion still continues, of course.
She's opted to serve her sentence as a novice in a Convent rather than in a
jail, you know. She'd never contemplate serving it in a Brothel, however
harsh life might be in a prison. Religion and Ethics were the only big
differences between Mezyana and me. But as children these didn't matter at
all. I'd never had a religious upbringing, and Sunday mornings and
sometimes Sunday evenings were just times I couldn't come out to play with
my best friend.
"We were always together the rest of the time, however. And that's how
our love developed. We held hands, we kissed each other tenderly and
innocently, and when we came to puberty we played with our bodies in the
way children do. We explored each other in detail, with especial
fascination for our developing mounds of bosom, the changing shape of our
bodies and the area between our thighs. It was so innocent though.
Nothing remotely sexual at all. Sensual, maybe. But not sexual."
Ana again reflected on her past. There were no times that her closest
friends had ever seen her naked body, except in the school changing-room
showers. She had no memories of exploring her friends' bodies, but Ana
accepted that different people had different childhood experiences and this
was one way in which Binta's differed from hers.
"At some stage, our innocent probings of each other must have evolved
into something more physical and sexual. Maybe it was when we were eleven.
Maybe it was much later, when we were fourteen and our bodies were much
more mature. I don't know. I'm sure only someone who can exactly define
how a sexual act differs from any other could pinpoint it. At some time,
however, the sexual aspect of our friendship was unavoidable. We were no
longer just best friends. We were also lovers. It took a very long time
for us to recognise the fact, and even longer to actually believe it or to
be aware of its implications. But by that time - which must have been when
we first realised that lesbianism was not a foreign condition but a word
that described our love for each other - our passionate love was far too
committed for us to break it off. But the realisation changed our
relationship forever.
"Now that we knew that we were engaged in a love affair, we also
knew that we had to keep it secret. It would change other people's
attitude towards us. It would upset our parents. It would upset our
friends. And we also, rather belatedly, became aware that it was illegal.
That came as a great shock to me, but when I told Mezyana she surprised me
by telling me that she already knew. In fact, it was she who comforted me
as I cried and cried about it. I felt so miserable. It also surprised me
that Mezyana, who attached such great store in religious law, could have
such a detached attitude towards criminal law.
"It was not at all easy to keep our love a secret. People must have
thought it strange the way we whispered in corners and the frequency with
which we felt obliged to touch each other. Our lovemaking became quite
clandestine, although as best friends nobody thought it strange when we
spent the night at each other's home. At first we were horribly
frightened. We were so nervous taking our clothes off together, in case we
should be seen. Our relationship seemed soiled and anxious. But we
gradually came to accept it and simply made elaborate precautions before
making love together.
"It was also very romantic, of course. Secretly holding hands in public
places. Kissing each other passionately when we were sure nobody was
looking. Holding each other close and feeling our bodies together, perhaps
through our clothes, and knowing that we were carrying the secret of a love
that could condemn us to imprisonment. And this danger was undeniably
exciting and erotic. It added great spice to our love." Binta paused
again, swept along by her recollections and now beached by the intensity of
her feelings. "I'm not boring you, I hope?"
Ana shook her head.
"Jebel is a very good place for a clandestine love affair. It's quite
hilly and craggy. And some parts are rather remote and quiet. It was
never too difficult to find secluded spots in the hills where nobody could
see us before we saw them, and where we could fling off our clothes and
make love together. The search for such places became obsessive. We would
walk in our school holidays or at weekends with the express purpose of
finding another secret spot where we would never be found. We may have
insects in our pubic hairs and our bodies might be covered in grass or
dust, but it gave us the joy and freedom we needed.
"Jebel villages, like Quria where we lived, are mostly agricultural, but
neither my nor Mezyana's are farmers or labourers. My works in a bank in the County Town which he drives to every day and
Mezyana's father's a veterinary surgeon. It's quite a conservative area,
probably quite typical of Alif outside the City of Blad. It's probably
much the same in Rif. Not particularly wealthy, but not desperately poor
either. The community centred around the Church, the School and the
Village Shop. A traditional Alif town, unchanged over the generations."
Binta smiled as she recollected her home. "Is it just the same in Rif?"
"Pretty much so," Ana admitted. "Not so hilly, though. More gently
rolling hills than crags, I would say."
Binta nodded and continued her narrative. "I don't know exactly when
things changed for us in the village, but it was around the time we were
sixteen or so, and quite clearly fully adult. People began treating us
differently. Less indulgently. Nothing was actually said, but I think
people had suspicions about the nature of our friendship. The at
school were no longer so friendly towards us, and reacted with alarm if we
ever got too close to them. The local shopkeeper eyed us in a funny way.
And once when we were having one of our walks in the country, a couple of
boys followed us all the way. Even some school teachers treated us oddly.
For instance, we were arbitrarily separated from each other in one class
and had to share desks with other girls, even though we were always good
pupils.
"Even our treated us differently. We were forbidden to spend
the night with each other: an announcement which caused me to argue and
shout and cry for hours. It felt like the end of the world for me, as it
also did for Mezyana. We weren't given a good reason for this change of
policy, except that we were 'big now' and that 'girls of our age
don't carry on like that'. I was felt that the world was conspiring
against me. That everyone was plotting to destroy my love for Mezyana.
"We were still very naïve of course. We were presented with all this
evidence that people knew about the nature of our relationship, but ignored
it and pretended that it couldn't be so. After all, we'd been so close for
so long we just couldn't imagine we would ever part. We made an extra
effort to disguise signs of affection in public and our rendezvous were
more secret, but we never really appreciated the true significance of our
ever being incriminatingly discovered together."
Binta paused again, her face contorted by emotion and battling to regain
its composure. She gazed down at the clasped hands on her knees. She
kicked out her legs to examine the full length of them. She unclasped her
hands and leaned back.
"We were about seventeen or eighteen years when we were arrested.
It was undeniably our fault. We'd got used to the way people were treating
us. We no longer really cared for what they thought. And we were getting
a little blase about disguising our secret rendezvous. I suppose it's the
classic case of believing that this sort of thing happens to someone else,
but will never happen to you. But of course it did.
"In most ways it was an unexceptional day when it happened. I certainly
didn't imagine or suspect I was being followed when I made my way to meet
Mezyana at our secret place in the hills, and I don't imagine she did
either. We met each other as usual. And, without any variation from our
normal routine, we were soon undressing and kissing each other. It was
only when we were actually in the process of making love that we were
interrupted by three policemen and a couple of from the village whom we
recognised but didn't know by name. I was totally stunned! Mezyana
instantly broke into tears, standing up, hiding her and crotch with
her hands. I just stood there, not really bothering to cover myself while
a policeman read out the terms of my arrest. I could hardly hear him
through the rush of blood to my ears and the throb of my temples. We were
then forced into our clothes, had handcuffs clapped to our wrists and
escorted separately down the hill to a police van which drove us away to
our prison cells."
"That must have been horrible!" Gasped Ana.
"I've never spoken to Mezyana since then. We were locked in separate
cells and we've only been able to see each other from a distance across
court rooms and through prison bars. We weren't beaten or physically
abused, but the prison warders and especially other prisoners said some
very hurtful things to me, and I'm sure to Mezyana as well. Everyone
called me a dyke, a term I'd just never heard before. And a pervert. And
they asked indecent questions about what Mezyana and I did together in our
lovemaking. They made vile salacious speculations, which exceeded anything
I'd ever imagined to be possible.
"The next few weeks went by in a kind of daze. My were
horrified, and they cried a great deal. What upset them most was that I'd
been arrested before I'd finished my school examinations. No one else
visited me, except Mezyana's who were actually more sympathetic and
understanding than my own parents. They told me that they'd discussed our
love with their (which she'd never told me) but made no statement
of what they felt about it.
"We were taken to court eventually. That was the first time I'd seen
Mezyana since we were arrested. And the last time I've seen her. She was
dressed like me in the simple one-piece prison tunic that all prisoners
wear and looked dreadfully pale, with her hair tied back in an unattractive
pony-tail. The trial was very brief, although at the time and in my memory
it seems to have lasted forever. There really wasn't much to it. Both
Mezyana and I were guilty. There was really no way to pretend otherwise.
We were caught unequivocally in the act of an illegal act, with
three police witnesses. There were others from the village willing to bear
witness of other occasions in which we had been seen indulging in similar
lewd and immoral behaviour. Our only defence was our age and naïvete.
"The only part of the trial not predetermined was the sentence, but it
was clear from the choice of the judge, who had a very low opinion of
immoral behaviour, that it wasn't going to be a light sentence. Prior to
the trial I had discussed with a solicitor which of a Brothel or a Prison I
would choose to serve in if I had to accept the choice. Initially I
inclined towards the Prison, and said so, but I was given time to decide.
As a result of chatting with my cellmates, I soon heard enough about
prisons to decide that a Brothel mightn't be such a bad option. After all,
Prostitution is a choice some women make voluntarily, which can never be
said for prisons! So, when the judge pronounced sentence that I was
consigned to a Brothel. He said this was appropriate. And it would lead
me to see the errors of my perverted ways and no doubt teach me a better
understanding of a woman's proper sexual role. He obviously believed that
sexual intercourse with was so much better than with a woman that I'd
soon renounce my tendencies!"
Binta sniffed angrily and emphatically thumped her fist into her palm.
"The idiot! Like most men, he thought that what a woman needs is a penis
inside her and she'll instantly be converted to heterosexuality. For me,
however, the more I see of the more confirmed I've become in my love of
women. And my yearning for Mezyana just hasn't lessened at all!"
"And so you came to the Brothel and Mezyana was sentenced to a Convent?"
"That's right! It wasn't an option I was given, but then Mezyana is
such a keen church-goer. Perhaps it was her vicar who stood up for her. I
don't know. It's a Convent in the suburbs of Blad. I'll probably never be
allowed to see her there. She's probably had her head shaved like nuns do,
spending all her time praying and doing good deeds. Her religious views
certainly softened the judge's attitude towards her. He said he hoped that
in working for the Lord she would cease to be tempted by the sins of the
flesh and see the error of her ways in the Scriptures.
"Like me, she was in tears when the sentence was pronounced. Neither of
us really believed it was happening. Nobody we'd ever known had ever been
imprisoned. Nothing we'd ever done had knowingly caused anyone any harm.
And we'd not made any material profit from our actions at all. From then,
until I arrived at this Brothel, I imagined the very worst and time and
time again contemplated the practicalities of suicide!"
4
"My life would be so much richer, if only I were free I were free and
with Mezyana. If only we could express our love in the way most lovers can
without fear. All I can ever think of is Mezyana and how much I yearn to
be near her." Binta sighed. "If you've never loved, you can never know how
much pain this separation causes. Whenever I think of love or comfort or
devotion - and that is so often - all I can think of is Mezyana.
" I want to live with her when I leave here. To share all my moments
with her. Especially those little moments: the ones which mean so little
when experienced alone and so much more when I'm with the one I love. We'd
have her own home. We'd sleep in the same bed. Kiss each other as we left
for work in the morning. Sit arm in arm, watching the television, feeling
the comfort of our embraces. Laugh over shared memories over a beer or a
meal out. Be as inseparable as the best of heterosexual couples. These
are such innocent desires. And they so utterly overwhelm me."
Binta ran her hands through the long strands of her hair and gazed sadly
at her naked lap. Ana smiled wanly. Her emotions were curiously
unfocused. She was reassured by Binta's commitment to someone else. She'd
never felt so strongly towards someone as Binta had, but she appreciated
and rather envied the yearnings.
She was about to comment, when a knock distracted her attention towards
the door. A broad smiling woman's face was peering round. Like Binta, she
wore no clothes and her very long hair reached down to just below her
waist. She was deeply sun-tanned and her hair was bleached by the
sun. She was much taller than Binta, - who wasn't especially short, - and
built proportionately. She boasted round breasts, a taut stomach and
muscular thighs. Ana was acutely aware of the incongruity of her interview
clothes and the nakedness of her companions.
"Hiya!" their new companion called out breezily. "How's it going!"
Binta noticeably responded with less enthusiasm. "Hello, Ketaba. Have
you met Ana? The director's new secretary."
"Pleased to meet you, Ana!" Ketaba grinned warmly, approaching her and
kissing her tenderly on the lips. "So you've not come to join our
profession? Well, I'm sure that like Inta you'll soon see its advantages.
It's a good life! Very healthy and curative! As I'm sure Binta's been
telling you..."
"Of course I haven't, Ketaba! I'm no more likely to endorse
prostitution than you are to endorse alcohol or tobacco."
"There's just no comparison, you silly girl!" rebuked Ketaba, sitting by
Binta's feet on the end of the bed. "But you're, well, unnatural. So
you're not likely to have a very balanced view on the profession." She
smiled warmly at Ana. "Don't believe all the perverse advice our pretty
little might give you. She hasn't exactly chosen this career. She
doesn't know how lucky she is that the government has deemed this an
appropriate punishment for her criminal behaviour. She's got a chance in
life she'll be inestimably grateful for the rest of it."
"I just don't understand how you can possibly imagine that the torment
of being mauled and abused by strange can ever be something to be
grateful for."
"Don't listen to her! She'd never have opinions like that if she
enjoyed normal unperverted sex. Prostitution is a good career. It's the
only one where a woman can be physically active, give pleasure to others,
earn a respectable salary and still never have to leave her bed. It's kept
me healthy and if I were skinny and malnourished like Binta I'd be more
grateful. Still, despite her admirable devotion to naturism, she rather
compromises her healthy image by her carnivorousness and sloth."
"There really can not be very many women who advocate prostitution as
healthy. It's not just a way to keep fit and healthy on the punters'
expense."
"Don't be so facetious, Binta! What do you think Ana must think hearing
your sarcasm about a career which most people here have freely chosen. I
take pride in my work. I like the physical exercise it gives me. And I
like it when clients appreciate a good job done well. And a cannot
disguise his appreciation: I can tell you!"
"Don't disgust me, Ketaba! Any lingering enthusiasm I ever had for before I worked here has been more than eradicated by rather too frequent
and intimate association."
"Don't deny that you enjoy it!"
"Of course I do. I can't understand how women could ever voluntarily
put themselves through this ordeal. What do you think, Ana?"
Ana's composure was disturbed by the question. Her natural sympathy
inclined her towards Binta, but she didn't wish to disagree too strongly
with this large naked woman to whom she'd only just been introduced. "I
just don't know enough to hold an opinion."
"Listen to the less perverted employees here, and you'll get a much more
balanced view. One of the advantages of the profession is that it
understands and caters for naturists. I just don't think Binta at all
acknowledges how lucky she is to live and work where clothes are optional.
It's a healthy, life-giving freedom you just can't find anywhere else.
Much as I might criticise Binta for her unconstructive attitudes and
criminal tendencies, I must admit to a kindred feeling to a colleague who
shares my enthusiasm for a natural untrammelled life."
"Our similarities there are extremely shallow," sniffed Binta. "You're
just a fanatic"
"At least I'm not a pervert!" snorted Ketaba in return. "Honestly, Ana,
I don't know how you can sit in the company of someone who so blatantly
disregards the natural order as Binta does. Surely the very notion of her
crude perversions disgust you! How do you know she's not going to try and
seduce you?"
"Don't scare Ana with your crude homophobia. I'm no more likely to try
seducing her than you are to seduce every you meet..."
"Don't be sarcastic! What could be more natural than the active pursuit
of sexual intercourse? What do you think, Ana?"
Ana's experience of sex was far too inadequate for her to express an
opinion. She stuttered a few non-judgmental words before her face burnt
into a blush. Fortunately, neither of her companions chose to comment on
her virginal embarrassment.
"I detest all unnatural practises, especially homosexuality. The
purpose of sex is to reproduce, and women who practise it with other women,
and with other men: Why! it's as disgusting and unnatural as murder,
drug-taking, sodomy and cannibalism! Our government recognises this and
does its best to suppress such activities. The president has frequently
spoken of his intentions to stamp out it out, and although I'd disagree
with him on most things, on this I am in full accord."
"I'd have thought that President Marmeluke would be very unlikely to
share your opinions on naturism," challenged Binta. "I'd imagine he'd
consider it every bit as perverse as sado-masochism and incest."
"There really is no comparison! Naturism is nothing more than a return
to the natural order. It is a healthy and commendable relaxation of the
individual in the unfettered body. The other things you mention are all
totally contrary to the natural order. If everyone were then
the human race would very soon be extinct. If everyone were naked, then
everyone would be much healthier and more fulfilled. I'm shocked to hear a
fellow naturist even hint of any comparison. The only reason naturism
isn't widely practised in this country is consideration to those misguided
people who have an unnatural disgust for their own bodies, but if it were
so bad why is it permitted in a state institution like this Brothel?"
"Entirely for the titillation of the clientele!" Binta bitterly
responded.
"Unlike you, Binta, I see no contradiction in the instinctive delight a
healthy heterosexual gets from looking at a naked woman and the
pleasure I get from displaying my body. Would you prefer it if derived
no joy from seeing you unclothed? There is nothing more natural than the
naked human body, and it is equally as natural for a to enjoy regarding
it. It's just your dykish tendencies that make it impossible for you to
treat it as anything other than a selfish indulgence."
"There aren't very many places where nudity is commonplace..." began
Binta.
"That's where you're wrong! Well, not totally wrong. There are quite
clearly not enough such places. It would be far better if Alif were a
place like Agdal, where a woman can freely walk down the streets of the
capital city wearing nothing more than a contented smile and sandals,
carrying all her possessions in a handbag."
"Agdal again!" Binta smiled. "I wondered how long it would take for you
to raise your favourite subject again. Everything's so much better in
Agdal!"
"But that's because it is. And a well-kept secret in Alif it is too!"
retorted Ketaba. She leaned forward and placed a hand on Ana's knee.
"What do you know about Agdal?"
"Not a great deal!" Ana knew only that the neighbouring republic
supplied consignments of fruit and vegetables to Alif and that its
principal mountains were large enough to be seen from Rif. She knew more
about the other neighbouring kingdoms and republics than she did about
Agdal, but geography had never been her strongest subject at school.
"Exactly! The government of Alif is embarrassed to have such a much
more liberal neighbour. They just don't want people to know that just over
the border there is a country where naturism is widespread and
unexceptional. A country where there are no restrictions as to how many or
how few clothes one can choose to wear. A country where there are people
naked in the city streets, in the countryside, working in offices, driving
tractors, and doing all the other everyday things that one can do without
the tyranny of clothes. For naturists like myself it is truly a paradise.
Whenever I have a holiday, I'm on the first train there with my exit visa
and just the clothes I need to get to and from the border."
Ana had never suspected that Agdal, or any other country, could possibly
allow people to wander freely in the nude. Surely people would object!
Perhaps Ketaba was simply telling an elaborate joke.
"You haven't told Ana everything about Agdal though, have you Ketaba?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. The country's liberal policies don't
stop at trivial things like nudity. It also allows other things..."
"Like alcohol, you mean?"
"Don't be so coy, Ketaba! Like freedom of speech. Like trades unions.
And of course homosexuality!"
"Well, you would focus on something like that, wouldn't you! The most
disgusting thing about Agdal - and probably why so much about the country
is kept secret in Alif - is its tolerance of homosexuality. In fact, it
almost encourages the perversion! Wherever you go there are depraved dressed as women, sometimes with surgically enhanced breasts, women dressed
as men, women consorting with women, and with men. It's perverts
paradise! It's the serpent in the garden of Eden, and my fear is that if
it's not eliminated then the whole edifice will collapse."
"How on earth can letting a few people live their own lives possibly
cause any disaster..." wondered Binta.
"A pervert like you just can't understand why..."
"Well, you're passionate about going around in the buff. You think it's
a big deal, and what you like about Agdal is that it lets you do so.
Whereas I really don't think nudity's a big deal at all. I could quite
happily wear clothes if there were a better selection than there is here,
but I can't change my sexuality. For me, the attraction of Agdal isn't to
show my body off to everyone, like you do, but just to be able to lead a
normal contented life."
"The only way you can do that is by renouncing your unnatural
tendencies. How can you possibly think that there is anything normal or to
be contented about in lusting after other women? The whole idea makes me
feel rather unwell."
"Maybe so, but ..." began Binta, who evidently enjoyed arguing with
Ketaba, when she was quite suddenly interrupted by a loud persistent buzz.
She cursed under her breath and then frowned at Ketaba and Ana. "I'm
afraid my shift's due to start now. I'll have to ask you to leave."
"That's fine, Binta dear. A girl's got to do an honest day's work!"
smiled Ketaba as she stood up.
Ana stood up too. "Well, goodbye then."
"Goodbye, Ana," smiled Binta warmly who also stood up and kissed her
tenderly on the cheek, sending a frisson through Ana's body. She just
wasn't used to even the most innocent kisses back home, and she was very
aware of Binta's tastes. However, Ketaba also kissed Binta as they left,
so Ana concluded that this kissing reflected nothing more than casual
affection, and was bound to be commonplace in an institution like the
Brothel. As Ana and Ketaba left, she observed that the light above the
door was now set to green.
"So, what do you think of Binta?" asked Ketaba as they walked along the
corridor.
Ana didn't know what to say. She felt quite unsettled by their
conversation and by the continued presence of a naked woman. What was she
supposed to think? People weren't like this in Rif. "She seems all
right," she answered noncommittally.
"I wouldn't say that. Being homosexual, there's obviously something
wrong with her. I just hope she gets over it. What about you though?
When did you start working here?"
"I start tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! My! You are new to the Brothel! What do you think of it so
far?"
"It's bigger than I thought," Ana remarked awed by the extent of the
corridor punctuated by red, green and yellow lights. How would she ever
find her way out?
"Well, it's the biggest Brothel in the country, you know! Probably the
world. You should feel proud to be working at such a prestigious place.
And while you're here I really urge you to seriously consider a spell of
prostitution yourself. It's healthy, it's good money and it'll do you a
world of good..."
"No, I don't think so. I'm just a secretary. That's all I want to do
here..."
"That's what your predecessor, Inta, said at first. But she soon
changed her mind. Although she was only a Gamma Plus, she didn't do too
badly out of it. However, I'd be foolish to believe that you would have
any concrete idea of what you really want to do on your first day here.
I'm sure you'll see your way to a more active career." Ketaba paused as
they arrived at a stair-case. "Erm, I don't suppose you really know your
way round here yet. Do you know where you want to go?"
Ketaba escorted Ana to the foyer down a complex series of corridors and
stair- cases. She chatted away amiably, telling Ana about all the exciting
things to do in Blad: the cafes to visit, the theatres and the tourist
attractions. She interspersed her chat with references to the enjoyment
and satisfaction she got from her career and how Ana should at least
consider becoming a naturist. Ana only partly heard what Ketaba was
saying. Her thoughts retread her day so far, returning frequently to the
image of Binta lying on her bed waiting for the male clients she so
despised.
5
Ana began learning her secretarial duties, and finding her way around
the office and the software she had to use. There was a lot to learn and
her only guidance was some unspecific instructions from the Director such
as where she was to sit and what she was expected to produce, but her
college training had prepared her well, and she soon felt quite confident
in her work.
She felt rather less confidence when she ventured outside the office to
walk along the labyrinthine corridors to the canteen or to the toilet, but
although often horribly lost at first, she was now more concerned about her
embarrassment as she passed the scantily clothed employees. This included
Binta whom she met by chance while taking some documents to the centralised
photocopying room. As always she was totally undressed, and Ana blushed
quite visibly as she approached from the other end of the corridor.
"Fitting in well, I hope?" Binta wondered.
"Yes, thank you," Ana shyly answered. "I'm beginning to remember where
everything goes."
"I'm sure you are," mused Binta, dawdling by the fire door running her
fingers through her long hair. "Look...erm... do you want to come for a
swim after work?"
"A swim?"
"Yes, in the Brothel Baths. No one would mind you turning up."
"But I haven't brought a swimming costume with me."
Binta laughed. "You'd look pretty out of place in one of those, I can
tell you! This is a brothel, remember. No, Ana, you don't need a swimming
costume: just your sweet self. Come on! You haven't got anything else
lined up, have you?"
Ana had to admit she hadn't, so immediately after work she eventually
located the Brothel's swimming pool, which was closed off to the public and
accessible only to employees. As Ana could see before she made her way
into the changing area at the pool-side, there was definitely no need for
any kind of bathing costume. None of the half dozen or so splashing
about in the pool were wearing any more clothes than Binta who was floating
in the deep end with her hair fanning out around her, looking like an
exotic giant water-lily. Ana self-consciously took her clothes off,
uncomfortably aware that this was the first time she'd ever bared her slim
untanned body in public, and stood selfconsciously by the poolside.
Binta swam towards her, her back and buttocks obscured by a trail of
long hair. "Hi there! Come on in. The water's lovely and warm!"
Ana cautiously lowered herself down the steps into the pool, feeling the
distinct chill of water progressively lapping up her legs and thighs. Then
with the courage she knew she had to find, she surrendered her whole weight
to the water, braving the sting of chlorinated water on her eyes. Her head
and hair sank beneath the surface where she saw Binta's naked body glide
towards her. "This pool's one of the few things I'm grateful for here,"
laughed her friend when Ana's head surfaced. "It's to compensate for the
hard work we do, I suppose."
Ana regarded the other prostitutes, some of whom fastidiously swam with
their faces and bound-up hair out of the water so as not to smudge the
thick make-up or to get chlorine-scented locks. Ana span around and lay on
her back, looking up at the evening sunlight streaming through the
glass-covered ceiling. Binta was right: this was a very pleasant pool.
Perhaps she could come to enjoy working here.
As she righted herself to chat to her floating friend, she was suddenly
sprayed by a sudden wave caused by someone diving into the pool rather too
nearby. The pale body of the culprit descended to the very bottom of the
pool and then propelled itself like a torpedo to the surface.
"Why hello, Binta!" a child's face with very short boyish hair greeted
them. Ana was initially unsure whether this intruder was a or a girl.
The chest was very flat and there were very other few signs of gender, but
the girl's nudity couldn't disguise her sexual identity for long. She
bobbed around in the water chuckling and giggling with the childishness
suggested by her body. "So, Binta, who's your new friend?"
"Ana, the Director's new secretary," announced Binta. "She only started
a couple of days ago."
"Oh! Inta's replacement. Shame about her! Hi! My name's Zabba! It's
my real name as well! My had a strange sense of humour. Glad to
meet you. Are you new to Blad?"
"Yes, I am. It's all very different for me."
"I bet! And new to brothels as well, I imagine?"
"The ones where I come from don't offer full-time secretarial work,"
answered Ana, falsely suggesting that had they done otherwise she'd have
taken the opportunity of working at one. "What do you do?"
Zabba laughed, with an indecent lack of restraint. "What do you think?
This is a Brothel you know! I suppose I could just be a receptionist or a
cook or something, though I don't think they'd let me do jobs like that!
And they certainly wouldn't pay as well! No, Ana darling, I'm a
prostitute. Like your friend, Binta! What else could I be?"
Ana's cheeks burnt through the film of chlorinated water. She hated to
be reminded of the sordid aspects of where she worked. She still found it
difficult to reconcile the distasteful nature of the profession with the
actual practitioners.
"Zabba's actually quite high-grade as well," elaborated Binta, her arms
rotating to keep herself afloat. "She's an Alpha."
"Yes! I admit it!" the replied proudly. She lowered her arms to
let her body sink into the water. "And as you can see not for the most
obvious of reasons. I don't exactly have the classic Alpha grade figure,
with my teeny and slim thighs. But like me who look so much
younger than they are and (let's admit it!) look like little boys: we're in
great demand. That pushes up my grade a lot. I could never be an Alpha
Plus. You need more dedication, stamina and willing than I'll ever have.
But I'm quite content to be an Alpha. The pay's good and I'll be able to
retire at the age when most people are just starting their working lives."
"However much you earn, I'd much rather be me than you," Binta
commented, "Your clients have got the strangest obsessions."
Zabba smiled. "I get my fair share of perverts, I must admit," she
agreed, running a hand through her short damp crop of dark brown hair. "My
bottom gets ever so sore. You couldn't imagine! But you're only once."
"And you look like you'll be forever."
"Well, I am young. One day my looks just won't be marketable any more.
But I'm in this trade for the money and I don't have to do nearly as much
work as a Gamma or a Beta to earn tons more than they can."
"Well, infinitely more than me," sniffed Binta bitterly.
"I'm sorry, sweetest. I keep forgetting you're not here voluntarily.
And if I were only a Beta, I don't think I'd bother either. It'd hardly be
worth the effort. But for me: where else could I work at my age to afford
a luxury flat in the select Honey suburb and earn far more money than a
young knows what to do with? You've got to admit that those of us
who've got a lot to sell get a lot out of it!"
"If you can put up with all the abuse..."
"Not all of it's abuse, Binta darling. Some clients are actually quite
sweet, which even you'd admit if you weren't so dead set against men. But
let's be honest: I'd be ready to go through a lot more than this for the
lifestyle. The hours are great as well! I go clubbing all night and don't
have to worry about getting up like all the other working in this
city. And I don't believe the occasional sore bum is really such a bad
penalty. It's those who work in factories, supermarkets and restaurant
kitchens I feel sorry for. They get hardly nothing for what they do. And
gain nothing like the respect from their customers that I'm accustomed to."
"Is this what you always wanted to do?" Wondered Ana.
"Goodness no! I'll be out of this profession long before my sell-by
date. What I do next I really don't know. And I don't really want to
think about it. Growing really depresses me. I hope I never have to
get than my teens!"
Zabba abruptly broke away from Ana and Binta, and swam a length of the
baths. The other two followed behind, Ana enjoying the lash of the water
against her body as she kept pace. They arrived at the shallow end, where
Zabba stood to rub the water out of her eyes and to reveal where she shaved
to make her look even younger. Ana crouched down in the water, still too
shy to stand and openly display her body.
"What do you think of the Brothel, Ana?" Zabba wondered. "Do you share
Binta's negative opinions?" Ana nodded her head. "Well, you're new here,
and I'm sure you'll come to take a much more liberal view of it, like your
predecessor. Perhaps like her you'll be tempted to earn a bit of extra
money. Everyone loses their inhibitions after a while."
"I don't think that's such a good thing," opined Binta. "But even if
you weren't a prostitute, Zabba, you'd have a fairly active and varied sex
life."
"You want to bet!" the laughed. "What could be more fun? Sure.
Left to my own devices entirely there are pretty few of my clients, even
the regular ones, I'd ever contemplate if I didn't do it for a living. But
when you get fully immersed in it, there can't be anything more
fulfilling."
"Pah!" Binta disagreed. "It hasn't made me any more enthusiastic!"
"Well, Binta dear, you are an exception! Nobody could accuse you of
having a normal attitude towards sex."
"I really don't think that my preference in partners has any bearing
over what I think about prostitution in general. It's absolutely
abhorrent."
"I can't pretend to understand you, Binta, but you're probably quite
right. Many of my clients undoubtedly prefer to women. The number of
times I've had to pretend to be one myself! I'm sure you'd find that even
more disgusting. Perverse even, if you weren't yourself a homosexual. But
it's fairly harmless. And I'm sure the provision of my services spares
countless real attention they probably wouldn't appreciate. I am at
least a professional and know exactly what to expect."
"I don't believe that my sexual preferences make me likely to have any
more sympathy for who lust after children. If there's any sexual
behaviour the government is quite right to make illegal, it's that..."
"Making it illegal doesn't stop it, you know," laughed Zabba. "It just
provides obstacles. And anyway Binta, sweetheart, if you knew some of
these as well as I do, you'd be no more censorious towards them than
you'd want them to be towards you. My services are provided to sublimate
such desires in a socially acceptable way."
"Isn't what they do to you illegal?" wondered Ana contemplating Zabba's
groin and her references to a sore posterior.
"Sure it is!" laughed Zabba. She pinched a slim buttock with a hand.
"It doesn't stop them. And it doesn't prevent me providing the service
either. As long as they're willing to pay me that little extra that the
tax-man never knows about, I'm not going to complain about a service the
Brothel can never be seen to offer or condone. And those who're most keen
on that sort of thing and the ones who most like me to dress like a little
school-boy and avert their eyes from what truly distinguishes me from a
boy: they're the ones who are the most publicly vehemently opposed to
homosexuality and what they deem immoral sexual acts. But why should I
care!"
Zabba dipped her hands into the water and desultorily splashed water
over her incompletely formed body. "However, unlike you Binta, when I've
done a day's work, I don't have to stay here all night. I have my own home
to go to and friends to go out with. So, if you don't mind, I'll be off
now." She leaned over to Binta and kissed her tenderly on each cheek, and
then repeated the compliment on Ana, who discovered for the first time how
short Zabba was. Only the relative maturity of her conversation made her
seem at all adult. Zabba left Ana and Binta swimming slowly up to the
other end of the pool: Binta on her back and Ana more cautiously facing
forward.
"Zabba's very odd, isn't she?" Ana commented.
"Odd? Why? Because of what she looks like?"
Ana hadn't really meant that. "I suppose that's one way. No. I mean
her attitude towards prostitution. I really thought that most prostitutes
would absolutely hate it, like you."
Binta tread water to keep afloat. "I can't speak for all the here. They have all sorts of attitudes. Some like Zabba quite enjoy it for
one reason or another. Some detest it, and those who are convicted
prisoners like me are going to hate it the most. After all, I didn't
exactly volunteer to work here. The majority though are probably somewhere
in between. A job they do for the money. Or which has enough good points
to seem good enough for not doing something else. You can't be sure how
honest most prostitutes are, the ones who do it by choice, that is. Some
who hate it will pretend otherwise it to justify their choice of career.
And some who quite like it will claim to hate it to retain some kind of
self-respect. However, Zabba is quite right: it's a much better career for
the higher grade. Alphas like Bezaffa and Zabba make good money, and they
know they'll be able to retire on it. Even Betas like myself are generally
respected by the clients. But the Deltas and Epsilons: it must be
extraordinarily disheartening. They get the worst salaries, probably don't
have the choice of another career and get the most abusive and unsavoury
clients." Binta wiped her nose with the back of a hand. "But don't listen
to Zabba when she says you should contemplate prostitution as a career.
You would be the very last person to enjoy Zabba's lifestyle. You're
better off as you are. If it was so wonderful, why did your predecessor
leave in such a hurry?"
"Is it only prostitutes who have liberal views like Zabba's?"
"Of course not! But those who do don't necessarily want to become
prostitutes. There was a Mezyana and I knew who was visiting Jebel
who was a lot like Zabba in many ways. Well, not physically. There can't
be very many people in the whole world with a body like hers. Her name was
Azhnia, from which you can guess she wasn't an Alif girl. Her country is
quite rich and although she always claimed to be broke she always seemed to
be quite well off. It must be something to do with the exchange rate. God
knows why she was in such a remote place as Jebel, but she claimed to love
the countryside and its slow pace of life."
"What country did she come from?"
"Gharab, I think. Somewhere where they speak the same language.
Mezyana and I were really envious of her country. Homosexuality and
alcohol are legal, as are plenty of other things I could never imagine
being legal here. They have films with people having sex in them, some of
which she said were filmed in Alif. You can openly buy all sorts of drugs,
but you have to pay tax on them, of course. People are much freer in what
they can say and write. They don't have to be careful about saying
something the government mightn't like. It sounded wonderful to us, I can
tell you: always having to be careful about revealing our relationship."
"How did you meet her?"
"Mezyana and I were never really very sociable. We only met her by
chance in the countryside when we were looking for a place to enjoy
ourselves together. We were certainly not looking for other company. But
as we were climbing up the hills, we came across this strange in
leather clothes and short hair dyed a bizarre mix of blue and black. She
was reading a book on a rock, and greeted us as we passed. Mezyana didn't
really want to chat, but I was really curious to know something about her.
I didn't know there were people in the world who dressed like that. You
never find out about foreign fashions from the magazines or television
programs. She had a peculiar accent, and we had great difficulty in
understanding some of what she said. She was travelling in Alif and
staying in a hostel near Quria. She said the hostel was really boring and
she got fed up with how much people stared at her. At home, she said,
nobody would look twice at someone dressed like her."
"Is that true?" speculated Ana, who had never really thought of how
foreigners might dress.
"I can't believe that everyone wears such tight leather clothes as her,
but she said there were people there who dressed a lot more outrageously.
After all, there's no law to prevent them. As she didn't know anyone in
Jebel, we got to know her a lot better. She had views about sex and so on
that we found rather shocking. It was quite titillating as well of course.
She always had these about her boyfriends and her sexual activity
which I'm afraid we found very exciting. But the nicest thing about
knowing her, I think, was that we found someone to whom we could confess
our relationship, and who accepted it as what it was. It was good to know
that there were people who not only didn't disapprove of lesbianism, but
almost actively endorsed it. It was good to feel accepted like that."
Binta frowned, and then, without warning, swam away towards the edge of
the pool. Ana hovered for a moment in the centre, and then swam leisurely
towards her. Binta's memories of Jebel must have upset her. Binta leaned
on the pool-side bar watching her long legs cycle in the water, her hair
spreading around. She continued as if there'd been no break in the
conversation when Ana caught up with her.
"I feel guilty thinking about Azhnia. I suppose it was the excitement
of her liberating conversation, but it wasn't long until I learnt that
Azhnia wasn't just interested in and the two of us..." Binta paused as
she struggled to express herself. "Well, we soon got to be a little too
close. My one episode of infidelity to Mezyana. Or one of several
episodes to be honest: all with Azhnia. Not that my love for Mezyana was
any less. It just seemed such an exhilarating and emancipating thing:
having a relationship with another girl. I never told Mezyana, and Azhnia
would never tell her either. And even though I felt really rotten at the
time, I still went back to her for more. Now that I'm parted from Mezyana
in this horrid place, I feel even worse that the only person I've ever
truly loved, the one for whose love I am suffering so much, and who is also
suffering for it ... I feel so low and deceitful and really no better than
the slut that I've become!"
Binta was weeping, tears lost in the dampness of her face. Embarrassed,
Ana hovered by, not knowing what to say or do. Her new friend lowered her
face under her cascading curtain of hair and softly sobbed.
"I know Mezyana would forgive me if she were to find out. She's like
that! So charitable and understanding. All that Christian business of
only seeing the best in other people. That doesn't make it any easier:
because I can never forgive myself. And I can't blame Azhnia. She was
only doing what was natural to the mores of her own country. I am the only
one to blame; and however enjoyable it seemed at the time, and however
easily I got away with it, doesn't excuse me at all!"
Binta gazed into Ana's sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry to burden you with
all this..."
"That's all right..." Ana tried to say with as much sincerity as she
could. She was slightly disturbed by the content of Binta's confessions,
but also flattered to be confided in so soon in their friendship. "I'm
sure it's good for you to..."
"Thank you! Thank you!" Binta said with a brave smile. She briefly
kissed Ana on the lips and, before Ana could respond, lifted herself out of
the pool and stood high above her on the edge. "I must go now! I've been
swimming for long enough. But perhaps we can come back for a swim another
day?"
"Gladly!" Ana replied, looking up at Binta, her arms supporting herself
on the poolside. The two chatted on fairly trivial matters for a few
more minutes, while Binta dried herself with a long Brothel-issue towel.
Soon she left, and Ana floated on her back for a long time, recounting her
conversation and revelling in the satisfaction of making friends with
someone so soon in the forbidding loneliness of the city. Ana imagined
that Binta had only left so soon to return to work. She waved to Binta as
she passed along the glass walkway overlooking the pool, suddenly wincing
as she recollected what Binta's work actually entailed.
6
Ana was gradually becoming more accustomed to her new life in the big
city. It no longer seemed such an overpoweringly threatening place as it
did on her first arrival. The city of Blad was still a great mystery on
the whole but she felt fairly confident of the geography of the Jadid
Quarter where she had been provided with a flat, and she knew all she
needed to get to work in the city centre. The bus stop was only yards from
the main entrance to the block of flats, and benefited from a shelter
which, at this time of the year, served mostly to keep the sun off Ana and
other commuters as they waited for the bus. Unfortunately, she didn't live
near enough to the bus depot to avoid having to stand all the way on most
of her journeys to work, but a little bit of discomfort like that was
nothing compared to the gain of having a job.
Around her block of flats were many others almost identical, all the
statutory maximum height of six storeys allowed before an escalator needed
to be installed, and through the windows of which were flats of much the
same design as Ana's own. She was in awe of the magnificent amount of
space she had: more than the two floors of her parents' home. Her bedroom
had an double bed she could sleep in without hunching up her body.
Her kitchen was ready supplied with a cooker, a microwave and a
fridge-freezer. She even had a front-loading washing machine with which
she had a disastrous time trying to get working properly. The most
luxurious aspect was the fully-furnished living room in which there was a
table, some chairs and even a television. And so much space! So much
unoccupied air. Ana felt incredibly privileged. And all provided free as
part of her contract of work with the Blad State Brothel! She'd never have
been able to afford a flat nearly as well-appointed otherwise.
She stood by the living room window over a small balcony just large
enough for her to peg her clothes to dry after she'd mastered the
washing-machine. Down below was a network of clean well-paved roads and a
shop opposite which sold almost everything from light-bulbs and lentils to
radios and radishes. A huddle of women stood at the bus stop just by
a policeman in a dark green uniform, smoking a cigarette. Radiating out
for a few hundred yards were similar streets, the occasional small church
and a small patch of grass where children could play. It seemed so
comfortable and ordinary to Ana that she sometimes forgot she'd not always
lived in a place like this.
One prominent feature of the living room was a long full-length mirror
in which she could examine her reflection. At first she worried that the
mirror might be connected to a network of cameras and viewing screens, like
the one in Binta's room at the Brothel, but she soon satisfied herself,
after poking around its perimeter with a knife, that there was no real
likelihood that it could be anything other than a normal mirror. Ana stood
in front of it, wearing only a towel round her body which she had used to
dry herself after a long relaxing rest in the bath. She smiled sadly at
herself, relishing her reflection's corresponding smile.
She peered around through the window to confirm no one could see her and
let her towel slip to her knees. She had never seen her naked body in its
entirety before. Having seen so many naked or near naked bodies recently
she was curious to see how she compared. She concluded that she had a nice
face: not startlingly pretty, but still nice. A little thin perhaps, like
the rest of her, but her eyes were large even if her lips weren't at all
prominent. Her lank fair hair fell onto her shoulders, even more lank than
usual as it was still damp from her bath. She was slim. Her and
hips had never really blossomed with adulthood quite as much as some at the Brothel, certainly not as much as Binta's.
How would she compare with a Beta Plus like Binta? She was sure she
could never be considered more attractive, although much of Binta's
physical beauty (she blushed to find herself using such terms) came less
from her body than how she carried it. She radiated greater
self-confidence and bearing without clothes, than Ana could fully dressed.
She imagined Binta walking along the corridors of the Brothel with a
confident unselfconscious stride; Binta swimming breast-stroke in the
swimming pool, her buttocks clearly visible through the water; and Binta
sitting opposite her at the canteen table, her just inches away
from her fingers. Fingers which could easily over and stroke her
elegantly shaped nipples and feel the curve of her bosom. And, Ana
couldn't help wondering, would Binta actually enjoy that?
Although Binta came from the countryside much as Ana did, Jebel sounded
very different from her descriptions of its hills and mountains (and rather
more exciting) than the broad agricultural plains of Rif, bounded by
distant hills and mountains. Her village of Biyat was such an ordinary
place, - serviced by a small shop, a few irregular buses and a church, -
that could claim several uneventful centuries of history. Like all the
others in the village, her parents' cottage had more space in the garden
than inside, where most of the vegetables they ate were grown. Her worked at a factory several miles away and left for work very early in the
morning in a beaten-up van jointly owned by himself and several of his
colleagues. He rarely got home much before seven in the evening. Her
mother supplemented their living by forever knitting and stitching clothes.
Ana was considered very much the bright star of the for having
attained a qualification, and there was little shame attached to
her inability to find work other than in the city of Blad. Most people in Biyat were either unemployed or like Ana had little choice but to
find work elsewhere.
Life in her village was very uneventful and was no less so at the small
town where she had attended college. There was little for a to
do. There was the occasional village disco attended by too many adults and
children for people to be anything but careful in what they did or
said. The affairs organised by the were more exciting, but were
compromised by her need to catch the last bus back home to Biyat. Ana
would occasionally see a film in the tiny cinema with other students, but
the selection of films was very uninspiring and was mostly mercilessly cut
foreign films. However, Ana had never felt deprived, as she had nothing
with which to compare her social life and hers was no different from that
of other in her village.
Her family, Biyat and Rif were a long way from Blad and her new life.
An immeasurable gulf separated her from her former life, and it was not
just the physical distance between them. Ana sat on a chair with the towel
on her lap, still facing the mirror, contemplating the upward tilt of her
breasts in the slight chill of the evening. She'd never be able to tell
her about the actual nature of the company employing her, and the
deceit made her feel quite uncomfortable. She'd never the truth
from them before. She'd never had the need. Now she was obliged to
routinely mislead them whenever they asked questions about the big city
employers who had provided her with such a grand flat. Would they guess
that not many employers were prepared to pay a secretary so well, and to
give her such a nice place to live in addition?
Her employer still disgusted her. It was after all a Brothel. One
owned by the State (and ultimately by President Marmeluke himself) and
therefore with at least some of its approval. Ultimately, it was a concern
which sold the bodies of mostly women to mostly for the purpose of
their sexual gratification. The thought discomfited her considerably. It
particularly perturbed her now that she could visualise the actual employed in the business of providing their bodies to the rather
unattractive she saw going into the Brothel. She could imagine
Bezaffa, Ferhana and Zabba underneath these foul hairy bodies with their
dirty unscrubbed fingers crawling over their soft skin. She could most
particularly and most painfully imagine Binta in this position: her pretty
face being kissed by stubble-chinned, pot-bellied men, their hands grasping
at her firm and, worse, the most intimate part of all being
repeatedly violated for their vile pleasure.
However, as Ana reflected with some relief, it was not she who had to
endure all this indignity and disgrace, but her new friends, not all of
whom seeming nearly as distressed as Binta. Furthermore, life at the
Brothel wouldn't be any different whether or not she was working there.
Perhaps she was privileged to get such a close view of the workings of a
Brothel without having to actively participate. She was grateful to have
met so many new friends in a city where people were generally far too
intent on their own business to spare any time or friendliness for an
innocent country-girl. She had met many new people and made new friends.
She wasn't too sure who were really her friends, though she was convinced
that Binta fitted that description. Perhaps also Ferhana and Ketaba.
These were so very different from the people in Rif, and this fact
compensated for some of the loneliness she felt living so far from her
family and friends.
She was also very grateful for her salary and her flat. She'd enjoyed
selecting it with Khedra, the Personnel and Training Manager, who'd
presented her with a list of available flats and told her of the relative
merits of each. She hardly believed the options she had, and so soon after
arriving in the city just for an interview! Her expressed their
delight in the letters they'd sent her which included her younger sister's
drawings of the kittens and tales of all the things in the village that had
so recently been of primary interest to her. They had been surprised that
things had worked out so right so soon.
The work she was doing wasn't too bad either, Ana considered. It was
all well within her capabilities, and she'd already earned praise from Mr
Madir for the accuracy of her typing and how she had organised the manual
files. She was apparently so much better at it than Inta, and so much more
attractive. The Director's praise always made Ana feel extremely
uncomfortable, though. It wasn't only because the office air was with smoke emerging from the cigarette smouldering in his holder or the
sweet smell of it clinging to his clothes and hair. Although he treated
the staff - prostitutes or not - in a flirting over-familiar manner, she
couldn't help suspecting his motives. She decided that she didn't like him
very much. Not only was he rather ugly and smelly, but for all his
apparent kindness she couldn't somehow forgive him his rather active rôle
in the running of the Brothel and ultimately in the enslavement and foul
abuse of like Ferhana and, of course, Binta. Although Ana couldn't
be said to be active in the more obviously sordid activities of the
Brothel, wasn't she just as complicit as the Director himself simply by
helping to run the administrative side of the concern?
7
Ana didn't know how many times she'd heard the buzz of her flat's
intercom before she managed to locate it in the hallway. Who could it be?
she wondered, still wearing only a towel and mostly lost in the revelry of
her thoughts.
"It's me, Khedra," the tinny voice on the intercom announced. "Can I
come up?"
The Personnel and Training Manager from the Brothel! What did she want?
"Of course! Of course!" Ana replied in a panic about what to wear. She
hurriedly dashed into her bedroom and slipped on a sleeveless floral dress
and knickers less with regard to appearance than with the need to get
dressed. She hadn't found her sandals when she'd opened the flat door, her
hair still slightly damp.
Khedra was a tall slim woman in her late thirties who dressed very
smartly in a green suit with a silk scarf around her neck. If Ana didn't
know, she would have assumed she worked for a bank or an insurance company.
She was however very amiable and solicitous of Ana's welfare. It might
only have been her prejudices that made Ana somewhat wary of her, but she
certainly didn't feel overwhelmingly grateful for this unexpected visit.
"I see you've made the flat very homely," commented Khedra affably,
looking at the posters of Rif that Ana had sellotaped to the wall to remind
her of home. She wandered towards a vase of small flowers Ana had placed
prominently on the living room table. She stooped over to examine it more
carefully. "Very nice. Very nice. I hope you're settling in well in your
new home?"
"Yes, very well, Miss Jismia," Ana said nervously, standing by the
doorway and wondering why she'd chosen those particular flowers.
"Call me Khedra, Ana. Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Of course not," Ana replied as Khedra lowered herself into one of the
two armchairs facing the television. She sat in the other armchair, after
first turning it round to face Khedra across a small coffee table.
"I hope you don't mind me visiting you like this. But I happened to be
in the area and part of my duties, as you know, is to ensure that all our
employees are happy in their working life. And of course I have especial
concern for all our new employees. I like to see that everyone is
contented and that everything is well. I trust that the flat is
satisfactory?"
"It's very nice. I'm very grateful."
"The Brothel has a reputation for supplying only the best accommodation
to its valued employees. I hope also that you are satisfied with this
district. You should be. The Jadid Quarter has a good reputation in this
city. Good amenities, good schools, an excellent bus service and, of
course, no shortage of churches if you should be of a religious bent. Are
you a churchgoer?"
"Not really. Only occasionally."
"Many of our employees are very religious: surprisingly, amongst not our
administrative staff, but the working girls. I hope you're getting to know
Blad a bit better. It must be quite different to what you're used to." She
nodded at the posters of the open wheat fields of Rif. "It's not too
intimidating for you, I hope?"
"I'm beginning to get used to it."
"And it goes without saying that you are a lucky indeed to get such
a nice flat in such a pleasant part of the city. My home is a little
grander than this, but then I have worked hard to afford it. It's a
detached house in the Honey district. Do you know the area at all?"
"I've heard about it."
"It's very nice. Wide avenues, large parks, big houses and shops
selling the most gorgeous but fabulously expensive clothes. My house
occupies nearly a quarter of an acre - that cost me a fair bit I can tell
you! - with four bedrooms, two living rooms and two bathrooms. And
there's only me living there!" Khedra chuckled whimsically. "I really
don't need so much space, do I? But it's nice to be able to afford it,
don't you think Ana?"
"Yes, very nice. I'm sure I'll never be able to afford anything like
that. You must be very well paid."
Khedra frowned. "You know that it's not policy to discuss salaries,
Ana. But between you and me, yes, I have done very well out of my many
years of service for the Brothel. I've done very nicely indeed. But you
are wrong, my dear, in supposing you could never afford something as nice
yourself." She smiled broadly at Ana and then opened a magazine that Ana
had bought. It was one of many women's magazines that could be bought in
the shop opposite featuring romantic stories, knitting patterns and general
articles. Khedra flicked through it, clearly bored by its contents and put
it down without comment. "I suppose you might wonder how I've managed to
afford so many expensive things myself. Look at these rings." She spread
out her fingers to display the three or four plain gold rings she had on
them. "Each of them is worth more than your television set. This suit
cost more than three months of your salary, and I have several others.
Part of this comes from my salary. The Brothel, as you know, is a believer
in offering competitive salaries to its staff, and I can honestly say that
my pay is in the top quartile for my grade. Which is quite senior. Some
of it has come as a result of astute investment. I have quite a portfolio
of share-holdings I can tell you. But most of it has come from working
overtime in the services of the Brothel's less administrative business."
"Less administrative business?" wondered Ana, who was terribly conscious
of the bareness of her feet in front of her well-paid colleague. What must
she think?
"The Brothel as a company requires administrative and ancillary staff
for its operations to be a success. There need to be receptionists,
secretaries, cleaners, technicians and, of course, managers. The Brothel
has a fairly open policy regarding the rôles performed by each member of
staff, particularly concerning the supply of the services for which it is
most well known. In this capacity, we as managers have been very flexible
in allocating work to those the Brothel employs. Some working put in
hours at reception for attractive rates roughly equivalent to their
Performance and Appearance Rating ..."
"Equivalent to what?"
"The banding that each of the working receives," explained Khedra
noting Ana's puzzled expression. "You know, some are Alphas, some
Betas, and so on..."
"Oh yes. I see!"
"In addition to providing extra work for the working (and the
working if an opportunity occurs), we also offer opportunities to other
staff to become more actively involved in the provision of services. The
rates are very attractive: being higher per hour than the average working
girl would receive for the same Performance and Appearance Rating, or PAR
for short. The Brothel has a policy of explaining to its employees what
the extra work opportunities are, how to apply for them and what the
remuneration is. I would urge you to be aware that these are not merely
opportunities which we believe that our staff should be merely aware of.
They are also very desirable options which staff are actively encouraged to
seriously consider."
Ana wasn't quite sure what Khedra was getting at. "Are you talking
about part-time work as a prostitute?"
"Yes, of course. Didn't I make myself clear?"
Ana shook her head vehemently, studying her bare toes in the carpet
pile. "I don't want to do that! Not ever! Not that!"
"I wouldn't have been doing my job as a PTM all these years, if I didn't
understand the reluctance you may feel in doing additional work which not
only erode your free time, which a lady like you must no doubt relish
to the full, but has an unfortunate reputation which I only hope that
greater familiarity and reflection will dispel."
"I would never. I could never. My parents..."
"You are not in any way expected to do anything you don't want to, Ana.
All I'm doing is presenting to you the exciting and rewarding opportunities
that are open to you while you are an employee in our concern. I wouldn't
be doing my job if I weren't to do so." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure
your and would soon come round to respecting any career
decision you made which brought you a better income and such exciting
prospects. I have supplemented my normal salary for years with a degree of
extra work - often conveniently overlapping with my normal hours as it does
for all administrative and ancillary staff willing to exploit such
opportunities, as I shall be more than willing to explain. This extra work
is not only within the confines of the Brothel, where I have my own room
for the purpose, quite separate from my normal office, as is only right.
It would not do to confuse my rôle as a PTM with my other capacities. This
work has often involved travel, meeting interesting and well-connected
people, and visiting the most exotic restaurants and gentlemen's clubs.
And it is an opportunity I would strongly urge you to consider sooner
rather than later, as unusually among careers this is one heavily biased
towards the younger and often less experienced."
Ana really didn't want to continue this embarrassing discussion.
"Prostitution's just not something I want to do. I wouldn't enjoy it at
all."
"I understand your attitude, Ana. Undoubtedly, it's not everyone's
preferred career option. But were you to show interest, there would be
great flexibility shown towards your general clerical and secretarial
duties. I believe you've shown yourself quite adept at these - better, I
don't mind telling you, than your predecessor. However I think I ought to
outline the benefits of taking advantage of these exciting opportunities.
I've already hinted at the enhanced income you would enjoy - which at a
preferential employee's bonus takes the earnings of a Gamma to the level of
a Beta, and those of a Beta to the level of those of an Alpha Minus. The
rates and conditions are not to be sniffed at. I'll leave you this
employee brochure which outlines them in greater detail."
She placed a glossy brochure on the table that featured the photograph
of a very ordinary lady dressed in very ordinary working clothes
(nothing like those of the prostitutes at the Brothel). She was smiling
broadly while leaning against a similarly unexceptional dining table laid
out for a small dinner. The front cover had the words Opportunities in
Customer Satisfaction just above her forehead. Ana picked up the brochure
and flicked through pages in attractive printface which showed the same
woman in other equally unlikely settings such as restaurants and tourist
sights. The only at all associated with the Brothel was the
swimming pool, where the women were photographed so that it was impossible
to tell what they were wearing.
"You'd like to earn more, wouldn't you Ana?"
"Well... yes..."
"And this is an opportunity to do so. But, as they say, money isn't
everything, although our surveys have shown that for the overwhelming
majority of working - 78.9% in fact - money is the chief reason
quoted for this choice of career. There are also the character-building
aspects of the job. It would make you much more assertive and a great deal
fitter. It is also excellent training for a life. Do you have a
boyfriend at the moment?"
Ana blushed. "No, not at the moment." Nor indeed had she ever one, - a
fact that had sometimes troubled her when she saw the apparent happiness of
her friends in Rif who were engaged to be married.
"Well, when you do, you'll find that the satisfaction and quality of
service you'd be able to provide after the excellent experience that only a
working can achieve will be something for which you will be forever
grateful. Indeed, many of our employees are now happily to former
clients whom they met in the course of executing their duties. However, as
you can possibly guess, it's not altruism alone which motivates the State
Brothel to offer its employees such attractive opportunities. The
Personnel department will be very grateful for the extra services. It is
constantly on the lookout for suitable staff. It seems that however well
we have succeeded in achieving, or better than achieving, our recruitment
quotas, the demand for services continues to exceed the supply of
provision. I for one would be extremely grateful were you to assent to so
provide your services."
"It's just not what I want for a career..."
"Well, it's true that you have been taken on as a secretary, and there
are very few employers who can extend to such staff the extra work that we
are able to do. However, even if one were to ignore the many other
benefits of this extra work, I am sure it would be advantageous for you to
gain a greater insight into the Brothel's non- administrative work. This
is also certain to further your administrative career. We have always
preferred to promote rather than recruit whenever more senior positions
need to be filled, and extra interest is inevitably extended to those who
are more actively involved in the running of the business."
Khedra skimmed through the pages of the brochure which Ana had returned
to the coffee-table. "No doubt you have noticed that a great deal of the
remuneration relies on your PAR. Naturally I'm in no position to guarantee
what your rating might be. I imagine you would be a Beta. Possibly a Beta
Plus. But this of course depends on an initial full body assessment,
subsequently supplemented by data collected from client satisfaction
questionnaires which customers of your services would be requested to
complete. However, assuming that you are a Beta, I think you'll agree that
the terms of pay, conditions of service, sickness benefit, holiday
entitlement and pension provision are really second to none."
Ana felt obliged to look at these details with more care. It was
displayed in a table, and showing a sliding scale of pay and benefits which
were really very good indeed for the Alpha Double Plus. Those for an
Epsilon Minus, however, were rather worse than her own at the moment - and
reflected that even the ratings of the highest ranked prostitutes dropped
with time. How long would it take to sink from a Beta to the depths of an
Epsilon Minus? While Ana was reading, Khedra pointed out additional
attractions, such as travel allowances, a company share scheme, a clothing
allowance and the quality of the accommodation provided. "For some of our
more valuable staff, we pay a substantial contribution towards the
maintenance and cost of their private premises on the understanding that it
is used at least occasionally towards the provision of services for the
wealthier and more fastidious client. There is no mystery, of course, in
how we can afford to be so generous towards our staff. Our services are in
very great demand and provide a sizeable contribution to the government's
revenue."
"Are there any problems if I decide not to take advantage of these
opportunities?" Ana wondered. She didn't like the way she felt Khedra was
pressuring her.
"Problems? Whatever do you mean?"
"If I don't work as a part-time prostitute will there be any negative
results?"
"The State Brothel does not, as an employer, discriminate in any way
against any employee who refuses or simply does not wish to actively
participate in its Customer Satisfaction Programme. You have my word that
should you decide not to enrol on this scheme, no one will think the worse
of you. But this is negative talk, Ana! You should rather consider the
positive aspect. By taking advantage of what the Brothel offers you: you
will be healthier, wealthier and it will greatly assist you in an
administrative or clerical career. We take a very positive view of staff
who have shown themselves willing - particularly those such as you with a
potential PAR as high as a Beta! Think not of Negative Discrimination of
which I hope we are never guilty. Think instead of the Positive
Discrimination that would instead be extended towards you for the rest of
your working life in the services of your employer."
8
There was one source of extra income available which Khedra mentioned
that Ana had no difficulty in contemplating, and that was to escort
prisoners on the privileged day release they had been deemed to have
earned. So it was that Ana found herself on Sunday morning escorting
Ferhana to the Cathedral of Blad, a privilege that had been readily granted
in recognition of her positive attitude and good behaviour. It seemed to
Ana a fairly pleasant way to earn extra pay at time and a quarter.
She met Ferhana in the foyer of the Brothel, where for all but the
administrative staff it was just a normal day. Ana was dressed in the same
clothes she'd worn for her interview, and scarcely recognised Ferhana in
the modest and demure clothes she was wearing. Her dress was made of dark
purple crush velvet and covered her from her neck, where it constrained her
throat, down to her ankle boots. She was waiting for Ana with the Brothel
Chaplain a small leather handbag clasped to her side.
Chadora, the chaplain, was a short woman of medium build who wore the
dark heavy clothes of her profession, her head covered by a modest cap and
a cross secured around her neck and dangling over her breast. Her duties
kept her very busy, Ana had heard, as so many prostitutes felt the need for
her spiritual advice and someone to listen to their confessions. She
smiled as Ana approached.
"You've come in good time," she laughed. "We've got enough time to walk
to the cathedral. It's a nice sunny day." She beckoned to Ferhana. "Come
along, dear. It must be quite a time since you last had a day outside the
brothel walls."
"It must be more than a month," Ferhana admitted. They strode out of
the foyer, which was very quiet this early in the morning. There was only
one milling around - clearly undecided as to whether to take advantage
of the Brothel's services - and the receptionists were laughing and
chatting over idle computer screens and Sunday morning papers. Ana always
enjoyed Sundays in the city of Blad. It was so much more peaceful with all
the shops closed and no commuters about. If the city were always like
this, she'd even have preferred it to Rif.
Ferhana paused and blinked as they left the main entrance, accustoming
herself to the greater expanse of space that welcomed them. The sky was
clear, and the office buildings opposite cast well-defined shadows.
"Have you ever been to the Cathedral, Ana dear?" Wondered Chadora.
"No, not at all! I've seen the photographs. It looks enormous!"
"It is indeed. The people of Blad have expressed their devotion in
great style and dignity. Let's see! The best way there is probably down
there." She indicated a broad avenue leading to the right. "Right! Let's
get going. We don't want to be late for the service."
The three walked along, with Ferhana unusually mute, presumably lost in
her own thoughts. Ana didn't want to interrupt her reverie, so she chatted
with Chadora. The chaplain was very interested in how Ana was fitting in
with brothel life. "It must be a very strange place to be working as a
secretary."
"No more so than as a chaplain, I'd have thought."
"Oh! Not at all! There's been a very long tradition of religious
devotion amongst those of what they call the oldest profession. It's not
for me to say why I believe that should be so, just as it isn't for me to
pass comment on the girls' chosen careers. There are undoubtedly stresses
and uncertainties that their kind of work brings them, and I hope that in
my capacity as their spiritual advisor I can bring a measure of comfort
into their lives."
"It's not a chosen career for all of us," commented Ferhana slightly
bitterly.
Ana looked at her companion, wondering if she could tell from her face
what her feelings were; but Ferhana's face had relaxed into a relaxed smile
hiding the thoughts that occupied her.
"Indeed not, Ferhana dear," agreed Chadora. "And it is a special duty
which I am proud to make available to those who have not exactly entered
the brothel by choice. In fact, Ana, I'd say that the majority of my time
is spent counselling prostitutes who are serving penal sentences."
"Do you ever see Binta?"
"Binta?" Wondered Chadora. "There are a couple of here with that
name. Which Binta do you mean?"
"She means her friend. The from Jebel. The she spends so
much time chatting with in the canteen and in her room."
Ana blushed. She hadn't thought that her friendship with Binta had
attracted so much attention. Was Ferhana expressing resentment at Ana's
friendship? If so, her face didn't express any sign of it. And anyway,
Ana reflected, why should Ferhana or anyone else mind that she was
developing such a close friendship? She had no friends in Blad other than
those she had made at the Brothel.
"Binta. Yes, I know. I've seen her. From a distance, that is. But
she's never come to see me for spiritual guidance. Unusual in a way,
because it is often serving time for sexual misdemeanours such as the
ones she's committed that are most solicitous of my time. Theirs is a
difficult sin for me to counsel - particularly as sections of the Church
are undecided about the nature of it. Some, and I won't claim to be one of
them, say that it isn't the rôle of either the church or state to give more
than advice on such behaviour."
"What do you say to when they see you?" Wondered Ana.
Chadora looked steadily at Ana, as if to assess her feelings. "I tell
them that the church's rôle in Alif is to urge compliance to the law and
that it is not for us to ever suggest that anyone should in any way diverge
from that proper observance. I tell them that they must repress any
criminal tendencies they may have, and if they find this difficult to seek
guidance in the message of Jesus Christ Our Saviour. I do not tell them
that their behaviour is wrong or sinful. That is for them to find in their
understanding of the Holy Scriptures."
"Just as you don't condemn me for drinking alcohol," laughed Ferhana.
"Well, you don't drink any these days, do you, Ferhana dear. Not that
you could even if you wanted to. But please don't misunderstand me. I
know that there is a difference between complying with the law from
compliance to its virtue and from fear of its penalties. I hope that all
the wards in my spiritual care learn to observe it willingly and not from
sufferance."
"Would you condemn Binta for being a lesbian?"
"Whatever your friend has done in the past is something for which she is
already punished. I can do no more than help her, if she came to me, in
facing up to her sentence in the brothel; and if she asked me for guidance
in mending her tendencies towards criminal sexual behaviour I would give
her all the assistance it is in my power to give. But less of that! Look
at the wonderful sight of the Cathedral."
Chadora indicated its massive bulk that lay ahead of them in a large
public square populated mostly by pigeons and the odd strolling individual.
A statue of President Marmeluke stood at its centre, striking a heroic
gesture towards the flying buttresses, spires and gargoyles of the
Cathedral. Ana had never in her life seen such a majestic building. The
towers had such grandeur, the stones composing it were so massive and the
dome at the top looked as if it could hold several of the churches she'd
been so much more familiar with.
"You may wonder why prostitutes and criminals alike find comfort from
religion," Chadora continued thoughtfully as they wandered across the
massive square. "There are two main reasons I feel. One is that Jesus
Christ has promised forgiveness for our sins, if we truly repent them. For
criminals such as Ferhana and your friend, Binta, the true forgiveness
offered to us by Our Saviour is undeniably of comfort. For other
prostitutes, whose work is hardly illegal, it is more difficult to explain
why they desire Jesus' forgiveness. However, just because something is
legal or even encouraged by the state does not necessarily make that thing
virtuous. There are many prostitutes who regard the practice of
prostitution as necessarily sinful despite the approval given it by our
government, and it is to salve their consciences that they look to Christ's
forgiveness.
"The other reason, I believe, is the comfort and succour that Christ
offers all believers in the promise of a better life in the hereafter. The
life of the prostitute can be a hard one. I know from my counselling that
it brings great distress and some pain to some of my wards. Their hope is
that their devotion to Jesus Christ will be rewarded in the afterlife and
that in this way their lives will not be merely ones of suffering, with the
constant anxiety of how their performance and appearance rating becomes
inevitably downgraded as they age. However, let us think now of the glory
of Jesus Christ and his love for us, as we enter this hallowed place."
Chadora led Ana and Ferhana through the wide and tall open doors into
the interior of the Cathedral, which impressed Ana more than the outside.
The ceiling was so high! It was a wonder it didn't collapse. But she
noted with relief the many columns and beams, and how very substantial they
were. The Cathedral was illuminated by beams of sunlight radiating through
stained glass windows high above, which cast a magical kaleidoscope of
colour at their feet. As if this light were not enough, thousands of
candles were lit all around them, including some on a massive candelabra
supported by a long cable to the very tip of the dome and dangling yards
above their heads. Chadora and Ferhana crossed themselves solemnly as they
walked down the wide aisle looking for available seats amongst the already
very full congregation. The echoing music of an organ came from
all directions. Its source was high above them where a small figure was
massaging the many pedals with his feet.
The service matched the cathedral in its grandeur and pomp. Every
aspect of the service outmatched those she was familiar with in Rif on the
occasions her had enticed her into a church. The raiments of the
minister were magnificent, decorated with gold and silver. The choir was
dressed in beautiful ornate white cloth and their voices echoed to the
hymns with a purity in intonation and quality in delivery she had
previously only heard on compact disc. The priest's voice resonated with
an authority and power that left Ana in total awe. This was so much more
impressive than the relatively amateur services in the Rif churches, which
relied so much on the voluntary services of the congregation.
Ferhana and Chadora prayed with a fervour and solemnity that made Ana's
own observance seem relatively insincere. She watched Ferhana's bowed head
as she devoutly murmured "Amen!", cross herself as she raised herself and
gazed with dignity at the priest who had raised his hands above his head.
Ana listened intently to the service which related to some text in the
Apocrypha she'd never heard of before, wondering at the trails of logic
that led the minister towards his message of devotion and love. Ferhana
nodded at critical moments to particular aspects of the sermon which she
found especially profound. If Ana hadn't known what Ferhana's life mostly
consisted of, she would never have suspected it of such an apparently
Christian woman.
After the service, Ferhana wandered towards the confessionals while the
rest of the congregation filed out, following the example of the priest and
his retinue of lesser ministers and choristers. Chadora crossed herself
and smiled at Ana.
"A good service, don't you think? Are they like this in your own town,
Ana dear?"
"Not as impressive, I'm afraid."
"I suppose not. But I suspect the devotion of the congregation in Rif
is more keenly felt than that in Blad."
"What do you mean?"
"I have observed that the church's doctrine is most well observed
outside the big city. I have always been very inspired by the devotion
expressed in the provinces, as if there were an inverse relationship
between the pomp and ceremony, and the meaning it has in people's lives.
Too many of this congregation will feel that they have now expiated any
need for devotion beyond that which they have already expressed, and will,
like Ferhana, return to their lives untroubled by any Christian concerns."
"I'm sure that's not totally true," Ana remarked uncertainly, "although
people in Rif do seem more devout than most of those I've met in Blad. I
can't believe that those who come here are so hypocritical."
"Well, not hypocritical as such. Just busy. But I confess I am rather
cynical. It may be because of my own experiences that I became a chaplain:
to become more wholly involved in the practice of my faith."
"What were you before?"
"I was a prostitute, I'm afraid."
"A prostitute?" Ana found it very difficult to believe. Chadora was
very much the opposite of what she believed a prostitute would ever be
like.
"I worked at the State Brothel in Blad. Not like Ferhana. Not as a
criminal who has been sentenced to it, but wholly from choice. I was
attracted by the money and the lifestyle. Like many prostitutes, however,
I became more interested in the church. It seemed to address so well those
parts of my soul which the trade of prostitution neglects. I felt that it
was demeaning me and that my motives were less from a desire to give
pleasure and more to earn a good living. So I handed in my stilettos and
stockings and took up the cloth instead. It's not a decision I regret, and
I am now ideally suited to serve the needs of my wards."
Ana was a little embarrassed by this confession. She wasn't at all sure
what response was appropriate. Chadora appreciated her uncomfortable
silence.
"I'm certainly not the first prostitute to have turned to the faith for
comfort and guidance. It is said that Lady Magdalene was herself a
prostitute before Jesus Christ brought her to see the light. He promised
forgiveness to those who sought salvation in His message, and many other
ex-prostitutes have become active in the church. Many, it must be said,
wait until age has sufficiently devalued their market value before they
make such a decision - but their choice is no less sincere for that."
"Do you think Ferhana will do the same?"
Chadora smiled ruefully. "Much as I would like to say she would, I
don't believe she wishes to express her devotion so completely. She is
also not one who believes that the practice of prostitution or indeed
alcohol smuggling is inconsistent with a devout faith."
When Ferhana returned from her confession, smiling cheerfully as if a
great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Chadora remarked that she
had some other business to attend to at the Cathedral and wouldn't be able
to return to the Brothel with them. "I'm sure, however, that Ferhana can
be trusted to stay with you." She squeezed Ana's hand affectionately. "I
hope to see you again in the Brothel. Perhaps in a spiritual capacity if
you ever need it."
Ferhana and Ana left through the doors of the Cathedral. She
was hushed by the deadening immensity of the consecrated ground, now
echoing only with the occasional conversation of the visitors. "When
Chadora has said that I can be trusted to stay with you," Ferhana remarked,
"she has said that knowing that I am black and in the city of Blad, a black
girl can not easily hide for long. But before we return, shall we sit
outside the Cathedral? I enjoy so much the freedom of the open air. It is
so much better than in the Brothel."
The two sat on a bench at the edge of the square, Ferhana with her
small handbag placed delicately on her lap and an enthusiastic smile on her
dark face. "I hope you are liking your work at the Brothel, Ana?"
"I'm getting used to it. And I'm making friends there."
"I hope you will think that I may be a friend of yours. I am glad you
have made such good friends with Binta. She is so lonely, I think. She
hates the work and she so needs the comfort of friends who are not also
prostitutes. I'm sure it makes her life seem so much better."
"Do you hate working at the Brothel as much as Binta?"
"I hate it. That is true. But I hate it less than Binta. She hates it
not only because the work is so bad. She hates it also because she does
not like to make love with men. I am better than her at thinking it as
just a job. Not a job that pays well, or at all, but a job for all that.
For that I am treated very well by the director and his close associates.
Binta will never even pretend to like the job - and for that she will never
improve her PAR. But Binta is like me. She is at the Brothel because she
has broken the law. Not because she has chosen to work there."
"You were sentenced for alcohol smuggling, weren't you?"
"Yes, that is true. I have made much money importing spirits and wine
from my home country into Alif. In Haj alcohol is freely available and
here it is not. It was such a simple matter to bring alcohol in, and so
many people wish to pay much money for it. For a while I was rich and I
have met many interesting people. Many of these people are the same people
who condemn me now. But when I was free to sell them whisky, gin or vodka,
they were very friendly. Often they have encouraged me. 'Bring some rum'
they would say. 'I want a litre of best whiskey.' 'I want two litres of
gin.' Now, if they see me they will look away. When I was rich, I lived in
a very nice flat in Blad. I had many friends who would visit me. I could
afford many expensive things. But soon I was discovered. The police
arrested me and they sentenced me to the Brothel. I had friends who had
worked as prostitutes and I thought it may not be so bad. But I still hate
it. I hate the customers and I hate the way I have to dress and have to be
nice to them."
Ferhana looked up at the Cathedral ahead of them where a party of
children in smart clothes was being escorted by a matronly woman and where
pigeons rose in a sudden flurry of wings to avoid them. They circled
around and then descended back to almost exactly the point from which they
had taken off.
"I did not go to church when I was dealing alcohol. I believed, of
course. All my in Haj are very religious. And I do not believe
that my trade was at all contrary to my faith. Now I am in the Brothel,
however, I find the church a great comfort. It is like finding a friend
whom I have not spoken to for a very long time. Whatever I do now, however
horrid the clients may be, I know that God watches over me and that He
cares for me."
"Do you regret selling alcohol?"
"I regret being discovered. I had such a very good life. Especially
compared to the poverty in Haj where although we can drink as much alcohol
as we like life is much worse than here. There is great poverty. Most
people live only from the riches of the land. It is no wonder that there
is such a dedicated following of Jesus Christ there. His message of Love
and Forgiveness in this life and forever after is very appealing. It is
strange though that in Haj where so few can afford it there is so much
alcohol, and here where everyone can afford it there is none. It is a
strange world."
"Are there many countries where alcohol's legal?" wondered Ana, who
craved to know more of what it was actually like. All she knew was from
films where alcohol drinkers were shown to be a very villainous lot who
after only a little resorted to either violent behaviour or lethargic
idiocy. She knew it came in strange shaped bottles and was the same colour
as urine, but since the films she saw were only those permitted in Alif she
didn't know how closely they resembled reality.
"There aren't that many countries where it's actually illegal. There
are a few where it's actively discouraged, but no one ever gets sent to
jail - or a brothel - for selling it, let alone for drinking it. But I
don't know why your President Marmeluke is so keen that it remains illegal
here. I do know that many people quite closely associated with his
government are illicit consumers, not that I could ever prove it."
"And now you are in the Brothel for your crimes..."
"Yes. I wish I were elsewhere. But not in one of your country's
horrible jails. Many people have told me about them. I am at least
forewarned when my body is to be violated, and there is a freedom that I
would cherish greatly if I were chained in a cell all day. Binta may
complain - as I know she does - of how horrid her life is. In a prison it
is much worse, although in a woman's jail she would at least meet many
other lesbians."
9
After a few minutes, Ana and her ward stood up and strolled along the
calm city streets in the direction Ferhana assured led back to the Brothel.
More of the city was awaking, but it still had a very sleepy atmosphere. A
few cafes had opened with tables outside sheltering customers under
parasols from the harsh midday sun. Many seemed very and several had
newspapers on the table piled in front of them. As they passed by one
cafe, Ferhana suddenly exclaimed: "Well, look who is here!"
"Who?" Ana wondered following the long purple arm pointing towards a
table at the Cafe des Jeunes, where a teenage in a black leather jacket
and jeans was sitting alone smoking a cigarette and idly watching people go
by. At least, she thought it was a - perhaps an boyfriend of
Ferhana's from her earlier life - but she became aware that it was in fact
Zabba, who had seemingly not yet bothered to start reading the newspaper in
front of her.
"Why, hi there!" Zabba greeted them as they strode towards her. "Have
you finished your sentence already?"
"Not at all," the black replied. "I've just been given leave to go
to the cathedral, looked after by Ana here. We were just on our route back
to the Brothel."
"Well, I'm sure you don't have to hurry. Come on sit down. I'll buy
you some coffee."
Before Ana had the opportunity to decide whether this was what she
really wanted to do, Ferhana was sitting on a chair next to Zabba, so she
joined them.
Zabba held up three fingers to the waiter, and shouted out "More
cappuccino, Jason. You like cappuccino, don't you Ana?" She nodded though
she mostly only drank instant coffee or tea. Zabba smiled as the waiter
hastened away. "Doing a bit of overtime? You are keen! I hope Ferhana's
been behaving herself?"
"She's been very well behaved."
"Like a saint!" added Ferhana good-humouredly.
"Well, you would be if you've been to church. Me, I've got no time for
religion, but I guess if I were a prisoner like Ferhana here I'd take any
opportunity there was to get away from the Brothel. It must be awful being
stuck there all day." She drew on her cigarette, saw that she was very
nearly inhaling on the filter and stubbed it out. Ana noticed that the
cigarette packet was for an expensive imported brand sporting a health
warning which was never printed on Alif cigarette packets. "In fact, I'd
just hate to be like Ferhana or your friend, Binta. All that hard work and
nothing to show for it! Mind you I'd never dream of doing it unless I got
paid pretty damned well for it. Much better than you, Ana. I'm sometimes
hard pushed to spend all of it."
"You do not have to make me feel bad," commented Ferhana.
"Well, it's not as if you'd not made a fair bit yourself when you were
dealing in alcohol. I've met some of your friends and they told me how
well you were doing. It might not have been legit, but you didn't pay
taxes and you were at least as well off then as I am now!"
"That was in the past, Zabba. When you were still at school, studying
for exams and playing games in the school playground."
"Less of the studying and more of the playing games I'm afraid, Ferhana
dear. I was a really dreadful schoolgirl you know. If I'd been better at
school maybe I'd never have been so keen on taking up this trade. But then
lots of the other and who studied ever so hard, and might even
be going onto university: they're never going to be earning nearly as much
as me. So who's the mug?"
"Did you take up prostitution because you weren't a good student?"
Speculated Ana.
"Well...! That was one reason. But actually I didn't think about it
until I was faced with the choice of staying on at school or being
unemployed. Both options seemed rather awful. Some of my friends are
unemployed and living with their parents, and all they ever do is argue
with them all the time. And there's no money at all in unemployment. Then
I saw the brochures for the Brothel in the school careers' library. They
weren't exactly prominently displayed. No one could claim that my school
encouraged me. Although it's perfectly legal, it's still treated like a
dark secret. But of course everyone - especially the boys! - liked to
read the Brothel literature. And I suppose the school was obliged to
supply the stuff. I thought it was a real joke: all the business about PAR
and pensions and opportunities for work abroad. Join a Brothel and feel a
man, as the joke goes! But I didn't know what to do, so I went along to
the recruitment office at the Brothel..."
"Recruitment office?"
"Of course! Haven't you seen it, Ana? It's not by the Brothel's
entrance. That's for the clients. It's round the back. Sometimes
Khedra's there, but usually there are just prostitutes doing a bit of
overtime. When I went there, the woman who chatted to me was only a Gamma,
and I bet she doesn't earn much! But she got really enthusiastic about
working in the Brothel. Well, I suppose she had to be. She probably gets
some kind of commission for the she successfully recruits. She made
it sound really good: swimming pool, garden, paid holidays, bonuses and
good pay. I thought if a like her can get so much out of it: what
would I get? But what really made me go into the profession was when she
provisionally estimated that my rating would be at least a Beta Plus or an
Alpha Minus. I saw what rates those grades got, and it just looked like an
absolute fortune to me. And of course I've actually been rated as an
Alpha. I asked her: how can a like me with no figure and no get such a high rating? Was the Brothel that short of talent? Well, she
told me, if I cut my hair and dressed right then the sky would be the
limit! And as they say, the rest is history."
"It must be very strange to dress and look like a all the time.
What can your customers be thinking?"
"Don't be so naïve, Ana!" laughed Zabba, lighting another cigarette as
the waiter returned with three milky coffees on a tray and placed them
decorously on the table. "Thanks Jason! ... No. That's exactly what they
want. The more like a I am the happier they are. Their biggest
disappointment is that I'm not one for real, but why should I care what
they think."
"But what about other people? Those who aren't customers?"
"It doesn't bother me what they think either! But actually, - and I'm
sure I shouldn't be saying this, but I know you're great chums with Binta,
- I actually rather like it. often think I'm a and it makes it
much easier for me to get on with them initially..."
Ana felt an uncomfortable bounce in her chest. Ferhana sipped on her
coffee and made no comment, while Zabba drew on her cigarette. "You don't
mind thinking that?"
"Of course not! In fact, Ana, I have a lot more in common with your
friend Binta than you seem to realise. The only difference is that she's
been caught and I haven't."
"Do you mean that you're a ... you're someone who ... that you ...?"
Ferhana put down her coffee and smiled reassuringly at Ana. "It's not
that uncommon you know, Ana," she remarked. "Zabba's just someone who's
interested in women as well as men."
"Does that make you, like Binta, someone who is, as they say...?"
Zabba put a hand on Ana's wrist. "Don't say it out loud. Someone might
hear you. But of course I am. I'm just not exclusive like Binta. There's
nothing wrong with it, whatever President Marmeluke and his prudish
government might say. It doesn't get you pregnant. It doesn't spread
diseases. And I'm a lot more choosy in the women in my life than I can
ever be with the men. Don't act so shocked. If Binta does it, why
shouldn't I?"
Ana smiled weakly. She was being revealed to attitudes she couldn't
comprehend. A world where women loved women and preferred making love
to boys. And how could someone as lovely as Binta really be anyone
remotely like the crude and disturbingly androgynous Zabba.
"So, Ana, are you enjoying life at the Brothel?" Zabba asked. "Is it
the sort of place you always wanted to work at?"
Ana shook her head. "I thought I'd be working in a more conventional
office."
"I bet you did! But it's definitely an eye-opener for you, I'm sure.
Prostitutes, pimps and sex. You don't get that in most offices. It's more
like a factory than an office block if you ask me. like me are on a
conveyer belt of sexual diversion. We're nothing more than live meat as
far as the punters are concerned, with clothes to stimulate the punters'
rather poor imaginations and holes to be filled. Or do you have a more
positive image, Ana dear?"
Zabba's views were curiously disloyal for someone who had chosen
prostitution as a career. "Don't you like working at the Brothel?"
Zabba laughed - slightly cruelly, Ana thought. "Of course I don't. Do
you think I would ever voluntarily put myself through all that groping and
mauling for fun? It's just a job for me! I take it you're not a great fan
of prostitution yourself?"
"Not really. But I don't really have much do with what happens in the
Brothel."
"I suppose we're just so much data on your databases. Each of us with
our individual serial numbers and a set of attributes like our PAR and
years of service. We might as well be tins of baked beans or factory
tools." Zabba laughed. "I can never forget my serial number. I have to
key it in every time I enter or leave the building. I can see why I have
to enter it when I leave. It's so that people like Ferhana here and your
nudist friend don't just saunter out of the building. I don't really
understand why I have to enter it when I go in. Who's going to try
sneaking into the Brothel if they don't have to? Unless they're paying
customers of course. And what about your boss?"
"You mean the Director?"
"The Pimple we call him. Fairly obvious of course - he is the Big Pimp
in the Brothel and he looks like some kind of obnoxious pimple. Do you get
on with him?"
"He seems all right," Ana commented unconvincingly.
"Me, I hate him! You don't like him either do you, Ferhana?"
Ferhana smiled softly. "I'd rather not say what I think about him."
"Too unladylike for you, I suppose! I think he's absolutely disgusting.
He smells like a fag end, dresses like the big villain in an amateur
pantomime and he keeps pawing my bum. I'm quite fortunate his tastes don't
really stray very far from the conventional. If there's anyone at the
Brothel I'd like to see come to a sorry end, it's the Pimple, preferably by
a particularly revolting species of venereal disease. Don't you think he's
pretty revolting, Ana?"
Ana didn't want to express a too negative opinion about someone she had
to work with every day, but she did get very tired of his habit of touching
her on the shoulders and around the bottom. His humour was rather
tasteless and unsympathetic. "I wish his hands wouldn't wander so much.
And he does smoke an awful lot!"
"Well, I can't be too sanctimonious about that!" admitted Zabba,
stubbing out her cigarette. "I guess you don't like smoking very much!
But there are a lot worse things about the Pimple than his taste in
tobacco. I don't like the way he samples almost all the prostitutes in the
place. There can't be very many who've not endured his revolting
intimacies..."
"Does that include Binta?" wondered Ana, blanching at the thought.
"You really are very concerned about your friend's welfare, aren't you?
Well, I can't speak for Binta. You'll have to ask her yourself if you want
to know if the Pimple's shoved his filthy warty body against hers. But
most have got to find out about his little habits before they leave
the Brothel. What do you think, Ferhana?"
"I do not wish to comment," Ferhana remarked, looking remarkably
uncomfortable.
"The Pimple's attentions don't stop with a bit of rumpy pumpy. He's
been known to upgrade by nearly an entire category as a reward for
services freely and frequently offered. If you ever see a Beta who you
think ought to be a Gamma or an Alpha who really doesn't have the physical
appearance of her grade, you can be pretty sure it's because they're one of
the Pimple's harem of willing helpers."
"I thought the criteria of assessment were really very stringent."
"And so they are, Ana, if you don't cooperate. Look at your friend
Binta. Only a Beta. Not even a Beta Plus. There's enough subjectivity in
the PAR system for a little bit of fiddling, and I don't think Khedra's
that fastidious about keeping standards that rigid. After all, she didn't
get where she is by merit alone."
"She does work very hard," Ferhana defended, annoyed at the turn of
conversation.
"I'm sure she works very hard at everything she does! She's an
ambitious woman. She's almost certainly got her eye on the Director's job
for herself. All it takes is for the Pimple to overreach himself or to
offend one of the President's representatives and it'll be Khedra who'll be
running the show. She'd be a lot better than the Pimple. She wouldn't
treat the weaker and more vulnerable so unscrupulously. She wouldn't
practise the filthy things the Pimple gets up to. And when I say filthy,
Ana, I mean filthy! The smell is apparently dreadful! And some of the
girls he's entertained look like they've been in a fight rather than
offering their services voluntarily and for no extra pay. If a client
treated them like the Pimple does, he'd never be allowed back in through
the Brothel doors again. Or at least for a long time. Have you ever heard
of the Client Black List and the compensation terms for loss of earnings
that the Brothel operates? It's one thing for the punters and another
thing for the Brothel's own Director!"
"I think you are making poor Ana think the Brothel is horrid place to
work!" Ferhana stated a little abruptly. "She has to work with the
Director. You do not even have to see him very much! She has to see him
every day. Ana does not work in the Brothel as we do. She is a secretary.
Her work is very much different."
"Like it was with Inta, I suppose!" sniffed Zabba.
"Inta is another girl. For Ana it is for her like it is to work in any
office. She does not have to know about prostitution any more than a
secretary in a travel agent has to know about travel. Or a secretary in a
power plant has to be a scientist. The Brothel has very nice offices, a
good view over the city, a swimming pool and a subsidised canteen. The
Director may not be the most nice in the world, but he is only bad with
some of the prostitutes, not with all the staff."
"So, you're defending the Brothel now, Ferhana!" sneered Zabba. "You
really are striving for time off for good behaviour. Next you'll be saying
the Pimple's quite a good chap really and that the he treats so badly
just deserve what they get."
"That is not true, Zabba! I am saying only that Ana does not have to
work in the Brothel and be unhappy. I am saying that she does not have to
think about what the Director does or what you and I do with the clients.
What I think about the Director and my work as a prostitute is not the
issue!"
"I guess you'd rather not discuss such things," mused Zabba. She pulled
another cigarette out of the packet and thoughtfully lit it. "Well,
perhaps you'd rather talk about your home, in Haj. Are there any brothels
there?"
Ferhana smiled. "They're not like our Brothel at all. They are very
small and they are privately owned. The government of Haj does not like
prostitution, but it is not illegal. The government does not like very
much things that are not illegal. There is much alcohol and homosexuality
is allowed. But the government does not say that they are good. Or that
they are bad. And we may be very poor in Haj but we can say what we like
about the government. And the government does not like it very much when
people say bad things about it. But they do not stop people. And they do
not stop the newspapers saying bad things either. Not like in Alif, where
what the President does not like, the people must not do. But people are
poor. They want money and do not care for having freedom."
"Well, you can't have everything!" commented Zabba. She looked at her
companions' empty cups. "Do you fancy another coffee? I'll pay of
course!"
Ferhana looked at Ana who was conscious that she was to be only for the
time she spent taking Ferhana to the Cathedral. She didn't want to shorten
Ferhana's precious moments of freedom, although her ward was more
considerate. "Although I like very much to talk with you, Zabba, Ana must
take me back to the Brothel. Or they will think I have escaped."
"Well! Hurry back then!" sniffed Zabba, pointedly picking up her
newspaper. Ferhana and Ana stood up, and bid her farewell. Zabba kissed
Ferhana tenderly on the lips and Ana on the cheeks. "It's been nice
speaking to you. Don't be a stranger."
"No," whispered Ana uncertainly. She and Ferhana continued along the
main road, sheltering from the harsh sunlight in the shortening shadows.
Ferhana was quite muted, leaving Ana to her own troubled thoughts. She
felt on the edge of a great change in her life. Elements were fitting into
place, but she couldn't quite see where they would fit, although somehow
Binta was central.
They were soon back at the Brothel, and Ana sat on a sofa in the foyer,
keeping a good distance from clients who gathered in somewhat larger
numbers than earlier that day. An aggressive security guard, a machine gun
slung rakishly over his shoulder, emptied Ferhana's handbag onto the
counter and scrutinised the contents with considerable detail. As soon as
Ferhana was through the staff entrance her body would be strip searched and
probably no less roughly. Brothel policy was extremely strict on the
possible import of any illegal substances that could be brought in by
prostitutes on penal service. A policy which in no way inhibited the free
movement of such illegal substances that may be in the possession of the
majority of prostitutes. Ana wasn't sure what to do with the rest of the
day. Perhaps she would visit Binta. She knew her friend wasn't scheduled
to be working that afternoon.
10
Ana was seeing a great deal of Binta these days. On those days when her
friend was not herself working late, she rarely returned home directly
after work. She would wander along to Binta's room and the two would
chat together or go swimming in the Brothel pool. On some evenings, they
would meet in the roof garden: high above the city and the only part of the
Brothel open to the sky. Like many others, Binta had a small plot in the
garden she could tend when she could. It was a very small plot that grew
only a few flowers and herbs, but Binta had taken the option of working
there, precisely for the freedom of an empty sky above her head. Ana
enjoyed these visits which, because of Binta's chosen dress, were only
possible on dry warm evenings. She enjoyed standing by as Binta knelt down
on the ground: her trowel deep in the earth and mud on her knees.
Ana wasn't at all sure why she felt the need to see Binta so often. The
most obvious reason, and the one she preferred to believe, was that Ana had
very few friends in Blad and Binta was the closest of them. She could
speak freely about all that she missed from Rif and her life there. She
could ramble on about her flat in Jadid and her neighbours: the couple who
argued quite loudly; the on the floor below who tried engaging
her in conversation when they passed on the stairs; the woman who would
open her door slightly and watch her as she passed by. Binta often
prompted her to continue if she lost the thread of her thoughts. Ana felt
empty on those evenings when Binta was working. Time seemed to drag and
she was unable to concentrate. Weekends were even worse. She often had to
think of excuses to come to the Brothel, as she had when she escorted
Ferhana to the cathedral, for the occasion of spending time with Binta.
"I never enjoyed gardening in Jebel," admitted Binta. "Indeed, I never
did any at all. I couldn't tell geraniums from hyacinths. I would have
hated getting any of this muck on my fingers. Look at it all!" She splayed
her fingers to display the earth that discoloured them. "But, now, I just
couldn't imagine a day not spent tending this little garden. I've read all
the books in the Brothel library on gardening and I know far more than I
used to do. Some here have much better plots than me. That Delta
with the jacaranda over there: I don't know how she does it! Her plot
always looks immaculate. And she manages to make it look good all year
round. Most of the time, there are either things waiting to sprout or
flowers which have just died. There's a real art to it!"
Ana smiled appreciatively. She thought Binta's plot was quite
delightful enough. She followed Binta's gesture to all the other plots
that lined the narrow paths around the roof garden. Other were
working at their plots, but they were mostly Deltas and Epsilons who were
also serving time, and wore nearly as little as Binta as they didn't wish
to dirty the satin, silk or leather of their working clothes. Prostitutes
were not offered the sort of clothes which would normally be appropriate
for working on a garden.
"What do you enjoy most about it?" Ana asked, standing against a small
tree in the evening sun, her arms folded and a hand stroking her chin.
"The open air more than anything else. It's so oppressive being indoors
in the Brothel all day. A country like me just can't take so much
neon and claustrophobia. There mightn't be a lot more space, but there's a
lot of air. You can't see much more of the world up here. No more than I
can see through the window in my room anyway. But it's nice to know that
there's nothing but sky above my head. It's a kind of freedom. But it's
more than that! I like getting my hands deep into the soft unresisting
earth. I like to help things grow. I love watching the first leaves of a
bulb sprout from the earth, and then bit by bit watch the flowers open. I
like to take my secateurs to the roses and prune them. It's so restful.
You just don't notice the hours go by. I can forget the misery of the
Brothel and just concentrate my thoughts on what to do with this plant or
that plant. Where to put what seed. What needs to be trimmed. I wouldn't
mind growing vegetables here. Carrots or cabbages. But there's nowhere to
cook them. And anyway the Brothel only supplies us with a limited variety
of decorative garden plants. You can order other plants, but whatever you
order just doesn't seem to be available this month or any other month for
that matter. What do you think, Ana?"
"I don't know. I like looking at all these flowers and I love watching
the way the garden changes, but I just don't know whether I'd be so keen
even if I were in your position."
"But you seem to enjoy coming up here and watching me work."
"That's because you enjoy it," Ana remarked. She instantly felt
embarrassed. What was she trying to say?
"What do you mean, Ana?" asked Binta standing up and turning her naked
body towards her. "You only come here because I come here?"
"Well, no. I mean, yes. I mean, it's just because ... you know ...
it's nice to watch you at work and enjoying yourself at work that ..."
"You like watching me enjoy myself?"
"Not so much watching you..." rambled Ana, her ears burning with
embarrassment, not at all sure what she was trying to say. "It's just nice
chatting to you while you're happy and not ... when you're sort of your
own person and not being ... I just think it's nice that ..."
Binta leaned over and tenderly kissed Ana on the cheek. "I enjoy your
company. I don't care why you want to spend time with me. It's just nice
to be together."
"You think so?" Ana felt the heat from her ears spread across her cheeks
and forehead. What was causing her so much embarrassment?
Binta looked at the earth-pasted hands with an amused smile. "How did
they get this muck onto the roof? Anyway, I must wash it off." She picked
up her trowel, fork and a small bucket. "Let's go to the taps."
These were lined against the wall just by a series of shrub-like trees
in wooden tubs and a small greenhouse where an indistinct figure was
busying herself with some tomatoes. Binta carefully packed her tools in a
small locker, its green metal rusted a tinge, locked the door and hid
the key in a small pot just above her locker. Ana stood back as she rubbed
her hands under the sparkling water of the tap as it gushed out, splashed
over her wrists and fingers, and then spiralled down the small grate at her
feet which were also getting washed. "It's unbelievably cold!" She
exclaimed, shaking the droplets off onto the wall's peeling paint. "My
fingers are so numb! Feel them!"
She proffered them to Ana, who had to admit that they were very cold.
She dropped them promptly while Binta agitatedly shook her hands. "So,
what do you think about working here, Ana? Are you enjoying it any more?"
"It's a job. It has its good days and its bad days," Ana answered. She
never really thought that much about it. She didn't enjoy the director's
company, but fortunately he was more often than not busy elsewhere and she
didn't have to suffer his facetious comments too often. "It's not as bad
as your job. I'd hate to do what you have to do." The thought always
filled Ana with disgust. It perturbed her more than she thought possible.
The image of Binta being subjected to the physical attentions of her
clients was one she preferred to blank out of her mind.
"Some of the clients today were particularly nasty," Binta mused. "One
man just wouldn't stop squeezing my wrist. I told him to stop and he just
wouldn't. I think he liked causing me pain. Another one just wouldn't
accept my refusal (which I'm wholly entitled to insist on) when I said I
didn't want to do what he wanted me to do. I told him it was painful and,
in any case, illegal. But that didn't stop him going on and on. And
offering me quite a lot of money for it. Money I can't even spend at the
Brothel anyway. I hate my job. And the worst of it is how it changes the
way you regard lovemaking..."
"What do you mean?" wondered Ana, leaning against a table loaded with
potted plants. "How has it done that?"
"It just doesn't seem to have anything to do with love any more. The
other words you use for it - the Anglo-Saxon ones - they seem much more
appropriate than words like 'making love'. It's got nothing about it that
I would call 'love'. Not the love I enjoyed with Mezyana. Not the passion
and satisfaction I used to get. Now, it's just on your back, legs up in
the air, a disgusting smell of body odour and a kind of distant far away
sensation from where you're supposed to feel sensation the most acutely.
It's just perverse and horrible!" Binta leaned against the table next to
Ana, and absent-mindedly took Ana's hand in one of her own and looked down
at it. "It's dehumanising! I'm nothing more than a sex toy. I have a
vacant to be filled and the clients just want to fill it. That's all
it is! That's all they do! I prefer it when I can satisfy their lust
without them putting their repulsive thing inside me..."
Ana gazed into Binta's eyes. "How do you do that?" she asked with a
slight choke.
"With my hands. With my mouth. With my breasts. With anything I can.
And then they release their smelly viscous muck and I know I'm safe. The
trick is to do it quickly, but not so quickly that they feel that they want
to have a second go. And I look at them. Those bristly greasy faces.
Those pale hairy chests. The flabby mass of stomach in folds at the front.
The skinny legs with the angular knees and so much hair. Those piggy
little eyes. And that loathsome look of lust that they all have when they
come in my room and look at me. And the things they say. 'Just like my
daughter, you are!' One said. 'And she's a slut too!' That was so horrid
and unnecessary. So dreadful..." Binta sighed, and her eyes moistened with
tears she'd never seen before. She put an arm round her shoulders to
comfort her, and Binta squeezed up towards her, face against her cheek and
an arm trailing over Ana's knee.
"And some of the others! The violent way they force their fingers in
places where I don't want them to touch me. The way they slobber and
trails of saliva drip out of their mouths and leave damp patches on the
sheets. The ugliest, unhealthiest, most diseased looking bodies you can
imagine. It's not just the ignominy of being a sex machine, it's what you
have to endure. It's repulsive! Obnoxious! Nothing I ever did with
Mezyana is like what I have to suffer from these men. God! I hate them! I
hate them!"
Ana squeezed Binta's shoulder comfortingly. "They're not here now!
We're in the garden. Your clients are far away."
Binta turned round and with a sudden impulse wrapped her naked shoulders
around Ana's own. "You don't understand. While I'm in the Brothel, I
can't escape them at all. The clients are here all the time. All the time
I'm surrounded by prostitutes and the Brothel, I can't forget them.
They're in the shadows of the corridors, behind the doors with lights,
in the creases of all the satin, silk and leather that's worn here. I hate
it! I hate it so much!" Her chin rested on Ana's shoulder and her body
pressed against her breast. Ana patted Binta's back with one arm while
supporting her with the other. The note of Ana's breathing became a
distinct sob.
"There there!" She said periodically and soothingly, but nonetheless
feeling unsettled by the sensation of a naked woman pressed so close to
her. She and Binta had never been as physically intimate before. She gazed
into Binta's tear-soaked eyes. A sudden rush of emotion and pity
overwhelmed her, and without any thought she leaned over and kissed Binta
tenderly on the lips. It was meant to be a brief and comradely kiss, but
she was taken totally unawares by the intensity of Binta's response. In a
sudden wild rush of sensation, she was aware that Binta had manoeuvred her
kiss to a longer and more passionate one in which there was the unfamiliar
(and yet not unwelcome) sensation of another tongue in her mouth. Ana felt
obliged to follow suit. Binta's mouth was a very liquid and a very warm
place which tasted of so many different things: sweet, salt and even
bitter. She felt the hardness of Binta's teeth: the uneven row of incisors
and the crowns of the molars where, yes! she identified the metallic taste
of a filling. Her tongue ached as it revolved around Binta's own tongue,
slid along the gums above and below the teeth, and deep breaths through her
nostrils picked up the slight soapiness of Binta's well- scrubbed flesh.
All of a sudden Binta eased off and steadily gazed at her, with a toothy
bright smile. There was something very strange about her expression. The
eyes sparkled in a way she had never seen in anyone before and her mouth
expressed an unutterably beautiful foolishness. Ana just wanted her lips
to return to Binta's and feel more closely her smooth warm flesh. Binta
understood Ana's thoughts, despite reservations that had vanished in the
heady mist of passion.
"I think we should go to my bedroom," Binta said breathlessly, raising
her eyebrows with a reluctant frown. "We can be sure of our privacy
there."
Ana panicked slightly. She glanced around her. Thankfully there was no
one who could have seen her with Binta. She looked back at her good
friend. She smiled in a sad but determined way. "Yes, let's go! But
hurry!"
10
Ana was seeing a great deal of Binta these days. On those days when her
friend was not herself working late, she rarely returned home directly
after work. She would wander along to Binta's room and the two would
chat together or go swimming in the Brothel pool. On some evenings, they
would meet in the roof garden: high above the city and the only part of the
Brothel open to the sky. Like many others, Binta had a small plot in the
garden she could tend when she could. It was a very small plot that grew
only a few flowers and herbs, but Binta had taken the option of working
there, precisely for the freedom of an empty sky above her head. Ana
enjoyed these visits which, because of Binta's chosen dress, were only
possible on dry warm evenings. She enjoyed standing by as Binta knelt down
on the ground: her trowel deep in the earth and mud on her knees.
Ana wasn't at all sure why she felt the need to see Binta so often. The
most obvious reason, and the one she preferred to believe, was that Ana had
very few friends in Blad and Binta was the closest of them. She could
speak freely about all that she missed from Rif and her life there. She
could ramble on about her flat in Jadid and her neighbours: the couple who
argued quite loudly; the on the floor below who tried engaging
her in conversation when they passed on the stairs; the woman who would
open her door slightly and watch her as she passed by. Binta often
prompted her to continue if she lost the thread of her thoughts. Ana felt
empty on those evenings when Binta was working. Time seemed to drag and
she was unable to concentrate. Weekends were even worse. She often had to
think of excuses to come to the Brothel, as she had when she escorted
Ferhana to the cathedral, for the occasion of spending time with Binta.
"I never enjoyed gardening in Jebel," admitted Binta. "Indeed, I never
did any at all. I couldn't tell geraniums from hyacinths. I would have
hated getting any of this muck on my fingers. Look at it all!" She splayed
her fingers to display the earth that discoloured them. "But, now, I just
couldn't imagine a day not spent tending this little garden. I've read all
the books in the Brothel library on gardening and I know far more than I
used to do. Some here have much better plots than me. That Delta
with the jacaranda over there: I don't know how she does it! Her plot
always looks immaculate. And she manages to make it look good all year
round. Most of the time, there are either things waiting to sprout or
flowers which have just died. There's a real art to it!"
Ana smiled appreciatively. She thought Binta's plot was quite
delightful enough. She followed Binta's gesture to all the other plots
that lined the narrow paths around the roof garden. Other were
working at their plots, but they were mostly Deltas and Epsilons who were
also serving time, and wore nearly as little as Binta as they didn't wish
to dirty the satin, silk or leather of their working clothes. Prostitutes
were not offered the sort of clothes which would normally be appropriate
for working on a garden.
"What do you enjoy most about it?" Ana asked, standing against a small
tree in the evening sun, her arms folded and a hand stroking her chin.
"The open air more than anything else. It's so oppressive being indoors
in the Brothel all day. A country like me just can't take so much
neon and claustrophobia. There mightn't be a lot more space, but there's a
lot of air. You can't see much more of the world up here. No more than I
can see through the window in my room anyway. But it's nice to know that
there's nothing but sky above my head. It's a kind of freedom. But it's
more than that! I like getting my hands deep into the soft unresisting
earth. I like to help things grow. I love watching the first leaves of a
bulb sprout from the earth, and then bit by bit watch the flowers open. I
like to take my secateurs to the roses and prune them. It's so restful.
You just don't notice the hours go by. I can forget the misery of the
Brothel and just concentrate my thoughts on what to do with this plant or
that plant. Where to put what seed. What needs to be trimmed. I wouldn't
mind growing vegetables here. Carrots or cabbages. But there's nowhere to
cook them. And anyway the Brothel only supplies us with a limited variety
of decorative garden plants. You can order other plants, but whatever you
order just doesn't seem to be available this month or any other month for
that matter. What do you think, Ana?"
"I don't know. I like looking at all these flowers and I love watching
the way the garden changes, but I just don't know whether I'd be so keen
even if I were in your position."
"But you seem to enjoy coming up here and watching me work."
"That's because you enjoy it," Ana remarked. She instantly felt
embarrassed. What was she trying to say?
"What do you mean, Ana?" asked Binta standing up and turning her naked
body towards her. "You only come here because I come here?"
"Well, no. I mean, yes. I mean, it's just because ... you know ...
it's nice to watch you at work and enjoying yourself at work that ..."
"You like watching me enjoy myself?"
"Not so much watching you..." rambled Ana, her ears burning with
embarrassment, not at all sure what she was trying to say. "It's just nice
chatting to you while you're happy and not ... when you're sort of your
own person and not being ... I just think it's nice that ..."
Binta leaned over and tenderly kissed Ana on the cheek. "I enjoy your
company. I don't care why you want to spend time with me. It's just nice
to be together."
"You think so?" Ana felt the heat from her ears spread across her cheeks
and forehead. What was causing her so much embarrassment?
Binta looked at the earth-pasted hands with an amused smile. "How did
they get this muck onto the roof? Anyway, I must wash it off." She picked
up her trowel, fork and a small bucket. "Let's go to the taps."
These were lined against the wall just by a series of shrub-like trees
in wooden tubs and a small greenhouse where an indistinct figure was
busying herself with some tomatoes. Binta carefully packed her tools in a
small locker, its green metal rusted a tinge, locked the door and hid
the key in a small pot just above her locker. Ana stood back as she rubbed
her hands under the sparkling water of the tap as it gushed out, splashed
over her wrists and fingers, and then spiralled down the small grate at her
feet which were also getting washed. "It's unbelievably cold!" She
exclaimed, shaking the droplets off onto the wall's peeling paint. "My
fingers are so numb! Feel them!"
She proffered them to Ana, who had to admit that they were very cold.
She dropped them promptly while Binta agitatedly shook her hands. "So,
what do you think about working here, Ana? Are you enjoying it any more?"
"It's a job. It has its good days and its bad days," Ana answered. She
never really thought that much about it. She didn't enjoy the director's
company, but fortunately he was more often than not busy elsewhere and she
didn't have to suffer his facetious comments too often. "It's not as bad
as your job. I'd hate to do what you have to do." The thought always
filled Ana with disgust. It perturbed her more than she thought possible.
The image of Binta being subjected to the physical attentions of her
clients was one she preferred to blank out of her mind.
"Some of the clients today were particularly nasty," Binta mused. "One
man just wouldn't stop squeezing my wrist. I told him to stop and he just
wouldn't. I think he liked causing me pain. Another one just wouldn't
accept my refusal (which I'm wholly entitled to insist on) when I said I
didn't want to do what he wanted me to do. I told him it was painful and,
in any case, illegal. But that didn't stop him going on and on. And
offering me quite a lot of money for it. Money I can't even spend at the
Brothel anyway. I hate my job. And the worst of it is how it changes the
way you regard lovemaking..."
"What do you mean?" wondered Ana, leaning against a table loaded with
potted plants. "How has it done that?"
"It just doesn't seem to have anything to do with love any more. The
other words you use for it - the Anglo-Saxon ones - they seem much more
appropriate than words like 'making love'. It's got nothing about it that
I would call 'love'. Not the love I enjoyed with Mezyana. Not the passion
and satisfaction I used to get. Now, it's just on your back, legs up in
the air, a disgusting smell of body odour and a kind of distant far away
sensation from where you're supposed to feel sensation the most acutely.
It's just perverse and horrible!" Binta leaned against the table next to
Ana, and absent-mindedly took Ana's hand in one of her own and looked down
at it. "It's dehumanising! I'm nothing more than a sex toy. I have a
vacant to be filled and the clients just want to fill it. That's all
it is! That's all they do! I prefer it when I can satisfy their lust
without them putting their repulsive thing inside me..."
Ana gazed into Binta's eyes. "How do you do that?" she asked with a
slight choke.
"With my hands. With my mouth. With my breasts. With anything I can.
And then they release their smelly viscous muck and I know I'm safe. The
trick is to do it quickly, but not so quickly that they feel that they want
to have a second go. And I look at them. Those bristly greasy faces.
Those pale hairy chests. The flabby mass of stomach in folds at the front.
The skinny legs with the angular knees and so much hair. Those piggy
little eyes. And that loathsome look of lust that they all have when they
come in my room and look at me. And the things they say. 'Just like my
daughter, you are!' One said. 'And she's a slut too!' That was so horrid
and unnecessary. So dreadful..." Binta sighed, and her eyes moistened with
tears she'd never seen before. She put an arm round her shoulders to
comfort her, and Binta squeezed up towards her, face against her cheek and
an arm trailing over Ana's knee.
"And some of the others! The violent way they force their fingers in
places where I don't want them to touch me. The way they slobber and
trails of saliva drip out of their mouths and leave damp patches on the
sheets. The ugliest, unhealthiest, most diseased looking bodies you can
imagine. It's not just the ignominy of being a sex machine, it's what you
have to endure. It's repulsive! Obnoxious! Nothing I ever did with
Mezyana is like what I have to suffer from these men. God! I hate them! I
hate them!"
Ana squeezed Binta's shoulder comfortingly. "They're not here now!
We're in the garden. Your clients are far away."
Binta turned round and with a sudden impulse wrapped her naked shoulders
around Ana's own. "You don't understand. While I'm in the Brothel, I
can't escape them at all. The clients are here all the time. All the time
I'm surrounded by prostitutes and the Brothel, I can't forget them.
They're in the shadows of the corridors, behind the doors with lights,
in the creases of all the satin, silk and leather that's worn here. I hate
it! I hate it so much!" Her chin rested on Ana's shoulder and her body
pressed against her breast. Ana patted Binta's back with one arm while
supporting her with the other. The note of Ana's breathing became a
distinct sob.
"There there!" She said periodically and soothingly, but nonetheless
feeling unsettled by the sensation of a naked woman pressed so close to
her. She and Binta had never been as physically intimate before. She gazed
into Binta's tear-soaked eyes. A sudden rush of emotion and pity
overwhelmed her, and without any thought she leaned over and kissed Binta
tenderly on the lips. It was meant to be a brief and comradely kiss, but
she was taken totally unawares by the intensity of Binta's response. In a
sudden wild rush of sensation, she was aware that Binta had manoeuvred her
kiss to a longer and more passionate one in which there was the unfamiliar
(and yet not unwelcome) sensation of another tongue in her mouth. Ana felt
obliged to follow suit. Binta's mouth was a very liquid and a very warm
place which tasted of so many different things: sweet, salt and even
bitter. She felt the hardness of Binta's teeth: the uneven row of incisors
and the crowns of the molars where, yes! she identified the metallic taste
of a filling. Her tongue ached as it revolved around Binta's own tongue,
slid along the gums above and below the teeth, and deep breaths through her
nostrils picked up the slight soapiness of Binta's well- scrubbed flesh.
All of a sudden Binta eased off and steadily gazed at her, with a toothy
bright smile. There was something very strange about her expression. The
eyes sparkled in a way she had never seen in anyone before and her mouth
expressed an unutterably beautiful foolishness. Ana just wanted her lips
to return to Binta's and feel more closely her smooth warm flesh. Binta
understood Ana's thoughts, despite reservations that had vanished in the
heady mist of passion.
"I think we should go to my bedroom," Binta said breathlessly, raising
her eyebrows with a reluctant frown. "We can be sure of our privacy
there."
Ana panicked slightly. She glanced around her. Thankfully there was no
one who could have seen her with Binta. She looked back at her good
friend. She smiled in a sad but determined way. "Yes, let's go! But
hurry!"
11
Ana was totally disorientated when she opened her eyes in the morning.
Where was she? What was that strange mirror doing in the corner of the
room? Why did the sheets feel so relatively cool and silky? But she
gradually remembered and glanced at Binta who was still sleeping beside
her, naked like herself. A sudden spasm of alarm constricted her neck, but
she relaxed and smiled to herself as she regarded Binta's head on the
pillow and recalled the passion of the night before. It had happened so
fast! And it had been so much more pleasant than she'd imagined. Her own
previous gropings and fumblings with in Rif seemed so sordid and
unpleasant in comparison. Part of her felt a pang of guilt and shame. She
had after all committed a crime, the consequences of which she knew only
too well from Binta's own experiences. Mostly, however, she felt relieved
to have at last achieved the fulfilment she must have always wanted but had
never really known.
She scrutinised Binta's naked body. So beautiful. The long hair. The
slim waist. The full she'd admired before without knowing how well
she'd get to know them. She smiled at the slight heave and stir of Binta's
body who was breathing steadily in apparent contentment. She hoped - so
much! - that Binta's feelings towards her were as strong as those she at
last admitted to have towards her friend. Not just a friend now. A lover.
She relished the word and mouthed it silently to cherish its full flavour.
Overcome by desire, she leaned over and kissed Binta tenderly on the
shoulder.
Binta stirred and rolled over towards her. She opened her eyes wearily
and smiled welcomingly. A rush of emotion pounded at Ana's chest and
heated her cheeks. "Good morning," Binta mouthed.
"Good morning," replied Ana. "Did you sleep well?"
"What little of the night I spent asleep, yes!" Binta remarked wickedly.
"It was good wasn't it! Did you enjoy it? I did!"
"Yes, very much. Very much. Very much indeed."
"Oh, you're so sweet!" Binta cried pulling herself up, the silk sheets
dropping into a heap on her lap. "You're so wonderful. Give me a kiss!"
Ana shyly proffered her lips to Binta's, and kissed her tenderly. But
Binta was not to be satisfied. She squeezed the back of Ana's neck,
pulling her forward, and kissed her with the same passion and intensity,
remembered so fondly and vividly from the night before. Ana locked her
arms around Binta and pulled her close to her, her small against
Binta's larger, firmer ones.
Quite suddenly there was a knock on the door. Binta started with a look
of panic, which Ana was slow to recognise. She quickly pulled herself off
her lover, and called out in a hoarse startled voice: "Hello! Who is it?"
"It's me silly!" Replied a voice from outside which Ana recognised but
couldn't immediately place. "Can I come in?"
"It's you, Zabba!" Replied Binta, clearly not pleased at the timing of
this visit but feeling obliged to be polite. "Come in then."
The pushed open the door, wearing a shirt, grey shorts,
ankle-high socks and a thin tie. She looked exactly like a schoolboy, an impression her slenderness and lack of did nothing to
dispel. "Oh ho!" She said with a mischievous grin, pushing the door close
behind her. "I see Ana missed her last bus home. I hope you didn't mind
slumming it here for the night, Ana sweetest?"
Ana blushed, unable to answer. What was Zabba thinking? She was
horribly aware of her nakedness, and belatedly pulled up the sheet to hide
her breasts. Zabba smiled but restrained herself from saying anything
crude or unsubtle.
"Well! This is one way you're different from Inta. But of course I
guessed all along. You can't keep a secret from me!"
"It's not what you think..." Gasped Ana.
"Don't lie, sweetheart. You can't pull the wool over my eyes. But
don't worry about me. I won't tell a soul. You can do exactly what you
like together. It's your lives, after all." She smiled at Binta. "So,
Binta, I take it you're not working this morning."
"This morning? No. My shift doesn't start till this afternoon."
"Just as well, really. Me, I've just finished work! And a long night
it has been too. Profitable, though! Very profitable. Quite painful,
too. One of my regulars just can't get enough of me. However much I remind
him of the cost of his little sordid extras. I'm just off home now. I
need a decent sleep in my own bed without the smell of clients on the
sheets. Sleeping with clients! Pah! If only that were true, then I'd
never need my own bed!"
Zabba stood in front of the mirror and admired her reflection. She
turned her head one way and the other, pursing her lips in a loving kiss at
herself. Ana could see Binta and herself behind Zabba: much more of Binta
who'd obscured very little of her body with the sheet which Ana clasped to
her neck. Zabba turned round and smiled, while running her hands down the
front of her shirt. "I really must get changed! I wouldn't want any of my
clients to recognise me in the street. I wouldn't be able to fight them
off! But first of all I fancy a swim. That's why I came here. To see if
you were interested in a splash. But I guess you're not."
Binta shook her head firmly. "No, not really."
"Ana's company's better than my own, I suppose," Zabba laughed. "Well!
You just don't know what delights you're missing, Binta dear! And Ana.
Not so far for to go to work this morning. At least you can lie in."
"Work!" Gasped Ana. She frantically studied the small battery powered
alarm clock by the bed. She wasn't late was she? She was relieved to see
that she had nearly an hour until she was due to be in the office, but then
worried about the logistics of the operation. She wouldn't be able to
change her underwear and she would have to use the Brothel shower to remove
the night's odour from her body. Would the Director notice? Could she
hide the evidence? "I'd forgotten about work."
"You would, wouldn't you?" Grinned Zabba indulgently. "You'll just have
to be better prepared in future." She sat on the edge of the bed and
supported her weight on a thin arm. "For some of us, the working day has
just finished, for others it's only about to begin, and for lucky Binta
she's got until this afternoon to think about it. But do you still enjoy
your work? The Pimple's not been molesting you, I hope?"
Ana's mind flashed back to her earlier conversation with Zabba and
Ferhana. She'd been much warier of her boss since then, but fortunately
the Director had not behaved especially badly. He was usually quite busy
elsewhere in the Brothel and only rarely stayed in his office for very
long. Sometimes he dictated letters, which Ana took down in shorthand for
typing later. These were usually fairly standard letters, addressed to
suppliers of Brothel equipment, government departments and bodies like
Careers Advisory services, newspapers or customers who'd defaulted on
sometimes rather substantial bills. She preferred the more standard
letters. They kept her busy and required very little original thought, but
some letters reminded her rather uncomfortably what organisation she worked
for. She'd particularly disliked a letter she'd had to type to a who'd been forced to leave because of her pregnancy. The Director wasn't
at all sympathetic to the girl's plight or her subsequent loss of earnings.
"I hate your boss!" Exclaimed Binta bitterly. "I'm just glad he's given
up pestering me. There was a time he just wouldn't keep his hands off me.
And some of the things he said. He's so crude!"
"What'd he say then, Binta sweetest?" Wondered Zabba.
"I'm just not saying. At least, not with Ana here. I don't want to
distress you, Ana. But he's not a nice man, the Director. He thinks his
staff are all fair game, and that we're obliged to do whatever unpalatable
things he fancies. Even if I were attracted to men, I wouldn't be
attracted to him. He's the most obscene and unpleasant I've ever met!"
Ana hadn't known enough to could voice a well-rounded opinion, but
his bawdy remarks were rather tasteless and his comments about her personal
appearance were a little unsubtle. She had no intention of dressing like
the prostitutes, although he often said that it was more or less expected
of even the secretaries in the Brothel. And she didn't like his repeated
assertion that she should display more of her chest or legs.
"The Pimple's a real bastard," agreed Zabba. "But what about his
lieutenants? They're not much better are they, Ana?"
"At least they never touch my bottom or put their hands on mine."
"Well, that's because you're not a prostitute," Binta said. "The Head
of Catering is a real nuisance. And he's so fat and ugly as well. He
looks like he bathes in lard: his skin is so greasy. And the Caretaker
seems to have taken a liking to me. He's always slapping my bottom when I
pass him. I really go out of my way to avoid him. If I see him walking
towards me, I just turn round and walk the other way."
"The women aren't much better, are they? That Khedra's a real cow!"
"Do they molest you as well?" Gasped Ana, strangely excited at the
thought of much more widespread lesbianism in the Brothel.
"No, of course not," laughed Binta. "Zabba's just saying that she
doesn't like them. They don't behave like the men, but they can be very
bitchy and unsympathetic. They think that even those of us who're not in
the Brothel by choice should be grateful to work here."
"They just suck up to the Pimple. He can never do anything wrong. I
think they'd probably wipe his bottom clean if he asked them to. And of
course you can't be too sure that that's not exactly what he does ask them
to..."
"Uugghh!" Ana exclaimed. "What a horrid idea! You can't be serious!
Nobody would do things like that, surely?"
Zabba laughed. She appeared to contemplate elaborating on whatever it
was she found so amusing, but she was silenced by Binta's frown. She
turned back to her reflection, ran her fingers through her short hair and
scratched her crown.
"So, you still enjoy working here, Ana? You're not put off by the
Pimple? You don't mind having all these whores around you?"
"It's my first job. I've never worked anywhere before. I have to try
and make the best of it."
"Of course, you do!" Agreed Binta. "Stop trying to upset Ana, Zabba!
She's not like us. She doesn't have anything to do with the sordid side of
life her!"
"I'm sure you're right, Binta," Zabba responded unconvincingly. "I'm
sure you're absolutely right!"
"What we do, Ana, is quite different from what you do," Binta continued.
"You definitely don't have to be like your predecessor, Inta. You don't
ever have to let maul your body or do the gross things that they
require..."
"If they've got the physical ability to perform that is..." Zabba
remarked. "One good thing about our job is that we get paid the same
however well our clients do their half of it!"
"Honestly, Zabba! You sometimes sound as if you liked the job! Why do
you keep taunting poor Ana?"
"She's got to know about life. Haven't you, Ana sweetheart? You can't
just work in a place like this and be totally ignorant of what goes on."
"I don't believe that at all," Binta countered. "Ana doesn't have to
know anything about what we do. In fact the less she knows the better,
don't you think Ana? You don't want to know what the punters do with
Zabba. All the perverse unmentionable things they force her to do. Or me
for that matter! I hate my clients. I don't care if they leave me
complaining that I've not satisfied them as they'd like. However much
Khedra and the others tell me off for the clients' grievances about my lack
of enthusiasm or professionalism. However many times they tell me I might
be downgraded if I'm not careful and how much worse the clients would be if
they had to pay less for my services. I'm not here by choice, and I don't
get anything however well I perform."
"Has Khedra been having a go at you, Binta dear?" Wondered a fascinated
Zabba. "She never has anything but praise for me. You really must have
peeved her. She just doesn't understand why anyone wouldn't enjoy this
job. Have your clients been complaining that much?"
"One or two, yes," Binta admitted. "But I'd rather not talk about it,
Zabba, please. Ana doesn't want to hear about it, do you?"
Ana shook her head, although she was uneasily curious of Binta's
contacts with the clients. How did they compare with her? What did they
actually do to her? She could imagine, of course, but her mind
deliberately blanked out the distasteful images and focused instead on the
beauties of the body she'd enjoyed so much during the night. It her
to think that others had also had the pleasure of it. She looked at Binta
sadly. Binta smiled at her compassionately, and, despite Zabba still
sitting on the bed, she leaned over and tenderly kissed her on the cheek.
"Don't you worry, Ana! Don't worry! What I do with clients and what we
do together are two different things."
Zabba observed thoughtfully and silently, uncharacteristically
embarrassed by Binta's display of tenderness. She looked down at the rings
on her hand, and then fumbled around in the top pocket of her shirt. She
pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter and held them in front of
her. "I'm dying for a smoke! It's a good way of taking the taste out of
my mouth, you know!" She ran her tongue around her lips and looked
longingly at her packet. "You don't like me smoking in your room, do you
Binta?"
"Not at all!" She exclaimed sternly. "You go outside and smoke it.
And, anyway, Ana's got to prepare to go to work."
Zabba nodded and stood up. "Well, maybe we can go for a swim another
day, Binta." She strolled to the head of the bed and briefly kissed Binta
on the cheek. She then left, pulling a cigarette out of the packet, and
carefully shut the door behind her.
Binta smiled indulgently. "Zabba's all right, Ana. She's just quite
young, really. But she means well. But before you get out of bed and go
to work, where were we before we were interrupted?" She stroked Ana
lovingly on the cheek. She then bent over, supporting the chin with her
fingers, and passionately resumed her kiss.
12
Ana was afflicted by an illness which distorted her senses, brought her
to hot flushes and dominated her every waking moment, but an illness so
pleasurable and delightful she mourned rather that she'd never been so
afflicted before. She was in love. She was totally and passionately in
love. For the first time she understood and relished every word of every
love song. They were written for her. They expressed the feelings she
had. She observed courting couples on the bus or in the park with a warmth
and affection she'd never felt before. Her heart was truly light, she
walked on a cushion of air and everything was wonderful.
Even at work, those awkward moments when there was nothing to do and she
was waiting for her next assignment became full with reflections on and
images of her lover. Binta smiling. Binta laughing. The things she would
say as they nuzzled together under the silk sheets. Everywhere was
imprinted with her image. It was so vivid. As was the remembrance of her
voice heard so clearly in her mind's ear, reassuring and comforting her.
The memory of the image, touch and warmth of Binta's naked skin. She could
almost feel her flesh against her fingers as she averted her gaze away from
the calendar of semi-clad women on the office wall towards the clouds
wisping through the deep blue sky. She smiled to herself again, as she did
so often these days.
"You look pretty pleased with yourself!" Remarked Khedra, popping by to
leave an envelope in the Director's in-tray. "A good day's work?"
Ana nodded - her mind focusing on the evening ahead when again, like
every evening when Binta wasn't working, hours of patient reflection were
to be rewarded by a passionate and close embrace. When, again, she and
Binta would idly slump on the sheets and spend long unhurried hours
together, never bored with each other's company and never lost for anything
to say. Indeed, she had come to dread the inevitable rude bell of Binta's
alarm clock in the morning telling her to get dressed and return to the
office.
Weekends were particularly pleasant, especially when Binta didn't have
to work. No alarm clock and no reason to get up. A day together without
interruption and free from anxiety. A day of relaxation and calm. It was
during such a weekend she and Binta were lying beneath the sheets spent by
their mutual exertions, a sweet smell adhering to Ana's fingers and a faint
odour of shared sweat. Ana gazed at the ceiling, studying the faint
spidery cracks in the plaster, her head resting on Binta's shoulder,
smiling with sensual satisfaction.
"Hiya!" Ana suddenly heard. "I saw you weren't working so I ..." Whose
voice was that? Who was it addressed to? She raised her head to see the
naked figure of Ketaba framed by the door and looking rather startled.
"Oh! ... I see you've got company, Binta. I didn't know! And goodness
me! It's Ana! I'd never have guessed! Ana!"
"Hello Ketaba," greeted Binta reluctantly, disengaging herself from the
weight of her lover's body. "Didn't anybody tell you to knock before
coming in?"
Ketaba looked rather embarrassed. More embarrassed even than Ana who
hastily pulled up the sheets to cover her breasts. "I didn't know! It's
usually okay! I just didn't think... And with Ana, too! I thought she
had more sense!"
"Don't start preaching, Ketaba," said Binta sternly. "If you want to
stay here, fine! But don't upset poor Ana. And close the door!"
Ketaba nodded sheepishly and eased the door behind her. She sat by the
mirror and lifted up her hair and dropped it down loosely behind the chair.
Binta reluctantly pulled herself out from between the sheets and sat on the
edge of the bed facing Ketaba.
"So how are you today, Ketaba? You're not working now are you?"
"No, I don't start for a few hours. I'm between shifts. I volunteered
for overtime. Towards the cost of a holiday, you know."
"Are you doing two shifts in one day?" Exclaimed Binta. "I would have
thought once was enough for anyone. Surely even you must be tired by now,
and looking forward to nothing better than a rest."
"The money helps, you know. I've never been one to turn down the
opportunity of a bit of extra work..."
"And it keeps you fit as well?" Binta sneered. "I can't believe that
you're ever short of money. With your dedication to the profession you
must be one of the most highly paid prostitutes in the whole Brothel. And
you probably make as much again from clients' gratuities. What do you want
the money for?"
Ketaba seemed unbalanced by Binta's criticism as if she'd never really
considered that question before. She glanced at Ana lying under the
sheets, of whom only her shoulders and head were visible. The silk sheets
did nothing to disguise the contours of Ana's body, but in the presence of
two naked women what could that possibly matter? Ketaba's stare seemed to
linger rather longer than necessary, and when she returned her gaze to
Binta a flicker of guilt seemed to pass across her heavy- lidded eyes.
"There must be a reason, Ketaba, for you to want to work all these extra
hours. Do you really relish your work so much that you can't bear to rest
from it?"
"Unlike you, Binta, I enjoy the company of my clients. They may not be
the most handsome or attractive people there are, but with few exceptions
they are essentially decent people who are happy with the services I
provide. And I am happy to satisfy them. There is an art, a skill, to
prostitution and, if nothing else, I get considerable professional
satisfaction from doing a worthwhile job well. I have many regulars, and
when you become more familiar with the same clients you soon think of them
as more than so much inadequate meat. And they soon come to respect you
ever more. Your problem, Binta, is not just your dubious sexual
preferences, but that you never show any sympathy or understanding towards
the who come to see you."
Ana found Ketaba's description slightly comforting. "You make it sound
like you're more of a nurse or social worker than a prostitute," she
remarked. The image allowed her to regard Binta's work with more
equanimity.
"That's an interesting and fair comparison. Quite often the clients
want from me not the services for which I am so expertly equipped and
trained to provide, but just for a sympathetic ear. Many have no one else
they can speak to. They may have no or lover and few friends. They
may be locked in a loveless and unhappy marriage. They may have worries
and concerns with business or health that they can't off-load on anyone
else. And I tell you, Binta, that when you speak to your clients like that
they soon become more human and you get quite fond of them. There is one
client I have who spends more than two hours a week with me, and all he
ever does is talk about how his estranged extracts ever more money
from him..."
"...when you're not doing it yourself!" Sniffed Binta. "Your services
don't exactly come cheap, and with your ratings you must be bleeding your
clients dry. Not that I care much for them if you did!"
"It's no wonder you have such a miserable time working here with
attitudes like that! You really ought to try and get to know your clients
better. Your gratuities will increase dramatically, your work won't seem
nearly as arduous and you may even improve your PAR. Try it and see!"
"I appreciate your kind advice, Ketaba," Binta responded conciliatorily.
"But if you don't like at all to begin with, you're not going to be
particular sincere about wanting to know them better. They really are
irredeemably loathsome, and my daily ordeal only further reinforces that
opinion!"
"It's your whole outlook on life that's poisoning you, Binta. And your
disgusting perversions are just an aspect of the poison creeping through
your soul. You need a much more positive, outward-going, life-inspiring
attitude. You need to examine deep inside yourself, release your pent-up
energies and confront your karma. Nurture the inner goodness that must
reside in you, - otherwise you wouldn't adopt the life-enhancing practice
of naturism, - let it swell inside you and release a torrent of positive
vibrations onto the world around you. If you feel good, you inspire good
feelings. And good feelings make you feel good. A virtuous cycle which
can do you no harm!"
"And how is that going to improve my life as a prostitute? I don't
exactly have a great deal of opportunity to meditate or empathise with my
clients. All they want and all the gratification they desire is released
within seconds with no respect at all for the finer feelings of the women
who collect our soiled laundry every day. I'm sure my goodness would
flourish considerably better elsewhere."
Ketaba smiled. "You don't understand me at all, Binta. Your spiritual
and mental health are, and should be, utterly distinct from the environment
you're in. Sure, a good and healthy environment like Agdal, with the heat
of the sun on naked flesh and plenty of healthy amenities, is far more
conducive to a positive vibe than a life confined by the Brothel walls.
But one can have an inner peace, an Agdal within, which can flourish in any
place and withstand all trials and tribulations. One's soul can soar to
the stars even when one's body is caged in rooms of satin, silk and
polyester carpets."
"You're talking nonsense, Ketaba. You really have to be blinkered to
get any kind of enlightenment here. Tell me then, for the sake of
argument, what I have to do to achieve an inner peace? Perhaps Ana will be
inspired even if I might not be."
"I can't imagine Ana being at all inspired in the atmosphere of your
cynicism and doubt," Ketaba said ruefully, but smiling affectionately at
Binta's lover. "But what you have to remember first of all is that a
healthy mind comes with a healthy body. If one has good health coursing
through your body, you look good, you feel good and it does you good.
Plenty of exercise. That's the order of the day."
"We often go swimming," Ana remarked, aware that recently they had been
rather less often than before, as the excuse for doing so had come to seem
superfluous.
"Swimming is good. Very good!" Ketaba approved. "As is weight
training, jogging, walking, squash and contact sports. However, nothing
can beat the all-round value of making love in building up a healthy and
efficient body. No other exercise is as good at exercising the abdominal
muscles, the upper torso, providing fast and rapid breathing exercises and
exerting the heart. It makes you feel good afterwards and the perspiration
cleans the skin of really deep ingrained dirt."
"Maybe it does when you make love with your clients, Ketaba. The
clients simply leave me uncomfortable bruises around my upper legs and a
feeling of relief when they're finally through the door..."
"Again, Binta, it's your attitude that is at fault. If you had a more
positive attitude then you wouldn't find the exercise so extremely
unpleasant. Besides I'm sure that not all your lovemaking is as you
describe it." She glanced meaningfully at Ana lying stretched out under the
sheets, who blushed at the implication. She shyly looked at Binta who had
followed Ketaba's gaze and smiled into Ana's eyes. Ana smiled back, and a
rush of emotion caught the back of her throat. She was so much in love!
Ketaba seemed embarrassed by the love expressed in Ana's smile, and
hesitated before continuing to elaborate on her philosophy of life. "So, a
healthy body is vital. And a prostitute's life assures this. Diet is also
important. Remember, you are what you eat: so it is necessary not to
pollute the body with the unclean flesh of dead who have after all
spent most of their life consuming faeces-covered grass and rotting silage.
One must have a balance of vitamins, minerals and, most important of all,
an exact balance of calorific input with the energy output for a balanced
body weight and a healthy constitution. I always keep an accurate measure
of exactly how many calories I consume and my estimated output, and adjust
my diet accordingly."
"Are you a vegetarian merely because of what the you eat have
eaten?" Binta wondered.
"Of course not. A rounded person must have due respect for all living
beings and eating them is disrespectful as well as unclean," Ketaba
replied. "One should also take care of the mind and soul. Meditation is
essential. Take time just to sit in a relaxed position with the back
straight and the legs crossed in the lotus position, clear the mind of
thoughts positive and negative, and enter a void where the mind can take a
vacation and the soul can soar unfettered from the trivial worries of the
day. Sleep well, and adopt a regime of regular exercise, regular
meditation and self- examination."
"Self-examination?" Wondered Ana, thinking that maybe Ketaba was about
to enthuse on an activity of which she had been quite ashamed until Binta
had encouraged her in it.
"Yes. Self-examination. Study the deep, crevices of the soul.
Share the inner meanings and conflicts with others. I go to seminars each
week where we confide our darkest worries and most intimate secrets; listen
to each other with respect; applaud the courage of breaking free from the
confines of embarrassment and self-consciousness; break down the barriers
that divide people from people; and recognise our own deep loneliness."
"It really doesn't sound much like fun to me," Binta remarked. "What do
you think, Ana?"
Ana hadn't really been paying very much attention. Her contemplations
had mostly concentrated on her lover and her beauty. She gazed at Ketaba,
sensing that Binta was taking psychological advantage of her relationship
to put her colleague ill at ease. She smiled, not wanting to offend, sure
that Ketaba's intention was only to give the best advice. "I'm sure
there's something in what Ketaba's saying."
"And what is that?" Binta continued. "Health, vegetables, meditation
and shouting sessions with a bunch of neurotics. I think I'd rather remain
an unreconstructed failure. And I can't see it making me any happier with
my rôle as a prostitute."
Ana felt rather embarrassed for Ketaba: she didn't deserve the scorn
Binta showered on her interests and herself. She crouched up in the bed,
pulling the sheets into a bundle around her chest and over her legs. "I've
not seen much of you recently, Ketaba. And I'm sure your tan is deeper.
Have you been away somewhere?"
"Yes, I have! I've been away in Agdal for a fortnight's holiday. It's
been a wonderful break. Across the mountains and on the beaches. Two
weeks totally unencumbered by clothes or petty prejudices. I thought you
already knew?"
"I knew well enough, Ketaba, but Ana doesn't get to meet you as often as
I do," Binta explained. "I gather that exit visas are very expensive.
Perhaps that's why you have to work so hard?"
"Yes, they are. Yet again, I had to bribe someone at the passport
office. And there were even more people to bribe at the border crossing.
But you get used to that. Alif doesn't make it easy for its people to
leave and it's not that welcoming coming back either. My luggage was
thrown all over the place at customs. They said they were searching for
alcohol, pornography and contraband, but the things they confiscated like a
portable radio and a hair-drier (both of which I'd bought in Agdal) weren't
on any list of prohibited goods I've ever seen!"
"It must have made you wonder why you ever came back!" Remarked Binta,
more sympathetically. "What did you do on holiday? You didn't do much
meditation did you?"
"A little. But mostly I took advantage of the superb sports facilities
at the hotels and lodges I stayed at. The swimming pools and gyms were
excellent. All the latest equipment!" Ketaba pulled back her shoulders and
flexed the lean muscles on her arms which Ana found genuinely impressive.
She then tensed her waist and Ana admired the tautness of its muscles -
quite unlike the slight looseness of her own slender waist. "And when I
wasn't in the gym or pool, it was up in the mountains and valleys with
sturdy boots and a rucksack on my back. I walked for miles over those
crags. It's even hillier than Jebel, Binta, but you can't wander around
Jebel in so few clothes. I was lazier on this holiday than on an earlier
one where I'd been on a sort of group outing with others intent on enjoying
the great outdoors..."
"Did you spend your time shouting and screaming at each other on that
holiday?"
"Don't be facetious, Binta. It wasn't a self-awareness holiday. It was
just a trekking holiday. The idea was to spend time in a group far away
from the hotels and lodges, sleeping under canvass and getting to know each
other better. That was a wonderful time. We managed to go miles without
meeting a single soul. And when you're that remote you need the company of
other people. You can very easily get lost. One hill looks pretty much
the same as another when you're surrounded by them and there aren't any
obvious landmarks."
"A good opportunity for you all to bare your souls to each other, I
suppose?" Binta sneered. "You can all tell each other your most
embarrassing secrets and feel sorry for each other."
"You make it sound as if that's something to be ashamed of, Binta. It'd
do you a great deal of good if you tried doing that yourself. Mind you, it
can be quite an embarrassment in Agdal. Many people go there from
countries like Alif not because they're confirmed naturists, but for quite
different reasons. I have to admit that although there are plenty of
naturists in Agdal, they're pretty much in a minority. Other people go for
the alcohol and drugs. They spend much of their time sitting in bars where
alcohol is sold openly over the counter, not even requiring a medical
licence. The only restrictions on alcohol and some other drugs relate to
age rather than ethical or medical suitability. Some others go there
because they're homosexual. You get to meet and women, -
dykes like you, Binta, and ..."
Ketaba stumbled in her flow. It was clear to Ana that she had intended
to mention her name, but something had prevented her from being so bold.
Ana wasn't sure whether she should feel flattered by this or worried that
it suggested that Ketaba didn't take her relationship seriously. Ketaba
actually appeared to blush, and then she digressed slightly.
"Some people go to Agdal for spiritual awareness. All sorts of
religions are practised in the country. Shrines are scattered all about
the place for one faith or another. That's one big difference between Alif
and Agdal. There's only one faith widely practised in Alif, but all
possible faiths abound in Agdal. Maybe it's because of this diversity that
the country is liberal in so many ways. Whatever it is, you often meet
people who go to Agdal to consult gurus or to worship at particular
temples. I find it interesting to discuss astrology or the tarot or the I
Ching with the people there..."
"You're not into that sort of mystical mumbo-jumbo as well are you?"
"Why can't I have a healthy curiosity, Binta? Surely it's better than
dismissing the occult and the mystical with no justification. Yes, I do
believe that the precise moment of one's birth and its precise location has
a great deal of importance. You ought to find out more about such things
yourself before dismissing them..."
"I'm not sure I have the time to get involved in a load of
self-indulgent nonsense. What do you think, Ana? Would you be interested
in having your palm read, your stars interpreted and a throw of coins
analysed?"
"I'm sure it would be very interesting," Ana answered diplomatically.
She had no wish to upset Ketaba however much she might disapprove of
homosexuality. "I don't know if there's anything in it, but there might
be..."
"Well, if that's what you want to do, Ana..." Binta remarked without
further comment. She smiled at Ketaba. "Did you take many photographs of
your stay in Agdal?"
"Why yes, I did as a matter of fact. And unlike last time I was able to
get my back into the country without having it confiscated or having
the film torn out. I was sensible enough to take an Alif with me
that had none of the extra value an imported might have. I took
loads of pictures of the places I visited and the people I met. Do you
want to see them?"
"Oh yes!" Ana said enthusiastically. She had always enjoyed looking at
holiday photos when she was at home in Rif. Somehow they seemed more real
and engaging than the glossy pictures in Geography text books. She also
found the idea of visiting Agdal very attractive, particularly in the light
of its liberal attitudes towards lesbianism. Her sketchy knowledge of its
principal mountain ranges and agricultural exports didn't really give her a
very clear idea of what the neighbouring country looked like, and she
understood better why she had heard so little about it before.
"Perhaps I can bring them in to the Brothel sometime and show you. Or
perhaps..." Ketaba hesitated, as if she was about to be very bold, but with
a slight impulsiveness she continued, "... perhaps I can show you them in
a more conducive place than the Brothel. Perhaps at my flat?"
"Your flat?" Ana responded. That would be interesting. She lived in
the Honey district, where all the better paid prostitutes chose to live.
"Oh yes, I don't see why not."
"Well just say when. I can prepare a meal and make more of an evening
of it if you like. What do you think?"
"I think it sounds a wonderful idea." Ana looked sympathetically at
Binta who seemed strangely subdued by Ana's enthusiasm. "It's a shame you
can't come as well, Binta. I'm sure Ketaba would invite you as well if she
could. Wouldn't you, Ketaba?"
Ketaba nodded eagerly, and Binta appeared somehow reassured by this, but
not wholly so. When Ketaba left for work, Binta seemed rather thoughtful.
She evaded all reference to Ketaba and Agdal, despite Ana's excited
questions about either of them. Ana wondered whether Binta was jealous of
Ketaba: but how could that be when she was so determinedly opposed to
homosexual behaviour of any kind.
13
Ketaba's flat was situated in a very plush block in the Honey district,
adorned by spacious balconies, views across a large park and a concierge
sitting in a cabin by the entrance who called Ketaba on the internal 'phone
when Ana arrived. She waited in the foyer, her arms folded, awed by the
magnificence of the marble walls and the beauty of the little fountain
splashing at the foot of the marble steps.
"You can go up," the concierge advised her. "It's the third floor. On
the right as you leave the lift."
Ana trotted up the steps and into the wide-open lift door, which closed
as she entered. She adjusted her hair in the reflection of the lift's
mirrors. She felt slightly nervous visiting Ketaba at her own home. The
only other home she'd ever visited in Blad was Binta's in the Brothel which
was now as much home to her as her own flat. The Honey district impressed
her. The avenues were wide and lined with palm trees and conifers. The
houses were quite simply magnificent: larger than any she'd ever seen
before, but protected by high walls, barbed wire and broken glass. She was
dressed casually - a light floral dress and sandals - and felt poorly
dressed in comparison to the ostentation of the women she passed.
Ketaba was waiting for her in the corridor when Ana stepped out of the
lift. She was totally naked as always, but still oblivious to any
incongruity between her appearance and her environment. She grinned
broadly. "I'm so glad you could come! I've been preparing a vegetarian
meal for us! Come in! Come in!"
Ana was slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of Ketaba's welcome, but
she smiled and followed Ketaba into her flat. It was much larger than
Ana's. Indeed it was larger than most houses. The several rooms were
spacious and had more than a touch of expense lavished on them. Varnished
floorboards were covered by densely woven and intricately patterned
carpets. The furniture was plush and inviting, interspersed by expensive
electronic equipment. Original paintings framed those stretches of wall
not devoted to bookshelves which heaved under the weight of Ketaba's
considerable library.
Ketaba's interests were evident everywhere. In one room there was
exercise equipment to keep her body and figure trim and muscular. Ana
gingerly felt the weight of some bell-bars left on the floor and found them
rather too heavy to lift. The paintings concentrated on spiritual or
sensual matters. The books were on subjects like Astrology, Self-Awareness
and Physical Exercise, although Ana was interested to see that Ketaba's
taste encompassed such unlikely subjects as Quantum Physics, Political
Philosophy and Abstract Expressionism. The compact discs displayed covers
of peculiarly photographed outdoor scenes suggestive of spiritual
enlightenment and discovery. Several had the images of temples or figures
with wings sprouting from their backs.
"You don't have to keep your clothes on, Ana," Ketaba said soothingly,
pinching the strap on Ana's shoulder. "Most people take them off when
they're at home with me."
"I'm sorry?" Wondered Ana, slightly bemused. She became belatedly aware
that Ketaba was asking her to undress. She had got so used to seeing
Ketaba and Binta, she had actually forgotten that they were habitually
naked. This didn't oblige her to do the same thing. "Er ... I'd rather
not!"
"Suit yourself!" Ketaba replied, clearly disconcerted by Ana's rebuff.
"It's just I'm not a naturist. Whatever Binta is, it doesn't mean that
I'm the same."
"No, it doesn't," Ketaba agreed, smiling again. "Well, let's sit down,
clothes or no clothes, and wait for dinner to be ready."
Ana sat on a large luxurious armchair, while Ketaba hovered around her
audio system. "What would you like to hear?" She asked. "Classical?
Jazz? Ambient?"
"I don't mind. Something relaxing I suppose."
Ketaba knelt on the floor and sorted through her compact discs. She
selected some haunting atmospheric piano music accompanied by orchestra.
"Does this meet with your approval?"
"It sounds very nice."
Ketaba sheepishly rushed off into the kitchen without a word. After a
moment, she returned with a bottle of clear liquid. There was a curious
golden wrapping around the top and a crest on a label written in a foreign
language. "Do you know what this is, Ana?"
Ana shook her head, although she had a very good suspicion.
"It's a bottle of wine from Agdal. I didn't buy it in Agdal, of course.
It would've been found at customs and I'd be in prison now. I bought it
from a friend of Ferhana's. Normally, of course, I disapprove of alcohol.
Making it illegal is one of President Marmeluke's better policies.
Frequent use is undoubtedly very harmful, and I'd be the last to recommend
anything bad for the body or soul. But there can't be any harm in sampling
it occasionally. What do you think?"
"I don't know. I've never come across alcohol before. Doesn't it make
you hallucinate and become violent?"
"I'm sure it does if you drink enough of it. You see plenty of evidence
in Agdal of the dangers of over-indulgence. But I've been tempted to drink
the odd glass when I've been on holiday there and although it does have
quite a strange effect it has never made me hallucinate. And in Alif, it's
so very expensive on the black market that it wouldn't be possible for
someone to 'get drunk', as they call it, unless they were much richer than
me. I won't even tell you how much this cost me! But wine goes down very
well with a meal. Are you tempted to try?"
Ana was definitely tempted. Having broken one law in Alif, she could
really see no reason why she couldn't break others. It wasn't just the
illegality of alcohol that troubled her. "Won't it make me ill? I don't
want to be poisoned."
"A little alcohol won't do that. Do you want to taste it and see what
you think?"
"Why not!" Smiled Ana mischievously. Perhaps she'd get to like it.
Ketaba produced a very curious contraption that looked like a screw
supported by a metal frame, which she inserted into the bottle's top after
tearing off the thin gold metal covering. She screwed it in and pulled out
a length of spongy wood. She then poured the contents into some straight
glasses that were sitting on the dining table. She handed one to Ana who
took a tentative sip.
"It's very cold. And it tastes very peculiar, a bit like fruit juice,"
Ana commented. She relished the cool sharpness in her mouth, wondering
when she would experience its effects. The room hadn't started spinning
yet and there were no hallucinations. Perhaps alcohol wasn't so bad after
all.
"It's Chardonnay, I think it's called. Wines have all got strange
names. Like Champagne, Beaujolais, Rose. Experts in wine are called
connoisseurs. But I'm no expert. In Alif, if you want to buy alcohol you
just have to make do with whatever happens to be available. And I wouldn't
want to buy whisky, gin or rum. Drinks like that are much stronger."
"Does alcohol vary in strength then?"
"And in taste as well," Ketaba agreed. "In countries where alcohol is
legal there is an extraordinary variety available. Do you like it?"
"I'm not sure," admitted Ana who nonetheless dutifully sipped her glass.
Ketaba picked up her glass and took a long swig from it, before
disappearing again into the kitchen. She was away quite a few minutes,
while Ana contemplated the wine. It made her feel very daring. Were there
many more laws in Alif left to break, she wondered. She began to notice a
strange effect but wasn't sure whether she should attribute it to alcohol
or just a general giddiness due to the excitement of travelling to Honey.
She idly studied the books on Ketaba's bookshelf, occasionally taking small
cautious sips from her glass.
"Here we are!" Announced Ketaba, carrying a tray with two plates and
several side-dishes. "Dinner is served!"
Ana replaced the book on mountain-climbing and took her seat at the
dinner table. Ketaba placed the food down and busied herself in organising
the atmosphere. She turned off all the lights except for two table-lamps
and lit the tall candles on the table. She slightly lowered the volume of
the audio system and lit a few joss-sticks. The two women tucked into the
meal, which Ana found surprisingly tasty. She'd forgotten that the food
was vegetarian and it was only later that she'd reflected that there hadn't
been any meat involved in the preparation. The salad was particularly
pleasant: so much crisper and tastier than the soggy affairs she'd eaten in
the Brothel canteen. Ketaba was also right about the wine. The food
tasted better for it, and the wine seemed somehow more appropriate with
food.
"You seem to get on very well with Binta," Ketaba remarked chewing on a
celery stalk.
Ana wasn't sure how to react to that remark. "What do you mean?" She
blurted out. Was she being condemned for her love?
"I'm sorry, Ana. I don't mean to upset you. I was just saying that you
and Binta are getting on very well. I know she's a lesbian, and I suppose
it's inevitable that she would try to lead you into her bad ways. I've met
several in Agdal, and although I still think it's a rather
perverse activity, I have to admit that as people aren't
necessarily any worse than anyone else. What do you think?"
"They're just ordinary people, I'm sure."
"And you don't mind Binta being a at all?"
Ana shook her head vehemently.
"I probably sound very naïve but is it true what I thought when I saw
you in bed with Binta the other day? You know that she and you are ...
you know ... not just friends?"
"You could say that!" Said Ana with a smile despite herself. She took a
longer drink of wine. Somehow she seemed to need its extra fortification.
She was sure now that the slight detachment from her environment and the
light-headedness she was feeling was associated with the drug. It also
made her less worried about whatever Ketaba might think about her
relationship with Binta. "We're in love. It's very beautiful."
Ketaba visibly blushed, and herself required more alcohol which she
poured from the bottle into both her and Ana's nearly empty glasses. "Love
truly moves in mysterious ways. I still can't see how it can be possible
to be in love with someone of the same sex as yourself. It's the most
obvious perversion. Sex wasn't designed for that. If it were, nobody
would ever have children."
"It's not that Binta's a woman that I love her..."
"Are you saying you'd love her if she were a man?" Ketaba wondered
thoughtfully.
Ana considered that view. She viewed Binta in her mind's eye. The
beautiful smooth skin. The roundness of her feminine contours. The beauty
of her face. She tried substituting an image of a for that of Binta,
but somehow this didn't compensate at all. There was something specific
about Binta as a woman as well as her being so beautiful in so many other
ways that had attracted Ana to her in the first place. Ana hadn't really
thought about this too much before, but perhaps not only was she involved
in a relationship she was actually a herself. "I don't
think Binta's gender's got anything to do with it," Ana lied.
"You're just too easily led, Ana dear!" Smiled Ketaba indulgently,
holding her glass in front of her face and looking through it at her
companion. "Binta is obviously congenitally unbalanced. Perhaps she
inherited her homosexuality. Perhaps she had some unfortunate experiences
when she was a child. I suppose we ought to be sympathetic to her plight,
and hope that there may be some way in which she can be cured. What do you
think?"
"There's nothing wrong with Binta at all! I don't think there's
anything wrong with homosexuality! I don't see why people can't be in love
with whoever they like without being told they shouldn't. I think love is
an important and special thing. It should be treasured and valued, not
condemned. The one who is wrong is the government who makes it illegal.
It's not fair on people like Binta. It's not fair on me!"
Ketaba saw that the turn of conversation had become a little heated.
She put her arm across the table and patted Ana on the back of her hand.
"I didn't mean to upset you. I can see you're very much in love. Even if
it is to a like Binta!"
After the meal was finished, Ketaba cleared away the dishes and was very
insistent that Ana shouldn't even contemplate washing them. "They can wait
till tomorrow," she smiled. "Anyway, guests don't do the washing up!"
Ana and Ketaba returned to the sofas with the half full bottle of wine
placed on the coffee table and a change of music. Ana was still not sure
whether she liked the taste of wine, but she didn't object when Ketaba
carefully refilled their glasses. "Shall we see your photographs of
Agdal?" She asked.
"Photographs? Agdal?" Wondered Ketaba, who had clearly forgotten the
ostensible purpose of Ana's visit. "Oh yes! My holiday snaps!" She took a
long sip and wandered over to an antique beech valise. She opened a drawer
and pulled out a handful of ornate photograph albums. She carried them
over to the coffee table and plonked them down. She sat on the sofa next
to Ana, her naked skin brushing against Ana's bare arms. Ana felt too lazy
to move very much out of the way. Ketaba selected an album and opened it.
The photographs mostly featured Ketaba, taken by acquaintances she had
made in Agdal. Generally, she was as naked as she was habitually at the
Brothel and manifestly in her own home: though in some photographs she wore
a tee-shirt or bikini. Ana was surprised her how very ordinary clothes
made Ketaba look. Many other people were also naked, but even among her
acquaintances they were not in the majority. There were photographs of
Ketaba preparing to go on a hike wearing only heavy walking boots, a bright
blue rucksack and a cloth hat to shade her eyes from the bright sun.
The landscape behind Ketaba and her friends was undeniably beautiful.
Long stretches of white sand, blue sky and the odd coconut palm tree.
Hills and even craggy mountains stretching above and beyond, again framed
by a deep blue sky. There were pictures of Agdal's shops, historical
buildings, ancient ruins, great temples and large market squares. Ana's
heart leapt as she looked at the pictures. She so wanted to be there! It
was such a beautiful country. And one so enlightened! It was the perfect
holiday destination. She so envied Ketaba for having been there.
Ketaba provided a commentary as Ana regarded the pictures, touched by
the intensity with which Ana scrutinised each picture, lingering over some
for several minutes. She gave accounts of the exercises she'd done in the
gymnasia she photographed, the swims she'd taken in the blue expanse of sea
(Ana had never seen a real sea herself) and the exact number of kilometres
she and her friends had walked over the hills and the altitude to which
they'd attained. "So high!" Gasped Ana. There were no hills of any great
height in Rif. Most of it was flat open farmland interspersed with the odd
copse and lake.
She was also fascinated by Ketaba's account of Agdal nightlife. Ana
hadn't really participated in any in Blad - Binta was scarcely in a
position that she could accompany Ana to a night club or a restaurant, but
even from her position of relative ignorance she knew that it offered none
of the scope and variety of Agdal. Some, like the sex clubs and the
casinos, she found sordid and unattractive, but the sheer range and
liveliness of the night clubs and 'bars', as Ketaba called them, was
attractive. Perhaps, she thought, relishing the strange taste of wine in
her mouth, the availability of alcohol had something to do with it.
Ana didn't really enjoy Ketaba's tendency to identify and describe the
companions she had photographed almost entirely in terms of their sexual
activity. "Those two were sleeping together one night, but on another
night she was with this chap here and he was with this girl," she might say
pointing at a group of smiling people with rucksacks underneath a sign
celebrating some great historical battle. "Those two seemed all right
at first, but I was absolutely disgusted when I saw them kissing each
other. It was just like and women - tongues and everything - but two
men! Can you imagine?"
The thought disgusted Ana as well, but it also gave her a frisson to
recognise that homosexuality wasn't just a term to describe women who made
love with other women. She was beginning to comprehend the capacity of
love to embrace so many different preferences. However, her disgust was
actually felt greater when Ketaba described in what she thought was rather
too much detail which had made love to her and exactly what this had
entailed. She pointed at them, indicating their genitals or other features
(her lovers were all naturists like herself), and described what they had
done together, where they had done it, how long it had lasted and how she
rated the performance. "He was really not very good at all!" She said
about one with quite long hair and a slightly caved in stomach.
"Looking at his penis, you'd think he'd be a real joy. It's nearly twice
average size. But could he keep it going for more than three minutes? I
found myself thinking about dinner rather than sex."
Ketaba leaned over to the bottle and poured the last few drops into her
glass. She swallowed it with a bold gesture and smiled rather foolishly.
Ana was belatedly aware that although she had drunk perhaps nearly two full
glasses of wine over the evening so far, Ketaba had consumed all the rest
of it. Perhaps she was 'drunk', although Ana's own senses were a little
too befuddled to make an objective evaluation. She also noticed belatedly
that her naked friend was now talking rather sadly about what she perceived
as the failure of her love life.
"Making love to is easy, but loving them isn't! It never seems to
work out right for me, however hard I try. My lovers can't complain about
the quality of my lovemaking. Perhaps it's because I'm a prostitute.
Perhaps they can't understand my interests. I just don't know what it is!
What do you think, Ana?" She looked directly into Ana's eyes steadying
herself with a hand on Ana's hand. "What do you think?"
"I just don't know," Ana replied. "I'm not a man. I can't say what it
is that makes a love a woman."
"But you know what it is that makes a woman love a woman. You love
Binta. You seem to love her in a way that nobody's ever loved me! Really
loved me, I mean. Real, genuine, unconditional love! Have you really got
no idea why I'm such a ... such a failure?"
Ana blushed. She really hadn't expected to serve the rôle of confessor
for Ketaba. "I've got no idea at all!"
"Well, do you think I'm attractive? Physically attractive that is?"
"Yes, of course!" Ana answered automatically. What a question to ask?
Ketaba had an Alpha rating. What more objective rating for beauty could
there be?
"So do you ... well ... do you fancy me?"
Ana opened her eyes wide, and snapped her hand out of Ketaba's. "What
are you asking?" She asked abruptly.
Ketaba looked clearly upset. She ran her fingers through her long
tresses of hair and tangled one around and around her hand. She pointed at
a naked woman in one photograph sitting on a beach towel next to
Ketaba with an expanse of sand and blue sea stretching out behind them.
Both of them were wearing sunglasses and grinning at the camera. The woman
was slim and short with black hair tied up in a tight bun by a large white
bow. Like Ketaba she had no evidence of ever covering enough skin for any
portion to become any paler than any other part of her.
"That's Rhumana. She fancied me! Or that's what she said. We were
friends throughout the holiday. We met on the first day and I found that
wherever I went she was the best company to be with. She was such good
fun. She made me laugh, and she laughed at the things I said. Not like
Binta. Or Zabba. She didn't make fun of me. She was always very
sympathetic. She was from Agdal herself, and was on holiday in her own
country. I so enjoyed her company. More than the I slept with: who
were so boring when we weren't making love together. And some of them were
pretty boring then as well! When you're not being paid to be understanding
in your lovemaking, you tend to be more impatient you know! I didn't know
she was homosexual. It never really crossed my mind. But then near the
end of the holiday she told me she fancied me."
Ketaba's hand wandered over to hold Ana's again, and Ana let her do so
respecting her friend's expression of distress. Ketaba's eyes were
luminescent with tears that threatened to overspill her lower lids. "We'd
drunk some wine. She was much better at drinking than me. She'd much more
experience coming from a country where it's legal. We were laughing and
chatting, and then I felt her holding me close and then she squeezed me
against her. I didn't think much of it. In group sessions, we often hug
each other and get close to each other. Then she kissed me on the face and
told me she fancied me. She told me that she wanted to go to bed with me.
She told me she wanted to sleep with me and make love to me...."
"And did you?"
Ketaba shook her head sadly. "No, I didn't! I was horrified. I told
her I didn't ever want to see her again! I told her that I hated dykes and
I thought they were thoroughly perverted and disgusting. I told her that
in Alif homosexuality was illegal, and if there was one difference between
Alif and Agdal where Alif had the moral upper ground it was regarding
Alif's laws on homosexuality. And then I left her. And I never saw her
again. And now ... and now ... I feel so bad!"
"Why's that?"
"I don't know! I did like Rhumana so much. We got on so very well. I
did enjoy her company so much. I don't know if I've ever enjoyed anyone's
company as much as hers. And now I'll never see her again. And sometimes
I think ... you know ... sometimes, I think ..."
"What do you think?"
"I ... er ... I think ... Goodness! Is that the time?" Ketaba looked
at her clock which indicated it was after half past twelve in the morning.
"Time has passed! I suppose that means the last bus has left for your
place?"
"Yes, it has," admitted Ana who had been so disorientated by the wine,
she'd simply not noticed the hours pass by. "I'll have to catch a taxi."
"They're very expensive at this time of night. Stay in the guest room.
I'll show you where it is!" Ketaba led Ana to one of the rooms which was
twice the size of the bedroom in her own flat containing a firm mattress on
an double bed. "What do you think?"
"It's very nice," agreed Ana. She didn't go to bed immediately. She
and Ketaba continued to look at photographs for an hour or more longer with
a few glasses of mineral water and some carob coated sweets. Ketaba made
more references to Rhumana, but she did not elaborate, and restrained
herself from touching Ana's hand for which she was grateful. Ana got more
tired and had to announce that it was really time to go to bed.
"Of course, Ana," said Ketaba standing on her feet and wobbling
uncertainly. Ana stood up as well and felt slightly giddy too, but she
attributed it to sitting down for so long. She felt a rush to her head and
felt the room stir. She pressed a hand against her forehead in the hope it
would somehow contain her inappropriate sensation of vertigo. She felt
Ketaba's hands around her shoulders to steady her.
"Thank you," she said in gratitude opening her eyes and staring directly
into Ketaba's slightly foolish smile face, a tress of long hair falling
loosely down over her nose and mouth. Ketaba held onto Ana and shook back
her hair.
"Oh Ana!" She said in a strangely weak and slightly strangled voice.
Suddenly Ketaba's lips were pressed against her own and Ketaba's muscular
and wine-tasting mouth was inside hers. Ana was at first rather startled,
and reciprocated rather automatically as she would if Binta were to kiss
her, but just before her tongue wandered beyond Ketaba's teeth, she pushed
herself off. Ketaba wasn't Binta! What would Binta think? What was
Ketaba thinking of! Didn't she despise lesbianism?
"Don't!" Ana told Ketaba.
Ketaba let go of Ana's shoulders. "I thought ..."
"Just because Binta and I are in love doesn't mean ..."
"I don't know what came over me!" Ketaba said in humbled tones. "I'm
really sorry! I'm really sorry! It must be the alcohol. That must be
what it is! I'm just not used to it. I knew it was bad for you. I should
have heeded my own advice. Never again! I'll never touch it ever again!
I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have. Ever!"
14
"Breakfast!" Greeted Ketaba cheerfully, announcing her presence in the
bedroom where Ana was sleeping. Ana cautiously opened her eyes and looked
at her naked friend towering above carrying a tray adorned with fruit
juice, muesli and toast. "I thought you might appreciate some breakfast,
Ana!"
Ana smiled shyly. Nobody had ever brought her breakfast in bed before,
so she gratefully sat up and put the tray on her lap. She picked up the
glass of fruit juice which tasted slightly sour to her sleep-encrusted
taste buds, but appreciated the way it brought gradual clarity to her
thoughts. She looked up at Ketaba who was hovering nervously over her and
smelling quite distinctly of the freshness of soap and shampoo. She had
her long hair tied back in a white towel.
"Thanks very much," Ana said, putting down the fruit juice and picking
up the spoon to tackle the muesli. "I had a very refreshing night's
sleep."
"And you don't feel at all sick or unwell after the wine?"
Ana frowned, thinking back to the night before. Wasn't she supposed to
experience something called a 'hangover' after drinking? She didn't feel
at all bad, although she remembered a slight giddiness when she'd first
gone to bed. "No, I feel all right."
"I felt slightly ill when I woke up," sighed Ketaba. "I didn't sleep at
all well. I was tossing and turning all night. I suppose it serves me
right..."
"Oh yes!" Commented Ana, remembering more about the previous night. She
caught a glance at Ketaba's eyes which looked slyly at Ana's chest. She
glanced down idly and noticed for the first time that her were on
full display. She had become so accustomed to sleeping naked next to
Binta, she at first thought nothing of it. Then she recalled Ketaba's late
night kiss, and with embarrassment hoisted up the cotton sheet to cover her
chest.
Ketaba sighed, in recognition of Ana's discomfort. "I'm sorry about
last night," she remarked sadly. "I'm very very sorry! I don't know what
came over me! I've never behaved like that before with a woman. It must
have been the wine. I must have drunk far more than I should."
Ana smiled reassuringly, but still rearranged herself so she could eat
with no risk of the sheet falling down to her lap. "Don't worry, Ketaba.
It must have been the wine. It's supposed to make people behave very
strangely. You probably just weren't aware of what you were doing." Ana
wasn't convinced however that Ketaba's behaviour wasn't symptomatic of
deeper repressed feelings. She'd once been told that the really bad thing
about alcohol was that it released people's inhibitions and let them behave
in ways that were more honest but also more socially unacceptable.
"I'm not a lesbian, you know. I don't 'fancy' women at all. It was
just me getting upset after all that alcohol," Ketaba continued, sitting
nervously on the side of the bed. "But don't tell anyone about it, will
you? Not even Binta or Zabba. I don't want them to think I'm a like
them. I don't want them to try seducing me. And I don't want people to
think I'd ever behave illegally."
"I won't tell anyone," Ana said. She felt slightly offended at the
suggestion that her lover would attempt to seduce Ketaba just because she
might think she was a too. Binta was surely not the sort who would
automatically attempt seducing people just because they were available to
her. She also realised that keeping news of the incident secret from Binta
wasn't going to be that easy. Questions would be bound to be asked about
her night at Ketaba's flat, and Binta might even suspect that her colleague
had designs on her lover. She had after all been quite peculiarly
unforthcoming about why she was so unenthusiastic about Ana's visit.
"I'd be so grateful if you don't, Ana. I'd be so very embarrassed if
anyone knew. I'd feel humiliated. What would people think? I couldn't
live for shame!"
"It was nothing, Ketaba. Nothing at all. Don't mention it, and I'll
probably just forget it altogether anyway."
Ketaba smiled with an expression of relief. "Yes, you're right. It was
nothing! After all, we didn't actually do anything, did we? There was no
lovemaking or anything, was there? I'm probably just worrying about
nothing at all! It's all in my mind, isn't it? Well, we won't say
anything more about it!"
Ana finished her breakfast and waited until Ketaba had left the room
with the empty tray before she ventured out of bed and into her clothes.
She declined Ketaba's offer of a shower before venturing out and sat in the
living room while Ketaba put some clothes on. Ketaba's choice of a track
suit and trainers suggested more a woman who enjoyed sports than one who
worked in a brothel.
"Shall we go for a walk? You're not in a hurry to get anywhere are you?
It is Saturday after all."
"No, I'd love to see more of Honey," Ana agreed, leading the way out of
Ketaba's flat into the streets beyond. She was still impressed by the
general affluence and splendour of the district. It made her own suburb
seem very mundane.
"Do you enjoy working at the Brothel?" Wondered Ketaba as they strode
past the ornate railings of the impressive homes, large cars parked in
their wide drives. "Or do you still have reservations about it?"
Ana mused for a moment. "It's not too bad as a job, and I'm getting
used to the idea of working with all the prostitutes around," she admitted
thinking particularly of how it had made it possible to meet Binta. "I
don't like the Director, though. He's fairly objectionable even when he
doesn't touch my bottom or make coarse comments about what boyfriends he
thinks I've slept with. Everything he says has an obscene second meaning
and he smokes an awful lot."
"That must be terrible. I'd hate to have to put up with all that smoke.
I don't like the Director either, and I don't think he likes me. When I
started working at the Brothel he was always trying to get me to sleep with
him, but I just didn't fancy it. The smell of smoke on his clothes! Some
of my clients smoke, but somehow it's different when it's a client. You
can tell them not to smoke, which you can't do so easily with your boss."
"You enjoy working at the Brothel, don't you?"
"Enjoy isn't quite the right word. It's a job, like yours, and I hope I
take a proper professional attitude towards it. I think though that it's
rather devalued when people like Binta and Ferhana work there. It
shouldn't be used as a prison. But the Brothel treats its staff pretty
well: much better than it would do if it were not a government enterprise.
Anyway, I wouldn't want to break the law and freelance, like some do.
You're not so well protected, and there's no pension to look forward to.
Although I'm sure I'd earn a lot more if I did. The government wouldn't
take its percentage of my earnings!"
"Is that the only thing that's wrong about working freelance? You don't
think it'd be better if it were as it used to be, where individual brothels
competed against each other? Zabba always says she wished she could set up
her own business."
"She would, wouldn't she?" Sniffed Ketaba disparagingly, running her
fingers idly against the wall of one of the houses. She pointed towards a
track running through some grass between tall trees on the other side of
the road. "That's where I often go jogging. I usually spend at least an
hour each day running. It's an excellent way to stay fit. Though I
wouldn't say it was as effective as working." She turned her head towards
Ana, and resumed her subject. "If you remember, the reason why the
government first institutionalised Brothels all those generations ago was
to prevent the spread of venereal disease. It had been decided that
suppressing prostitution by making it illegal would only make the situation
worse. Nowadays, sexually transmitted diseases are almost totally unknown
in Alif. We're given regular checkups once a month and it's very rare that
a has caught something. That's a lot better than many countries,
where all visitors returning from holidays there have to be screened for
anything they've caught."
"Is that true of Agdal?"
"Strangely, no. But the Agdal government has its own ways of
discouraging the spread of disease. And the other thing that
institutionalised prostitution has done is stop the exploitation of
prostitutes by their pimps. Apparently, working hardly saw anything
of their earnings when it was under private control. It all went to their
pimps who went around covered in jewels and expensive clothes, while the
prostitutes had hardly nothing at all. Some of these pimps even beat up
their if they thought they hadn't made enough money and would push
them out to work even when they were feeling ill or had had more clients
than they were happy with. It's much better at the Brothel. However bad
the Director is, he's not nearly as bad as these pimps used to be. At
least that's what the history books say."
"Zabba says that it's now President Marmeluke's government that's the
pimp. She says that the government gets it both ways by getting an initial
cut from a prostitute's clients and then by taxing her earnings."
"Well, it's undeniably a good way for the government to ensure that
prostitutes pay taxes. In countries where it's illegal there must be an
awful lot of revenue that never gets collected. It must be better for the
country if prostitutes pay taxes just like other workers. It's unfair on
those who work legally."
"I suppose that's true," remarked Ana. "But there must be some bad
things about the government running Brothels. Isn't it inconsistent for
the government to be organising and profiting from something it so often
says it disapproves of?"
"I have no idea why they would disapprove of it. It's a perfectly
natural and harmless activity. It's good for the clients who in many cases
would never have sex with such beautiful or attractive providing
professional services to those who can afford it. It must be good for
prostitutes like me who want to provide those sort of services. Though I
suppose there are those who'd argue that it sets the prices artificially
high. They say that if prostitution were privatised, there would be a lot
more competition and prices would just drop. They also say that as
prostitutes wouldn't have to lose such a large percentage of their earnings
they'd also be better off. But I can't believe that. What guarantees are
there that the brothel you'd work at would be one of the better paying
ones? And I'm sure that if a group of privately run brothels teamed
together they could fix the prices just as high as they are in the State
Brothel. If not higher!"
"Perhaps there'd be less prostitution if the government weren't seen to
be encouraging it?"
"Well, the government doesn't exactly advertise the Brothels. There are
no commercials on television or the radio, are there? And anyway, I don't
think there'd be any less if it were private. Though, I suppose there
might be more variety. They wouldn't all look the same as they do now.
Clients with different interests could go where they liked. But I think
they probably do now. If they have particular tastes which the State
Brothels don't provide, there are probably clandestine brothels which will
cater for them."
"Do you think so?" Ana asked, imagining an underworld of characters like
Mr Madir and Zabba setting up business in semidetached houses in some of
the outer suburbs of Blad.
"There are always cases mentioned in the newspapers about illegal vice
rings being closed down - and I'm sure that some of these vice rings trade
in sexual services as well as pornography, drugs and alcohol."
Ana admired a monument they passed which commemorated people who had
died in a previous war. At the top of it was a statue of the who had
been president at that time, long before President Marmeluke but really
looking much the same, particularly with regard to the heroic pose in which
he was sculpted. Around the monument were some railings and a faded brass
plaque. Along the road from the monument were houses of quite modern
construction and a dark figure walking towards them. The figure came
closer and Ana could make out whom it was wearing the long black gown with
a cross dangling over her chest.
"Good morning, Ana. Good morning, Ketaba," greeted Chadora up
to them. "How strange seeing you here. You live nearby, don't you
Ketaba?"
"Yes," admitted Ketaba, amiably but looking slightly annoyed at losing
her exclusive rights to conversation with Ana. "What are you doing here?
You don't live in Honey, do you?"
"Noohh!" Laughed Chadora. "I couldn't possibly afford to live here.
Not unless I were in a sheltered church property. No, I've been visiting
one of your colleagues. She felt in need of the succour and advice that
only the church can provide." She smiled at Ana. "I believe I have an
appointment with you later this week, isn't that right?"
"Appointment?" Ana couldn't recall any such. She'd been too
ecstatically happy in her love affair to think of seeking guidance in
religion.
"You asked to see Binta's lover, Mezyana, I believe. I've been
detailed to accompany you. Surely you haven't forgotten?"
"No, not at all. I just didn't know I had to be accompanied by anyone."
"It's regulations, I'm afraid Ana dear. It isn't considered advisable
for anyone to visit people in penal institutions without some official
representation. And I'm delighted to say that I am the one who has that
privilege. Don't worry. I won't be eavesdropping on your conversation and
it will be exactly as private as you may wish. My rôle in the matter is
finished as soon as I have escorted you to the unfortunate girl." Chadora
smiled at Ketaba who appeared somewhat puzzled by the exchange. "Ana's put
in an application to see Mezyana: Binta's partner who was convicted with
her for criminal sexual conduct. Mezyana had proved to the court the
sincerity of her religious conviction and was excused prison or the Brothel
on condition she serve time at the Blad Convent."
Ketaba nodded. "It's lucky for her that she was religious. I'm not
religious at all. I don't believe in anything. If I were to commit a
crime I'd probably opt for the sentence that Binta has."
"You may not have the option," frowned Chadora. "However, I find it
strange when you say that you don't believe in anything. It appears to me
that you believe in rather a few things: they're just not encompassed by
the teachings and practices of the church."
"Are you saying that I ought to be religious?" Challenged Ketaba.
"Not at all!" Laughed Chadora. "Your faith in God is between you and
your conscience. I am merely saying that you have beliefs."
"I most certainly don't believe in God. And I think those prostitutes
who do, do so simply to absolve themselves of guilt and remorse. They are
just unable to accept what they do for what it is, and see the virtues of
it. I really don't see why they feel that way. What could possibly be
wrong with making a living out of doing what one does best? And if that is
the provision of sexual services, so be it!"
"Perhaps they feel that it debases conduct which the church believes is
best spent between husband and wife?"
Ketaba sniffed. "That rather makes it seem as if sex was purely and
simply for procreation and not for recreation."
"Some may also feel that it is the most fulfilling expression of
sincerely felt emotions," Chadora remarked.
"Hmmm! Anyway, many prostitutes who turn to the church are criminals
like Ferhana or sexual perverts. You can't say that it is because they
attach great importance to ethics or morality, can you?"
"You certainly like to argue, Ketaba!" Chadora exclaimed, smiling
amiably at Ana. "I would respond to that by saying that the individual's
relationship with God is a personal one, and that although one may seek
guidance from the church, one can still dispute the ethical codes based on
interpretation of the Gospels and the word of the Lord."
"They just want to be able to do whatever they like and be absolved of
their sins. They don't have enough self-confidence and belief in
themselves, so the church becomes a useful crutch."
"It is not for me to criticise anyone's reasons for turning to the
church, Ketaba. I think if you were only to look at it from a less
sceptical perspective you would see all it has to offer and perhaps you
could come to love God."
"You won't see me becoming a churchgoer!" Ketaba affirmed. She looked
across the road at a small ornamental tower in which a clock was inlaid.
"Is that the time? I don't have a watch. Too much ornamentation! I
really didn't realise it was that late in the morning. I've got to go to
work this afternoon. It's all work work work for a busy working girl." She
turned to face Ana and looked at her with an abashed expression. "It was
very nice having you to visit. I do hope you can come again." She almost
guiltily and quite perfunctorily kissed Ana on the cheek and dashed off
almost immediately.
Ana and Chadora watched Ketaba walk off in a stride that very soon broke
into a jog and carried her off the main road and along a rough track by the
edge of the woodland opposite. "I hope I didn't frighten Ketaba off,"
Chadora remarked apologetically. "I know she doesn't like religion and I
probably remind her too much of it. Or was it that she just didn't want me
to intervene in her chat to you."
"I'm sure that's not true," commented Ana, sure that that was much more
likely to be so. Perhaps Ketaba would have liked to have spoken more about
her failed love affairs, and found Chadora's attitudes too opposite her own
for her to feel comfortable voicing her own views as to why.
Chadora watched Ketaba's statuesque figure disappear in the shadows of
the trees. She glanced back momentarily, dodged past the small lap dogs an
old woman was escorting and was gone. "Ketaba is a sad figure in many
ways. She so much wants to believe in something, but she is also adamant
that it must not be in religion or politics. She is always looking for
something and I don't think she'll ever find it." Chadora returned her gaze
to Ana and firmly took a hand in one of hers. "So, next week you'll be
seeing Mezyana in the Convent. It is just a social call, isn't it?"
"Binta wants to know how Mezyana is, but of course she can't visit
herself. I'm just visiting as Binta's proxy, if you like."
"And I daresay you'd like to see what Binta's former lover is like as
well, I imagine. Isn't that right?"
Ana nodded shyly. Chadora squeezed Ana's hand affectionately, and then
linked her arm inside Ana's and the two walked along the peaceful Honey
boulevards back towards the bus stop for the Brothel. She didn't ask why
Ana should want to visit the Brothel on her day off, and her conversation
became much more desultory. She talked about the private gardens of Honey,
the large estates and the great wealth of many of the inhabitants. She
chatted about Rif and Jebel, and listened with apparent interest to Ana's
accounts of her home and its great wheat fields. She made no more comment
at all about either Mezyana and Binta, but it seemed to Ana that there was
an understanding between the two of them, and that Chadora was subtly
expressing her approval of a relationship based on love.
15
"It's good to see you arrive so early!" Exclaimed Chadora when Ana
arrived in the Brothel chapel in her smartest clothes, worn so rarely since
her interview. She had combed her hair carefully, applied the lipstick
with which she so rarely bothered and cut her fingernails with fastidious
attention. She was very anxious about her visit to the Convent. She so
wanted to make a good impression on Binta's former lover. At least she
hoped it was her former lover, and the barely vocalised fear that this
might not be wholly the case made her feel terribly insecure.
Chadora was dressed in her normal working dress and had been fussing
about the chapel. She had laid hymn books in front of every pew, and
organised the selection of hymn sheets on the board. Ana watched Chadora
unhurriedly straightening a few cushions and crossing herself in front of
the altar. She strolled towards Ana through the fragmented kaleidoscope of
light from the stained glass windows above the altar, and smiled warmly.
"It looks like a fine day for visiting the Convent, God Willing!"
Chadora commented, taking Ana's arm in hers and escorting her out of the
Brothel through an exit Ana hadn't been aware of before. It avoided the
main reception area and led the two of them through the Brothel recruitment
office where a slim with quite a long nose sat bored at the desk
reading a newspaper. She stood up sharply as Chadora and Ana entered, but
relaxed immediately.
"Good morning, sister!"
"Good morning, Qabiha. How has your day been?"
"Just two visitors today, sister. Neither very interested I thought. I
shan't earn much commission at this rate."
"God willing there may be more," Chadora remarked, leading Ana out of
the door and into the streets beyond. The Convent was in a distant suburb
of the city, and it was necessary to travel there by bus. Chadora took Ana
to the bus stop several blocks away and they sat on the waiting bus as it
prepared to leave. Ana envied the respect Chadora received from passers
by, and remarked on this.
"The way I dress does indeed make a difference," Chadora agreed. "I am
a servant of God, and therefore I am accorded respect. That is a good
thing and something for which I am very grateful. When I worked in the
Brothel as a prostitute I wore very different clothes, was seen as a
servant of men's lust and was treated with as much contempt as I am now
treated with honour. I am essentially the same person but in my capacity
as a whore I truly earned the disrespect that was shown towards me, for I
was indeed nothing better than an expensive diversion for who would be
better focusing their attentions on higher spiritual values. But it is not
for me to condemn. The Lord's will is that all should be loved equally:
high or low, misguided or enlightened. After all, He has shown His great
love and mercy by welcoming me into His bosom where I can now compensate
for all that I did in my early days."
"Do you regret having worked as a prostitute?" Ana wondered as the bus
moved off.
"Regret is the wrong word. No, my regret is that it took me so long to
surrender myself to His ministry. There were so many wasted years, but the
Lord be Praised I am now wholly dedicated to His service. But this is my
decision. It may be that I would never have chosen such a vocation had my
earlier one not been so very different. I have foresworn marriage to a
man, and have opted instead for the more worthwhile and absolute marriage
which is that to God and His Church. No other love is greater than His,
and no love is more satisfying than that which I feel towards Him. Unlike
a He will never abandon me. He cares for me when I err. He loves me
when I am miserable. And His capacity for forgiveness is infinite. What
man can possibly offer so much?"
Ana blushed. She had no real knowledge of the love that a could
give, but felt that it must be very much secondary to the love that Binta
offered her, or that she felt towards Binta. This was not a subject she
wished to discuss with Chadora.
The chaplain smiled at Ana. "We are now on our way to the Convent.
Like the church, the chapel and the cathedral it is a house of God, and a
place where, together with my sisters, I too spent a happy year of my life
dedicating myself to the worship of the Lord. It is a place of great
spiritual beauty. A place where my love for the Lord was encouraged and
nurtured, and where I discovered I no longer needed the distraction offered
by a man's temporal love. It is not an easy matter to abandon the
affection of physical or sexual love. It is difficult and occasionally
frustrating. Especially for one such as I who had made love to maybe
more than a dozen times every day. It was not because I dislike such
activity. Indeed, like Ketaba, it occasionally gave me feelings of great
usefulness to the poor who felt the need to buy a prostitute's services
and, I'm afraid, it was sometimes very pleasant. Unlike your friend Binta,
men do not repulse me at all. I became a novice from a wish to worship and
serve, and not to escape from another way of life."
"What's life like in the Convent?"
"Austere. Very austere. There are no distractions from the main
purpose of worship. There is no television, no shopping, no parties and
definitely no men. Indeed, had you been a male friend of Binta's, it would
have been a much more difficult excursion to organise or even gain
permission to do so. "
The Convent was no less austere in appearance than Chadora's description
of its daily routine of prayer, bible readings and good deeds was in
activity. At first, Ana was sure that the tall imposing walls surrounded a
prison. It must have been just as effective in preventing Mezyana from
escaping and seeking her liberty in the streets of Blad outside. However,
the entrance was quite unlike that of a prison, although the large metal
doors were just as functional for security purposes. Chadora explained
that unlike a prison the gates were there to keep intruders out rather than
to keep the nuns in.
"How does that relate to Mezyana's sentencing?" Ana countered.
Chadora noticeably blushed. "I believe that the use of the Lord's house
as a prison or as a punishment goes against its spirit. Just as your boss,
the Director, forever complains about having to act as a prison governor as
well as the head of a commercial enterprise, I would say that God also
protests at the abuse of His house for such a base and unspiritual rôle.
For Mezyana, this place is indeed a prison. Just as the Brothel is to her
partner in crime. I don't know Mezyana of course. She isn't one of my
wards. But I would hope that her attitude is not that the Convent is only
a prison, although I doubt she has any more freedom than your friend,
Ferhana. I hope she benefits from serving the Lord and recognises His love
in allowing her to do so at the behest of President Marmeluke's
government."
Chadora rang the doorbell to the Convent's entrance, and entered into an
exchange with a woman on the intercom. Ana studied the ancient doors of
the Convent which came directly onto the street with no intervening garden
or forecourt. The doors were opened, and Chadora and Ana were let in by an
elderly nun who greeted the two of them with a broad smile and a humble
bow. Chadora returned the compliment and indicated subtly to Ana that she
should also bow her head.
The interior of the Convent was as austere as its exterior. The lights
were quite dim and there were no decorations or ornaments except for a
large crucifix on the wall and a portrait of President Marmeluke. A series
of corridors radiated in all directions, along which could be seen the
occasional dark shadow of a nun. The nun ushered the two of them towards a
room to one side, in which there were a few ageing chairs and a table on
which a few religious magazines were laid.
"If you can wait here, I'll look for someone with the appropriate
authority. It's to see Mezyana, is it?"
Chadora repeated that it was, and that they were very grateful for her
services. She waited until the nun had left, and then smiled at Ana who
was sitting apprehensively, her legs crossed, studying the portrait on the
wall of a former superior whose features were difficult to
distinguish in the shadows. "They're not very used to having visitors in
the Convent," Chadora remarked. "In most cases, the nuns are free to come
and go as they please, so this kind of escorted visit is actually quite
rare."
Ana nodded, and glanced through the open door down the corridor where
the nun scurried along, carrying a loose-leaf folder under her arm. "Will
she be long?"
"I can't say. But Convents are not places noted for their speed and
haste, Ana dear. Anyway, there will be plenty of time to talk to Mezyana.
So, tell me. Are you enjoying your career at the Brothel?"
"I quite like the work and I enjoy meeting the other people who work
there," Ana answered diplomatically.
"Especially meeting Binta, of course. And Ketaba, as well," smiled
Chadora. "But you'd probably have got to meet people in Blad, whatever job
you were doing. Does it trouble you to work in a Brothel given the
activities that go on there?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm sure I don't have to elaborate, Ana. The Brothel is a place where
young women sell their bodies and where clients indulge in sexual fantasy
and sexual congress. Most people who are not prostitutes, and indeed many
who are, find this rather unnatural and perverse. It must also be very
strange for you: making friends with women who will have up to fifteen
sexual partners a day. It doesn't take much of my imagination to see how
all this could upset a fresh from the green fields of Rif."
"I don't really like to think about it very much," admitted Ana. "It's
not that I'm a prostitute myself. I like to think of people at the Brothel
as I find them. I don't like thinking about what they may do when they're
with clients."
"Including Binta, I suppose. And has much pressure been put on you to
persuade you into part-time prostitution like your predecessor, Inta? Have
Khedra and the Director sold you the benefits of such work?"
"Khedra visited me at my flat once and told me all about the benefits.
And often when I see her at work she makes comments about 'the door always
being open', and 'if you're short of money you know what to do', and 'I
really don't know how you manage on your salary'. The Director also makes
comments, but they're horribly coarse. He says that I have a very
attractive pair of and he'd love to see them. He says my legs are
pretty on the eye, but would be nicer to touch. And he often touches me on
the bottom or on the shoulders at work. And, yes, he does sometimes say it
would be good for me to work part-time as a prostitute, and that if I did
he'd be privileged to be my first client. He's so horrible, though! I
couldn't bear the idea."
"Well, don't worry about what he and Khedra say. Remember that you are
absolutely and unreservedly in no way obliged to provide sexual services at
the Brothel. Don't ever feel that it would advantage your career or that
you actually need the extra money. You already earn quite good money for a
secretary I imagine, and you wouldn't be that easy to replace were you to
leave. Good secretaries rarely choose to work in Brothels."
"I didn't really choose to work in a Brothel," Ana protested. "It's
just that there were so few jobs."
"Well now you've gained experience, I'm sure your choice has widened
considerably. You don't have to continue working there. If you wanted,
you could find somewhere else to work. The oppressive atmosphere of the
Brothel need not be a permanent fixture in your life."
"I'm sure you're right," Ana remarked, staring at her hands and
reflecting on the real reason why she was determined to stay at the Brothel
for the foreseeable future. "But I've made so many friends there. And I
don't know anyone else in Blad."
"As I say, you'll easily make other friends in other jobs. And if you
still want to see people like Ketaba and Zabba, you can do so."
"But it's not just that..." Ana stumbled, struggling to find a way to
phrase that so long as Binta remained working in the Brothel, then so too
would she. She visualised Binta's beautiful face and bare shoulders. She
would suffer any indignity to be able to see her regularly and to share a
bed with her.
Chadora took Ana's hand in her own and squeezed it affectionately. Ana
turned her head round to look into Chadora's face. "You needn't be evasive
with me, Ana. I have worked as a chaplain and as a prostitute at the
Brothel for several years, and I have learnt a great deal about how it can
be between two women who crave affection. I know that both you and Binta
feel terribly lonely and isolated in the Brothel. I know, too, that your
affection for Binta is rather stronger than that usually felt between two
girlfriends. It is not at all uncommon among in the Brothel, but it
is also something about which the law of the land has a very firm opinion."
"Are you saying that I should leave Binta?"
"My rôle is to give spiritual and pastoral advice, Ana. I would say
that your career at the Brothel and your friendship with Binta, which may
seem so wonderful now, could become cause for regret later. The Church is
very undecided about the morality of homosexuality, but generally it
believes that due obedience to the law of the land should take priority on
issues of conduct which do not impinge too deeply on a good Christian's
duties and ethical standards. Your future hinges on your attitude towards
both the Brothel and Binta, and that you must seriously ask yourself what
is most important in your life and what sacrifices you feel you must make
to gain what you really want. Remember that you do have a choice. You
don't have to stay at the Brothel and you don't have to continue your
illegal sexual conduct."
Ana didn't appreciate being told how to lead her life, even by someone
like Chadora, but she felt too embarrassed to object. She released her
hand from Chadora's, using as an excuse the need to find a handkerchief in
her handbag. While rummaging inside among the purse, comb and compact
tucked inside the little pockets, she ruminated: "I don't know what I want
to do in the future. But for the present what I most want and what gives
me the most pleasure is Binta. I can't explain to you how very special she
is to me and how much ... how very much ... It's just something that
grips me. Holds me captive. I don't think I could leave her if I wanted
to."
Chadora smiled. "I apologise for talking to you like this. But you
need not fear that I shall ever speak to others about you and Binta.
However, the time of waiting is over: I see that someone is coming to meet
us."
A thin middle-aged nun with glasses and quite prominent teeth
drifted into the room escorted by a very nun, barely out of her
teens, quite plump and incredibly bashful. "Good morning, Chadora,"
the nun remarked. "So this is Ana. Come to visit Mezyana. Are you
related to the sister, Ana?"
Ana shook her head. "No, not at all."
"I thought not. Your surnames are quite different. And your dialects
as well," the nun continued, looking at a sheet of paper she had attached
to a clipboard. "A friend of the sister, I suppose? Do you work at the
Brothel?"
Ana abruptly blushed at that comment, and noticed that the nun was
visibly shocked at the very notion. "Well, yes. I do," confessed Ana
nervously. "But not as a ... not a ... I work in the office. I'm a
secretary."
"I see!" Sniffed the nun. "Well, never mind. Mezyana's friends
must come from many walks of life, otherwise she wouldn't be here on penal
servitude." She looked at Chadora. "Well thank you, sister. I don't
believe we need detain you any longer. If you could kindly sign the
visitor's book as you leave." She then whisked around and led Ana and the
young nun, both feeling abashed, down a long corridor towards Mezyana's
cell.
16
Ana was escorted to an austere room in which only a portrait of
President Marmeluke and a crucifix decorated the bare walls. The only
furniture was a wide table with a chair on either side. The nun beckoned
her to sit on one of the chairs and left her alone. Moments later, the
door opened and Mezyana entered wearing a long dark gown and a hood over
her head. She smiled at Ana, and sat wordlessly on the chair opposite her.
She pulled back her hood and revealed a thin freckled face and a head that
was totally shaved.
"Good morning, Ana," Mezyana said, looking at her inquisitively.
"You're a friend of Binta's, I gather, come to see how I am. Is that
right, or have I been misinformed?"
"No, that's quite right. Binta hasn't seen or heard from you, and she's
interested in your welfare."
"So, my letters to her have been intercepted and she's just not received
them!" Sighed Mezyana. "I thought it would have been considered sufficient
punishment imprisoning us like this. Has she written to me?"
"I don't know," Ana admitted. "She hasn't told me."
"And you must work in the Brothel too, otherwise you wouldn't have got
to know her. How is she? Is she well?"
"Very well. She doesn't enjoy working at the Brothel, though. She
loathes it. She detests her clients. She despises the work she has to do.
And she hates not being allowed to leave."
"I can't say that surprises me. What surprises me more is that she
opted for it. She could have gone to prison. I had wondered whether it
was because she liked sex so much and she thought she'd enjoy having more
of it. Why did she choose the Brothel?"
"It was either that or prison. And she heard that prison was really
very unpleasant."
"So having sex with strange every day is somehow more pleasant. I
really don't understand Binta. She so often said that she would never
contemplate it. In fact, she told me many times that she would never dream
of making love to anyone other than me. She's so fickle! She just
couldn't wait till after her sentence, I suppose." Mezyana looked quite
bitter. She glanced down at the crucifix dangling over the front of her
gown, and then looked up at Ana. "I daresay that she's not quite forgotten
me, if she's chosen to send her new girlfriend to see me. I take it you
are her girlfriend? And by that I do mean girlfriend as the word might be
used in a love affair."
"I am," admitted Ana, blushing slightly and feeling rather guilty. "I'm
very much in love with her."
Mezyana steadily examined Ana's thin face, and smiled reluctantly. "I
suppose she could have found worse than you. So much for her undying and
eternal love for me. At least in God I have found someone who will never
be so fickle. Are you a prostitute like her?"
"No, not at all. I work as a secretary."
Mezyana frowned slightly disbelievingly. "A secretary? So, you're not
a whore. That's something I suppose. I was very worried that she would
have a love affair with someone stained by frequent loveless sex. As she
must be herself. It pains me to think that she is being ... that strange
men - and so many of them - are ... that her precious body is daily
violated in such a gross and immoral way. A secretary you say? At the
Brothel?"
"Yes, I work in the Director's office."
"And you're not a prostitute at all? Not even for some of the time?"
"No, never! Never! I wouldn't dream of ... I just couldn't ... It's
such a horrid idea!"
"But you still make love to Binta, don't you? Like I did for so many
years. Loving her. And she loving you, I suppose. I so hoped that she
would stay faithful. I so wanted her to love me forever. To be there when
I finish my sentence."
"She says she still loves you," Ana protested.
"So much so that she will also love you!" Mezyana sighed bitterly. She
smiled bravely at Ana. "Well, it's not your fault. Binta isn't the sort
of who'd just be content to wait. She always wanted more from the
here and now. She'll always opt for ephemeral distractions. Like Azhnia.
But I must forgive her, I suppose. However much I still long for her, and
however much faith I invested in her love for me. The Lord God teaches us
to forgive all sinners. And I mustn't blame you. She is beautiful and
it's inevitable that another person should fall in love with her. And
seduce her."
"I didn't seduce her!" Ana protested.
Mezyana steadily explored Ana's face. The pale freckles round her nose
wrinkled slightly as she screwed up her face in the pain of the
implications of Ana's reply. "So, if you didn't seduce her, she must have
seduced you. Had you ever had a relationship with a woman before?"
"No, not at all. Nor with a man."
Mezyana nodded her head and bit her lower lip with her teeth. "You poor
girl. It's you who are most wronged by this, not my beloved Binta. I
should have realised, of course. I knew Binta so well. Or so I thought.
She got to know you and eventually, when she'd established that you were a
lesbian ... well, perhaps not a lesbian, but someone attracted to women
like her - and like me, despite my service to the Lord, - ... she simply
extended her friendship from the platonic to the physical. Is that so?"
Ana nodded unhappily. She and Mezyana stared at each other. Ana felt
very uncomfortable. She hadn't known what to expect from meeting Binta's
former lover, but she'd somehow hoped for some kind of support. She was in
desperate need for some endorsement, or encouragement, or for someone to
say that, yes, her love for Binta was good and wholesome. Someone to make
her feel that her love wasn't a perversion and was as genuine and tender as
she felt it to be. A small tear welled up in her eye and trickled slowly
out of its corner. "I'm so in love with Binta! She's all I live for!
She's all I want! She fills my every waking thought. I love her so much.
So much it hurts to be parted for just a moment."
Mezyana smiled sympathetically. "So perhaps you can understand how I
may feel, Ana. But I mustn't berate you. The Lord beseeches us to forgive
and to understand. And that I must do. But please forgive me for
resenting you for taking the only love for me - the only love of mine not
dedicated to the Lord and my - away from me, and leaving me here
bereft of ... abandoned by Binta." She lowered her head, overcome by the
intensity of her own love.
There was an uneasy silence between the two of them. Mezyana bent her
head down to study the table and ran a hand over the grey stubble of her
scalp. Ana felt that her meeting was a disaster: but what did she expect?
While time had moved on for Binta, it had clearly frozen for Mezyana, who
still thought in terms of the love she and Binta had shared before their
arrest.
"What's it like living in the Convent?" Ana asked after a while, more to
break the tension than from a genuine desire to find out.
"The Convent?" Mezyana repeated, frowning. "What is it like for me
living here? Amongst all these holy women with shaven heads who think I am
a sinner to be more pitied than loved, and to be avoided at all costs lest
I should rape or molest them. In the shadow of these dark forbidding walls
and no license to wander the streets of Blad like my sinless sisters. In
the worship and adulation of the Lord God Our Father, who loved us so that
He sent his only Son who died for our sins. It's incredibly boring.
That's what it is. Mindnumbingly and unspeakably boring. If I had the
choice I would have chosen to worship the Lord by more active and
exhilarating means than by praying, reading the Bible (a book I can now
almost recite by heart), and knitting mittens to pay for the Convent's
keep. I would have become a missionary. Or a priestess, if that were
possible. Or just someone noted for doing good and holy deeds. Not a
clockwork cabbage: repeating the same routines in precisely the same way at
exactly the same time every day without fail!"
"Do you hate living here like Binta hates working at the Brothel?"
"You misunderstand me. I don't hate living here at all - even if it is
lonely and monotonous. I feel that it is duty to the Lord that I am
serving by circumstance rather than choice. It is not the way I would like
to have served the Lord, but I am happy to be able to do so. It is
undoubtedly preferable to prison. And service in the Brothel is just an
option I would not contemplate. If Binta does indeed hate working as a
prostitute then I can only feel that perhaps not all is lost for my love.
My former love, as I now have to accept she is. Like Binta used to claim
and perhaps still does, I cannot abide the thought of letting a violate
my body. And for nothing more than exploitative diversion: I could not
stomach such daily and unremitting humiliation."
Ana nodded in agreement with Mezyana's remarks. "Will you serve in the
church when you have finished your sentence?"
Mezyana frowned. "Before I came here, I would have answered yes. By
serving my sentence as a novice, I could eventually graduate and become a
more active member in the service of the church. But I will never be able
to clear myself of the stigma of my criminal conviction, and there will
never be a long or prosperous career for me in Alif. What I do when I
finish here, I really don't know, but at least in the world beyond, my
sentence could be excused as a period of devotion. Perhaps, when I leave
I'll become a secretary." She smiled wryly at Ana, who in the relief of the
slight levity felt a great weight suddenly lift from her chest. "Who
knows? Anyway, in many ways, it is not an unpleasant way of life, living
here."
"How is that?"
"Well, it is certainly peaceful and restful. Nothing happens and
nothing is ever likely to happen. It is strange to be relieved of the
anxiety of wondering what to do or of ever making a significant decision,
but it does mean that I am more free to concentrate on my devotion to God
and have no distractions of a non-spiritual kind. If I were here by choice
and not known as a notorious sex criminal, I would no doubt have made many
friends, like the other nuns. I may have the privilege reserved only for
criminals of having a room to myself - the risk of my corrupting the virtue
of my sisters is thought too great to allow such opportunity. This means
that I have not built up the normal friendships the other sisters have
done, and I am forever shunned from fear and ignorance. I should consider
myself fortunate. My particular sex crime has at least not violated my
maidenhead in the technical sense, and has meant that I can at least be
permitted to stay in the Convent as a virgin."
"Would you like to return home to Jebel when you finish your sentence?"
"Oh, I'd like to! I'd love to return to those craggy hills and the
beautiful valleys. But I won't. The villagers would treat me as a pariah.
I would be shunned and regarded as a pervert. I'll probably take my chance
on starting life again in Blad. Why do you ask? Have you ever been to
Jebel?"
"No. But Binta's told me ever so much about it!"
"She has, has she? I suppose she would. Neither she nor I had ever
been anywhere else in our lives before. And beyond the small glimpse I get
through the window, I don't even know what the city is like. She probably
has the same lack of freedom. Jebel is undoubtedly beautiful, though.
Where do you come from? Are you a Blad girl?"
"No. I come from Rif."
"Rif? A country girl, like Binta and me. You'd recognise life in Jebel
then. I can't imagine it's much different in Rif. Binta and I had a
strange childhood. We were so obsessed with one other we hardly had any
other friends at all. My only other friends at all were the children and
teachers at the Sunday School. We missed so much of a normal childhood and
adolescence I think. And now I wonder, what for? Where's Binta now? I
loved her. And I thought she loved me. I always thought it was a mistake
when our friendship became more physical - but Binta was so irrepressible.
And when we'd started touching each other, Binta just couldn't stop.
Wherever and whenever she could she would touch me and persuade me to touch
her. I can't deny that I enjoyed it, and I loved the pleasure it gave her,
but I knew it was bad and dangerous. But she was so persistent, and I
couldn't help thinking that something that felt so good, must therefore be
good. And it was horrible when people in the village began suspecting us.
It's not as if Binta ever did anything to allay these suspicions. She was
sometimes so blatant. Holding hands in public places. Kissing me full on
the mouth in the cinema. Touching me where platonic friends just don't
touch each other. Not just other school students, but even my friends from
the Sunday School and some children changed their attitude towards me.
They wouldn't talk to me, or if they did they wouldn't look me straight in
the face. It was absolutely horrible. I was hoping and hoping before we
were arrested that we could finish school and go to where people
wouldn't have such a negative opinion. But of course, my hopes and prayers
were totally wasted!"
Mezyana paused, and Ana again felt uncomfortable. What could she say
that could comfort Binta's former lover? And what could be said that would
make her feel less desolate herself? Mezyana smiled bravely at Ana. "So,
tell me. How is Binta? I imagine her dressed in makeup and parading
around the Brothel in suggestive clothes. Is that so?"
"Binta doesn't wear any clothes at the Brothel. In fact, I've never
seen her dressed at all."
"She doesn't wear clothes?"
"She doesn't have to. She's a certified naturist."
"Is that so? She never was in Jebel, at least not when she was with
anyone other than me. But then she was always a bit of a show-off! Is it
her kind of rebellion against the Brothel?"
"I think it must be. Most of the other wear blatant lipstick,
mascara and eyeliner, and a lot of underwear. Binta doesn't dress like
that at all."
Mezyana laughed, relatively gaily. "Binta the nudist! What a strange
thought. Are you one as well?"
"No, not at all! I wouldn't want all those looking at me in that
horrid way they do. I'd hate that."
"So, you wouldn't contemplate prostitution at all?" Ana nodded shyly in
assent. "Do you just hate or do you just hate prostitution?"
"I don't hate men. Not really. But I don't like my boss, the Director.
He's so crude and basic. Everything he says sounds like it's meant to make
me feel like just so much meat! I think all he sees in me and all the
other women are merely objects for his sexual desire."
"Isn't that just like all men!" Sniffed Mezyana disdainfully. "And now
you are Binta's lover? Not me. You! It's difficult for me to accept. I
always believed I was the only one in Binta's life, and she was always so
for me. And now it's all changed! Instead it's you! Did Binta send you
to torture me?"
Ana sighed deeply. "Surely not. She says she just wants to see how you
are. She says she worries about you every day."
"Clearly not as much as I worry about her. But I should be less
selfish. I'm sure God would wish that I were more generous and wished all
joy and happiness to you and Binta. But it's not what I feel. I look at
you. And I think of Binta's beautiful naked body. And I think of the two
of you together. Cuddled together. Kissing each other. Making love
together. And I just think: it should be me there enjoying it. It should
be me! Fate is so cruel!"
Ana stared unhappily and dejectedly at the table. This interview was so
painful. She felt even more guilty for her love for Binta. Not only was
she committing a criminal act, she was also the innocent party to her
lover's infidelity. It made her love seem tarnished and vulgar. Tears
welled up unprompted in her eyes and a small droplet eased itself from the
corner and gradually etched itself on her cheek. "I'm sorry that I've
caused you so much pain!"
Mezyana looked at Ana steadily and sympathetically. "Don't feel guilty.
Don't feel so bad. It isn't your fault! If it hadn't been you, it would
probably have been someone else. Binta's love for women is clearly not
reserved for me alone. It's my pain that I'm expressing. It's not one
that you should share. Perhaps I should thank God that Binta's new lover
is not a prostitute and who shares my abhorrence for it. I'm sure God
would wish me to endorse your love as a better choice for my love's love
than myself: incarcerated here, unable to see her, and probably never able
to see her again! You are, at least, very pretty. And from what little
I've seen, relatively virtuous and kind-hearted."
Ana could see that Mezyana herself was crying as she struggled to
restrain her deep disappointment and feeling of loss. She bent her shaven
head down and for several minutes cupped her face in the palms of her
hands. Her shoulders shuddered, and she broke into a single agonised sob.
She then abruptly stood up: her face a mess of misery and tears. She
brushed the back of her hand over her eyes, and turned around.
"I better go now. You better leave too!" Mezyana sobbed, running to the
door. "Tell Binta that I love her! Tell her that I'll always love her!
Tell her that ... that ... I understand. Tell her she can consider
herself released. Tell her I love her! I love her! I love her so much!"
She pulled open the door to the cell and ran out leaving Ana alone,
unhappy and disconsolate, in the emptiness of the room. She remained for
several more minutes reflecting on her encounter and watching the drip drip
of her tears fall onto the table in front of her.
17
Ana left the Convent in some distress. She stood by the bus stop and
waited as if in a dream, almost startled when a bus actually arrived to
take her back into the city centre. As the bus drove along, she looked
through the window at people going about their life, oblivious to all but
her own musings on her love of Binta and her sympathy for Mezyana. She
felt overwhelmingly guilty for her rôle in taking Binta away from her
previous love, but very jealous too that she should never let anyone take
Binta away from her.
She disembarked at the terminus and walked aimlessly around the city
centre, not at all sure where to go. She ignored the bustle of shoppers as
they dashed in and out of the city stores, conscious that despite herself
her steps were taking her closer to the Brothel where she had made no plans
to meet Binta today. Indeed, she knew that Binta would actually be working
at the moment: a thought which caused additional distress in itself. That
beautiful body. Those disgusting men! How could she live with such
jealousy?
"Cooee!" Ana heard, but ignored.
"Hey, Ana!" Came the call again, to which this time she felt obliged to
respond. The source of the cry was Zabba who was sitting in a cafe with
another whom Ana had never seen before. Zabba was dressed as before
in a leather jacket and looked much more like a than a girl. Her
companion was a slim with a short bob, wearing a tee-shirt and a
floral skirt. The two of them were smoking cigarettes and had cups of
coffee in front of them. "How are you today?"
Ana strolled over to them. "Fine. Fine."
"I must say you don't look it! Come. Sit with Bida and me."
Ana nodded and sat sheepishly in the vacant chair, scarcely caring that
she was downwind of the tobacco fumes she'd normally have avoided. Bida
smiled at her, and Ana noticed for the first time that she was discreetly
holding Zabba's hand under the table.
"You don't know each other do you? This is my close friend, Bida.
She's still at school. And this, Bida, is Ana, who is a secretary at the
Brothel."
"They have secretaries there!" Exclaimed Bida, in a quite voice.
"Secretaries. Cleaners. Accountants. Everything. But, hey, what's
the trouble Ana? You and Binta haven't had a tiff have you?"
"A tiff?"
"You know. A lover's tiff. It happens to the best of us, doesn't it
Bida dear?"
Her friend nodded her head shyly. "You're never very honest with me,
Zabba. All those other people ..."
"It comes with the job!" Zabba replied sharply. "Was it something like
that?"
Ana shook her head and gazed at the ring of coffee stain left on Zabba's
saucer while she sipped from the cup. "No, it wasn't. I've just been to
the Convent. To see Mezyana."
"Mezyana? Oh, Binta's ex! That must have been quite weird for you,"
remarked Zabba sympathetically. "What was it like?"
"It was horrible! She's still very much in love with Binta."
Zabba nodded her head. "Loyal girl. And I thought these nuns were
always making love to each other. She's not, I take it?"
Ana shook her head sadly, slightly alarmed by the suggestion. "I felt
so bad. Taking Binta away from her!"
"Nonsense! It's Binta, not you, who should feel guilty, if anyone
should. I'd be very surprised if it was you, rather than she who started
it."
"But I could have said no. I could have resisted."
"I can't believe that's what you would rather have done. What do you
think, Bida? Do you think Ana should feel guilty that she's having a
relationship with someone who's got a lover imprisoned in a Convent?"
"Is that what's happened?" Mused Bida. "I don't know. I'd hate it if
you did the same to me. I'd hate it if someone took you away from me."
Zabba looked distinctly uncomfortable, and made no comment. She opened
her packet of cigarettes and offered one to Bida before inserting one in
her own mouth. She lit them, and then addressed Ana, clearly intending to
change the subject: "How do you like living in Blad? Better than the
provinces isn't it?"
"I'm still not used to all the people," Ana admitted. "I often long to
be out in the country air again, and lead a more relaxed life."
"Just the two of you together, I suppose. Binta's a country too,
isn't she? Is she pining for the great outdoors as well?"
Ana nodded. "We've often thought about returning to the country when
she finishes her sentence."
"Not many jobs there, though, are there? What do you intend to do?
Rear sheep? Grow crops? I'd have thought you'd both be better off staying
in Blad. More opportunities for work for a start. And anyway how long do
you think you could live together in the country before you both get found
out again? Do you think you'd like to serve time in the Brothel like
Binta? And do you think you'd be at all likely to be sharing the same
Brothel? If I were you, I'd abandon the notion of living in the sticks.
You're much better off in Blad. Nobody notices anything here. Nobody
really has the time or inclination to get upset by a little bit of illicit
sex. And it's not that bad in Blad. Really it isn't."
"I'd hate to live anywhere but here," Bida remarked. "What's there to
do in the country? No cinemas. No night clubs. The shops are boring.
Everything would be boring. It's much better here. And anyway Zabba lives
here. I'd hate to live anywhere away from her. The pain would be
intolerable."
"Ye-es," agreed Zabba embarrassedly, inhaling on her cigarette and
blowing a ring of smoke into the air. "So you can see, Ana, it really
isn't that bad here."
"It's still not home to me," Ana protested. "There must be somewhere
else to live."
"Perhaps it's working at the Brothel that brings you down. Do you still
not mind working for the Pimple?"
"The Pimple? Oh! The Director. I don't like working for him at all.
He's a horrid man. Sometimes he says dreadful things about Binta. He
knows we're good friends, and he says things like he hopes I'm better in
bed than her. That I give better satisfaction to than Binta does."
"And do you? Give better satisfaction?"
Ana looked down at her hands. What a disgusting question! But how
could she answer it? "I don't know. I haven't tried."
Zabba sighed. "Are you saying you're a virgin?"
Ana nodded. Bida smiled: "See! I'm not the only one Zabba! There are
others."
"I don't see it's something to be especially proud of. And what else
has the Pimple been saying? Has he tried to get you to sleep with him?"
"No!" Gasped Ana vehemently. "At least I don't think so. I'm not sure.
He says so many things. I just don't really take it all in. He does keep
touching me. Especially on the bum. And once he grabbed me round the
waist, but I slipped out pretty quickly. And he sometimes asks me
questions about and sex and other things. I try to ignore it as much
as I can."
"I must say the Pimple sounds remarkably restrained. I can't believe
he's such a reformed character. Perhaps he's got more subtle plans for
you. Mind you, he is a bit of a coward. He's probably frightened of being
rejected. I gather he's never really pursued Ketaba who'd more than likely
put him in his place. But I warn you, Ana, that is poison. He's no
better, and probably worse, than any of the clients who come to the
Brothel. I remember how he used to pester me when I first started working
there. It worries me that he knows you're friends with Binta. He doesn't
know the whole story, does he?"
Ana was sufficient confused without having to contemplate the awful
consequences of that prospect. "I'm sure he doesn't. At least I hope not!
We try to be ever so careful."
"He's not a naïve man. He could very easily work out why you spend so
much time with Binta."
"We're careful, aren't we?" Bida remarked. "We keep it secret. Not
even my mum knows about you and most of my friends think you're my
boyfriend. I don't want to go to jail. That'd be horrible!"
Zabba squeezed her lover's hand affectionately, but wasn't to be
distracted. "Has the Pimple ever said anything to you that would make you
think he suspects you and Binta of having more than just a normal
friendship?"
Ana shook her head. "I don't think so. He's just very nasty about her.
He calls her a 'frigid dyke'. Or a 'waste of her client's good money'. Or
a 'disgrace to a noble profession'. He says she ought to buck her ideas up
and dress more appropriately and not pretend to be Eve in the Garden of
Eden. Innocence, he says, is not one of Binta's virtues. I always thought
that was because she hasn't let him ... you know ... hasn't allowed him
..."
Zabba grinned. "I love a who can say no - as long as it's not to
me!"
"Oh, Zabba!" Gasped Bida, glaring at her lover. "How can you say that?
Aren't I enough for you? Surely you don't need anyone else?"
"Of course not, Bida sweetheart," Zabba answered, squeezing her knee
reassuringly under the table. "You're quite enough for me!"
18
Ana's life had set into a pattern in which on the whole she was still
blissfully happy. As long as she could meet Binta every day how could her
life be otherwise? She hardly ever spent the night in her own flat: she
normally stayed behind at the Brothel with Binta and relished their hours
together spent on her bed, trying never to think about all the that had
also been there during the day and had forced themselves onto her lover.
She loved everything about Binta. Every freckle, every dimple, every
blemish. She loved Binta's body: so slim, so elegant, so perfect. She
loved the sound of Binta's voice and its assertive tone. She loved the
feel of Binta's long hair as it fell over her own naked buttocks, the
warmth of her skin, the salty taste of her sweat and the ivory hardness of
her teeth nibbling her skin. Ana was so lucky to be in love with someone
as truly perfect as Binta, and honoured that her love was so abundantly
reciprocated.
Being in love made her days in the office so much more bearable. She
hated it when Mr Madir made his usual coarse comments, a cigarette forever
lit and inserted into his cigarette holder, and dark bristles outlined
against his pale greasy skin. "That new girl," he might say. "She's got
tits like melons even if her face is like a monkey. But when you're
stoking the fire, as they say..." Or he might say: "You're no boiler, Ana
sweetheart, not like these bloody Deltas we've just taken on. Pity the
client who can't afford better. Let's hope they're blind, eh?" Or he might
say when a prostitute had left his office after one of his mysterious
interviews: "Wooahh! If they all had her talents, we'd be pricing
ourselves right out of the market!"
These comments were bad enough, but even worse was his irrepressible
tendency to touch her on the flimsiest of excuses. Her bottom might be
pinched if he found her bending over to pick something up. His hand would
brush uncomfortably against her breasts. He might place a hand firmly on
her knee and she would be forced to go through the humiliation of asking
him to remove it, against his assertions that there was something decidedly
wrong with her or his accusations that she was just an intolerable prude.
Sometimes he even greeted her as 'the tight-legged Ana' or 'the convent
girl secretary' or, most foully of all, 'cock teaser'. However, Ana learnt
to ignore these remarks and put out of her mind his rather too frequent
suggestions that she boost her income by taking on some part time
prostitution.
"I just don't want to, Mr Madir," Ana replied firmly. "I'm quite happy
with what I'm earning at the moment."
"Perhaps I should give you a pay cut," suggested the Director unkindly.
"Then maybe you'd be less happy and more willing to take an active part in
the work of this Brothel."
"I wouldn't do it if it were the only way to earn a living!"
"But it's not a bad living. Khedra's told you all about its benefits,
hasn't she? I simply can't understand your reluctance. I'm sure you'd
make the perfect working girl."
Ana shook her head vehemently. "Not now. Not ever. I'm paid to work
as a secretary and that's all I want to do!"
"You're a tough nut to crack!" Smiled Mr Madir with grim good humour.
"And I thought Inta was bad enough. Are you sure I can't persuade you to
regard the opportunities provided by the Brothel in a more constructive
light?"
Ana was sure that he couldn't, but fortunately the Director was not in
the reception area of the office for most of the day and she could get on
with her duties without worrying about him too much. However, whenever he
appeared, a spark of electricity would shoot up her spine and she could
feel the colour vanish from her cheeks. Most of her time was occupied in
the minutiae of organising correspondence and filling up the Director's
diary with all the duties he was expected to perform. Some of the
Director's tasks took him out of the Brothel for days on end and involved
meeting illustrious members of the government or civil service. Often his
work kept him in other parts of the building for what purposes Ana didn't
know, didn't care and was simply relieved that he was absent. Sometimes
the Director left the office in the afternoon with a bag of golf-clubs and
hideous smelling cigars which he thankfully rarely smoked when Ana was
around. On these and other occasions, Ana felt particularly happy and
worked so much better, her stray thoughts focused entirely on her lover.
Often Ana and Binta would meet together in the canteen, particularly
when Binta's working day finished late. Ana would leave the office, and
make her way along the tortuous series of corridors that the Director had
escorted her on her first day and were now so very familiar that she often
paced her walk by counting off the rooms she passed. She had become so
used to the array of green and lights above the rooms and the sight of
women tottering by on their punishing stilettos, that it surprised her when
it crossed her mind as to what it all purported. She would be greeted
cheerily by the canteen staff, who had a particular affection towards her,
probably because she was one of the very few people who frequented there
(especially after working hours) who was not a prostitute. They would
often pass kindly words regarding the weather or whatever they had seen on
television.
Ana would take her cup of coffee and sometimes a cake to nibble, and
almost always sat in the same position against the wall where she could
most easily spot Binta when she arrived. While waiting, she would sip her
coffee slowly and watch the other in their and black leather,
lace and acrylic gather in larger groups, cackling in coarse bawdy humour
and inevitably light up an array of cigarettes as soon as they sat down.
They might notice Ana and stare at her, as well they might as no one else
wore such obviously modest clothes as she and so evidently not employed in
the same trade. Some recognised her as the Director's secretary, and were
particularly friendly to her. Ana had come to realise that although at
first the prostitutes might seem threatening or not altogether wholesome,
once she had any dealing with them - perhaps in arranging travel expenses,
holiday pay or sterilisation fees - they never seemed like mere prostitutes
again. She felt excluded from the girls' lives, and evidently this was a
gulf that was mostly respected and honoured.
It might be as much as two hours that Ana would wait for Binta: a wait
that became increasingly agitated as she wondered what might be detaining
her. She might read a newspaper to pass the time, although she often found
the adulatory articles about President Marmeluke and the wisdom of his
policies somewhat tedious. There was always a about an alcohol bust,
the shamefulness of the dealers and the wretched lives of alcohol takers.
There were also articles about individuals who had been discovered
swindling the state which was always portrayed as being generous to a fault
in its dealings with the poor and needy. Most articles seemed perversely
remote from the world that Ana knew, especially of the Brothel which was
never once alluded to, although it always pleased her to read about her
home district of Rif. Even there, the articles about new dams, educational
schemes and agricultural initiatives appeared to have little or nothing to
do with the Rif with which she was familiar.
After a torturously long time, Ana was delighted to see the naked form
of Binta appear, followed by the still disapproving stares of more fully
dressed girls, who would greet her from the distance with a smile. She
wandered over to Ana, who noted how much her face was disguising a degree
of frustration and agitation.
"I'm sorry I'm late but Kesira, my shift supervisor, kept me," Binta
remarked, standing by Ana's table. "There'd been another complaint from a
client about my performance. He'd said I was too quick and wouldn't do
what he'd asked me to do. That might be true, but I'm not obliged to do
everything they ask me to do. That's be horrid! Kesira said that if I
wasn't careful, I'd be downgraded to a Beta Minus or even a Gamma Plus, but
why should I care? It's not as if I actually get paid according to my
grade, or any other grade for that matter. And I long gave up believing
I'd actually gain any remission for pretending to be more enthusiastic."
"Do you think you might be downgraded?" Wondered Ana, who couldn't
understand why her lover wasn't graded an Alpha or an Alpha Plus if beauty
was the sole criterion.
"I don't know. I don't care. It's all theoretical. I don't think they
would though. They earn more from me if they keep my grade up. Anyway,
I'll get a cup of coffee. Do you want one, Ana sweetest?"
Ana nodded and watched as her lover wandered over to the counter,
ordered herself a couple of cups and chatted idly with the behind the
counter. As a prisoner she didn't pay for anything she ordered in the
canteen, and when she ordered anything she ensured that Ana didn't pay
either. She strolled back holding the two cups, placed them on the table
and sat down opposite Ana, briefly stroking her legs under the table as a
substitute to the kiss on the mouth that would be so unwise to publicly
indulge in. Binta didn't want to add any substance to the suspicions she
felt her friendship with Ana might have already engendered.
"I hate working here!" Binta declared again. "But there's not too many
more months of my sentence left, and then I'll be free to lead my own life
and not have to suffer all these disgusting men. And would you believe
that at the same time as saying I'm no good at the job, they've already
started sending me career advice to persuade me to stay working here when
my sentence finishes?"
"You wouldn't do that, would you?" gasped Ana, who more than anything
else wanted to end the nightmare of suppressing her worries of what her
lover was enduring from her clients every day.
Binta squeezed Ana's knee affectionately under the table. "Of course
not. Every single client is a hell I never want to repeat. I'm sure they
do it automatically. In fact, didn't you say that they've even approached
you?"
"Yes, but I couldn't! I wouldn't!"
"Of course, you wouldn't!" Binta agreed reassuringly. "And I wouldn't
either. They always want more prostitutes to replace those who leave, like
I will soon. And when I leave, we'll live together and forget this horrid
place altogether."
Ana nodded. "Then I'll be able to leave too. I wouldn't have to work
for that odious Mr Madir just to be able to see you. It'll be wonderful,
won't it? The two of us together. We could lead an ordinary life and be a
normal couple..."
"Well, almost a normal couple," remarked Binta with a sardonic smile.
"We could walk the streets of the city. We could sit in cafes and see the
world. And I'll be able to wear clothes again. I haven't worn a stitch
for so long."
Binta glanced down at her naked body which had the even tan she had
cultivated in the Brothel sun beds. Ana wasn't at all sure she wanted even
the smallest part of her lover's gorgeous body from sight, but she
recognised that it would be totally impractical to be a full-time naturist
working and living anywhere else in Alif.
"And I'll be able to show you Rif," Ana remarked. "It'd be so nice to
introduce you to my and friends."
"And perhaps I could show you Jebel," Binta countered, "even though I'm
not too sure I ever want to go there again. It's beautiful. It's the most
beautiful place you can imagine. But after the way I was treated there,
and the way people would treat me if I returned, I don't think I could face
it. Although it would please me so much if you were to see my home. I
think about it so often." Binta dropped her head sadly, and grasped Ana's
hand for reassurance. "I may never see it again though."
"I'm sure you will," said Ana, without conviction.
"Perhaps Zabba is right. Perhaps we will have to make our life in Blad.
What do you think of Blad? I see so little of it from inside here in the
Brothel. I'd never visited it before I came here. Do you think we could
make a life here?"
"Of course, we could. We'd have to find a new flat together, because I
wouldn't be able to stay in my present apartment if I left the Brothel.
But it wouldn't matter what it was like or where it was, as long as we were
together, and the Brothel was far behind us. Our life would be so much
better. I could visit Jebel and you could visit Rif, and we would live in
Blad during the week. We would go to bed together, and wake up in the
morning and work in different places. We could cook together, see films
together, sit in cafes together. We could spend every moment of our lives
together when not at work."
Binta smiled broadly. "That would be so good. Life would be so
fulfilling. No more Pimple. No more Khedra, Kesira or whoever. No more
filthy minded, unhygienic clients. An ordinary life, and someone to share
it with. It seems such a modest, such a simple ambition. Surely, it isn't
too much to ask for. Even if we do have to live in Blad!"
"Oh dear!" Sighed Ana. "You're not really that keen on living in the
city are you?"
Binta smiled sadly. "Not that keen. I'd much rather live in the
country again. I am still a country girl, and I don't feel any enthusiasm
for Blad's noise, hustle and bustle. I'd prefer the country air, the blue
sky, and everything else I miss from Jebel. But Zabba is right, there's
nowhere else in Alif we could live as a couple without being found out
again by snooping neighbours, and then we'd both be incarcerated in a
brothel or prison. And, anyway, how would I get a job in the country with
my criminal record?"
Ana nodded her head. "But do we have to live in Alif? Couldn't we live
in Agdal? Ketaba thinks it's a pretty good place and we wouldn't have to
worry about breaking the law there. We could really lead ordinary lives."
Binta's face lit up. "I suppose you're right. It's obvious really.
Just because Ketaba's so keen on it doesn't mean it wouldn't be any good
for us. Nobody would hold my criminal record against me in Agdal, and we
could be just like an ordinary couple. But I can't believe it can be that
easy. I can't see the Alif government letting us leave. And why would the
Agdal government welcome us? They've already got plenty of people much
better qualified than either of us who can bring a lot more wealth with
them. And if we had to bribe our way in, how could we afford to do it? I
haven't got any money. Have you?"
"Well some. But not very much."
"Ketaba can afford to go to Agdal. She earns a lot of money. But even
she says it's expensive. I don't think we could. We won't be able to get
the papers together, we can't afford it and I don't know that they'd even
want us anyway."
Ana sighed disconsolately. She picked up her cup and sipped at the
coffee. "It would be nice, though, if we could. Ketaba's photographs were
very nice. Agdal seemed such a lovely place. It'd be good just to have a
holiday there. And there's an awful lot of countryside. There are
mountains and hills, just like in Jebel."
"A lot more mountains than Jebel, I'd have thought. Jebel's not really
that mountainous. And Agdal's by the sea as well. I'd love to see the
sea. All that water! And sand as well! We could sit under palm trees on
the beach and watch the sun come down. Oh! It would be so nice to live
somewhere like that. And we could be open about our love for each other.
We wouldn't have to be secretive. We could kiss in public. We wouldn't
have to pretend to be just friends. And people wouldn't think we were
perverts if they knew. They'd just accept it! Think how different my love
affair with Mezyana would have been if we'd lived in Agdal rather than
Alif."
Binta stroked Ana's knee, but seeing her longing gaze Ana did not feel
at all reassured. She still felt unsure about her rôle in Binta's life
after her meeting with Mezyana, and often felt the heavy weight of guilt
whenever she reflected on the love that the novice still expressed towards
her lover. It had been so difficult reporting her meeting, and not only
because of the pain the encounter caused her. She felt some anguish as she
observed Binta's great interest and concern towards her former lover.
Could she be so certain that she wasn't merely a temporary aside in Binta's
great lifelong romance which would be revived once both of them had
finished their sentences?
"If we had lived in Agdal," Binta mused, "we would never have been
parted. We could have been like a couple. We would never have had
to hide our love from other people." She looked into Ana's eyes and must
have noticed her discomfort. "Oh, Ana! Oh, sweetheart! Oh, dearest!
Don't think that just because I love Mezyana ... loved Mezyana ... that
my love for you is any less strong. She is in my past, and had we not been
separated by the law who knows what might have been? Who knows? But that
is only speculation. What matters is our love together. Don't be jealous
of Mezyana. We're together. And that's what matters! Isn't it?"
Ana nodded. "That's what matters!" She stared at her cup sadly and then
looked up imploringly. "Oh, Binta! Please stay with me. Please say
you'll always love me. I couldn't bear to be without you. Your love for
me is the most precious thing in my life. Everything else is unimportant.
Please always love me. You are my whole life." She was conscious of tears
welling inside her eyes, and of sniffles coagulating in her nostrils.
"Please always be with me. I love you so much!"
"And I love you!" Insisted Binta, looking rather sad and a little guilty
herself. She squeezed Ana's hand under the table so tightly that their
palms sweated together. "Don't ever think otherwise. I love you. And I
want you more than you could possibly know. Just don't ever believe
anything else."
19
Ana and Binta stood by the bars enclosing the Brothel garden and watched
the city streets below in the long evening shadows. Even now, long after
the working day was over for most people, life was busy in Blad. Ana
sometimes found it quite reassuring: but now she was somehow finding it
irritating. Couldn't Blad ever sleep or rest like a normal place? Why did
it have to be so permanently lively? She expressed her thoughts to Binta,
whose arm was surreptitiously around Ana's waist, confident that the corner
of the garden they were standing in was safe from prying eyes.
"After all these months, you're still very much the country girl!"
laughed Binta. "You'd rather have the quiet of a rural evening. Crickets
and cicadas in the evening sun. A perfectly black sky and none of the
ceaseless roar of traffic. Perhaps that's why I love you! You're just
like me!"
Ana sighed. "You're right! It still doesn't seem right to me. I'd
love to live in the country again. Rif. Jebel. Khlib. It doesn't matter
where. That's all I really want."
"And yet you want us both to settle in Blad!" objected Binta.
"It's not what I really want. It's just what we have to do. What is
important is that we stay together! Everything else is irrelevant."
"And so it is!" Agreed Binta with a smile, kissing Ana on the ear,
snuggling her face into Ana's hair. "Just you and I! Nobody else. Just
us!"
"It would be perfect. Away from the Brothel. Our own flat. We could
cook dinner together. We could watch television together, stretched out on
the sofa. We could share the evenings together in the parks and cafes..."
"And best of all we could make love all night together! With no fear of
other people knowing what we do. And with no obligations to anyone else at
all!" exclaimed Binta, taking Ana's ear in her mouth and running her tongue
around its crevices. "Wouldn't that be perfect!"
Ana blushed. Binta was so right. That was very much what Ana looked
forward to more than anything else with a yearning that ached in her bosom
more than she dared admit to herself. However much she rationalised her
love in terms of the more domestic and mundane, what really drove Ana's
love was much more carnal and she was still not sure if she should be so
unashamed about it. Not only was she in love in a more physical way than
she'd ever believed was truly right, it was for a woman. With a sudden
spasm of guilt, she disengaged herself from Binta and walked towards a
corner of the garden bars where she knew that they would be within sight of
the Delta who was bent over her flowers with a trowel and a small
plastic bucket. She glanced at the who was looking up and, despite
her PAR, seemed quite attractive in the late evening light. It was so
unfair, Ana mused, that appearances which couldn't be helped had become
such a currency in the Brothel. But, at the same time, she thought, as the
girl lowered her head and the bright sparkling eyes and full cheeks were
hidden and her clumsy awkward body became more the object of her attention,
there must be a reward for those like Binta blessed with more than their
fair share of beauty.
She turned to regard Binta, who was clearly rather put out by Ana's
sudden dismissal of her. She was so beautiful! The eyes. The hair. That
body. Every inch of her was beyond comparison. Ana must be the most
fortunate in the world to be privileged with a lover as beautiful as
Binta. She smiled broadly, and glanced again at the Delta. Binta's
breasts, her hair, even such details as the slenderness of her ankles and
the sinuousness of her legs made her so much the better in comparison. It
may be unfair on the Delta to think such unflattering things, but beauty is
so much better appreciated when contrasted with those that fall short of
its high standards.
"What are you thinking about, Ana darling?" Binta asked in genuine
concern.
Ana bowed her head, and in the process took in the sight of the whole of
Binta's naked body. A pang of emotion and love stabbed her and very
nearly caused her to burst into tears. "I was thinking about you," she
admitted.
"Nothing bad, I hope?" Joked Binta.
Ana looked up with a sad smile. "I love you so much. And I love you
more and more. How can there be so much love in me? Nothing I do.
Nothing I ever say. Nothing. Is enough to express my feeling for you!"
She approached Binta, who withdrew discreetly behind a small palm tree and
out of sight from the Delta who was gazing rather vaguely and
nonspecifically in their direction. "I never knew love could be so
strong!"
"Oh Ana! Oh Ana!" Exclaimed Binta, pulling Ana towards her and kissing
her long and forcefully on the lips and inside her mouth. Ana felt her
entire body tremble in the closeness to Binta's naked body, ignoring the
possibility of being seen, surrendered totally to the vagaries of her
passion.
Ana's hands wandered down Binta's naked body and clutched her buttocks
in her palms. As she did so she envisaged her body as she now knew it so
well, spread out on the bed receiving her caresses with such gratitude and
returned with so much passion. She felt her love swell as the image grew
in her mind. She possessed Binta's body. But, and the thought sent
another much less pleasant spasm through her, it was also a body she shared
with so many others. She tried to banish the image, but it stayed in her
mind, even while Binta's tongue explored inside her mouth. The hairy
buttocks. The taut sinewy hands. The swelling gut. The harsh bristles on
a man's chin. The thoughts became too much. She pushed herself off Binta
and with no warning burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands,
but the tears still came. Her face felt ugly with unhappiness but she
couldn't stop.
"What's wrong now, Ana? Why are you crying? Has Mr Madir been
particularly bad today?"
"No. It's not that!" Ana sobbed. "In fact, I've not seen him at all
today. I wasn't thinking about him at all!"
"So what's troubling you, sweetest?"
Ana looked up. Could she voice her feelings? The very idea of what was
troubling her sent a fresh spasm of emotion through her frame, and the
tears resumed.
"Tell me! What's wrong?" Demanded Binta, resting a hand on Ana's
shoulder. "Why are you crying? What's upset you?"
"Nothing. It's nothing!"
"There must be something. You can tell me. You must tell me. If
anyone should know it's me."
Ana looked steadily into Binta's concerned wide eyes. "It's you! It's
what you do. All those men. Those horrid men! Every day. Hour upon
hour. How can you?"
Binta nodded with reluctant understanding. "It doesn't mean anything,
Ana. You must believe me. It's not choice. It's not what I want to do.
It's what I have to do. It doesn't diminish my love for you. If anything,
it makes my love for you that much the stronger. I don't enjoy it. You
know that. I hate every second of it. It's horrid. It's disgusting.
It's demeaning."
"But you still do it..."
"I'm not here by choice. The clients mean nothing. They're less than
nothing. There's only you. Believe me!"
"But they do it to you. They do it every day. While I sit in the
office, typing letters and taking notes and addressing envelopes, there are
men, every day, while I think how wonderful you are and how much I love
you!"
"My thoughts are with you when the clients do what they do, Ana. It
becomes more bearable to think of you and how much better it is with
someone I love. Someone who loves me. When they come into my room, take
off their trousers - their bellies swelling loose and the smell of sweat -
and then come on top of me, snorting and grunting like pigs... it's you
that my thoughts focus on."
"Are you saying that you think of me when your clients are making love
to you? Am I just there to make it more bearable for you?"
"No, not at all. Well, yes, I mean. I don't know!" Stuttered Binta.
"Yes, I do think of you when I'm servicing my clients. But I don't mean
that I think of you and them in anything like the same way. It's not the
same at all. It might be in a sense. It's sex I suppose. And sex is sex,
whether you enjoy it or not. But love makes all the difference between it
being hell and heaven. With you, it's heavenly. I'm in paradise. That's
because I love you and respect you and I can't bear to be parted from you.
But with them..."
Binta paused. She turned around and looked out through the bars of the
garden at the rooftops opposite. The dusk was setting in. Street lamps
were coming on, and light emanated from behind the curtains of the
residential blocks opposite. A car drove by and cries from a crowd of
young echoed across the streets. Ana walked up to Binta, and put an
arm around her bare waist. There was a tiny shudder from Binta's buttocks
as she did so. Binta wasn't crying, but her eyes had a drained look about
them.
"I hate them so much, Ana! You must believe me. I hate the Brothel. I
hate everything to do with it. Each day I count off: thinking only of the
end of my sentence. I look forward to our meetings together. And those
days when we don't meet... Those are the worst days! I feel lonely.
Isolated. Surrounded by enemies. Okay, the other prostitutes - some of
them - are all right. Zabba. Ketaba. Ferhana. They're company. They're
people I can talk to, and who listen to my worries. But they're just
friends. And often not really that. And the clients. They don't count.
They just break up my days: and a good day is when I can forget them
altogether. A good day is when we meet and spend the nights together.
Please believe me. You are more important to me than you can imagine."
"But so many men! And you can't say that you don't enjoy it! You enjoy
it with me. How can you not enjoy it with them?"
"It's different. It's not the same thing at all. I hate men. I
despise and loathe them. I didn't before I worked here. I just didn't
think about them very often. They were just there. I was, I suppose, just
indifferent. So I had no strong feelings about them. In fact, I sometimes
thought there was something wrong with me: not liking them in the way a
woman is supposed to. I thought maybe that I would get to like them more
if I got to know them better. But it's not been like that. At all! The
more I've seen of them, the more clients I have, the more contempt, disgust
and revulsion I feel towards them. I know that Ketaba and Zabba say I
should make more allowances for them. Even Ferhana says that are more
to be pitied than despised: but if you knew like I know them, then you
would hate them too. When God created Man, he made a big mistake; which he
tried to compensate for it by creating Woman, but the damage was already
done. If it weren't for men, this world would be a so much better and
healthier place. And Alif is a true man's society where women can only be
either whores or mothers, and never anything that they might otherwise
choose to be."
Ana nodded. She so much wanted to believe Binta. Her lover frowned:
"I've been thinking. About what we were talking about. The other day. In
the canteen. About Agdal. Do you remember? I've been thinking that
perhaps I should have been more positive about emigrating there. I don't
know how. And I don't know at what cost. But it must be possible! People
do emigrate. They do somehow manage to do it. There must be a way. And
it must be a prize worth having. Living there would be such a neat, such a
perfect, solution to our dilemma."
"Our dilemma?" echoed Ana, staring deeply into Binta's wide green eyes.
"Yes. That we want to live together. That we both want to live in the
country together. In Alif, we can do one or the other, but not both. And
we may not even be able to find jobs outside Blad even if we did live in
the country. And what sort of life would it be for us in this big city?
Still frightened of the law. Every day worried about people finding out
about us, and being arrested again. It would be a constant blight on us,
and a strain on our love. And because I've got a criminal record, people
would be all the more suspicious of us and more likely to conclude that we
were committing a criminal offence. In Agdal, all that would be past. We
could live like ordinary lovers. Wouldn't that be wonderful!"
Ana smiled broadly. "Yes, it would! It would be paradise. Oh, I do
hope it's possible! But what can we do to get there?"
"I don't know," admitted Binta. "I really have no idea. Agdal's only
over the border, but it might as well be another planet. But I can ask.
The other here might know. Ketaba might. She's been there enough
times. She knows what's involved in going there as a tourist. Perhaps we
could go as tourists ourselves and just not come back. We'd be illegal
immigrants, and we'd have to get terrible jobs where nobody was bothered
about our papers: but it'd be better than staying here. Maybe Ferhana
might know. After all, she's an immigrant herself. She might know what's
involved. Even if I find nothing at all, it's worth asking, isn't it?"
Ana felt hope rising inside her. This must be the solution, she
thought. There would be no problem about language in Agdal, and it was
known to be a wealthier country than Alif. All that tourist money, and all
those industries Agdal was for. With so much wealth, maybe there'd
be some spare for Binta and her.
"Do you think I could get a job as a secretary there?" She wondered.
"I've gained a lot of experience here. And I'm sure there'd be more jobs
for secretaries in Agdal than Alif. They've got many more offices and
businesses."
"Perhaps," nodded Binta. "Perhaps. If we got work permits, we could do
anything. I don't know what I could do. Perhaps I could study at - maybe part time - and get a qualification I can use. I might become a
secretary too. Or perhaps something better paid than that: I wasn't at all
bad at school, and if I worked hard I'm sure I'd get somewhere." She smiled
broadly, and hugged Ana tightly to her chest. "That must be the answer. I
can barely wait. The idea is giving me hope. I'll finish my sentence
here, and when I'm free we'll do whatever we have to do to get to Agdal. I
don't care what it is, I'll do it. I'll even sell my body if necessary!"
Ana flushed with alarm: "You wouldn't do that, would you?"
"It's what I do now, and I get nothing for it!" Binta gazed into Ana's
sad round eyes. "Don't take me seriously. I'm only joking! I'm just
saying that I'll do anything - well, nearly anything for us to live happily
together! Wouldn't that be simply wonderful?"
"Yes! It would be!" Exclaimed Ana, feeling a wave of joy tingling
through her body. "Agdal is where we'll go. You're right. It must be so.
A country where we can live a normal life. Oh! I so hate Alif. It's such
a cruel unforgiving country. But in Agdal we can be happy. Won't we,
Binta?"
Her lover nodded and pulled Ana so close to her that her head rested on
her shoulder. Ana looked over it, through the bars of the garden, over the
tall buildings of the city in the early evening dark towards the aura
of the last rays of sunset, where she fancied were the tall snow-capped
mountains, the golden beaches and the friendly faces of Agdal. They'd be
there soon, she reflected. Hand in hand along the beach, listening to the
sea lapping against the shore, not a care in the world. It just had to be!
20
"Have some more, Ana. Go on!" Urged Bezaffa, who with no real prompting
from her guest poured some more whisky into the glass Ana had in front of
her. "It's good stuff. The best! Cost me a great deal, I can tell you."
Ana focused uncertainly on the glass. This form of alcohol was much
more potent than the wine she'd had when she'd visited Ketaba, and she'd
been quite unprepared for how much more intoxicated it had already made
her. But she was undeniably developing a taste for it, especially when it
was diluted with this other strange substance called soda, which Bezaffa
added to it to make up the volume. She took a small sip from her glass and
studied her hostess, who was sitting opposite her in a white gauze dress
which flowed over her voluptuous contours and did nothing to disguise the
details of her body underneath. Ana smiled as she felt that curious slight
burning sensation at the back of her mouth that the wine she'd shared
earlier had never done.
"Aren't you glad now that you accepted my invitation?" Bezaffa said
soothingly. "A pleasant meal and a pleasant drink. What could be more
delightful?"
"Not many things," Ana slurred unevenly. "But why, if it's so good,
does the government make it illegal?"
"President Marmeluke's government makes everything nice illegal,"
Bezaffa replied. "It doesn't stop them, or anyone with means, from
partaking. They just don't want the ordinary person to have any part of
it."
"Thass not fair, issit?" Ana slurred. "Why should there be one law for
some and another for the others? Surely, everyone should be able to do the
same things."
"That's very idealistic, Ana sweetheart. Money and power will always
make accessible more pleasure to some than to others. I should know. I'm
priced right out of the reach of most of the Brothel's clients' reach. And
that's only right, you know. What joy for the privileged would there be in
having access to certain things, if everyone could have them? Some things
must be set aside in even the most perfect of societies."
Ana felt in no mood to argue. "I'm sure you're right."
She had at last succumbed to Bezaffa's repeatedly made invitation that
she come and visit her. Now she was here, she wasn't at all sure why she'd
resisted for so long. Bezaffa had indeed been the perfect hostess and her
home was the most delightful place she'd ever seen. It was a sprawling
building in the Honey suburbs, further out than Ketaba's flat and
altogether more affluent again. Like all the homes in the avenue,
Bezaffa's was surrounded by a high wall topped with a murderous fringe of
broken glass, but once past the wall, the home was very splendid and
clearly remarkably expensive. How could Bezaffa afford it? Even on her
income as an Alpha Plus, the large car parked in the gravelled drive, the
expanse of garden and the many bedroomed house must have been a strain to
maintain. And once through the porched door, past the maid who was
relieved of duty as soon as Ana arrived, the house was even more splendid.
The rooms were massive, the fittings and furniture sumptuous, and the
portraits on the wall chosen with a masterful eye for æsthetic quality.
Ana stood in the hallway trembling with a sense of her own lowliness as she
regarded the broad staircase leading up to the first floor and the sheer
spaciousness of the house. She was intimidated by the ostentation, but
also felt somewhat honoured to have been invited.
Ana leaned back in her chair and tried fixing her gaze fixed on Bezaffa
who wandered about somehow in her vision. She fixed her eyes on Bezaffa's
chubby round hand which rested on the table delicately holding her own
glass by the stem. She examined the little dimples at the knuckles of each
delicately tapered white finger rooted in the roundness of her hand. From
the hand, her eyes followed the smooth contours of Bezaffa's marbled arm,
dimpled again at the elbow and slightly indented by the pressure of the
table beneath her forearm. She brought her eyes up further, and rested
them on the fullness of Bezaffa's swelling under her dress, the
nipples of which were not in the smallest part obscured. They were so very different from those of Binta's or Ketaba's - other than her own,
the only she'd observed for any length of time. Bezaffa's nipples
were quite simply enormous, but perfectly proportioned on the curves of the
bosom which boasted them.
Ana became uncomfortably conscious that her gaze had lingered perhaps
too long on a very private feature of her hostess's body. What must
Bezaffa think? She knew that ever since she had become aware of her
feelings towards Binta she had viewed other women's bodies in a way she had
never consciously done before. She was sure, or very nearly sure, that
these ruminations didn't represent any lascivious intent. It was just that
her curiosity about women's bodies had increased dramatically now that she
had come to have such an intimate association with one. But she told
herself vehemently that the one love in her life was Binta, and it was
unthinkable, it was wrong, it was immoral, to even contemplate the love of
another woman. It would wholly and unutterably break the trust cemented
between her lover and her. She gazed into Bezaffa's face, above the round
gracefulness of her ivory neck, and noticed with a start that her eyes were
gazing at her with an expression of indulgent contemplation not at all
unlike that which she'd associated with Binta as they lay together in bed.
Ana didn't know what to say. She looked unsteadily into Bezaffa's round
blue eyes which continued to stare at her steadily but not unfriendlily,
framed by long hair which flowed over her shoulders and above the
round orbs of cheeks dimpled like her knuckles by the broadness of a toothy
grin. Bezaffa raised the back of her other hand up to brush a likewise
dimpled chin. She raised it to her mouth and licked off the trail of
whisky that had dribbled down it unseen, staring at Ana as she did so.
"So, tell me, Ana sweetest, are you ever distressed by Binta's criminal
character?"
"Criminal character?" Repeated Ana.
Bezaffa smiled. "Come now, cherry, you know what I mean. Binta isn't
working at the Brothel like you or me. She doesn't do what she does either
for a living or as a vocation. Nor does she apparently relish what she
does ... that much."
"No, she doesn't," agreed Ana, who even through the haze of the alcohol
noticed Bezaffa's uncertain lingering on the last few words.
"She's in the Brothel because she's a criminal. She's broken the law,
and as a criminal she has been sentenced for it. Doesn't that distress
you?"
What was Bezaffa trying to ascertain? "Why should it distress me?"
Ana's hostess stood up slowly and wandered over to her hi-fi cabinet
where Ana was for the first time aware that the compact disc she'd been
playing had just finished. Bezaffa had kicked off her high heels, but
still walked in an elegant restrained way that emphasised the wiggle of her
round buttocks, and Ana noticed with a shock, that under her dress she
appeared to be wearing nothing even on her lower portions. Bezaffa leaned
over and sorted through the various discs she had.
"I only ask, dearest Ana, because you and Binta are such close friends.
I have always thought it excellent that the administrative staff and shop
floor workers of our noble concern should be close associates of each
other. That after all is why I have been so very happy that you have agreed
to visit me in my humble abode. It can only be a good thing for our two
enterprises to be linked by mutual respect and understanding. And Binta is
such a darling, don't you think? Such an absolute sweetie! I've always
enjoyed my conversations with her, although I suspect she rather dislikes
my more enthusiastic attitude towards my chosen career."
She selected a disc, carefully extracted it from its casing and gently
placed it in her player. She stood back, pointing a remote at it, and
watched as the disc slid into the machine and started playing the soothing
and harmonious strings of classical music. She turned round and faced Ana
who was relieved to see now that Bezaffa had, after all, covered her crotch
with what was still undeniably a very flimsy cloth.
"So, my darling Ana. Does Binta's criminal character ever trouble you?
Do you mind associating so closely with criminals?"
Ana blushed. "But what Binta's done is in the past. It's behind her
now. And anyway isn't what she's done no worse than what we're doing now?
Drinking alcohol? That's illegal, isn't it?"
Bezaffa wandered back to the table, sat down again by her glass and the
generous display of cakes in the huge cake stand. She daintily picked a
chocolate eclair and put it slowly and lasciviously into her mouth. She
took a huge bite out of it and chewed it speculatively. "Yes, drinking
alcohol is a crime. Indulging in it, and, worse, trading in it, attracts a
very severe penalty as dearest Ferhana has found to her cost. But alcohol
trafficking is not the crime for which sweetest Binta has been convicted,
is it?"
"But it's surely no worse than indulging in alcohol?" Pleaded Binta
uncertainly.
Bezaffa swallowed the last remnants of the eclair, and smiled
indulgently. "Are you saying then that sexual depravity is no worse than
the occasional indulgence in wine? Are you saying that an activity which
automatically implicates more than one person is better than a vice which
can be indulged in solitarily?"
Ana was puzzled. What answer was she supposed to give? What was a safe
response? She had no clear idea what Bezaffa's attitude towards lesbianism
was. Was it as censorious as Ketaba's, however inconsistently she
maintained her professed views? Or was it as indulgent as Zabba's? How
free with her opinions could Ana afford to be? After all, Bezaffa was
known to be fairly friendly with the Director and Khedra. "I don't know. I
don't know what to think. But it's not that Binta can help being what she
is. She'll always be that way. Trafficking in alcohol is something that
you choose to do. It's not something that you can't help doing."
Bezaffa frowned. "Are you saying that sexual deviant behaviour with
others of the same sex as yourself is somehow justified because of a
person's predilections? Isn't that a bit suspect? Should alcohol be legal
just because people have a taste for it? Extending the argument, couldn't
theft and murder be justified just because people have a tendency to
indulge in it? I'm not sure I like the thrust of your opinions, sweetest."
"It's not that!" Sniffled Ana, confused by the alcohol and her hostess's
remarks. "It's not that at all. I just think that something that is to do
with love and affection and understanding, and being kind to one another,
and having only good thoughts about another person, and wanting to be with
that other person all the time: that can't be wrong. It can't be a real
crime, whatever the government says!"
Bezaffa reached out a hand and the warm softness of it enclosed Ana's
free hand - the one not nursing the glass of whisky. "It's not the love
that is condemned, Ana my love. It's the practise. Nobody really believes
that Binta will be a reformed character when she leaves the Brothel and
will never again lust after other women. What the government hopes is that
she won't actually indulge her illegal lusts."
"I just don't think it's fair! It's wrong to condemn someone to what
Binta's been condemned to, for what she'd done. It's not right."
"I take it that you condone her actions then, cherry? Well, don't
worry. I won't hold your opinions against you. Morality and criminality is
a shifting scenario. What's illegal here, is legal there, and often almost
expected. What may be legal today was illegal yesterday and may be again
tomorrow. Ethics and the law have never been my field, Ana my love. The
greatest crime Binta committed, I believe, is allowing herself to be
caught. That in itself has caused misery to herself, her friends and her
family. I have no opinion on Binta's character or her actions. Just as I
have none on yours. But shall we sit on the sofa? It's a lot more
comfortable you know!"
Ana was pleased to recline on a more comfortable seat, but almost
immediately regretted it. The luxuriousness of Bezaffa's sofa somehow made
the effect of the whisky more potent. The room appeared on the verge of a
spin which it never actually carried through. She placed the whisky glass
on the glass coffee table, vowing not to take another drop of it. Bezaffa
sat opposite her on the other sofa, the folds of her dress flowing about
the cushions, and smiled at her steadily and silently. Ana felt a little
overdressed. The alcohol was making her feel a little hot and bothered, so
she undid her cardigan and laid it beside her, revealing the new white
cotton blouse she'd felt obliged to buy for a visit to Honey. She looked
at Bezaffa whose eyes were now closed and was relishing the sound of the
string quartet emanating from her loudspeakers. Ana consciously noticed
the music for the first time, and found it strangely melancholic and
wistful. She leaned back in the sofa, her chin against her chest and her
hands spreadeagled to support her, while focusing her thoughts on the
various string instruments. Bezaffa opened her eyes and smiled at Ana in a
sleepy reassuring way.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, Ana honey," Bezaffa said abruptly,
"but have you quite definitely ruled out the idea of working part time as a
working girl?"
Ana blinked her eyes in vague disbelief that her hostess should be
asking such a question. "You mean as a prostitute?"
"Well, yes. As a prostitute. Like me. Like Ferhana, Zabba, Ketaba and
the other of your acquaintance. Like, indeed, your beloved Binta.
Have you seriously dismissed the option and opportunity of such extra
work?"
"Yes I have. Very seriously. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I don't know. Just idle speculation. Such a pretty as
yourself. You'd do so well at it. And it's not such a bad job, you know.
Plenty of work part-time at the Brothel. Not just enthusiasts like
Khedra. Housewives. Undergraduates. Inta, your predecessor. Why not
you?"
"I couldn't. I just couldn't. The idea of it ... It's horrid. I'd
hate it!"
"You don't know for sure until you try. It's such a natural thing to
do. It can be so much fun on occasion. What have you got against it? The
hours? The pay? Those aren't at all bad. What is it that puts you off?"
Ana blanched. The whisky made her feel very unsure of herself. What
was it she didn't like? "All those men. Those horrid hairy men. Their
hands all over me. What they'd do. I just couldn't bear it!"
"It's not that bad you know, cherry. But I think that your reluctance
might be to do with inexperience. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I sense
that you have had no real knowledge of lovemaking at all. Except with your
beloved Binta. You're still a virgin, aren't you? You've still not
enjoyed the full attention of a man's caresses."
Ana nodded her head. What was Bezaffa saying about Binta? Was it so
very obvious that she and Binta ...?
"Is it that you don't have any interest in men? Like Binta? Surely
not."
"I'm not sure. I don't know what to think. I just look at men,
especially those who come to the Brothel, and I just don't feel any ...
you know ... I just don't think of as being the sort of ... I just
don't know what I think!"
"No. I can see that," purred Bezaffa reassuringly. "Many think
like you before they gain any experience, sweetest. It doesn't mean that
you wouldn't enjoy the attention of a any less. It just takes time."
"I don't know. I just don't know," repeated Ana sadly. She sat up in
the sofa, resting the weight of her elbows on her bare bronzed knees. "I
used to think about men. Well, some men. But I never thought of them in a
... in a ... I always thought of them in a romantic way. Buying flowers.
Being kind and protective. Being comforting. Not as what they are when
they come into the Brothel."
Bezaffa stood up and wandered over to the sofa where Ana sat. She
placed her heavy weight on the cushions beside her and placed a comforting
bare arm around her shoulders. Ana felt the warmth and softness of her
hostess's skin through the blouse's fabric. "It's quite natural to feel
confused, Ana. One's sexual identity is never a simple thing. If
anything, my years at the Brothel have taught me that. You mustn't let it
trouble you unduly. I've had many moments of indecision and insecurity
myself."
"You have?" asked Ana, hardly noticing Bezaffa's plump hand take one of
hers in its grasp.
"Yes, I have. When you make a living as I do from selling your body for
the carnal satisfaction of men, it can't help but make you think, can it?
I've often sat alone at home surrounded by all the many things my
successful career in prostitution has allowed me to afford, wondering about
it. But I am nonetheless certain that I have made the right career
decision and one for which I have been amply rewarded. How can something
be wrong if it brings such great satisfaction?"
Ana had heard that argument put forward before, but by Binta in
justification of the love she and Ana shared. This recognition only added
to the confusion she felt. She looked down at her small hand wholly
swamped by the firm round fat of her hostess. She then turned her gaze to
look directly at Bezaffa, who was smiling at her in a curious way, her eyes
betraying an interest which puzzled her. "I'm frightened of men," Ana
confessed. "I just don't know what to think about them. And I'm even more
frightened of the thought that, as a prostitute, I wouldn't know who I'd be
making love to on any day. are so intimidating. I'm so afraid."
"Indeed, you must be!" Smiled Bezaffa kindly. She eased her arm around
to grasp Ana more firmly around her furthest shoulder and brought her round
to rest in her voluptuous breasts. "You mustn't be so scared. Familiarity
is all you need. They're not so bad, really. You must believe me, cherry.
Men are not demons!"
Ana felt swamped by the massive wealth of Bezaffa's bosom, but found it
at the same time so very comforting and reassuring. With little prompting,
she put her arms around as much of Bezaffa's waist as she could and held on
while her hostess gently stroked her hair. Ana felt one of Bezaffa's
monstrous nipples press hard against her ear through the thinness of the
dress and listened intently to the gentle heaving of Bezaffa's breath,
which pressed her bosom against the contours of her face.
"You're such a sweet, ... such a pretty ... little dear, aren't you,
cherry?" Remarked Bezaffa in a strangely contorted voice. "So pretty. So
vulnerable. So delightful." She lifted Ana's chin off her bosom and gazed
into her eyes. Ana was charmed by their pale blueness, the softness of the
cheeks and Bezaffa's tiny little nose, so dwarfed by the folds of her
dimpled skin. She smiled deeply, feeling a warmth transmit itself through
her skin and into the very depth of her soul.
She didn't know how that smile did it, but it became the inevitable
prelude to a passionate kiss with her hostess, full on the mouth, which
unbalanced the two of them, causing them to roll over on to the length of
the sofa, Bezaffa's tongue deep inside her mouth and her hands gradually
shedding her clothes. Bezaffa's own dress came off with the barest of
difficulties revealing a body of incredible whiteness and fullness. It
somehow seemed so natural. So right. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps
it was a deeper longing inside her. Ana, in a sense, didn't want to know.
All she knew and all she cared was that she was enjoying another woman's
body with just as much pleasure as, and just maybe more than, she enjoyed
Binta's.
21
The pain in Ana's head pulsed hard against her forehead and brought a
flush of sweat to her cheeks and brow. She opened her eyes gradually,
blinking in the additional pain inflicted on her sensitive constitution by
a bright shaft of sunlight illuminating the bedroom and shining on the
satin sheets that covered her legs and the mattress beneath her. Where was
she? What was this strange bed?
Suddenly aghast she remembered details of the night before and her
lovemaking with Bezaffa. How could she? How could Binta ever forgive her?
How had she allowed herself to be so led? It must have been the alcohol.
She looked around the room. It was empty, but from a room further down the
corridor she could hear the sound of a talking on the radio and the
relentless hum and roar of a washing machine. How much had she had to
drink? This unpleasant nauseous feeling in her head and noxious sharp
taste in her mouth must be what was known as a hangover.
The nausea rose inside her chest, making her belch in a revolting way
that brought small fragments of digested food to the back of her mouth.
She placed a hand on her chest to restrain herself, but it got no better.
Indeed, a sharp pain focused itself between her eyes, sweat burst out on
her forehead and her stomach burst into an unpleasant life of its own. She
realised with horror that this was a prelude to being sick. God! Where
was the toilet? She must get there before she soiled the sheets. She
jumped out of the bed, covering her mouth with her hand and dashed naked
into the corridor. She looked up and down its length, and saw a door
marked by a small floral plaque which she somehow remembered as Bezaffa's
toilet. She ran in, knelt down in front of the latrine and spent several
uncomfortable minutes relieving herself of surprisingly little vomit. She
coughed and spluttered, the small foul-tasting solids she'd brought up
refusing to be dislodged from her mouth.
She eventually felt able to leave the bathroom and gingerly eased the
door open to see Bezaffa, in a voluminous silk dressing gown, standing by
the kitchen where the sounds of the radio and washing machine came from.
"Are you all right, love?" She asked with a tone of concern.
Ana nodded, covered as much of her and crotch as she could with
her hands and ran back into the bedroom to look for her clothes. They
weren't there. Not on the floor. Not on the chair. Ah! They must still
be in the living room, she thought, hurriedly dashing out of the bedroom to
come straight up against Bezaffa who had wandered down the corridor towards
her bedroom.
"My clothes..." she explained embarrassedly, vainly trying to disguise
her immodesty.
"They're in the wash, dearest."
"The wash?"
Bezaffa smiled. "You probably don't remember, you poor little child.
You were terribly sick last night. All over your clothes! So, I've put
them in the washing machine..."
"But what do I wear? I can't stay like this!"
"Nonsense, Ana. There are no secrets between us anymore. You don't
have to hide your pretty assets from me!"
Ana wasn't at all convinced. "I must put something on."
Bezaffa took Ana by the shoulders and pulled her close to her breasts.
She gently kissed Ana on the cheeks and lips, while firmly pushing Ana's
arms down. "Don't be such a silly! You can't put on your clothes until
they're clean, can you? And anyway, how is your current nudity any
different to that which I got to know so very intimately last night? Don't
trouble your pretty head about them. Do you want some breakfast?"
Ana shook her head. "I don't think I could. I'm sure I'd just be sick
again."
"You might be right," remarked Bezaffa thoughtfully. "How about some
coffee and orange juice? That'll make you feel better. I'll get some
paracetamol as well. Your head must be really splitting. You really
aren't used to alcohol are you, cherry?"
Ana had no spirit to argue, so she allowed Bezaffa to lead her to the
living room and sat naked in the sofa while her hostess disappeared into
the kitchen again. Out of sight from her hostess, she was more able to
relax and concentrated her miserable thoughts on how she had betrayed her
trust to Binta. She must never know! It had been such a ghastly mistake.
It was all the fault of the whisky. She would never have succumbed
otherwise. All she wanted to do was collect her clothes and return home.
She bent her head down to examine her sore and powdery crotch. She would
run the bath water, and just lie in it until the water was cold and every
last vestige of her transgression washed away.
Bezaffa returned to the living room carrying a tray with several glasses
and cups on it. She placed it down on the coffee table, her dressing gown
parting slightly to reveal her own nakedness underneath. Ana blushed at
the thought of the close intimacy with it that she had so recently enjoyed.
She was no better than a slut, she reflected with self-hatred. Bezaffa
handed Ana a glass of water and two powdery tablets, which were gratefully
taken and swallowed with almost the whole of the glass of water in a series
of very rapid gulps. She wasn't sure whether it was the water or the
tablets which began to relieve her nausea and the dryness in her mouth.
She smiled gratefully at Bezaffa and picked up the glass of fruit juice,
holding it in two hands, her body crouched forward. "Feeling better,
dear?"
Ana nodded, and was about to reply, but was abruptly halted by the sound
of the doorbell which rang through her weakened frame in agonising spasms
of dread. Who could this be? Bezaffa silently got up and wandered into
the hallway at the end of the corridor, while Ana relaxed slightly. It
must be the postman or someone like that, she reasoned. She needn't feel
so alarmed by just a doorbell.
However, her fears seemed well-justified when she overheard the sound of
women's voices of which one was clearly Bezaffa's, and the other she wasn't
at all sure. Perhaps just a friend of Bezaffa's. Surely she wouldn't let
this woman into the living room. She became aware however that this was
exactly what Bezaffa was going to do.
"She's a little worse for wear!" Bezaffa remarked with a chuckle. "And
her clothes got into a frightful state. She just couldn't hold her drink
at all!"
"And she's in here, is she?" The other woman replied. Ana's heart
leaped violently into her throat. She grasped the largest cushion on the
sofa she could find and huddled it against her chest in the hope that it
would afford her some modesty. It was Khedra! What was she doing here?
Khedra strode into the room, wearing what must have been her casual
clothes, but still very smart for that. A silk blouse and tight trousers
which came short of her calves. Her hair was tied back in a green bow.
"Hello, Ana dear. Bezaffa told me you might be here. And goodness me!
Not a stitch on you! Indeed, just like your friend, Binta."
Ana nodded slightly, her cheeks and a fresh flush of nausea rushing
to the back of her eyes. "I'm terribly sorry. This must be very
embarrassing!"
"Not at all!" Replied Khedra with a broad grin. "I've often wondered
what you might look like underneath your office uniform. And I must tell
you, I'm not at all disappointed. You're a very pretty girl. You
may even be an Alpha Minus. Undeniably a Beta Plus."
"I'm neither of those things!" Ana retorted bitterly. "I'm a secretary.
Those grades don't mean anything to me."
Khedra twisted her lips into a crooked smile, and without a word lowered
herself into the sofa opposite Ana. She had a briefcase and a robust
plastic carrier bag overflowing with bulky items which she placed on the
cushions beside her.
"An Alpha Minus for appearance definitely," remarked Bezaffa amiably to
Khedra. "And if her performance is as good for more normal activity as it
is for the more exotic variants, I'd say a Beta Plus there at least."
Ana's eyes opened wide. What was Bezaffa saying? Wasn't she confessing
to Khedra what they'd been doing? Why was she doing that? She looked up
at Bezaffa with alarm, who nonetheless smiled at her amiably. "Drink your
coffee, dear. It'll make you feel much better. It'll certainly wake you
up." She grinned conspiratorially at Khedra. "Ana really didn't get that
much sleep last night, you know!"
"What an active girl!" Khedra remarked approvingly. "That's what we
like in our girls. Stamina! Technique comes with practise, but stamina is
rarely improved on. Have you got any coffee for me, Bezaffa sweetheart?"
"Why, of course," said Bezaffa, rushing off to the kitchen abandoning
Ana to Khedra, who leaned back in the sofa, smiling contentedly and with
amusement at Ana's obvious plight.
"You really mustn't think I'm bothered about your modesty, Ana. I see
working every day in all states of undress and quite often in
activities far more immodest than nudity in itself could ever be. If your
clothes are in the washing machine, that is quite sufficient to me. I
would never construe your nudity as an invitation of any kind." Khedra
scratched the back of her head. "And anyway, I don't share your
predilections, dearest. The law is quite wasted on me."
Ana looked down at her bare feet in the carpet. If only Khedra would
leave. If only she could leave. She was so embarrassed. Perhaps if she
looked away from Khedra long enough, this humiliation could end.
"And you still won't consider part-time work in the Brothel, dear?"
Khedra wondered, taking no notice of Ana's attempts to ignore her. "Or
perhaps our delightful hostess has convinced you otherwise. Surely, she's
told you of the very many advantages of it. Has she, Ana? Tell me. Don't
pretend you can't hear me!" Ana raised her head and glared at Khedra. Go
away! Her thoughts commanded. "Goodness! Such a mean stare! You don't
like me talking to you about these things, do you? Did you like it more
when Bezaffa spoke to you about it? Answer me. Did she speak to you?"
Ana nodded.
"And have you changed your mind?"
Ana shook her head.
"Well!" Sighed Khedra. "You are a stubborn girl, aren't you? Quite
willing to break the law when it suits you, but not willing to gain honest
extra employment!"
The doorbell rang again. It echoed through Ana's numbed skull and
jolted a spasm from her throat which again threatened to introduce
undigested matter into her mouth. She swallowed hard, and looked anxiously
towards the door. She was horrified to hear the sound of a man's voice
when Bezaffa had opened the front door. Her horror was further exacerbated
as she recognised the voice as belonging to her boss, Mr Madir. What was
he doing here?
Bezaffa escorted him into the living room, carrying another tray holding
three cups of coffee. Ana realised with another shock that both the
Director and Khedra had been expected. Why was that? Had it anything to
do with her being there?
"Well, m'dear!" Remarked the Director, bareheaded but wearing a suit,
carrying with him the sweet smell of cigarette smoke. "Fancy meeting you
here! And so delightfully turned out, don't you think, Bezaffa? I told
you I thought she'd have a good pair of on her. Not as truly
magnificent as yours, but good all the same. If you like them small and
pert that is!"
Ana hid her as well as she could, and felt utterly humiliated.
She was imprisoned behind the cushion she was grasping to her chest, and
quite incapable of standing up and leaving the room. "What are you doing
here?" was the only response she could muster.
"Is that the best way in which you can greet me? I must say, Ana
m'dear, you have not learnt the respect that a of such a position as I
has come to expect. Perhaps your dykish tendencies have also perverted
your sense of respect and good manners. And take that silly cushion off
your lap. If you think, m'dear, that you've got something to hide I've
never seen before you are most sorely mistaken."
"Don't be so hard on the girl," remarked Khedra amiably. "She's not
used to meeting in the buff..."
"Doesn't stop her hanging around with Binta or Ketaba, does it?" Sneered
the Director. He sat on the sofa next to Khedra and took a cup of coffee
from the tray. He took three or four teaspoonfuls of sugar from a sugar
bowl, and stirred them vigorously in his cup. "So, Ana m'dear, here we all
are! Such a delightful gathering don't you think? And you so well turned
out, if you don't mind me saying so. Couldn't find your knickers, then?"
"They're in the wash," Bezaffa explained. "She was very sick last
night."
"Too much booze, eh? Honestly, m'dear, if you're going to break yet
another law of this land, you really should ensure you've got the stomach
for it." He stubbed his cigarette out in an ash tray that Bezaffa placed in
front of him. "So, m'dear, I dare say you're wondering why we're here?"
Ana stared at her boss. What was the reason? She couldn't find enough
of her voice to confirm his conjecture. She nodded her head.
"I like a challenge, m'dear. That's the truth of it. I don't like
things to be too easy. It doesn't give me enough pleasure. It's better to
climb a mountain than a hill, as they say. When I'm confronted with a
challenge, I'll persevere. I won't give up. Inta, your predecessor, was a
challenge at first, but in the end she succumbed all too easily. Much more
easily than you, m'dear, I'll give you that." The Director took his silver
cigarette case out of his waistcoat pocket and carefully inserted a
cigarette into his cigarette holder. He lit it with his petrol lighter and
asked Bezaffa, while puffing out a fresh cloud of grey smoke: "And was our
little prude a challenge for you last night?"
"Not at all!" Bezaffa chuckled, glancing at Ana with a smile lacking the
friendliness she'd previously associated with her hostess. "A couple of
drinks. That's all it took!"
"A real slut!" Sniffed the Director contemptuously. "Keeps her
legs crossed for the men, but opens them wide to a pretty woman! Well,
Bezaffa m'dear, you certainly won that wager, eh? No flies on you, eh?
And what do you reckon of our little piece of fluff. Good performance
rating?"
"Not bad!" Bezaffa confirmed. "Not bad at all! Good appearance, too!"
"I can see that! Well, almost see it. How long are you going to keep
that cushion on your lap, m'dear? Do you really think it makes the
blindest bit of difference to me whether I see your furry mound or little
titties? I'd abandon it if I were you."
The cushion was the only friend Ana had in the room and she was loath to
lose what little protection it afforded her. She shook her head
vehemently.
"Anyway, m'dear, I like a challenge. I would like to see you
participate more fully in the work of the Brothel. And now that you have
demonstrated to darling Bezaffa that you aren't at all the tight-arsed
virgin you pretend to be, I really don't see now why you shouldn't do so.
Khedra has quite kindly brought along with her literature and other
material that might persuade you to do your bit and work part-time in more
active service in the Brothel's interest. Isn't that so, Khedra m'dear?"
"Indeed it is!" Announced Khedra, placing the briefcase onto her lap and
decisively snapping open its locks. The briefcase opened to reveal some
glossy brochures and booklets. "I have here the training manuals and
information which we supply to all our recruits, with particular emphasis
on what the Brothel offers to part- timers and what in return the Brothel
expects from them. I think you'll agree it's a very attractive offer. One
that you really would be a fool not to accept."
She pulled out the literature and laid it carefully on the table. Ana
looked at the remarkably coy covers. They showed photographs of
prostitutes, some of whom she recognised, in their work clothes, greeting
clients and chatting amiably among themselves. Khedra picked one up and
handed it to Ana who took it in her hands and resting the cushion against
her tummy flicked through the pages. This one was rather more informative
than any literature she'd seen before on the subject, showing women with
rather more of their bodies on display than she'd ever before in her life
seen in print. The chapters had headings like: Greeting the Client,
Anticipating a Client's Wishes and Personal Health and Hygiene. She
flicked through the pages feeling alternate flushes of heat and shivers as
she imagined herself in such positions.
"I couldn't possibly!" She remarked. "Never. Never."
"Come on, m'dear," continued the Director. "It's not as bad as you seem
to think. If it were, then nobody would ever do it. It's just a job.
Wouldn't you agree, Bezaffa?"
"It is. And a good one at that! You really ought to think more
seriously about it, Ana. It'd do you no harm at all. And the money's very
good."
"Have you seen the rates, Ana?" Asked the Director.
Ana nodded. Khedra elaborated: "I've been through all that with her.
She knows how attractive it is."
"And she knows that in addition she can easily more than double her
income with gratuities from grateful clients. You could be rich, m'dear.
You could very soon be able to afford a house nearly as nice as Bezaffa's.
You're young. You're pretty. A bit of hard work and you'll soon see the
benefits. You could have foreign holidays, buy a car, go to the opera -
you'll have more money than you'll know how to spend. What do you think,
m'dear? Would you like to take the opportunity that's laid out in front of
you?"
Ana bowed her head down and pinched her forehead which had started
aching again. The painkillers' effect seemed to have totally evaporated.
All she wanted was to get away. "I don't want to. I just won't."
"You get excellent backup service," Khedra recommended. "Frequent
checkups. Sick leave. Maternity leave. A crèche if you wanted it..."
"She won't need that!" Snorted Mr Madir. "Dykes don't have babies.
They're frigid. It's scientific fact."
"Maybe," responded Khedra sceptically. "Anyway, Ana, sweetheart, there
is really nothing to worry about. Frequent counselling. Training to
improve your performance rating. Advice to maximise the quality of your
appearance. And these in turn will maximise your earning potential. And
for someone like you that could be quite significant." She turned to face
Bezaffa. "Would you say she's technically intact?"
Bezaffa nodded. "Pure as the driven snow. Technically!"
"We can of course confirm that in the standard medical. That in itself
is an asset of quite inestimable value, Ana m'dear. Your first takings
could set you up very nicely. There is a large demand, wholly impossible
to fully satisfy, for the right species of inexperience, Ana. You have
done well if you have indeed maintained your internal intactness, for which
there is a considerable bonus and, no doubt, quite a sizeable gratuity from
any client who enjoys your première performance."
"And the gratuities are tax free, m'dear. The Brothel has an unofficial
policy of passing a blind eye on any such extra income. It is believed
that it adds extra stimulus to the quality of service provided and improves
staff morale..."
"...And much of it gets returned in the form of purchases from the staff
shop," added Khedra. "The goods on offer being very much in demand in the
service of the client."
"So, Ana m'dear, what do you say?"
"No. No. Absolutely not!" Ana spluttered, a fresh rush of nausea
rushing to her head. She pushed back her head in the hope that it would
subside, but instead her stomach began to heave with a mind of its own.
Her eyes flooded with tears as she reflected on her humiliation and
helplessness. A salty trail trickled down her cheeks.
"I think the poor girl's going to be sick," remarked Bezaffa. "I'll
take her to the bathroom." She leaned over and put a comforting soft arm
around Ana's shoulders. "Come along, Ana dear. It's alright. Don't you
worry!"
Ana gazed up at Bezaffa with pitiful gratitude. She leaned against her
hostess's large soft body as she raised herself, the cushion clutched
tightly to her breasts, and allowed herself to be led to the bathroom,
averting her eyes from Mr Madir's leering lecherous gaze. As soon as she
was in the bathroom, she threw aside the cushion and flung herself onto the
floor in front of the bowl, leaned her elbows on the edge and
coughed frantically to relieve herself of the vomit she felt must be
waiting to emerge. She was quite disappointed to find none appear. Her
sickness was more psychological than physical.
As she knelt there, Bezaffa tenderly stroked her bare back. "There
there!" She said reassuringly. "It's nothing, see. Nothing at all. It's
just a hangover. People have them all the time in countries where alcohol
is legal. Perhaps you can see now why President Marmeluke's government has
proscribed such poisonous substances in Alif."
Ana stood up, certain now that there was nothing to be gained from her
endeavours. "Why? Why?" She pleaded.
"Why what, sweetest?"
"Why am I being treated like this? What have I done? Why are Khedra
and the Director tormenting me?" She wrapped her arms around Bezaffa,
feeling again the warmth and softness of the body which had tempted her so
fatefully the night before. A fresh gush of tears, partly stimulated by
her efforts over the bowl, released themselves onto her cheeks. She
sniffed miserably.
"Oh, Ana. You're getting it all wrong! Mr Madir and Khedra are not
tormenting you. The idea of it! They're simply explaining to you the
advantages of part-time extra work in the Brothel. It's really not that
big a deal! And surely you must admit that there are plenty of good
reasons why you should take the offer. It could truly make you quite
rich."
"Why can't they understand I'm just not going to? I just couldn't. Why
don't they leave me alone?"
"Well, there's quite a premium commission for recruiting an attractive
girl like you. Particularly one who's still intact. I daresay the
Director and Khedra wouldn't mind sharing it between them..."
"And you too!" Accused Ana bitterly. "Is it just for money then?"
"Well no, it isn't! And you are most unfair to suggest that I comforted
you last night simply to share the commission. I really find that most
offensive. Although I make love with every day, it really is not often
that I am tempted by the attractions of my own sex."
"Is that so?" Sniffed Ana. Perhaps she hadn't just been used. Perhaps
there was still some love and tenderness left in her world.
Bezaffa smiled indulgently. "Of course, Ana. You are a truly
attractive lady. I almost envy Binta. She's succeeded in winning
your love where many have presumably tried and failed."
"What do you know about Binta and me?" Ana sharply demanded.
Bezaffa looked a little put out by Ana's direct accusation. "Nothing.
Nothing. It's just what I surmised, cherry. Nothing more. Come here,
sweetest! You're amongst friends." She pulled Ana's naked body to her
chest and her pale blue eyes explored her face. Ana melted under Bezaffa's
gaze, as she smiled broadly and allowed her to take her mouth in hers and
to once again sink her tongue inside. Bezaffa's chubby dimpled hands
caressed Ana's smooth slim naked back and gently squeezed her buttocks. A
warmness crept inside Ana's chest, thoughts of fidelity to Binta forgotten
in contemplation of the humiliation still waiting for her in the living
room.
"Come come," said Bezaffa softly. "We can't possibly indulge here. Not
with our bosses waiting for us in the living room!"
"I don't want to go back in there!" Ana announced. "I don't ever want
to go back. Can't I just leave now! Go home without facing them again!"
"Really, cherry! With no clothes! You'll be arrested within minutes.
Indecent exposure is a crime you know. You'll just have to wait until your
clothes are washed and dried."
"Couldn't I borrow some of your clothes?" Pleaded Ana. "Then I'd be
decent and I'd be able to escape." That was all she wanted to do. Flee and
return to her Jadid flat. She wanted her life to simply return to what it
was. Her infidelity forgotten and herself back snuggled in Binta's arms.
"That really isn't possible!" Bezaffa exclaimed with a dismissive
chuckle. "My clothes are far too large for you. They would just drop off.
You're just a flimsy skinny rake in comparison to me." She stood back, her
arms outstretched and her hands still gripping Ana's shoulders. "Look at
me, sweetheart! Nobody could ever accuse me of being thin. I'm definitely
not the delicate slender reed that you are! The idea of it!"
She pulled herself back onto Ana and caressed her face again with her
tongue and lips. "But I'm naked!" Ana exclaimed.
"As I said, you're amongst friends here. And anyway, cherry, you have
nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is so beautiful and desirable. I
could just eat you up!"
"I want to go home. I don't like being seen like this!"
"Nonsense, dearest. Absolute nonsense. And anyway shouldn't you at
least listen to what Khedra has to say. After all she's gone to an awful
lot of trouble to come here and explain to you the advantages of part-time
employment. Surely it's only courtesy to listen."
"I don't want to. I've already made my mind up. And I've said so many
many times before. Never never never!"
"You are a stubborn thing, aren't you?" Chuckled Bezaffa. "I can't help
but think that you have really just misrepresented things. There's no plot
to humiliate you or force you to do things you don't want to do. You're
perfectly within your rights just to listen and continue in your obstinacy.
No harm will come to you, I'm certain. You surely can't blame Mr Madir and
Khedra for trying to persuade you to do something which is so indubitably
to your advantage."
"But I don't like them to see me naked!" Ana persisted.
"Oh well! Is that all!" Sighed Bezaffa. She picked up the large white
towel that hung from the electric towel rack and had been pleasantly warmed
by it. "Do you want to cover yourself with this, then?"
Ana nodded. That would be better than nothing. Ana gratefully wrapped
the towel around her and held it in place with a large knot. It
was not clothing, and Ana still felt very vulnerable, but it was so much
better than nothing at all.
Bezaffa smiled amiably: her pale blue eyes shining seductively. "So
now, cherry, you have no excuse for not coming into the living room and
listening to what Khedra has to say."
22
"Well well! No longer the naturist, m'dear!" Jeered the Director, as
Ana was sheepishly escorted back into the room by Bezaffa whose arm was
firmly around her waist.
"Don't mind Mr Madir," said Khedra soothingly, frowning at her
colleague. "We're both very grateful that you have agreed to come back.
This won't take long. I've just been setting up a for you to watch,
so make yourself comfortable in the sofa next to Bezaffa and we can watch
it."
"Video?" Wondered Ana, obediently sitting down and thankful for
Bezaffa's continued support and reassurance. She glanced at the disc
player underneath the television where an open plastic case lay by the
carrier bag Khedra had brought along with her. The television showed a
blue screen, blank except for a little number in the bottom right-hand
corner.
"A training video," Khedra explained. "We show it to all our new
recruits. It's part of the training routine, and not normally shown to the
public..."
"Although export sales are very healthy!" The Director remarked with a
grin.
"Export sales?"
"Yes, Ana," Khedra continued. "The Brothel is proud to be able to sell
its products abroad. We are happy for institutions like ours to benefit
from our high quality of training product..."
"And not just brothels," interjected the Director. "The private market
is very healthy."
"And indeed it is," agreed Khedra, "but Ana isn't here to learn about
the Brothel's export initiatives. This video, and others like it, should
reassure you that the services the Brothel provide are of a professional
nature and we take a professional's pride in proper training, employee care
and customer satisfaction. This is called A New Life and it will
show you what the life of a working girl, whether full or part time, can be
like."
She picked up a remote control and pointed it at the player. The
disc began to whirl and the screen crackled into a chaos of interference.
After a few seconds, the screen reorganised itself into an image of a
smiling woman in her early thirties wearing an elegant jacket and skirt,
carrying a briefcase and with the title of the film appearing over her
head.
"A New Life," she echoed. "And that is the exciting challenge that you
have chosen. A life of great rewards - both material and social - but one
which needs to approached in the right way. And that is what this film
will help you do, by outlining how to get the best out of your new career
and at the same time provide your clients with the satisfaction they
crave."
The continued in this vein, as the woman, Muhathila Idrus,
explained such important aspects of a prostitute's work as Courtesy to the
Client, Being Prepared and Proper Hygiene. In all of this there was little
to hint as to the actual nature of the service the prostitute provided.
The only suggestions were the dress the prostitutes wore and the fact that
all their clients seemed to be men, ones, in fact, astonishingly courteous,
well-dressed and surprisingly good-looking. Ana had rarely seen clients
such as these in the foyer of the Brothel when she came to work in the
morning or when she went home. Most clients she saw were unprepossessing:
badly dressed, often overweight, frequently balding and most often
middle-aged. They were usually far less courteous or thoughtful than those
in the who would unfailingly shake hands with the prostitute and
smile in a welcoming way that made it seem as if it was the client who was
providing the service rather than the prostitute.
The advice provided gave no insight into the concerns which Binta
expressed. Indeed it seemed more like common sense than anything else.
The novice prostitute was advised to shower herself after every client's
visit, tidy herself up and remove any off-putting odours which might
trouble the next clients. "After all," said Muhathila, standing by a
shower with a wearing a towel quite as large as the one Ana was
wearing, "your next client doesn't like to think that he isn't the first to
have made your acquaintance that day. It's only courtesy. And as we have
said before, courtesy is critical for success in your new career."
The finished after nearly half an hour, with Muhathila once again
repeating the film's key points. The Director looked extremely bored,
preferring to thumb through the promotional literature rather than view the
film itself. Khedra had a fixed expression on her face. She'd obviously
seen the many times herself, but kept a watchful eye on Ana.
"So what do you think?" She asked as synthesised incidental music
twiddled over the credits. "You can see that the profession is really not
so bad at all."
Ana sighed. "I know what it's like. I've spoken to people. I know
people who work as prostitutes. It's nothing like what the says it
is."
"Of course, it is, Ana dear," Khedra insisted. "All the points made in
the are absolutely valid. As a prostitute you'd be a fool not to
follow them."
"But I'm not a prostitute. And I never will be!" Ana insisted.
The Director sniffed. "She's right, you know," he said to Khedra.
"It's not all like that. Show her some of the harder stuff."
Khedra glared at Mr Madir. "Not yet." She turned back to address Ana.
"Life as a prostitute isn't all work, you know. There are plenty of fringe
benefits." She walked over to the player, removed the disc and
replaced it in its case. "And you will be making a lot of money." She
selected another disc from her bag and slipped it in the machine. "This will tell you about the career prospects and advantages of
the profession."
"But I already know about them..." Ana protested.
"No harm in hearing about them again," smiled Bezaffa, squeezing Ana's
arm affectionately. Ana nodded, but still believed she would feel happier
when this ordeal was over and she could go home.
Khedra sat back on the sofa next to the Director, pointed the remote at
the disc and let it play. This one was called In The Money and
featured another smartly dressed woman, this time in her early forties and
with a habit of pulling documents out of an attache case she carried around
with her. Amongst other things, this featured information on the
classification system used in the Brothel, and how prostitutes could
progress up to higher grades and better pay by paying sufficient attention
to their appearance and performance.
A very pretty was featured in the Brothel gym practising on the
equipment and then turning obediently to Mrs Zhunia, the presenter, to
explain to her how through exercise, skin care and Brothel-sponsored
surgery she had enhanced her rating from a Gamma Plus to an Alpha Minus,
and how much difference it had made not only to her income, but to her
self-esteem. Ana had never seen this in the Brothel and didn't
believe she was an actual employee, but even so she doubted whether it was
humanly possible to make such a leap in one's PAR. The general pattern was
more often downwards through the grades, rather than upwards. Part of her
function as a secretary was to forward complaints from prostitutes bitter
at dropping a grade or so, and demanding reappraisal.
Other advantages of working as a prostitute were the facilities at the
Brothel ("Free to employees but so expensive elsewhere!"), the pension
scheme, staff discounts and favourable mortgage loans. Each one of these
advantages appeared to give Mrs Zhunia a frisson of delight: "I really
can't understand," she remarked at one stage in the video, "why I hadn't
chosen this career myself!"
Ana was pretty sure, or felt she was sure, that she knew why she'd never
opt for the career. The made no reference at all to the kind of work
the prostitutes did to deserve such good remuneration, and those featured
were dressed in ways that were more appropriate for working in an office or
walking in the park. The nearest suggestion was Mrs Zhunia's occasional
reference to "working hard" or "not giving up", which implied that there
was indeed some effort involved in attaining these lovingly specified
luxuries.
"Well, did you learn anything from that?" Asked Khedra hopefully as the
video disc slid out on its drawer.
"Not really," admitted Ana, hoping that this was the last of her ordeal.
"What do you expect?" scoffed the Director. "She knows all that stuff.
Show her the real thing, for goodness sake!"
Khedra sighed, but selected a entitled A Loving Profession. "The
Training Services Division of the Brothel tries to do the best for its
trainees and part of this is to provide practical training for its
recruits. We don't believe in just sending out our working with no
practical knowledge of what is expected from them. Much of this training
is necessarily theoretical, particularly for those who are intact as you
are, Ana dear. are an invaluable tool for this, though of course we
also provide demonstrations and some class work. This is one of
those we use to demonstrate techniques of customer care and is, I warn you,
rather explicit."
At first, Ana wasn't too sure what Khedra meant by this last remark.
The began very much like the last two except that the woman presenter
was an anonymous figure who wasn't seen at all, but had a gruffness that
suggested that she was neither nor inexperienced. This time the
prostitutes were featured in the kinds of work clothes Ana was more
familiar with: a bizarre collection of underwear, and lace. The
clients were again untypically and handsome, and when they bared
their torsos, which they did fairly early on, revealed a musculature which
few actual clients could ever lay claim to. It came as a shock though when
the proceeded towards its actual subject matter, as the clients
removed all their clothes and the prostitutes removed their knickers and
opened their legs.
Ana became aware that she was watching film of actual sexual
intercourse. She had never seen which even featured nudity: the Alif
government had made pornography illegal and possession of it was quite a
serious offence. The display of genitalia or was explicitly banned
and even the hint of nudity would probably have been excised from any film
that dared to include it before it reached the cinema. Now Ana was seeing
not just nudity but sexual acts which were explicit and graphic, filmed
from angles which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Curiously
enough the prostitutes themselves could hardly be described as naked.
Throughout the filming they retained their stockings, even their shoes, and
it was rarely that their were revealed. But the were not
the main object of the camera's attention, as groins were pushed together
in repetitive, even monotonous, thrusts.
There was a soundtrack over the top of this activity as the anonymous
presenter explained exactly what was going on, how the prostitute was
achieving certain effects and the results this provided for client
satisfaction. Ana hardly heard it at all. Her eyes were transfixed at the
horror at what she was seeing. At least it was horror when she first saw
these images. So, that was what and women did together. She was even
more determined never to have to participate herself. However, after a
while, she became inured to the sight of such physical sex. It was
tedious, predictable and not at all erotic.
Bezaffa squeezed her arm tenderly. "See, cherry, there's nothing to
it!"
Despite Ana's original disgust, she found that she was beginning to
agree with Bezaffa. There really didn't seem very much to it. She could
even envisage herself, lying back, with her eyes closed, gritting her teeth
and thinking about other things (just as Binta sometimes described it),
while from a remote distance a whom she might not even have to look at
would do his humping backwards and forwards, until he had lost his ability
to continue and then would leave. Perhaps, she thought with contempt, her
fears were rather exaggerated. It was probably nowhere near as painful as
she'd imagined, although the didn't suggest to her that she'd ever
actually enjoy it however much the women in the seemed to be, by the
evidence of their loud cries and simpering grins.
The Director watched the with a disgusting leer across his face,
clearly enjoying specific moments such as when a woman was first penetrated
or took the client's organ into her mouth. Khedra wasn't even watching the
video, being more interested in reviewing a list of titles she had on
her lap. Ana looked round at Bezaffa, who grinned conspiratorially at Ana.
"It's great fun, isn't it? Don't you think?" She said, hugging Ana
affectionately across the shoulders and looking more at Ana than the
current scene of oral sex filling every part of the screen.
"Tempted now, m'dear?" Asked the Director with a leer when the finished, lighting the cigarette in his holder with his lighter.
Ana looked at Mr Madir contemptuously and shook her head adamantly.
"Not at all!"
"But there's nothing to it!" Khedra remarked. "There really isn't!
Just think how much you'll be earning for really no effort at all."
"It's just not something I ever want to do! It's horrible! Can't I go
now? I've seen more than enough. I just don't want to do it!" She faced
Bezaffa. "My clothes must be washed now. Can't I just put them on and
leave?"
"They're still wet, cherry. You wouldn't want to catch pneumonia. And
anyway I'm sure that Khedra has more that she wants to show you."
"I don't want to see it. I haven't changed my mind at all. All I want
to do is go home and forget all these horrible things I've seen."
The Director sighed loudly. He drew on his cigarette holder and emitted
a large cloud of slightly bluish smoke. "I told you, Khedra m'dear, that
soft sell wouldn't work on our little virgin. We'll have to switch to
harder sell. A stick may work where a carrot fails." Khedra nodded, and
knelt in front of her carrier bag where she pulled out a tape. She
turned on Bezaffa's videotape player and slid the tape in. With a series
of clunks and whirls it adjusted itself and the screen reorganised itself
into the view of a prostitute's room, very similar to the one Binta lived
in. There were no introductions or synthesised music. There was just a
view of a woman whom Binta vaguely recognised with a client who in terms of
age and physical attractiveness much more closely resembled those who
actually came through the Brothel doors.
The Director leered and puffed out more smoke from his nostrils. "As
you know, Ana m'dear, the Brothel provides each prostitute with a two-way
mirror which enables potential clients to view those who are available at
any time. This mirror is connected to the Brothel's intercom system and
enables us to record the at work. This is invaluable in the
appraisal of the in their work, and is a requirement by the
government should there be any dispute in the award of grades. As a bonus
this provides the Brothel with an additional source of export income in
selling the film abroad to a market which likes to see actual, authentic
footage. This shows Jadida at work. She seems to be enjoying
herself, don't you think, m'dear?"
A cold tremor passed through Ana's body. What did this portend for
Binta and her? The film was very static, featuring none of the angles and close-ups which typified the previous videotape. Bezaffa
grasped her more tightly, as if to prevent her leaving the room.
"Jadida's a pretty isn't she? Much your age, probably much the
same grade as you'd gain, and a good example to us all. Now, Khedra, show
our little friend tape of someone more familiar to her."
Khedra nodded. She ejected the tape from the machine, which had
only a handwritten sticker to identify it. She then slipped in another
tape, which when it began showed a much larger white body, with legs high
in the air being penetrated by another unprepossessing client whose
trousers were down to his knees and still wearing a shirt. Ana stared at
horror at the client's hairy bottom, the prostitute's folds of fat and a
face which repeatedly cries clearly meant to express great joy
and abandon. She then frowned at Bezaffa who smiled at her in a curiously
conspiratorial way.
"Yes, m'dear," the Director affirmed. "Your latest belle, Bezaffa, at
play. Or should I say, at work. Watch and learn."
Ana watched in horror, blood draining from her face as she contemplated
the repeated thrusts and then the horror and disgust as Bezaffa, still
apparently enjoying all that was happened lowered her head to a lower part
of the client's body and proceeded to exercise her mouth in a way that was
explicit and frightening.
"How could you?" Ana accused.
"Easy!" laughed Bezaffa good-humouredly. "You ought to try it. It's
good fun! There can't be many jobs where you get paid so well for doing
something you enjoy!"
"I just couldn't enjoy doing that!" Ana insisted. "It's obscene!
Vulgar! Disgusting!" She stood up abruptly. "Turn it off! Just turn it
off! I don't want to see any more. I've seen enough. That's enough!"
"Surely not, m'dear!" the Director laughed, lighting another cigarette.
"There's so much more to see! You can't leave us now." He smiled cruelly,
letting a cloud of cigarette smoke rise slowly from his nostrils and
followed it up with a gaze. He then looked directly into Ana's eyes
causing her to blink with fear and trepidation. "Jadida and Bezaffa aren't
the only two we've filmed at work. No way! We have film of Zabba,
Ketaba, even darling Khedra here. It's totally routine you know. Every
working is filmed at work. In fact, there's so much recorded on that of course we never get the opportunity to see more than the smallest
fraction of it. Just what we might be interested in. Compiling export
tapes is quite a tiring job I can tell you - and I'm glad it's a duty that
has never fallen to me." The Director in on his cigarette holder,
the embers sparking at his inhalation. "As I say, every working girl's
every working moment is recorded and stored, even if it may never get seen.
Khedra and I, we usually only get to see them when an export tape has been
compiled or if we have particular reasons to review the performance of any
individual girl. Khedra m'dear, show a which will especially
interest Ana. One that features a whose performance has recently
caused us considerable concern as a result of some rather less than
complimentary comments from her clients."
Ana drew her breath in. She had a very good idea who this might
be, but she hoped - so much! - that it wasn't. But as the was
inserted and began, she could see that her fears were confirmed. The receiving the frequent and rhythmic pelvic thrusts of the paunchy
middle-aged with a large bald spot in his hair and responding with
occasional gasps and cries, was immediately distinguishable from all the
other prostitutes she'd seen on in that she wore no clothes at all.
Her long hair, the dark green eyes and the face, occasionally obscured by
the body of the lying on top of her, could only belong to Binta. At
first Ana tried convincing herself that it was someone else: another person
in the Brothel who looked like her, but Ana knew Binta too well. She knew
every small detail of her lover's body. And this was clearly, indubitably
and horrifyingly, Binta.
"So, m'dear," sneered the Director, "this is your friend. Or is
she a dyke? She doesn't seem to mind it so much, does she? I'd say she
was actually enjoying it, wouldn't you? And look! She's giving the client
just what he wants with her mouth. Look at that tongue! Look at those
active fingers! Just what were those clients complaining about, I wonder.
Binta's not a who shies from her duty, eh? And listen to those cries.
They certainly suggest to me someone who's having a good time. Maybe she's
not such a after all!"
Ana stared in wordless and silent horror. It was Binta! It really was!
And maybe she was enjoying it. Maybe she was pretending to, just to
persuade the to finish as soon as possible. But it appeared that she
was enjoying it. That horrid, disgusting man, and his filthy misshapen
appendage! Could it be that Binta really did enjoy her work?
The switched to a scene of another man, quite skinny and gaunt,
enjoying her in much the same way as the first, with Binta lying on top of
him, her mouth as her fingers worked at his trouser top but her head
bobbing up and down, suggesting attention the thought of which left a very
unpleasant taste in Ana's mouth. She turned her gaze away and looked into
Bezaffa's eyes which were fixed on her.
"Is Binta really enjoying it?" She whispered.
Bezaffa grinned broadly. "It's impossible to say, cherry. She's a
professional. She's got to look like she enjoys it. But I'd say, yes.
She does seem to be enjoying it. Those are pretty genuine little cries of
passion, don't you think?"
Ana turned her head back to the screen. Binta did seem to be making
rather a lot of noise. And it did seem to come bit by bit to a climax, the
sound of which was so familiar, so achingly familiar, and one which until
now she had unreservedly believed her own property and the fruit of her own
endeavour. And all that strange viscous liquid that engorged itself all
over Binta's face and breasts. If Binta enjoyed it, perhaps Ana could do
so too. What meaning was there to her fidelity to Binta, if her lover felt
free to express her passion so freely and promiscuously? Ana's eyes
swelled with tears and her cheeks smarted as they seeped soundlessly onto
her face.
"Crying are we, m'dear?" Laughed the Director. "Find the truth a little
difficult to accept, do you? Don't worry, we have more to show. Much
more. You see, the doesn't merely record when Binta is working. Oh
no! There's no such discretion in the Brothel, - though of course
generally there's precious little of the remotest interest to see most of
the time when a is off-duty. Washing her hair; reading books;
chatting to friends; sleeping: none of these are activities which could
interest us nor, it need be said, any of our potential export market. And
anyway with a fixed mirror, so much is out of frame. Everything that is,
except what goes on in the bed." Mr Madir smirked. "Show Ana one of our
unofficial recordings, Khedra m'dear."
Khedra nodded. "If you think it's for the best..."
"It is! It is!" Ana's boss assented.
Khedra ejected the tape while Ana wrapped herself around Bezaffa,
the most comforting object in the room. How could Binta enjoy all those
horrid men? Was she enjoying what they were doing to her? And what she
was doing to them? Bezaffa gently stroked Ana's back, as her tears soaked
into her dressing gown and dampened her ear as it pressed hard against the
breast. Khedra pushed in another tape and Ana watched out of the
corner of her eye as it jerked into action. It was then that she got
another very horrid shock. There was Binta again: quite clearly enjoying
the sexual attention of another person. But that other person, seen from
such a strange angle, and quite as active in lovemaking as Binta herself:
it was someone very familiar, but curiously not familiar at all.
Ana had never seen a film of herself before, except in the screens
of security cameras in the malls of Blad. And in those cases, she'd been
fully clothed and really doing nothing more than walking past, looking to
one side of the camera, as the screen would be in a quite different
location to the lens. Here though was that same curious sensation of
self-recognition, but this time in positions and poses that she'd only
briefly viewed in the same mirror which had recorded her in her sexual
play. She breathed in deeply, her eyes swelling with shock and fear.
"I need not tell you, m'dear, how the law of this land views such sexual
transgressions as this. It's a serious offence, punishable as you know by
imprisonment or, if you are very lucky, penal servitude in the same august
institution where you currently earn a living. As you can see, Khedra and
I have here rather undeniable evidence of your criminal activity. That is
you, isn't it, enjoying yourself in such a disgusting if rather titillating
way. And dear me! There really doesn't appear to be any evidence of any
reluctance on your part, m'dear. You really do seem to be a willing party
to all this behaviour. My goodness! Just look at that! Don't the two of
you seem to be having such a good time! What have you got to say, m'dear?
It is you there, isn't it?"
The naked Ana on the tape chose this moment to look directly into
the mirror, her head emerging from between Binta's legs with a strange wild
expression that the Ana in Bezaffa's living room had never seen on herself
before. Seen like this there really seemed no difference between this Ana
and the women she'd seen making love to on the other tapes. Ana
nodded, looking towards the video, squeezing Bezaffa's chubby white hand so
tightly that blue marks rose on the soft white skin.
"What are you going to do?" She asked through a voice that emerged from
deep inside a hollow breast. Her heart pounded hard inside her chest and
her stomach fluttered with a fear that promised to erupt into a fresh
outpouring of vomit from her raw punished throat. "Are you going to have
me arrested?"
The Director smiled grimly and triumphantly. "In a court of law this
would be pretty well conclusive evidence - wouldn't you say? - of
misdemeanours which attract quite harsh penalties. Not just for you, of
course, although I daresay your main concern is quite understandably
yourself. What would an unsympathetic judge and jury think of someone
indulging in such filthy behaviour with a known lesbian? But it is also of
concern, of course, to your friend, Binta. She would not be let off
easily. A second offence committed while serving a sentence for the first.
She may never again emerge a free woman. Dearie me! That would be sad,
wouldn't it, m'dear?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I'd have thought that was fairly obvious from all the hard work that
dear Khedra has been putting in on your behalf. The administration of the
Brothel - Khedra and myself - is quite willing to turn a blind eye on your
criminal transgressions, if you are ready to show yourself willing to
compromise on our behalf. And Khedra has already spelt out the great
advantages of working part-time in such a capacity. You really have
nothing to lose by taking up our generous offer. And I really do not need
to spell out the penalty of non-cooperation."
"You mean I have to work as a prostitute? A whore? Have strange see me every day?"
The Director smirked. He pulled a cigarette out of his cigarette case
and tapped it a few times on the silver exterior. "Describe it how you
like, m'dear. But essentially, yes. A little bit of effort on your behalf
and we'll never mention your criminal acts to anyone."
Ana leaned forward, tears gushing from her eyes and her mouth forming
such ugly shapes as she confronted her helplessness. "What shall I do?
What can I do? Can't anybody help me?"
Bezaffa stroked Ana comfortingly on the back, and then bent her head
down and nuzzled it against Ana's own. "You know the answers, sweetest.
You really do not have any choice. Not really! And it's not such a bad
choice. Not a bad choice at all! Either imprisonment and stigma for you
(and worse for sweet little Binta!) on the one hand; and riches and rewards
for such little pain on the other. You really have no choice. Just say
yes! Sign the forms darling Khedra has provided and you need worry no
more."
Ana looked closely into Bezaffa's face which was so close to her: the
pretty blue eyes, the smooth round face, the sympathetic smile. A sudden
rush of hatred and loathing shook her slender frame, flushing her forehead
with an exhilarating heat of passion. "You betrayed me!" She exclaimed
with a sudden appalled insight. "Betrayed me!"
She pushed herself off Bezaffa, throwing herself down on the length of
the sofa, hardly caring as the towel fell off her and revealed
herself nearly as naked as the cheerful and ecstatic image of herself on
the television engaged so passionately with Binta. Ana didn't care. Her
humiliation was nearly as complete as it possibly be. What difference did
a little more make? Bezaffa sounded by the accusation.
"I didn't betray you, cherry. I didn't. What we have done together..."
"I hate you! I hate you! You betrayed me! You used and abused me!
You took advantage of me!"
"Bezaffa hasn't betrayed you, Ana darling," Khedra remarked, kneeling
amongst the tapes and with a touch of sympathetic emotion in her
voice. "If anything, she has compromised herself. She didn't know about
these any more than you. If anyone betrayed you, it was you. With
your naïvete and blatancy. Don't think we didn't notice you and Binta:
always together, and you staying overnight in the Brothel. You really
could have been a lot more discrete, you know. It was just a matter of
time. You know that!"
"It's not right! oIt can't be right! I've done nothing wrong!
Nothing! It's love! That's all! Love! We're in love, Binta and I. Why
must it be condemned? It can't be right, when something so true and good
and pure and wonderful between us ... Waaahhh!" Ana cried in helpless
agony, resting her tear-strewn face on her palms, elbows supported on her
knees, and the raw wound of her face and emotions spilling drops of
despair onto her and the towel over her thighs. "I've been
betrayed! Betrayed!"
The Director placed his unlit cigarette into the holder and with a
grandiloquent gesture lit it with his lighter. He puffed out a large cloud
which ascended into the already smoke-filled air and gradually descended in
a grey-blue mist over Ana's bare shoulders. "Talking of betrayal, m'dear,"
he commented in slow even terms, "there is more that we can show you. Your
dyke lover is really no saint - not that anyone has ever accused her of
being so. You really should have chosen your friends much more carefully
you know."
Ana raised her head and glared at the Director. "What are you saying
about Binta?"
"Show her Khedra!" commanded Mr Madir, leaning back with a contented and
malevolent grin on his face. "Show what a little angel Binta can be."
Khedra sighed reluctantly, but obediently ejected the tape of
Binta and Ana, and slipped in another. Ana looked at the screen with sore
red eyes, a trail of clear salty snot emerging from her left nostril and
sneaking into her mouth. She huddled up out of reach from Bezaffa who sat
in discomfort at the other end of the sofa. The whirred and clanked
into motion and then the screen flickered into focus.
It was Binta again. That Ana was sure. She'd now seen enough of Binta
on tape to be certain that it was her lover. And, again, she was
with someone. And this time it wasn't Ana. But she was making love, with
the same visible passion that she'd just witnessed in the last video. And
she wasn't making love with a client. No client looked like that. Not so
slender, ... or feminine.
Or black!
There was only one black person in the Brothel. There had, in fact,
only been one black person that Ana had seen in her entire time in Blad.
Black people were not native to Alif and very few indeed had ever ventured
in at any time in its long turbulent history. The woman who was with
Binta. And enjoying her caresses. And whose caresses were being enjoyed.
This woman was undoubtedly Ferhana.
Ana stared and stared. It couldn't be. It must be an illusion. It
can't be true. But the black woman's face rose from the garden of Binta's
beauty, as Ana's had in the earlier video, and stared directly into the
mirror. It was Ferhana. Ana's eyes ached in disbelief and humiliation.
Binta. With Ferhana!
"Now will you do the right thing, m'dear?" Asked the Director kindly.
Ana stared back at the as Ferhana and Binta stretched out on the
long length of that familiar bed, their arms around each other and
Ferhana's fingers where Ana believed no other woman should ever intrude.
She squeezed shut her eyes. Go away! she whispered to herself. Don't be
true! She opened her eyes, and focused through the salty film that had
attached to her retina. It was still Ferhana and Binta. Together!
"What are you going to do, sweetest?" Khedra asked. "Will you volunteer
to a bit of part-time work? It really won't do you any harm."
Ana vigorously nodded her head. Her humiliation was complete. She
didn't care that her were uncovered or that her face was an ugly
contorted tear- stained mess of misery. "Yes!" She announced emphatically
and despairingly. "Yes! Yes! I will! I'll do everything you say.
Everything!"
23
Ferhana was as puzzled as anyone by Ana's abrupt change of character and
appearance. She no longer dressed in the modest and smart clothes that
made her stand out against the general style of the Brothel. Instead, she
had taken to wearing a very short skirt, black stockings, torturously high
heels and blouses that barely covered her navel and accentuated the lift of
her supported breasts. Her hair was tied back and frizzled loose, and her
face had become almost unrecognisable under a mass of rouge and mascara.
She no longer stayed late in the Brothel, seeking out her friend Binta, and
was very rarely seen even in the canteen where Ferhana had often met her
together with Binta. When she was seen in the canteen, or even in the
corridor, she was always escorted by either Khedra or the Pimple, and very
occasionally more favoured prostitutes like Bezaffa.
She had seen a similar change in Ana's predecessor, Inta, but Ana's
transformation was all the more shocking for its abruptness and how much it
contradicted all that Ana represented before. It was rumoured that Ana had
started seeing clients, just as Inta had done, something she had sworn so
many times and so vehemently that she would never do. Binta never saw Ana
anymore. Quite suddenly and with no warning, Ana just never sought her out
and even went out of her way to avoid seeing her or as much as catching her
eye. Ferhana knew that this unexplained schism in their relationship had
troubled Binta immensely: she had withdrawn from sight, spending more and
more time by herself or with her plot in the Brothel garden.
She was initially just rather annoyed, if resignedly, when the Pimple
requested her - really, commanded her - to come to his office for what he
termed a bit of extramural entertaining, but she reasoned that these
services that she'd supplied on an occasional basis would bit by bit gain
her the remission she was seeking. As she reasoned to herself, a little
extra humiliation at this stage should result in a shorter overall
sentence, and therefore bring much nearer the end of all her suffering.
Whatever lies she had barefacedly expressed to Khedra or the Pimple, she
had no intention whatsoever of prolonging her stay at the Brothel beyond
the absolute minimum required. Ferhana was rather more shocked than
irritated when she came into the office to find the Pimple with a
frightened Ana, who was sitting uncomfortably on his knee while he crudely
molested her breasts.
"Good afternoon, m'dear," the Pimple said, with that cruel smile of his
that Ferhana had seen so many times before and had learnt to fear. "You
know Ana, don't you? You've met her before, I believe."
Ferhana nodded. What a stupid question to ask! Although there might be
a touch of truth in his sarcasm. Ferhana didn't know Ana as she was now,
in her long stockinged legs and the Pimple's hands fondling the nipples
underneath her blouse.
"Poor little Ana's been doing a sterling job recently," the Director
continued, "entertaining clients and myself, and assisting more materially
in alleviating our constant employment problem of suitably attractive ladies. But the poor girl's not happy. Are you, m'dear?"
Ana silently and sullenly nodded, showing absolutely no evidence of
enjoying her situation on her boss's knee.
"And why do you think that is, Ferhana m'dear? Well, my opinion is that
the poor child has had so little opportunity to enjoy what she likes most.
And do you know what that is, m'dear? You probably can as I know you are
no stranger to its pleasures yourself."
What the Pimple wanted was for Ana and Ferhana to indulge in what he
called 'Sapphic play' in his presence and quite clearly for his own
perverse pleasure and enjoyment rather than with respect for Ana's own
needs or desires. Ferhana had no choice in the matter, although it
troubled her that the Pimple seemed to know about a feature of her own
personality that she had thought she had kept fairly well hidden. As she
and Ferhana enacted the scenario suggested by the Director, it became even
more apparent to her that despite Ana's show of pleasure - clearly learnt
from the same induction course that she and every other prostitute had to
endure - she was hating every single moment of it. There was a falseness
and insincerity about her caresses that was so blatant to her, she wondered
whether the Pimple would comment.
She looked at the Director, who had kept his trousers and underpants on
for a change and puffed indulgently on a cigarette. It was then she
realised that the pleasure their pretend lovemaking afforded him was far
less to do with satisfying any sexual craving on his part, and more just an
opportunity to see Ana humiliated. The very fact that Ana was getting so
little pleasure out of the activity, appearing to loathe every part of it,
was itself the greatest source of his enjoyment.
Ferhana orchestrated the activity to a premature climax, and with a few
gestures and sympathetic smiles persuaded Ana to pretend to be similarly
satisfied. The Pimple was clearly not convinced, but forbore any comment
and allowed the two to get dressed.
"Well thanks very much, Ferhana m'dear!" The Pimple said, lighting
another cigarette. "Who said niggers couldn't do it just as well as anyone
else? I daresay the two of you will want to rest now. Why not have an
extended lunch, Ana, m'dear? The letters I wanted you to take down can be
done some other time."
Ferhana and Ana left the Director's office, and closed the door behind
them. Ana gave vent to a sigh to express her relief of an ordeal survived,
and almost immediately darted away from Ferhana, trotting on her high heels
along the corridor.
"Wait!" Cried Ferhana. "Wait for me!"
Ana turned her head round and glared at Ferhana with an expression of
pure hatred that alarmed her. She had never believed the secretary was
capable of such unadulterated loathing. Where had it come from? She
hesitated a moment, but then thought better of her own feelings of
insecurity and chased after Ana, taking off her impossibly uncomfortable
shoes to catch up with her. She grabbed Ana by the arm.
"What is wrong? What is troubled you?" She asked.
"Take. Your Hand. Off. Me!" Said Ana with a flash of unfeigned anger.
Ferhana withdrew her hand as if it had just been burnt on a hotplate.
"Why are you so angry with me? I did not want to have ... It was not what
I have wanted ... The Director, he ..."
"Leave me alone!" Snapped Ana. "I don't want to talk to you. And I
never want to talk to you!"
"What have I done? It was not what I wanted ... I had no choice ...
Please believe me!"
Ana paused in the corridor by a door with a light shining above it,
ignoring the masculine panting emanating from within. "It's not just what
you did just now! Although that was bad enough!"
"What is it? Tell me, what I have done? Why are you so angry with me?"
Ferhana was genuinely upset by Ana's outburst. "And why have you changed
so very much? Why do you dress like a prostitute? Why do you not see
Binta anymore? What is wrong?"
"You should know!" Exclaimed Ana angrily.
"Why should I know?" Asked Ferhana, genuinely perplexed.
"Don't pretend you don't know! I know about you and Binta. I know how
the both of you deceived me. I know all about it."
"About what?" Ferhana asked, gradually realising what it was that might
be upsetting her. She and Binta had been so careful. They didn't want to
hurt Ana. It was the last thing they wanted to do.
"I was shown a of you and Binta. On the bed. I know what you did
together. I've seen it! I was shown it by Khedra."
"Video? What video?"
"The tape of you and Binta together. Making love. Filmed through
the mirror in Binta's bedroom."
"The mirror? You are saying they tape what we do through the mirror?"
"Everything! And I've seen the videotape. I know how you and Binta
have deceived me. Lied to me. Made a fool of me." Ana glared straight
into Ferhana's eyes as she at last vocalised what Ferhana had suspected: "I
hate you! I hate you and Binta! I hate you!"
Ferhana let her shoes drop to the floor with a clunk. She bowed her
head down and cupped her face in her long black fingers, the red-tipped
nails tangling in her short curly hair. "The mirror! Through the mirror!
They filmed us! They would not ... go so low! And you have seen us! Is
that why...? Is that the reason for you to ...?"
As she raised her head, Ana saw tears on Ferhana's face, although she
wasn't sure whether they were from remorse or from being found out. "I
must explain to you. It is not what you think. I am not Binta's lover.
She is my friend. My best friend at the Brothel. My closest friend.
Perhaps my only true friend. But she is not my lover. She is your lover.
It is you she loves..."
"Don't lie! What were you doing together if it isn't what lovers do?"
"I must explain. I must tell you. She loves you. Not me. I would be
happy if it was me she loves. But it is you! You must believe..."
At that moment, the door opened behind them and a short balding in
jeans and tee-shirt emerged with the prostitute he had been seeing. Ana
took the opportunity to walk off again, with a long stride that she hoped
would shake Ferhana off, but the black showed no signs of allowing
that to happen. She picked up her shoes and rushed after Ana on her
stockinged feet.
"We must talk!" She urged. "We must! It is all a horrible ... It is
something you do not understand too well. You must listen to me. Is it
really because of what Binta and me have done that you ...?"
"Yes!" Said Ana, not wholly truthfully, but in the malicious hope of
branding Ferhana with the shame of her actions.
"But that is not right! Please, we must talk. Somewhere. Anywhere."
They were passing by the viewing gallery of the gymnasium, so Ana with
unpremeditated cooperation pushed open its door. Inside there was the
steady rhythm of a squash ball ricocheting against a wall. "We'll talk
here, shall we?"
Ferhana nodded as they entered, and they sat together in the seats above
an empty squash court. She lay her shoes on the seat beside her, and gazed
directly into Ana's eyes. "You must listen to me."
"Well, then!" Said Ana, folding her bare arms and facing Ferhana
defiantly. "Explain!"
Ferhana was abashed by this command, but smiled sadly. "It is you that
Binta loves. She loves you so much. And she is so very ... sad. She is
unhappy. She cry all the time. She talks about you. Why do you not talk
to her anymore? Why do you not see her anymore? She eats so little now.
All she wants is to be with you again. It's not me she wants..."
"But she still makes love to you?"
"No. No. Not anymore. And not often did we ... It was my fault. I
was so lonely. I am so lonely. I hate it here. I hate it nearly as well
as Binta hates it. Because I am black and the only black person here, I am
treated very bad by the ... They treat me like I am a monkey. Or an
animal. And so many want to see me. More than most because I am ...
because all the other are not ... And I am so unhappy. I only have
God to help me. But God is not always with me. And sometimes I want other
... I want so bad ... And Binta. She is so beautiful. She is so kind.
We talk together. And I have always liked ... just like you and Binta and
Zabba ... It is women that ... And Binta is also my best friend here ...
and ..."
"Binta was my lover!" Ana angrily exclaimed. "She was my first and only
lover. And then you came and you took her away from me. You made love to
her!"
Ferhana gazed into Ana's eyes, a tear running down the side of her
cheek, agitatedly wringing her hands together. She disentangled one to
stretch towards Ana's own hands resting on her lap, but thought better of
touching her as Ana glared antipathetically at her.
"You must understand, Ana, that Binta and I, we work in a Brothel.
Every day we have to make love with men. Horrible men. Ugly men.
Disgusting men. Perhaps you know now yourself...?"
Ana nodded. In the last few months she had learnt all too well what were like, at least those who were clients in the Brothel, and she knew how
repulsive most of them were. Any notion she might once have had of them in
a more positive light, or even serously entertaining the notion of romantic
love with one, was now impossible to conceive.
"It is not normal. It is ... weird! It is not natural. It seems only
right that ... When you have sex all day and you feel unhappy, it seems
natural to ... Making love is not to Binta and I what it was like
before... And sometimes it just seems right to comfort ourselves, not with
words, not with a joke or a ... It just seems so ... It just happens and
we may not like ourselves for it ... But it's not ..."
Ferhana bravely reached out a hand to Ana, tears dripping from her chin,
and gazed at her with such sorrow that Ana reluctantly accepted her touch,
but without warmth. "Please, Ana. You must understand. You must believe.
Binta loves you. She does not love me. I love Binta, but not like you
love Binta. We did what we did, not because Binta loved me, but because
..." She squeezed Ana's hand firmly. "Because I wanted to. Because I want
love in my life. Because Binta is the only person who ... the only person
at all who ... I could love! And I'm sorry! Sorry! I didn't wish to
harm you. Or you. Or Binta. Or ..."
She removed her hand from Ana's and buried her face in her hands, tears
seeping between her fingers, releasing short uncontrollable sobs and
whines. Ana looked at the she thought she hated, and recognised that
she really didn't hate her at all. The hatred she felt was really against
the Brothel, the Director, President Marmeluke, the Republic of Alif, and
everything else which had perverted and destroyed her love for Binta, and
now systematically humiliated her in her rôle as part- time prostitute.
What she wanted more than anything was for her current nightmare to end.
Ferhana raised her head and gazed at Ana, rubbing some of the tears onto
the back of her hand. "And you, Ana! You've changed so much! Was it
really because of me? Was it really because of my ... Because of Binta
and ..."
"They blackmailed me!" Said Ana with a firmness that surprised her. It
seemed quite a relief to talk to someone sympathetic after all these
months. Nobody else in that time could be relied to listen to her with any
understanding or concern, although Bezaffa had been kind and relatively
indulgent. She reflected with regret on the times she'd allowed the woman
to repeat her seduction of her, - a respite from the joyless sex she'd
become more accustomed to, but one forever tainted. It wasn't totally
true, she had to admit, that she had no understanding of how Binta and
Ferhana should have done much the same together. Shared misery is better
than solitary despair. "They told me that I was to either do what they
said or I could be a prostitute like you and Binta. I had no choice. None
at all. They had filmed Binta and me together. They had known all along
anyway..."
"And they know about me!" Wailed Ferhana. "I am hoping that they never
... They couldn't ... Could they?"
"They sent me on a two week training course," Ana continued, staring
ahead of her at the bare unfriendly squash court wall. "It was horrible.
But I hoped it would never end. Because I knew what would happen
afterwards. Khedra was a tutor on the course. But she wasn't the only
one. And some of the tutors were men. They showed us videos, they gave us
seminars, they made it all sound really very normal. Almost respectable. I
was the only Beta on the course. All the other were Gammas or
Deltas. Except one who was an Epsilon. She hated the course as much
as I did, but she hated herself even more. In the second week, the course
became more practical. We had to ... We were made to do ... And all
watched and assessed and ..."
"I know," said Ferhana sadly. "I have done the ... attended the course
too. Binta has. Everyone has. Some seem to like it. They look
like they enjoy it. I didn't, but I pretended to. They call it 'making
love', but there is no love at all!"
"When the course finished, I was made to dress differently. I was
taught how to apply makeup, how to walk in these horrid shoes, how to, as
they called it, 'look sexy'. 'Inviting'. It was a week or more afterwards
before I had my first client. My first ever. He was rich. I know that.
The price of it was very very high. The Director told me that, but I've
seen the accounts and I know exactly how much it cost. And he gave me a
lot more money as well. It felt so dirty when I took it from him, although
the notes were very crisp and new. It had so much. There was blood
everywhere. He sniffed at it. He licked it. He seemed to enjoy it. I
felt like he had just murdered me, but that I had somehow survived..."
"Was it your first time ever with a man?" Asked Ferhana with some
horror. "Just as it had been for Binta. You had never...?"
"Never! And, I thought, never again. But, unfortunately, it was not at
all long until the next client. It didn't so much then. I was sore.
But it was a different pain. And then more clients and I gradually
remembered more of my training and I did what they said to finish the
ordeal sooner. And then the Director ..."
"The Pimple has a go at everyone," Ferhana remarked. "Not Binta. Not
Ketaba. But everyone else. He had me ... he has had me many ... He says
he likes 'niggers'. He is liking that I am different and he says that
variety is the ... is the ... I can't remember."
Ana wasn't to be distracted in her flow. "The Director said that he
wanted me. And because I was his secretary, he could have me whenever he
liked. Every day he had me, even when there were clients to see. He is so
cruel. He's done to me such things ... things that should never be done
... things that are illegal. He likes it when I fall on the floor crying
and weeping. He laughs at me. He always pays, though. He stands over me,
as I lie crying on the floor, humiliated, abused, damaged, dropping notes
onto my body. He likes me to suffer. It is what he likes most: to make
people suffer. He enjoys it."
Ana looked into Ferhana's eyes with intensity and bewilderment. "How
can anyone, ever, enjoy doing what they know will most upset someone else?
What is it that makes some so cruel? Is it because they are men? What
possible pleasure can there be in making others suffer?"
Ferhana scrunched up her face, pulled her nose between her fingers and
sighed. "I don't know. Some people do. Not just men. It's just there.
Something that I do not understand. Perhaps it is because it is making a
man feel more powerful and stronger. Many clients who see me, they treat
me badly. They like it when I complain. The more I say no, the more they
say yes. They like it when I am hurting."
"Physical pain is one thing. It hurts, but it goes. What the Director
likes is fear, disgust, revulsion. He asked you to see me because he knows
that it would upset me. He knows that one reason why I was so and
upset when they ... He knows that the very thought of making love to the
one who has deceived my love with Binta, sullied that small part of her
which I thought was pure and undividedly mine, would cause me hurt. He
just wants to humiliate me. He only cares for me in the sense of wanting
to find ways of hurting me further. He's not content with blackmailing me
into a life of prostitution, he wants to pull me apart altogether!"
Ana paused. She stared ahead of her at the squash court wall and felt
once again the familiar lachrymal welling she'd become so accustomed to.
Almost every night, when she returned home, her crotch bruised, another
vestige of pride damaged, another humiliation to reflect on, the tears
would burst through, providing her with the only comfort that she could be
sure wasn't tainted by malice or perverse intent. She sobbed deeply, and
her face cracked open in a raw smouldering wound of self-pity and anguish.
"And now I've lost everything. My pride. My virtue. My virginity. My
honour. And, worst of all, Binta!"
She collapsed on Ferhana's lap, her arms around her waist and her face
buried in what few folds could possibly form on her very short skirt. She
was faintly aware of Ferhana's fingers stroking through her hair and the
distant sound of her comforting voice, interspersed with the curious vowel
sounds and consonant clusters of her own tongue.
"I've lost everything!" Sobbed Ana. "I've been stripped to a degree of
nakedness that I didn't believe existed. A nakedness that goes beyond
being unclothed!"
Ferhana and Ana sat together, their arms around each other, sobbing
gently. After a while, Ana pulled herself up and looked directly into
Ferhana's eyes. "Do you think I've lost Binta forever?"
"No, not at all. Not at all. She wants you still. She wants you very
well. She is wanting you all the time. All you have to do is see her.
She will be so pleased."
"But then they will think that Binta and I are ... That we are ... It
could make it very difficult for both of us ..."
Ferhana nodded slightly. She took her hand away from behind Ana's
shoulders and cupped it in her other hand. "There is a way you can help
Binta. A very good way. A way that nobody else can do. She has a friend.
A friend of mine, too. She is my friend from when I lived free in Blad and
could do whatever I wanted to. She is also a friend of Binta, by chance.
It is a ... coincidence that she knows Binta. They met in Jebel. She is
not from Alif. She is coming from Gharab. She is visiting Blad and
wanting to meet Binta. And she also is wanting to meet me. I write to
her, and she is writing to me. She is not writing to Binta because all
Binta's letters are opened and the ... authorities might think she is a
... a lesbian, like Binta. And she is wanting to visit Binta. But nobody
can visit anyone in the Brothel unless they are a relative. Or they have
special permission..."
"Special permission?" Asked Ana, guessing what Ferhana was trying to
say. "Who is this friend?"
"She is named Azhnia. She is a very nice girl."
"Yes, I've heard of her. And how can I help?"
"If we asked the Director if she could come into the Brothel, he
probably would not allow her. He would probably think she were a ... He
would think that there may be other reasons why she would want to see her.
Or if he did, it would be difficult for them to speak together without ...
without worry. But if she were a friend of yours ... If you let her in
yourself ... Then Binta and she could speak together. There would be no
suspicion that ..."
"Weren't Azhnia and Binta once lovers?"
Ferhana raised her eyebrows in what appeared to be genuine surprise to
Ana. "That can't be so! Azhnia never once said. Neither has Binta. Were
they ...?"
Ana regretted her remark. "You want me to invite Azhnia into the
Brothel as if she were my friend, and not Binta's? Or yours?"
"Yes. If you could? Binta would be very happy. They have not seen
each other for many years. Azhnia is very unhappy for Binta. She did not
know the government of Alif could be so cruel. She is very much wanting to
comfort Binta."
"And I could invite her in as my friend?"
"Please. It would be very well for Azhnia. And for Binta..."
"Was she a friend of yours when you used to sell contraband alcohol?"
Ferhana looked at Ana with concern. "Yes. She was. But in her
country, alcohol is not illegal. As in my country, it can be bought
anywhere. Nobody is stopping you if you want to buy alcohol. She found
out I sold alcohol. That is how she got to knowing me. Do you mind? If
you do, I am sorry. I should not have spoke to you. It is not ..."
"I'll help," said Ana with firm conviction. "It wouldn't be at all
difficult for me. We can meet in the foyer and I can let her in. I'm sure
there'd be no problem. No one needs to know she's a friend of Binta's."
"You can? That would be very well. Binta would be very happy."
"It's no problem to me. Just tell me when and I'll meet her. After
normal office hours when the Director isn't here."
"That is very well. I am so happy. Binta will feel so much happier
too!"
Ana nodded sadly. She opened the small handbag she had over her
shoulder and pulled out a small makeup mirror. She studied her reflection.
The mascara and lipstick were so smudged! She'd have to reapply it before
leaving the squash court. She looked at Ferhana's face. Her makeup was
equally much a mess, but the difference was less immediately obvious on her
face. Ana pulled out a small tissue and holding the mirror up, daubed at
the streaks running from her eyes and over her cheeks.
"I must be going now," said Ferhana, briefly kissing Ana on the cheek.
"I must tidy myself too. I am having more work to do soon. Thank you
again for your help. I write to Azhnia and we will be arranging a time
when she can come."
"Yes. Do that," said Ana distantly. "I'll do what I can." Ferhana
stood up and left the viewing gallery, Ana watching her leave from the
makeup mirror as she carefully patted her cheek. A feeling of warmth was
gradually spreading over Ana. She felt the deadness and despair that had
shadowed her for so long begin to disperse. It was as if her conversation
with Ferhana had opened a brief gap in a cloud through which the sun could
at last peek through and herald hope and change. Perhaps there was a
promise of better things to come. She tucked away her tissue, and pulled
out a stick of eyeliner which she carefully applied to the upper eyelid.
She hated her new appearance. As soon as she got home from work she would
clean every vestige of it from her body along with every last smell of her
clients and especially any scent of the Director. At work however, she had
come to feel naked without it. Somehow, the uniform of a prostitute
distanced it from herself not dressed or made up in that way. It made her
a different person: one who was able to do the horrible and painful things
she had to do every working day (and some weekends).
She glanced towards the door where Ferhana had left, thinking about
their conversation. She still hadn't forgiven Ferhana and Binta. A surge
of hatred swept through her as she reflected on the she had seen,
every detail of it rehearsed so often in her memory. But she was sure that
what Ferhana and Binta had been then, and what she had become now, were
really so alike that moral approbation was no longer really appropriate.
And whatever else she felt, she couldn't afford to lose that sensation of
hope that so overwhelmed her.
24
Ana opened the door to the foyer and looked around her. Amongst the
usual selection of middle-aged hovering around was a single lady,
dressed in leather jacket and trousers, with short blue hair and hoop-like
earrings dangling down each side of her round-cheeked face. It could only
be Azhnia, but Ana needed to go through the motions. She approached the
prostitute at the reception desk, thanked her for her call and waved to
Azhnia who raised her eyebrow with some surprise, but nonetheless waved
back with an expression of recognition that was totally feigned. Ana
reflected with regret that to Azhnia, she must have looked just the same as
all the other prostitutes in her tight revealing clothes and pasting
of makeup.
Ana strolled up to Azhnia, and greeted her with a wholly theatrical show
of familiar amiability. She could see Azhnia's eyes examine her from
eyeliner to high heels: quite clearly disturbed by the blatancy of her
appearance. Ana had never seen a woman dressed like Azhnia before: the
nearest to her in appearance was Zabba when not at work, but Zabba's
appearance was still within the parameters of dress acceptable in the City
of Blad. Azhnia's appearance was no more confrontational than Zabba's but
it suggested an attitude of self-confidence rare in Alif women.
Ana sat next to Azhnia, who stared at her. When she spoke, her voice
was somehow more languid and relaxed than normal for Alif; and the vowels
appeared contorted and tortured to her ears. Nobody could ever mistake
Azhnia as a native to Alif however fluently she spoke the same language.
"Well, Ana, isn't it? How're you hanging? 'Sreal neat to see ya. 'N'
this's where you work? 'Sreal weird! Quite freaky, in fact. You guys're
in the weirdest setup I could ever imagine!"
"Don't you have brothels in Gharab?"
"Yeh! Sure we do. Not like this though. Not that I've ever been
inside one, y'know. Our brothels are all private. The state's got nothing
to do with them. But in Alif near everything's nationalised, so I s'pose
there's nothing so weird about brothels being nationalised 'n'all! I just
never thought it'd be like this somehow. It's sort of almost like a hotel
foyer here, isn't it. You kind of expect bellboys and bureaux de changes,
don't you?"
Ana wasn't sure she really understood everything Azhnia was saying, but
she nodded her head in assent. "Are you living in Blad?"
"Yeh. Sure I do. I got a job working in a cafe. Not a waitress,
though. They said it wouldn't be right for the customers to see me.
They'd be put off their coffees! Behind the counter. It doesn't pay very
well, but it means I don't have to spend all my savings in one go. And
they give me a room above the cafe. It's real tiny, but it's better than
nothing I s'pose! You live here do you?"
"In the brothel?"
"Yeh. Like Binta and Ferhana. You live here?"
Ana raised her eyebrows. "No, thank goodness. I live in Jadid."
"Jadid? That's a real nice quarter, that is. But Ferhana said you,
like, had your own room in the Brothel where we'd be going and meet Binta."
"Yes, that's so. But it's not my home. It's just where I work. Shall
we go there?"
"Oh yeh. Sure! Yeh. Let's go then."
Ana escorted Azhnia past the reception desk to the door she'd come
through, tottering on her heels while Azhnia followed behind in
considerably more comfort in her rubber-soled boots. She led the way along
corridors and up staircases to her room which was in one of the smarter
wings of the Brothel reserved for Alphas and prostitutes like her who were
accorded higher status for their other services to the Brothel. Azhnia
looked around her with wonderment at the rows of doors and the lights above
each one of them. A prostitute passed by, escorting a small balding in
an ill-fitting suit, and Azhnia's eyes followed them. She was clearly
fascinated by all that she saw, but made no comment. They soon reached
Ana's room, the sight of whose door sent a shiver of anxiety down Ana's
spine. She hated it, however well- decorated it might be and however
comfortable the bed. It was a room she only ever normally visited when she
was about to see a client, and the association with all those hateful,
loathsome encounters always left a very uncomfortable feeling in the back
of her throat.
"This is it!" Announced Ana, pushing open the door and revealing the
bed, armchair and washbasin. "This is where I work."
"Where's Binta?"
"She'll be along soon," Ana said. She indicated the bed. "Sit there.
I'll sit on the chair, if you don't mind." She hated the memories connected
with the bed. It was with some reluctance that she'd agreed to return to
the room after her working day. It was normally somewhere she was happy to
leave, and the bed for all its apparent luxury was more like a
soft-matressed torture rack than somewhere to sleep.
"This is a real neat room!" Said Azhnia approvingly. "It's real big.
Bigger than my bedsit, I can tell you! Can't say much for the choice of
decor: these reds and pinks. It's like a real boudoir. It's not your
taste, is it?"
"All the rooms are decorated much like this. We don't have much say in
how it's done. It's what the clients want and expect."
"Is this where you, like, have sex with them, is it?"
Ana ignored the question. She had no wish to discuss that aspect of her
working life with anyone. Azhnia was more persistent. "Ferhana says it's,
like, real awful what she has to do. She really hates it. It's something
you don't like, neither, isn't it?"
Ana nodded. She tried to change the subject. "Mostly, I work as a
secretary..."
"Yeh, Ferhana said in her letters. She said it was real weird, y'know,
you working in this kind of joint. I thought it was real weird that anyone
like works in a Brothel at other things than being a like prostitute. You
sort of think that that's all that ever happens here, but I reckon there's
gotta be some admin and all, hasn't there? And you got to know Ferhana and
Binta as a secretary, didn't you?"
"That's right," sniffed Ana. She looked at Azhnia. She was clearly
nervous, despite her show of self-assurance. Was it because she was
anticipating meeting Binta or was it because she was in a place like the
Brothel? She glanced at the mirror. She hoped that nothing would be
recorded of their conversation, but she reflected that with the volume of recorded material being collected that as long as what was seen
was of no visual significance then everything said would probably never be
scrutinised. She looked back at Azhnia. "Do you like living in Alif?"
"What a question! Yeh, it's all right. I've made some real good
friends here. It's got some real neat countryside. I s'pose I must like
it. I've been to plenty of other countries too, and a lot of them are
pretty neat too. But I keep coming back here. I don't really know why,
but I s'pose the friends I've made here must be one good reason. Friends
like Binta and Ferhana. And friends are real important, y'know. Don't you
think?"
"Yes, very important," agreed Ana.
There was a knock at the door. Ana jumped back with alarm, her face
whitening as she contemplated the fact that it must mean that Binta had
arrived. She had rehearsed and re-rehearsed this moment for so long: what
she would say, the bitterness that she felt, the betrayal of her love that
Binta had been party to, the worries and anxieties that had haunted her in
the last few months. As the door opened and Binta entered, seeming so much
smaller and more humble than she'd remembered, all the rehearsed lines were
discarded. She broke into a sad but broad grin. She hadn't realised how
much she had been longing to see Binta again.
"Hiya, sweetie!" Greeted Azhnia. "How're you hanging? The bastards not
getting you down, are they?"
Binta hovered by the door and nodded in reply. Like Ana she seemed to
have lost her voice. She leaned an arm against the door, gripping its edge
with her fingers, and stared straight into Ana's eyes. Then she returned
the grin and ran straight to Ana, leaning down on the floor by her
stockinged feet, grasping her arms in her hands and staring up at Ana with
a look of pleading and shame.
"Oh! Ana! I've missed you! I've missed you so much! I've been so
worried that you wouldn't talk to me ever again. So worried now that you
... that you ... I thought I'd lost you forever! I haven't, have I?
Tell me that I haven't! Tell me that all will be the same again!"
Ana looked down at her lover, smiling broadly and crying at the same
time. "I still love you, Binta! I will always love you, Binta! All I
want is for us to be together again. Please believe me!"
"Ferhana told me about the videos. How you found out about me and her.
How can you ever forgive me? What can I do to convince you that it is you?
Only you that I love! Please please forgive me! And how you must have
suffered these last months! Those horrid clothes you wear. The suffering
you must have been through!"
In Ana's rehearsed script this was to be the occasion in which she would
now spell out exactly the full gruesome and unpalatable details of her life
as a prostitute - part-time, maybe, but a prostitute all the same. She was
to tell Binta about the recurrent humiliations met upon her by the Director
and his never-ceasing reminders of the illegal activity with Binta which
had entrapped her in this way. In her mind's eye, this script was now
crumpled up and thrown away into the waste bin at the corner generally
intended to receive paper tissues. "Oh, Binta!" She said with a deep sigh.
"None of that matters. Nothing matters! All that is at all important is
that we be together again!"
Binta smiled sadly, and buried her head on the thin strip of black skirt
that intervened between the nylon of her and the bare flesh of
her midriff. Her arms wrapped themselves around Ana's waist and her
breasts nuzzled against her knees and thighs. "Oh, Ana! I love you. I
love you. I haven't been able to eat. I haven't been able to sleep. My
life is a misery, punctuated by the nightmare of the clients and the few
pleasures that my garden affords me. Oh please, Ana! You do forgive me,
don't you? It will be like it was before again, won't it!"
Ana stroked Binta's long hair as it spread out over her shoulders and
onto Ana's thighs and outward over the pile of the carpet. She let a
finger roam around her ear and onto Binta's cheek. If only it could be
like it was before, she thought, but now that she was under the almost
constant supervision of Khedra and the Director it could never again be as
free or natural. She would always fear reprisals which could affect both
herself and Binta.
"We-ell!" Exclaimed Azhnia, in a long drawn-out whine. "I didn't expect
this, Binta sweetie. I really thought it was me who'd come to see you. I
didn't know that it was gonna be like some lovers' reunion!"
Binta turned around to face Azhnia, leaning an arm on Ana's thigh with a
trail of tears running down her cheek. "Oh, Azhnia! I'm so sorry! I
wasn't thinking. It was just that ..."
"You don't have to spell things out to me, sweetie. Ferhana hinted
there might be something between you two. I just didn't think I'd be some
kinda, like, frigging gooseberry, y'know. I'm real happy for you two.
Really I am!"
"I know. I know," blubbered Binta. She took one of Ana's hands in her
own and squeezed it tight. "How are you, Azhnia? How's life treating
you?"
"Fine! Fine. Same's always! But it's you I'm worried about. How're
you? How're you coping with living and working here?"
"It's horrible! Horrible! I hate every minute of it. It just gets
more and more unbearable!"
"You've not, like, got used to it?"
Binta shook her head. "All I ever think of is: when is it going to end?
When will I be free again?"
"And when will that be, sweetest?"
Binta sighed. "Another couple of months or so!"
"Well! That's not so bad after all the time you've been here!"
"But I don't know what to do next. I haven't got anywhere to go to. I
can't go back to Jebel. I don't know anyone in Blad. I don't have any
skills that'll get me a job. And wherever I go people will find out that
I've got a criminal record and that I've worked in the Brothel."
"Can't you just go and live in Jadid with Ana here?"
Binta looked up at Ana with longing. "I'd like that. I'd like that so
much. But now they know about Ana and me, it won't be safe. They might
want to arrest us again. And then it'll be worse."
"Well! There's only one thing you two can do, and that's, like, bail
out! Just leave Alif. Go someplace where like you won't be hassled
and you can, like, lead your own lives. Most countries don't care a hoot
about lesbians. They wouldn't hold it against you!"
"But it's not as easy as that!" Ana said sadly. "It's very difficult
getting passports in Alif. It's very expensive and they probably wouldn't
give one to Binta because of her criminal record. And for me, they'd ask
my boss for references and he would never give me one."
"You sure about that?"
Ana reflected on the Director. It would be just the sort of humiliation
he would dearly love to inflict on her: tearing up her passport application
and throwing the shreds over her body. It would only be as bad as some of
the other unspeakably disgusting humiliations that he'd contrived for her
benefit. "I could never be more sure about it!"
Azhnia mused on this. "Well, say you could leave the country, where'd
you both wanna go? Have you got any kinda idea, like?"
Ana gazed down at Binta who was nuzzling her cheek against the silky
artificial fibre of her skirt. "Agdal. That's where we'd like to go.
Agdal."
"Hey, that's only, like, next door, isn't it? Yeh, I been there. Real
neat, it is. You'd love it there. They got nothing against there. And they like nudists and all. Ferhana told me you'd become a
nudist, Binta. I really didn't believe her: it seems such a real weird
thing to do. Like getting into astrology, mysticism, incense and therapy.
Not like you at all. But here you are: naked as the day you were born.
So, Agdal is it? Well, I think you've chosen the right one there!"
"You think we'd be happy there, Azhnia?" Asked Binta longingly.
"Well, yeh. I'm real sure you would. But when I say you've chosen the
right one, I don't just mean there. I'm sure you'd be real happy in Gharab
as well if you'd wanted to go there. 'Fact you'd probably be happy in
almost any frigging country 'slong as it wasn't Alif. No! What I mean is
that Agdal's a much better bet than most because it's got this Amnesty from
Oppression policy. Haven't you heard about it? It's been going on for
years. Ever since they became, like, the most liberal country in probably
the whole frigging world."
"'Amnesty from Oppression'?" Wondered Ana. "What's that mean? And
what's it got to do with us?"
"You're not kidding me? You've never heard of it! Well, that's real
weird. I thought everyone knew about that. I 'spect you never get
told anything, do you? Your government's real tight on information. But I
thought here in Blad and in the Brothel and all, it'd be like common
knowledge."
"Tell us, Azhnia. What is this policy? What should we know that we
don't know about now?" Asked Binta with a certain impatience in her voice.
"Well! All around the world there are countries like Alif which are
like real intolerant and repressive. Countries where people who disagree
with the government are locked up or shot. Countries like here where the
only elections are like real shams, where you've only got the government's
appointees standing for positions in your parliament, congress or senate,
or whatever they call it here. Countries where the president, like your
own President Marmalade - sorry, Marmeluke - supposedly win 99.9% of the
popular vote. Ever since Agdal went so liberal it's had this Amnesty from
Oppression policy. I s'pose it's like a guilt trip the country's got. It
used to be real repressive itself. Worse than Alif! And not that long
ago, really. It just got fed up with fighting all these stupid wars
(though it's not gone as far as give all its territories back!) and had
some kinda revolution. And now it like gives asylum to political prisoners
and people like that all over the world. That's what their Amnesty from
Oppression's all about. It's to sort of like make amends for all those
people it shot, imprisoned and tortured when it wasn't the liberal big shot
it is now!"
"Are you saying we could get political asylum?" Asked Ana incredulously.
"But neither of us have done anything political at all. We've never done
anything like that at all!"
"Oh, I wouldn't be sure about that. You're both lesbians. Binta's a
naturist. You've both been pretty much punished for your views and
practices, working as prostitutes in this place. I think they'd look on
you pretty sympathetically. Naturism and homosexuality are pretty much
commonplace in Agdal. They're bigger deals there than they are in Gharab,
which wouldn't be nearly so happy to see people roaming around in the nude
all day. Yeh! I reckon you've got a real big chance with Agdal. All ya
gotta do is apply for asylum through this programme of theirs. I mean, you
don't know your chances until you try, y'know't I mean!"
"I can't believe it," said Binta sceptically, but with a face which
betrayed her eagerness to believe every word. "It sounds just a little too
good to be true."
"That doesn't mean it's not true. You just go have a stab at it. It
could work out for you. Agdal's got a real big embassy in the Honey
district. Just ask a few questions. You don't know how far you might
get."
Ana looked down at Binta with a smile. "Azhnia's right! That might be
exactly the right thing to do. We can but try."
"I don't see why any government would want to be that generous. What
have we done to deserve such preferential treatment? But on the other
hand, I've come to despair so much while I've been here, I've probably got
too cynical for my own good. I just can't believe there can be so much
good in the world."
"Oh, Binta, there's always gotta be something to balance the bad. It'd
be a real bad world if it were all as bad as Alif wouldn't it?"
"But if you think Alif's so bad why do you keep visiting here?" Binta
wondered.
"I don't come from here. I can leave whenever I like. A Gharab
passport's real good for getting anywhere. And as a foreigner I can
probably get to see more of the good side of Alif than either of you. I
can just travel around, look at all the different parts of your country,
meet people like you and Ferhana, and then when I get fed up I can just
head to the border and go somewhere like Agdal or whatever. So, Alif's not
as bad for me as it is for you. And you got real neat countryside here.
Better, in fact, than Gharab which is a lot colder and a lot more
industrial than Alif. If you had a better government, people'd probably
flood into your country from everywhere. But it's you we're talking about.
You're the ones that want to get out."
Binta nodded. "Yes. I do. Desperately! I've lost everything I ever
had in Alif. My have disowned me. Mezyana's in a convent, and
she'll be there for much longer than I'll have been in the Brothel. I know
nobody at all outside the Brothel walls. And I'm going to be stigmatised
for the rest of my life. But what about you, Ana?" She turned her head
around to gaze into Ana's face. "Do you want to leave Alif as much as I
do? Won't you miss your family?"
"I already do!" Sighed Ana. "I haven't seen them since I arrived here
for the interview. But they would disown me too if they knew what I was
doing now. I shall probably never be able to walk through Rif again if
they knew what I did for a living. They would despise me for it. But more
than that, I could never live my life without you, Binta. You're all that
really matters to me!"
Azhnia smiled indulgently. "How very touching! I'd never have guessed.
You've done real well, Binta. Two good loves in your life. Y'know, I've
had more than my fair share of lovers and boyfriends, but none of them seem
to've been as good or passionate as yours have been."
Ana knew that this was a reference to Mezyana, but she also knew about
Azhnia's own relationship with Binta. A flash of anger spread through her,
as she reflected on how Binta had not only been unfaithful to her with
Ferhana, but had earlier committed the same indiscretion with Azhnia.
Could she really trust Binta that much? When would she do the same again?
She glared at Binta, who flinched slightly.
"Oh, Ana. Don't look at me like that! Trust me! It's you I love.
Only you. In the last few months, I've thought only of you. Yours is the
only true love in my life!"
Azhnia scratched her nose, and smiled to herself. "You mustn't let the
past get in the way of your future together, y'know. Mezyana is in the
past. By the look of it, you are her future."
"Mezyana isn't the only person in Binta's past I am concerned about!"
Azhnia blushed. "Well ... er ... anyway ... It's the future you've
got to think about. It's not that long till Binta's sentence finishes,
y'know! You've both gotta think what you're gonna do next. And if Blad or
Alif or Jebel or whatever 's not what you want then you're gonna have to
look elsewhere aren't you. And if it's Binta you love then you're just
gonna have to accept that she's not perfect, y'know. There's always gonna
be a past behind her. And it's not just gonna go away, y'know!" She looked
around Ana's room, at the and pink wallpaper, the silk cream sheets and
then finally at Ana herself, who was uncomfortably aware of the mask
of makeup pasted on her face and the artificially enhanced below
her chin. "And don't forget, Ana. You've got some past of your own that's
not gonna go away that easy either!"
25
Ana hovered outside the gates to the Agdal Embassy, dressed in her
smartest interview outfit, her makeup scrubbed off and her stilettos
replaced by a pair of comfortable soft shoes. Now she had actually arrived
in Honey, having disembarked off the bus and finally identified which of
the palatial buildings was the Embassy, her nerves were deserting her. The
fear of disappointment was greater than that she'd ever felt for a job
interview. Not only her happiness but that of Binta's rested on the
outcome of her endeavour. What would they do, as Ana dreaded and almost
expected, if they were not eligible for political asylum? However, there
was no turning back. She was trapped by her need to report back on the
outcome of her visit. She rang the brass doorbell, and stood back, her
heart thumping as it chimed. How long would she have to wait?
Not long at all, as it happened, as a uniformed guard approached the
gate. He scrutinised Ana. "Have you got an appointment?" He enquired,
looking at a list he had attached to a clipboard. Breathlessly Ana nodded.
Azhnia had warned her that Agdal non-nationals like her were unlikely to be
readily admitted otherwise.
"Name?" The guard asked. Ana gave her full name and watched as the
guard studied his list. The telephone call she had made to the Embassy had
seemed so inconclusive. She couldn't believe that the brusque secretary
who had answered had actually taken down her details, but all was fine.
Her name was on the list. The guard ticked it off with a pen, and opened
the gate to let Ana through.
"Amnesty from Oppression, isn't it? We get a lot of you political
asylum people here. Right bunch of weirdos. You're not one, are you?" Ana
shook her head. If there were so many others, how much chance did she and
Binta stand? "Anyway, we've got someone to see you. I'll take you to
reception to wait for her. You're very early, you know."
Ana was fully aware of this. In fact she was more than an hour early.
But after taking a whole day off work for the exercise, she really had
nothing else to do all morning. Her pacing backwards and forwards across
the flat, endlessly rehearsing her case, had worn her out. The only thing
she could do to break out of this was to pack her handbag and rush down the
stairs to the bus. She was led into a waiting room just past the main
reception desk where a small number of people were sitting in comfortable
leather armchairs, while efficient-looking receptionists sat in front of
monitors with small headphones in their ears. She was sure those waiting
were Agdal nationals, although there was nothing in their appearance that
distinguished them from anyone else, unless it was their self-confident
demeanour. They were not obviously naturists or homosexuals, although
there was no way of knowing what they might be at other times.
In the waiting room, unfamiliar magazines were stacked on a small wooden
table surrounded by beige leather armchairs. A portrait on the wall of the
woman president of Agdal looked down on the proceedings between two
identical flags. She looked refreshingly informal and relaxed in
comparison to the countless portraits of President Marmeluke in his
military finery prominent in all the cafes and shops of Alif. She would
normally have found the magazines fascinating with their unedited pictures
and articles about life not only in Agdal, but also in Alif and many other
countries she knew nothing about. There was a freshness and openness about
them, not least in the ubiquitous presence of naked flesh, and the
unashamedness in which people of the same sex were portrayed as couples.
Her eyes darted agitatedly about. Every footfall in the corridor silenced
her breath, as she waited the door to open. She wasn't alone. There was
an elderly gentleman reading underneath a No Smoking sign, and a and
young child sitting together with some toys which the child kept poking
into her mother's face. They did not stay for very long, however. They
were escorted out by one or other of the efficient receptionists, and soon
Ana was alone, pretending to read an article about a famine in a remote
corner of Alif of which she had previously been totally unaware.
Eventually, and just after her appointed hour, her turn came. A tall
receptionist entered in a very smart suit and with very short hair.
Perhaps appreciating Ana's nervousness, she smiled quite warmly. "The
Amnesty Facilitator will see you now."
Ana looked at her blankly.
"The Amnesty Facilitator. The political asylum officer, if you like.
Come on! She hasn't all day!"
Ana nodded shyly, stood up and followed the receptionist down a series
of carpeted corridors to an office deep inside the Embassy's
labyrinth. She was ushered in and introduced to a woman in her early
thirties, dressed in an open-necked blouse, seated behind a large desk and
under another portrait of the Agdal president. The receptionist
disappeared, leaving Ana standing awkwardly by the door, her handbag
clasped to her front.
The Amnesty Facilitator also had very short hair, with long earrings
dangling from her ears and a small in her nose. She smiled broadly.
"Hello, Ana. My name's Wahata." She proffered her hand across the desk.
Ana strode forward and shook it. "You can sit. How can I help you?"
"I'm ... er ... we'd ... We would like ..."
Wahata smiled sympathetically, and glanced at a sheet of paper in front
of her. "You want to apply for assistance on our Amnesty from Oppression
Programme, I gather. What are your reasons? I note that you work for the
State Brothel. Is that the reason?"
"Well, yes. Er ... no. It's for me and my lover. We're both at the
Brothel ..."
"And you're both prostitutes are you? Is your lover male or female?"
Ana had never been asked such a question so baldly before. It shocked
her momentarily, but she reasoned that there was no reason for pretence
here. "Female. She's a prostitute. I'm not. Well, not really. But I
am, as well. And we wondered if ... we wondered ..."
"You're both prostitutes. You have a relationship."
"Gay?"
"Yes. It's an Agdal term for homosexuality. I don't believe it's
current in Alif. Is your lover voluntarily a prostitute?"
"No, not at all."
"Is she a prisoner, then?"
"Yes. For ... for ... sex crime."
"What category of sex crime? Practising homosexuality?"
Ana nodded. Wahata wrote down a few notes on a sheet of paper. "Gay
couple. One imprisoned in a Brothel for lesbianism. And yourself? Are
you voluntarily a prostitute?"
Ana shook her head. "No, not really. I didn't want to. I work there
mostly as a secretary. But my boss ... the Director ... he ..."
"Would you say you've been coerced into it as a result of your sexual
preferences?"
Ana nodded. "Yes. Coerced. I'm sure that's the word."
Wahata scribbled a little bit more. "All too common in your country,
I'm afraid. Particularly for women. And are there any other practices or
activities that you and your lover participate in which would make you
eligible for assistance under our programme?"
Ana frowned. What could she say? "What kind of practices or
activities?"
"Political ones, for instance. Have you ever been arrested at political
demonstrations? Have you ever circulated illegal literature? Has either
of you practised any activity which is perfectly legal and acceptable in
Agdal, but not at all in Alif?"
Ana blanched. "I can't think of anything that ... " She remembered
Ketaba's own peculiar enthusiasms for Agdal. "Binta's a naturist, though.
That's acceptable in Agdal and not in Alif."
"It is indeed. Although, there aren't many staff here at the Embassy
who would consider themselves naturists, and all those who are, are male.
I'm not one myself, but for those who practise it, it's almost a religion.
Are you a naturist yourself?"
Ana felt obliged to strengthen her case as much as possible. "Er ...
yes. Yes, I am."
Wahata scribbled another note. "It doesn't make much difference in your
case whether you are or not. I think your case already sounds quite
strong. However, every little extra helps. There may be some among those
evaluating your case who might be further swung to supporting it on the
basis of that. So, if I can summarise. You are two lovers coerced
into prostitution by the Republic of Alif for your sexual preferences, who
are also naturists as much as it is possible to be in your country. Would
you agree with that summary?"
Ana nodded without a great deal of satisfaction. It was not the way she
would have liked the complexities of her life described. "Yes. I'm sure
that's exactly right. Do we really have a strong case?"
Wahata smiled. "I wouldn't say you have the strongest I've come across.
Those who are more public in their political activities always get the
highest ratings. If you had been tortured, imprisoned without trial or
about to be expelled, then you could probably expect priority treatment. I
take it that you are not politically active in any way?"
Ana shook her head. "I don't really know anything about politics."
"It's a wonder anyone does in Alif. President Marmeluke's government
doesn't believe in keeping its citizens particularly well informed.
However, your case is far stronger than most who come here hoping to be
eligible for patriation. Some like you for their sexual proclivities,
others because they, well, feel that life would simply be better for them
in a more liberal country, and others I suspect who are simply attracted to
the free access to alcohol and other such soft drugs. Most such applicants
are unsuccessful, however. And the tendency in recent years has been for
rather less cases to succeed. Agdal has mostly resolved its labour
shortage problems and there have been some expressions of discontent from a
sizeable minority of Agdal nationals at the perceived influx of foreigners
- especially those who are most culturally distinct and don't speak the
same language. Especially, I'm afraid, those from countries like Haj. Not
that this would present a problem to people from Alif like you and your
lover. Now, if I may take some more particulars which can be used by our
Amnesty Investigators in pursuit of your application ..."
Wahata then proceeded to ask a number of formal questions about Ana and
Binta, such as where they came from, what relatives they might have in
Agdal, formal qualifications, their history of oppression and their
political and religious views. Some of the questions relating to their
sexual activities and past partners were especially embarrassing and
awkward for Ana to answer, though she tried to answer as fully as she
could. No, she hadn't contracted any sexually transmitted diseases. No,
she wasn't a drug addict. Yes, she was prepared to accept that none of her
family could emigrate to stay with her, unless they could be proven to be
her own children. No, she had no children. Yes, she was willing to abide
by all the laws of the Republic of Agdal, and would accept immediate
repatriation in the event of any such transgression. Wahata wrote down
Ana's replies with efficiency and haste on a glossy printed form she had in
front of her which Ana found endless. It would alarm her when Wahata
reached the bottom of a page and then turned it over to start writing on
another.
At last, Wahata was finished. She folded over the final page of the
form, and replaced the top of her pen. "I think that should be sufficient.
Now, I can, of course, give you no assurance at all about how favourably
your application will be received, and it is fair to say that it is not an
immediate process. Our investigators will have to do some work to be sure
that what you have told me is honest and truthful, and that your continued
stay in Alif would be intolerable to an Agdal national. My opinion, for
what it is worth, is that your case will be assessed favourably, but I
cannot say when a decision will be arrived at."
"How long might we have to wait till we know?" Asked Ana breathlessly.
The suspense would be terrible, and the longer the wait that much greater
the possible disappointment.
Wahata glanced back at her form. "Your lover, Binta, is due to be
released in, let's see, just two months. It's not likely that she will
have any remission for good behaviour, is it?"
Ana shook her head. From her capacity as secretary to the Director she
was privy to the fact that Ana had not been deemed to have earned a single
day's remission from her sentence, unlike Ferhana whose term had been
dramatically shortened for her cooperativeness and the quality of the
services she had supplied for the Brothel. But then Ferhana's original
sentence had originally been considerably longer than Binta's.
Wahata scratched her chin. "I think we will probably know the result,
one way or another, well within two months. Rather sooner, I'm afraid, if
your case is unsuccessful. Now, I needn't have to remind you that we
expect total discretion from you regarding your application while we are
processing it. The Alif government has a very unsympathetic attitude
towards its nationals whom it suspects are applying for assistance under
our programme. They have frequently made complaints, often at the highest
level, about what they perceive as an open door to criminals and the
antisocial element. They say that it undermines the effectiveness of the
justice system if criminals can just walk out of the country for a new
life. They also find it rather embarrassing that other countries, such as
Agdal's, should express such a low opinion of their legal system to the
extent of extending sympathy towards offenders. Should word get out that
you have applied to us in this way, it would be extremely prejudicial to
your case."
"How would that be?"
"Well, we would probably have to withdraw any offer of asylum that we
may give or have already given. You and your lover would probably be
arrested for interrogation by your less than sympathetic police department,
who would probably find grounds for imprisoning you. They don't need an
actual reason for doing so, but they would do all that they consider
necessary to ensure that you were not in a position to leave the country. I
have personally known some very distressing incidents regarding applicants
whose current whereabouts it is now impossible to ascertain. I suspect
they may even have been consigned to labour camps in the rather more
inhospitable corners of Alif."
"How were they found out?"
"I can't say. Even were I to know, which I don't in most instances, I
am bound by the confidentiality of my position to say nothing which could
even indirectly identify anyone who has applied for Amnesty. What I would
say is that as soon as you even telephoned the Embassy you had committed an
offence in the eyes of your government which they would not treat lightly.
I'm afraid your decision to come has already set you down a difficult path
with regards to the Alif government which the success or otherwise of your
application will not effect. It is for that reason that I will issue you
with a wealth of information on tourist interest rates, five class hotels
and visa requirements. If anyone ever mentions anything to you regarding
Agdal or this Embassy you will have to pretend that the only reason you
came here was to inquire about holidaying in some of our resorts. Not, as
it happens, at all unlikely, because you are unlikely to be able to gain
any information about tourism in Agdal from any other source. Alif's
travel agencies are notoriously unhelpful, I'm afraid. Most visits to the
Embassy from Alif nationals relate precisely to that. You will of course
tell Binta to be equally as circumspect."
Ana nodded her head. It hadn't occurred to her that she had already put
herself at so much risk. "I'm sure Binta won't say a word."
"I'm sure she won't. Nor you, of course. people in Alif are rather
accustomed to hiding information about themselves from other people, and
this will be just an extra secret for you to keep."
Ana examined the woman to whom she had so soon surrendered her entire
future. What was she like when she wasn't working? Was she someone who in
a different capacity she could perhaps have got to know as a friend? Ana
knew she liked her. Even found her quite attractive. But these
considerations were totally irrelevant. Her main hope was that Wahata
should use whatever weight she might have in the processing of her case for
it to result in her favour.
"Now, for security purposes - yours as well as ours, I'm afraid - you
must never return to the Embassy again. You must not contact us either.
We're sure that many of our calls are intercepted, and I hope you didn't
contact us from your work telephone number."
Ana shook her head, although the reason she'd not done so was less from
security considerations and more from the fact she could never know when
someone would come into the office while she was on the telephone.
"We will contact you. Don't contact us, however much you feel like
doing so. When you hear from us, this will probably be an anonymous phone
call, and whoever it is, male or female, will use a woman's name. In your
case, it will be, let's see ..." Wahata rummaged through some papers she
had on the desk. "It will be ... Kerhala. It will be in the discretion
of whoever calls you how that word will be used. The contact will inform
you where to go and at what time. Ensure that you can make it. If you
can't, for whatever reason, say so immediately and an alternative will be
promptly suggested. Do not prolong the telephone call and do not suggest
that you don't know the person who is calling. Is that understood?"
Ana nodded. These elaborate arrangements were not ones she'd expected.
"Kerhala, " she repeated.
"Yes, Kerhala. A common enough name, you must agree. Now, Ana, our
formal interview is over. I think I've gathered about all I need to know,
unless you have some other piece of information you think I ought to know?
Is there anything?"
Ana frowned. Was there? She reviewed her situation as best as she
could in the whirl of thoughts jumbling about in her head. She shook her
head. "I'm sure there's nothing."
"Sure?" Prompted Wahata. "Okay! In that case, perhaps I can tell you a
few things about Agdal. What do you know about our country?"
"Not very much. A friend of mine from the Brothel goes on holiday there
quite frequently and I met someone from Gharab who's travelled through it.
I've seen photographs of the beaches and mountains. They look splendid!"
"Yes. Agdal is blessed with beautiful scenery and a very pleasant warm
climate. Slightly less arid than Alif, particularly on the coast, and some
mountains are permanently covered in snow. Agdal's tourism industry is
very profitable - quite the envy of Alif, which has never really fully
exploited its tourist potential. It's also a much more built up country
than Alif, which you probably won't know from talking to tourists nor
indeed from reading the tourist literature I'll give you. Alif has only
one city of any size: Blad. Most of your other cities are rather tiny by
comparison to those in Agdal. The likelihood is that if you were
successful in your application, you'd be living in a town. Possibly one as
large as Blad or even larger. I see you are a country girl. Rif, you said
you came from. Does the prospect of living in a town like Blad again
trouble you?"
"I don't know. Both Binta and I would prefer to live in the country
again. But, if there were no choice, we would be happy to live in a city
in Agdal. After all, in Alif, there's probably nowhere other than Blad we
could live."
"Indeed not," agreed Wahata. "Even in Alif, cities are generally more
tolerant towards people who do not conform in one way or another. I'd warn
you though that Agdal's cities are much more congested and busy than Blad.
That might be a little difficult to cope with. In comparison, Blad is
quite a dozy quiet place. I certainly think so, anyway. My home in Agdal
is in the capital city and I often miss the buzz of Agdal urban life.
However, where there are more people there are more jobs, and I think
you'll find that the opportunities for employment are somewhat greater than
they are in Alif, particularly for a secretary with your qualifications.
You got quite good grades in your exams, I remember you saying."
"Yes. But there weren't many jobs, though."
"No. It doesn't surprise me you had to work at the Brothel. I'm sure
prostitution and its allied industries wouldn't be nearly as prevalent in
your country if Alif women had more career opportunities than they
currently have. As you probably know, Agdal is a relatively wealthy
country. The change in government that took place in the revolution when I
was a child might have initially caused a great deal of chaos, especially
when your government so ineptly intervened under President Marmeluke's
deposed predecessor, but Agdal now boasts a very comfortable GDP, a widely
envied balance of payments and a stable and prosperous economy. Your own
government will never forgive us for how much we have profited from our
liberal and open political system. That is why you will never be told very
much about Agdal and why your government is so concerned about our Amnesty
programme. A mass exodus of your brightest and best would not do your
country's benighted economy any good whatsoever."
"Doesn't having alcohol legal in Agdal cause any problems?"
Wahata laughed. "Of course it does. Whenever you allow anyone to do
anything there are bound to be problems. Yes, we have alcoholics. We have
a problem with other activities legal in Agdal and illegal in Alif.
Sexually transmitted diseases among the promiscuous, particularly in male
homosexual communities. Drug addiction. Pornography. Pollution. Car
accidents. Agdal's not paradise. Don't believe that for one minute.
Prosperity and liberalism bring their own problems, and there are plenty in
Agdal who argue for a return to a more conservative regime such Alif's. My
own opinions are fairly irrelevant on these issues, but I wouldn't say that
people in Alif are that much happier for being prevented from doing things
than people in Agdal are for having the choice. And anyway, I don't think
making something illegal actually stops it happening. Alcohol is still
drunk in Alif. Homosexuality is still practised. And although pornography
is illegal, Alif is actually one of the world's biggest exporters of the
stuff as a sideline to its profitable State Brothels."
"Do you have brothels in Agdal?"
"Oh yes. We have them in Agdal. There may actually be more prostitutes
in Agdal than in Alif - but then there are rather more people. However,
prostitution is not nationalised as it is in Alif, and statistically very
few people pursue it as a career for more than a few months. It is
scarcely the job for life that it appears to be here."
Wahata glanced at her watch. "Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I have
another appointment in a few minutes, so I'll have to close the interview."
She opened a drawer to the desk and pulled out a plastic folder full of
brochures and leaflets. "This is the tourist information I told you about.
Go to the reception desk, and you will be shown out through a back exit
which will rather lessen the likelihood of you having been seen visiting
the Embassy. Remember, don't contact us. We will definitely be contacting
you. One way or another." She stood up, prompting Ana to do the same.
"Well, goodbye. And give my best regards to your partner."
26
Ana had never seen Binta in clothes before, and it made quite a
pronounced difference. Dressed in the kind of clothes she had worn when
she had been arrested, she looked like just an ordinary from the
provinces. She was sitting on the sofa in Ana's Jadid flat, her legs
crossed, thumbing through a newspaper. It was Ana who looked most like a
prostitute in the work clothes she hadn't bothered to change after a day in
the office mostly spent in anxious anticipation of this very moment. She
had earlier lent Binta a spare key to her flat, who, after being released
from the Brothel, had made her way there across the city, while Ana was
pretending that this day was really no different from any other, even
though it was the day for which she'd been most longing for the last two
months.
The day had been meticulously planned ever since she'd received a phone
call during work from a she'd never spoken to before who greeted her
with considerable familiarity and asked if he could see her after having
met her at Kerhala's party. Ana hadn't been to any parties recently, or
indeed at all in her time at Blad, but she knew from the coded reference
that this could only be the long awaited contact from the Agdal Embassy.
The arranged to meet Ana at a cafe in the Honey district, and
elaborated no further. Ana was impatient to know at last the outcome of
her application, but prudently asked no compromising questions.
When she arrived at the cafe at the due time there was no waiting
for her, and no arrived. Instead, a tall woman with black curly
shoulder-length hair and a summery dress approached her, asked her name and
introduced herself as Kerhala. Ana was then guided to a table behind a post inside the cafe, and sat opposite the woman, facing the
kitchen and from the street. The woman then informed her that she
was an employee of the Agdal Embassy, as Ana had already surmised, that her
real name was not really Kerhala and that Ana's application had been
successful. What was now required of her were passport photographs of
herself and Binta to be sent to the Agdal Embassy as anonymously as
possible. The two would be issued with Agdal passports which they
would need to exit the country. These would be presented to them just
before their departure. To receive them, Ana and Binta would be met at a
certain cafe not far from the border with Agdal on the day after Binta's
release from the Brothel. Kerhala then went on to explain to Ana exactly
what was required of the two conspirators to secure their elopement.
The cost of this troubled Ana as she looked around her flat, at the
posters on the wall and the television she had spent so many happy hours
watching. All this was to be abandoned. All that would be salvaged was
only what she and Binta could get into her suitcases, and most of that was
clothing. She had cashed as much as she could from the bank, and
everything else she'd acquired was to be lost forever. Nobody was warned
of their departure - not even their closest friends, and certainly not Mr
Madir. Ana was not to give notice that she would leave and nobody was to
know that Binta would ever see Ana on leaving the Brothel. She had
attended work on this, her last day, as on every other day, accepting every
humiliation the Director might visit on her with exactly the same
resignation as on any other day, and the following day not bother to call
in sick until quite late. Nobody's suspicions should be prematurely
aroused.
She had also been required to keep her contact with Binta to the bare
minimum, and they were instructed never to use any intermediaries, however
apparently trustworthy. This was more to protect their friends in the
inevitable interrogations which would follow when it was discovered that
Ana had absconded rather than as any reflection of their value as
confidantes. Those few contacts Ana had with Binta were kept as brief as
possible, and their main thrust was merely to arrange where they should
meet, which was why Ana had presented her with a key to her flat. The only
other thing required from Binta was a passport photograph, which
fortunately Ana was able to obtain from a copy of the standard advertising
literature for prospective clients of Binta's services. She was also
advised to give no impression that she and Binta were at all likely to meet
on the day of Binta's release.
Ana put down her handbag and raced over to Binta who looked up at her
with a broad smile. "You're free!" She exclaimed. "Free!"
Binta grinned, opening her arms to embrace Ana. "Yes I am! At last!
After all these years. I'll never have to make love to a ever again."
The two lovers kissed passionately, happy in the knowledge that there
was no one to interrupt them, and indeed for the first time since before
Ana's fateful evening at Bezaffa's home. Their arms locked around each
other and Ana felt the familiar warmth of Binta's body through the plain
cotton blouse and skirt she wore over her flesh.
"You have a very nice flat, Ana," Remarked Binta. "I didn't know people
ever lived with so much space. So much of it! And all yours."
"Not for much longer," mused Ana sadly, looking around her. "I'll miss
it! I'll have to leave behind almost everything. I'll never see it again.
I'll never see the bedroom, the shower, the television, the kitchen, ever
again. But it'll be all I'll regret leaving. And you? You found the flat
alright?"
"It wasn't easy. I didn't realise how big a city could be. All I'd
ever seen of Blad was what I saw from the Brothel. I didn't know how much
it spread out. There's so much of it! I was really disorientated. I
could walk any way I wanted, but I just didn't know where to go."
"Did you catch a bus?"
"A bus? No, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where any of the
buses went. I just walked. It was miles! And the pavements are so hard.
My feet are just a mess of blisters! But after being in the Brothel for so
long and not being able to walk any distance, walking was really enjoyable,
I can tell you."
"How did you find Jadid?"
"I just asked people. And looked at street maps. I didn't know it was
so far from the Brothel. And the streets all look the same! I had your
map, the one you drew me. That helped a bit when I actually arrived in
Jadid. When I found the post office you told me about, and saw places with
names like The Jadid Arcade and The Jadid Community Centre, I knew I
was in the right place. It wasn't difficult then to find your block of
flats. It was a horrid climb up all those steps!"
"Did anyone see you come in?"
"I remembered what you said. There was that concierge at the door. I
told him I was a friend of Zuja's. That was the name you said, wasn't it?"
Ana nodded. Zuja was a on the top floor who had a large number of
friends, and another visitor for her wouldn't attract any attention to the
fact that Ana, for one of the few times she'd been in the city, was
entertaining a visitor herself. Anything, however small, which might alert
anyone to anything unusual in Ana's routine could sabotage their whole
endeavour.
"Oh! It's wonderful to see you here!" Binta gushed. "I've been looking
forward to this moment for so long. I've been counting off the days,
counting off the clients, one by one, just waiting for the moment when I
could be sitting here waiting for you!"
Ana gripped Binta as tightly as she could. "Me, too! Every day! Every
hour! It's been unbearable! And not daring to speak to you: that's been
the worst! I was dreading that I might get back here, and you weren't
here. That you were somewhere else..."
Binta looked into Ana's eyes with a troubled expression. "You still
doubted me?" She said betraying in her voice.
Ana nodded gravely. "Or I thought some other disaster might happen. I
don't know. Any disaster. That the police had found out that we were
planning to leave. That the Director had found out. That Khedra had
chosen this day to pay me a surprise visit. But you're here! That's all
that matters! Oh! I'm so happy! We're together at last! And we'll never
have to go back to that hateful Brothel ever again! How do you feel about
not having to go back?"
"It's a hideous nightmare that I've finally woken up from. Did I really
have sex with all those disgusting men? And I was kept busy right to the
end. It was horrible! They kept threatening to lower my grade if I
performed badly, and, as you know, the lower the grade the more disgusting
the client. And Khedra kept trying to persuade me to stay on as a
prostitute when I finish. She told me that life as an employed prostitute
was fundamentally better than that of a prisoner in the same place. Once I
earned money, I'd appreciate it more. You didn't find that, did you?"
Ana shook her head, although it was true that her income had increased
quite dramatically since she'd started working part-time in that capacity.
It was not however anything she'd had the slightest intention of doing in
Agdal. "I'll never have to see the Director again! Those horrid cigars he
smoked. The taste of them was foul. All those vile things he got me to
do. He was particularly taunting today. He told me such lies! That you
had agreed to work in another brothel and that you were likely to share a
flat with Ferhana when she leaves."
"Did you have to ... ?"
Ana nodded her head. "Let's not talk about the Brothel. I never want
to see it again. One thing that most upsets me about it is that I shall
never get paid for the last month I worked. All that suffering for
nothing!"
"I'll miss the other girls," sighed Binta.
"Like Ferhana?" Snarled Ana.
"Oh, Ana! Please forget Ferhana. But, yes, I will miss Ferhana. She
was a good friend. And Zabba, Ketaba and all the others. I'll probably
never meet them again. Ever."
"In a way I hope I never do. They'll only remind me of the Brothel. I
want to forget every detail of it. I want to start afresh with you. Every
aspect of that chapter in my life to be erased forever from my memory.
That's what I want. The only thing I want left of my time there is you.
Nothing else. Just you!"
Binta kissed Ana passionately. "And I, you! That little room in which
I was confined for so many hours, with the stains and smells of the
clients. Those long corridors. That horrid mirror. The light above the
door. Never again. I don't even care what happens to my little garden.
Slugs and greenflies can eat every morsel of it. I don't care if I never
work in a garden ever again!"
"I'll miss never seeing Rif again. I wonder if I'll ever see any of my
family again. They don't know I'm leaving. The first they'll ever know is
when I write them a letter from Agdal. They don't even know that I work in
a Brothel - and certainly nothing about my non-secretarial work. They'd be
horrified if they knew!"
"Where have you said you've been working?"
"An insurance company. I thought of making up a name, but they might
suspect something, so I told them it was Floose & Co. I've been dreading
that they'd visit me and find out that I'd been lying. And of course I
haven't told them anything about you, except that you're a friend of mine.
I don't know whether I'll ever have the courage to tell them the whole
truth. They would be so ashamed."
"My don't know about you either, Ana. I've written to them, but
I've always had to be careful about what to say. My father's never written
to me. My mother's letters are always so evasive. She doesn't admit even
in her letters exactly where I've been sentenced and the reasons why. I
might as well be abroad in Agdal already as far as she's concerned. She
doesn't seem to expect me to come home again either. It may even be a
relief to her if I'm abroad and they have no reason to feel ashamed for
never seeing me again. I'll never see Jebel again any more than you'll
ever see Rif. I look forward to seeing the countryside in Agdal. Do you
think we'll be living in the countryside? I do hope so. I didn't enjoy
walking through Blad at all."
Ana smiled compassionately. "I hope we do, but I wouldn't rely on it.
When I asked Wahata where it was likely that we would be living, she simply
said it was most likely to be where the jobs are. And most jobs are in big
cities, aren't they?"
Binta nodded sadly. "However much I'm looking forward to leaving Alif,
I still have apprehensions about Agdal. I do hope we enjoy living there.
But it must be better than living in Alif. Surely!"
"We'll be able to live together. We'll be able to be open about our
love together. I don't care where we live really. If we don't have to
worry about being arrested then I'm sure we'll be happy."
"Yes, you're right!" Sighed Binta. "Agdal must be better than Alif.
But I can't believe it's going to happen. It seems so unreal! I've only
just got out of the Brothel! It's the first time I've ever been free to
wander anywhere other than Jebel. Blad seems foreign enough to me. The
tall buildings. All the people. The busy traffic. And tomorrow at this
time I won't even be in Alif at all!"
"But at least we'll have each other!"
"Yes, we will!" Said Binta with a broad grin. "We'll be together. Free
and together! Forever!" She squeezed Ana tightly to her and peppered her
face with kisses. "I've been aching for this moment for so long. I've
been wanting you. Just to be close to you. Just to feel you. Oh, Ana! I
love you so much!"
25
Ana hovered outside the gates to the Agdal Embassy, dressed in her
smartest interview outfit, her makeup scrubbed off and her stilettos
replaced by a pair of comfortable soft shoes. Now she had actually arrived
in Honey, having disembarked off the bus and finally identified which of
the palatial buildings was the Embassy, her nerves were deserting her. The
fear of disappointment was greater than that she'd ever felt for a job
interview. Not only her happiness but that of Binta's rested on the
outcome of her endeavour. What would they do, as Ana dreaded and almost
expected, if they were not eligible for political asylum? However, there
was no turning back. She was trapped by her need to report back on the
outcome of her visit. She rang the brass doorbell, and stood back, her
heart thumping as it chimed. How long would she have to wait?
Not long at all, as it happened, as a uniformed guard approached the
gate. He scrutinised Ana. "Have you got an appointment?" He enquired,
looking at a list he had attached to a clipboard. Breathlessly Ana nodded.
Azhnia had warned her that Agdal non-nationals like her were unlikely to be
readily admitted otherwise.
"Name?" The guard asked. Ana gave her full name and watched as the
guard studied his list. The telephone call she had made to the Embassy had
seemed so inconclusive. She couldn't believe that the brusque secretary
who had answered had actually taken down her details, but all was fine.
Her name was on the list. The guard ticked it off with a pen, and opened
the gate to let Ana through.
"Amnesty from Oppression, isn't it? We get a lot of you political
asylum people here. Right bunch of weirdos. You're not one, are you?" Ana
shook her head. If there were so many others, how much chance did she and
Binta stand? "Anyway, we've got someone to see you. I'll take you to
reception to wait for her. You're very early, you know."
Ana was fully aware of this. In fact she was more than an hour early.
But after taking a whole day off work for the exercise, she really had
nothing else to do all morning. Her pacing backwards and forwards across
the flat, endlessly rehearsing her case, had worn her out. The only thing
she could do to break out of this was to pack her handbag and rush down the
stairs to the bus. She was led into a waiting room just past the main
reception desk where a small number of people were sitting in comfortable
leather armchairs, while efficient-looking receptionists sat in front of
monitors with small headphones in their ears. She was sure those waiting
were Agdal nationals, although there was nothing in their appearance that
distinguished them from anyone else, unless it was their self-confident
demeanour. They were not obviously naturists or homosexuals, although
there was no way of knowing what they might be at other times.
In the waiting room, unfamiliar magazines were stacked on a small wooden
table surrounded by beige leather armchairs. A portrait on the wall of the
woman president of Agdal looked down on the proceedings between two
identical flags. She looked refreshingly informal and relaxed in
comparison to the countless portraits of President Marmeluke in his
military finery prominent in all the cafes and shops of Alif. She would
normally have found the magazines fascinating with their unedited pictures
and articles about life not only in Agdal, but also in Alif and many other
countries she knew nothing about. There was a freshness and openness about
them, not least in the ubiquitous presence of naked flesh, and the
unashamedness in which people of the same sex were portrayed as couples.
Her eyes darted agitatedly about. Every footfall in the corridor silenced
her breath, as she waited the door to open. She wasn't alone. There was
an elderly gentleman reading underneath a No Smoking sign, and a and
young child sitting together with some toys which the child kept poking
into her mother's face. They did not stay for very long, however. They
were escorted out by one or other of the efficient receptionists, and soon
Ana was alone, pretending to read an article about a famine in a remote
corner of Alif of which she had previously been totally unaware.
Eventually, and just after her appointed hour, her turn came. A tall
receptionist entered in a very smart suit and with very short hair.
Perhaps appreciating Ana's nervousness, she smiled quite warmly. "The
Amnesty Facilitator will see you now."
Ana looked at her blankly.
"The Amnesty Facilitator. The political asylum officer, if you like.
Come on! She hasn't all day!"
Ana nodded shyly, stood up and followed the receptionist down a series
of carpeted corridors to an office deep inside the Embassy's
labyrinth. She was ushered in and introduced to a woman in her early
thirties, dressed in an open-necked blouse, seated behind a large desk and
under another portrait of the Agdal president. The receptionist
disappeared, leaving Ana standing awkwardly by the door, her handbag
clasped to her front.
The Amnesty Facilitator also had very short hair, with long earrings
dangling from her ears and a small in her nose. She smiled broadly.
"Hello, Ana. My name's Wahata." She proffered her hand across the desk.
Ana strode forward and shook it. "You can sit. How can I help you?"
"I'm ... er ... we'd ... We would like ..."
Wahata smiled sympathetically, and glanced at a sheet of paper in front
of her. "You want to apply for assistance on our Amnesty from Oppression
Programme, I gather. What are your reasons? I note that you work for the
State Brothel. Is that the reason?"
"Well, yes. Er ... no. It's for me and my lover. We're both at the
Brothel ..."
"And you're both prostitutes are you? Is your lover male or female?"
Ana had never been asked such a question so baldly before. It shocked
her momentarily, but she reasoned that there was no reason for pretence
here. "Female. She's a prostitute. I'm not. Well, not really. But I
am, as well. And we wondered if ... we wondered ..."
"You're both prostitutes. You have a relationship."
"Gay?"
"Yes. It's an Agdal term for homosexuality. I don't believe it's
current in Alif. Is your lover voluntarily a prostitute?"
"No, not at all."
"Is she a prisoner, then?"
"Yes. For ... for ... sex crime."
"What category of sex crime? Practising homosexuality?"
Ana nodded. Wahata wrote down a few notes on a sheet of paper. "Gay
couple. One imprisoned in a Brothel for lesbianism. And yourself? Are
you voluntarily a prostitute?"
Ana shook her head. "No, not really. I didn't want to. I work there
mostly as a secretary. But my boss ... the Director ... he ..."
"Would you say you've been coerced into it as a result of your sexual
preferences?"
Ana nodded. "Yes. Coerced. I'm sure that's the word."
Wahata scribbled a little bit more. "All too common in your country,
I'm afraid. Particularly for women. And are there any other practices or
activities that you and your lover participate in which would make you
eligible for assistance under our programme?"
Ana frowned. What could she say? "What kind of practices or
activities?"
"Political ones, for instance. Have you ever been arrested at political
demonstrations? Have you ever circulated illegal literature? Has either
of you practised any activity which is perfectly legal and acceptable in
Agdal, but not at all in Alif?"
Ana blanched. "I can't think of anything that ... " She remembered
Ketaba's own peculiar enthusiasms for Agdal. "Binta's a naturist, though.
That's acceptable in Agdal and not in Alif."
"It is indeed. Although, there aren't many staff here at the Embassy
who would consider themselves naturists, and all those who are, are male.
I'm not one myself, but for those who practise it, it's almost a religion.
Are you a naturist yourself?"
Ana felt obliged to strengthen her case as much as possible. "Er ...
yes. Yes, I am."
Wahata scribbled another note. "It doesn't make much difference in your
case whether you are or not. I think your case already sounds quite
strong. However, every little extra helps. There may be some among those
evaluating your case who might be further swung to supporting it on the
basis of that. So, if I can summarise. You are two lovers coerced
into prostitution by the Republic of Alif for your sexual preferences, who
are also naturists as much as it is possible to be in your country. Would
you agree with that summary?"
Ana nodded without a great deal of satisfaction. It was not the way she
would have liked the complexities of her life described. "Yes. I'm sure
that's exactly right. Do we really have a strong case?"
Wahata smiled. "I wouldn't say you have the strongest I've come across.
Those who are more public in their political activities always get the
highest ratings. If you had been tortured, imprisoned without trial or
about to be expelled, then you could probably expect priority treatment. I
take it that you are not politically active in any way?"
Ana shook her head. "I don't really know anything about politics."
"It's a wonder anyone does in Alif. President Marmeluke's government
doesn't believe in keeping its citizens particularly well informed.
However, your case is far stronger than most who come here hoping to be
eligible for patriation. Some like you for their sexual proclivities,
others because they, well, feel that life would simply be better for them
in a more liberal country, and others I suspect who are simply attracted to
the free access to alcohol and other such soft drugs. Most such applicants
are unsuccessful, however. And the tendency in recent years has been for
rather less cases to succeed. Agdal has mostly resolved its labour
shortage problems and there have been some expressions of discontent from a
sizeable minority of Agdal nationals at the perceived influx of foreigners
- especially those who are most culturally distinct and don't speak the
same language. Especially, I'm afraid, those from countries like Haj. Not
that this would present a problem to people from Alif like you and your
lover. Now, if I may take some more particulars which can be used by our
Amnesty Investigators in pursuit of your application ..."
Wahata then proceeded to ask a number of formal questions about Ana and
Binta, such as where they came from, what relatives they might have in
Agdal, formal qualifications, their history of oppression and their
political and religious views. Some of the questions relating to their
sexual activities and past partners were especially embarrassing and
awkward for Ana to answer, though she tried to answer as fully as she
could. No, she hadn't contracted any sexually transmitted diseases. No,
she wasn't a drug addict. Yes, she was prepared to accept that none of her
family could emigrate to stay with her, unless they could be proven to be
her own children. No, she had no children. Yes, she was willing to abide
by all the laws of the Republic of Agdal, and would accept immediate
repatriation in the event of any such transgression. Wahata wrote down
Ana's replies with efficiency and haste on a glossy printed form she had in
front of her which Ana found endless. It would alarm her when Wahata
reached the bottom of a page and then turned it over to start writing on
another.
At last, Wahata was finished. She folded over the final page of the
form, and replaced the top of her pen. "I think that should be sufficient.
Now, I can, of course, give you no assurance at all about how favourably
your application will be received, and it is fair to say that it is not an
immediate process. Our investigators will have to do some work to be sure
that what you have told me is honest and truthful, and that your continued
stay in Alif would be intolerable to an Agdal national. My opinion, for
what it is worth, is that your case will be assessed favourably, but I
cannot say when a decision will be arrived at."
"How long might we have to wait till we know?" Asked Ana breathlessly.
The suspense would be terrible, and the longer the wait that much greater
the possible disappointment.
Wahata glanced back at her form. "Your lover, Binta, is due to be
released in, let's see, just two months. It's not likely that she will
have any remission for good behaviour, is it?"
Ana shook her head. From her capacity as secretary to the Director she
was privy to the fact that Ana had not been deemed to have earned a single
day's remission from her sentence, unlike Ferhana whose term had been
dramatically shortened for her cooperativeness and the quality of the
services she had supplied for the Brothel. But then Ferhana's original
sentence had originally been considerably longer than Binta's.
Wahata scratched her chin. "I think we will probably know the result,
one way or another, well within two months. Rather sooner, I'm afraid, if
your case is unsuccessful. Now, I needn't have to remind you that we
expect total discretion from you regarding your application while we are
processing it. The Alif government has a very unsympathetic attitude
towards its nationals whom it suspects are applying for assistance under
our programme. They have frequently made complaints, often at the highest
level, about what they perceive as an open door to criminals and the
antisocial element. They say that it undermines the effectiveness of the
justice system if criminals can just walk out of the country for a new
life. They also find it rather embarrassing that other countries, such as
Agdal's, should express such a low opinion of their legal system to the
extent of extending sympathy towards offenders. Should word get out that
you have applied to us in this way, it would be extremely prejudicial to
your case."
"How would that be?"
"Well, we would probably have to withdraw any offer of asylum that we
may give or have already given. You and your lover would probably be
arrested for interrogation by your less than sympathetic police department,
who would probably find grounds for imprisoning you. They don't need an
actual reason for doing so, but they would do all that they consider
necessary to ensure that you were not in a position to leave the country. I
have personally known some very distressing incidents regarding applicants
whose current whereabouts it is now impossible to ascertain. I suspect
they may even have been consigned to labour camps in the rather more
inhospitable corners of Alif."
"How were they found out?"
"I can't say. Even were I to know, which I don't in most instances, I
am bound by the confidentiality of my position to say nothing which could
even indirectly identify anyone who has applied for Amnesty. What I would
say is that as soon as you even telephoned the Embassy you had committed an
offence in the eyes of your government which they would not treat lightly.
I'm afraid your decision to come has already set you down a difficult path
with regards to the Alif government which the success or otherwise of your
application will not effect. It is for that reason that I will issue you
with a wealth of information on tourist interest rates, five class hotels
and visa requirements. If anyone ever mentions anything to you regarding
Agdal or this Embassy you will have to pretend that the only reason you
came here was to inquire about holidaying in some of our resorts. Not, as
it happens, at all unlikely, because you are unlikely to be able to gain
any information about tourism in Agdal from any other source. Alif's
travel agencies are notoriously unhelpful, I'm afraid. Most visits to the
Embassy from Alif nationals relate precisely to that. You will of course
tell Binta to be equally as circumspect."
Ana nodded her head. It hadn't occurred to her that she had already put
herself at so much risk. "I'm sure Binta won't say a word."
"I'm sure she won't. Nor you, of course. people in Alif are rather
accustomed to hiding information about themselves from other people, and
this will be just an extra secret for you to keep."
Ana examined the woman to whom she had so soon surrendered her entire
future. What was she like when she wasn't working? Was she someone who in
a different capacity she could perhaps have got to know as a friend? Ana
knew she liked her. Even found her quite attractive. But these
considerations were totally irrelevant. Her main hope was that Wahata
should use whatever weight she might have in the processing of her case for
it to result in her favour.
"Now, for security purposes - yours as well as ours, I'm afraid - you
must never return to the Embassy again. You must not contact us either.
We're sure that many of our calls are intercepted, and I hope you didn't
contact us from your work telephone number."
Ana shook her head, although the reason she'd not done so was less from
security considerations and more from the fact she could never know when
someone would come into the office while she was on the telephone.
"We will contact you. Don't contact us, however much you feel like
doing so. When you hear from us, this will probably be an anonymous phone
call, and whoever it is, male or female, will use a woman's name. In your
case, it will be, let's see ..." Wahata rummaged through some papers she
had on the desk. "It will be ... Kerhala. It will be in the discretion
of whoever calls you how that word will be used. The contact will inform
you where to go and at what time. Ensure that you can make it. If you
can't, for whatever reason, say so immediately and an alternative will be
promptly suggested. Do not prolong the telephone call and do not suggest
that you don't know the person who is calling. Is that understood?"
Ana nodded. These elaborate arrangements were not ones she'd expected.
"Kerhala, " she repeated.
"Yes, Kerhala. A common enough name, you must agree. Now, Ana, our
formal interview is over. I think I've gathered about all I need to know,
unless you have some other piece of information you think I ought to know?
Is there anything?"
Ana frowned. Was there? She reviewed her situation as best as she
could in the whirl of thoughts jumbling about in her head. She shook her
head. "I'm sure there's nothing."
"Sure?" Prompted Wahata. "Okay! In that case, perhaps I can tell you a
few things about Agdal. What do you know about our country?"
"Not very much. A friend of mine from the Brothel goes on holiday there
quite frequently and I met someone from Gharab who's travelled through it.
I've seen photographs of the beaches and mountains. They look splendid!"
"Yes. Agdal is blessed with beautiful scenery and a very pleasant warm
climate. Slightly less arid than Alif, particularly on the coast, and some
mountains are permanently covered in snow. Agdal's tourism industry is
very profitable - quite the envy of Alif, which has never really fully
exploited its tourist potential. It's also a much more built up country
than Alif, which you probably won't know from talking to tourists nor
indeed from reading the tourist literature I'll give you. Alif has only
one city of any size: Blad. Most of your other cities are rather tiny by
comparison to those in Agdal. The likelihood is that if you were
successful in your application, you'd be living in a town. Possibly one as
large as Blad or even larger. I see you are a country girl. Rif, you said
you came from. Does the prospect of living in a town like Blad again
trouble you?"
"I don't know. Both Binta and I would prefer to live in the country
again. But, if there were no choice, we would be happy to live in a city
in Agdal. After all, in Alif, there's probably nowhere other than Blad we
could live."
"Indeed not," agreed Wahata. "Even in Alif, cities are generally more
tolerant towards people who do not conform in one way or another. I'd warn
you though that Agdal's cities are much more congested and busy than Blad.
That might be a little difficult to cope with. In comparison, Blad is
quite a dozy quiet place. I certainly think so, anyway. My home in Agdal
is in the capital city and I often miss the buzz of Agdal urban life.
However, where there are more people there are more jobs, and I think
you'll find that the opportunities for employment are somewhat greater than
they are in Alif, particularly for a secretary with your qualifications.
You got quite good grades in your exams, I remember you saying."
"Yes. But there weren't many jobs, though."
"No. It doesn't surprise me you had to work at the Brothel. I'm sure
prostitution and its allied industries wouldn't be nearly as prevalent in
your country if Alif women had more career opportunities than they
currently have. As you probably know, Agdal is a relatively wealthy
country. The change in government that took place in the revolution when I
was a child might have initially caused a great deal of chaos, especially
when your government so ineptly intervened under President Marmeluke's
deposed predecessor, but Agdal now boasts a very comfortable GDP, a widely
envied balance of payments and a stable and prosperous economy. Your own
government will never forgive us for how much we have profited from our
liberal and open political system. That is why you will never be told very
much about Agdal and why your government is so concerned about our Amnesty
programme. A mass exodus of your brightest and best would not do your
country's benighted economy any good whatsoever."
"Doesn't having alcohol legal in Agdal cause any problems?"
Wahata laughed. "Of course it does. Whenever you allow anyone to do
anything there are bound to be problems. Yes, we have alcoholics. We have
a problem with other activities legal in Agdal and illegal in Alif.
Sexually transmitted diseases among the promiscuous, particularly in male
homosexual communities. Drug addiction. Pornography. Pollution. Car
accidents. Agdal's not paradise. Don't believe that for one minute.
Prosperity and liberalism bring their own problems, and there are plenty in
Agdal who argue for a return to a more conservative regime such Alif's. My
own opinions are fairly irrelevant on these issues, but I wouldn't say that
people in Alif are that much happier for being prevented from doing things
than people in Agdal are for having the choice. And anyway, I don't think
making something illegal actually stops it happening. Alcohol is still
drunk in Alif. Homosexuality is still practised. And although pornography
is illegal, Alif is actually one of the world's biggest exporters of the
stuff as a sideline to its profitable State Brothels."
"Do you have brothels in Agdal?"
"Oh yes. We have them in Agdal. There may actually be more prostitutes
in Agdal than in Alif - but then there are rather more people. However,
prostitution is not nationalised as it is in Alif, and statistically very
few people pursue it as a career for more than a few months. It is
scarcely the job for life that it appears to be here."
Wahata glanced at her watch. "Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I have
another appointment in a few minutes, so I'll have to close the interview."
She opened a drawer to the desk and pulled out a plastic folder full of
brochures and leaflets. "This is the tourist information I told you about.
Go to the reception desk, and you will be shown out through a back exit
which will rather lessen the likelihood of you having been seen visiting
the Embassy. Remember, don't contact us. We will definitely be contacting
you. One way or another." She stood up, prompting Ana to do the same.
"Well, goodbye. And give my best regards to your partner."
27
"Well, hello!" Said Wahata. "I'm glad you made it. And so promptly."
She beckoned Ana and Binta sit in the chairs opposite her in the small
rundown cafe at which their rendezvous had been arranged. "You must have
left Blad very early this morning!"
Ana yawned. Yes, it had been, but after a restless night in which
neither she nor Binta had got any sleep at all. This sleeplessness was
partly to do with their forebodings for the day ahead, but more to do with
the exertions of the two lovers' reconciliation. They had got up extremely
early, just as the first few rays of dawn sunshine streamed through the
gaps between Blad's tall office blocks, and humped their heavy suitcases
down the steps to the ground floor, dreading that they should disturb
anyone. Then into the city streets, heading across town towards the
nearest railway station. As suggested, they bought tickets to a
destination beyond that of the small border town of Bab, and sat separately
in the train as it pulled off. Kerhala had warned them that secret police
were much more widespread in Alif than Ana might imagine. Any unusual
activity could attract very unwelcome attention - a category into which
their early morning departure easily fell. The two women didn't dare sit
near each other until the train was well on its way and more people had
embarked.
The journey took several hours, through barren plains bordered by
mountains, past fields of peasants driving their donkeys and cattle,
through small dusty towns and for nearly an hour along the length of a
broad river on which boats were sailing in the bright light of the morning
sun. The two were captivated by the vista, Binta especially. As she
so often reminded Ana, not only had she never travelled such a long
distance by train before, she had never seen any part of the world that was
neither Jebel nor Blad. "It's so beautiful!" She sighed. "And I'll
probably never see these places ever again."
Bab was one of the least prepossessing railway stations at which they'd
stopped. Nobody else got off the train when they did, dragging their heavy
baggage down the great drop onto the platform and across the railway lines
to the main platform. A guard blew a whistle, and the diesel locomotive
thundered off carrying its relative security away from them. The station
was dusty and badly kept. The metal signs were rusting and broken. A few
goats were grazing by the side of the tracks, and stared warily at the two
fugitives as they struggled out of the station and onto the dusty dirt
track outside. This was certainly no tourist destination.
The Safari Cafe was probably the only cafe in the whole village, and
scarcely a very busy one. Two sat outside smoking cigarettes and
drinking coffee, and the waiter barely seemed to notice them as they
struggled in with their luggage past the gas bottles and freezer cabinet by
the doorway, but Ana knew for sure that they had come to the right place
when they saw Wahata sitting inside in the shade by a wooden bench wearing
culottes and a striped tee-shirt nursing a half empty glass of black
coffee.
"This is a pretty godforsaken village I'm sure you'll agree," said
Wahata when the waiter had served Binta and Ana with two welcome but
unpleasant tasting glasses of coffee. "Not really what anyone would choose
as their last sight of Alif, but it suits our purposes. It's less than ten
miles from the Agdal-Alif border, and we can trust the villagers to be
sympathetic. A few generations ago, Bab was a village in Agdal which along
with the rest of the Safari district was conquered by Alif in one of those
frequent wars which used to bedevil our two countries. People even now
resent Alif occupation and the way they have been forced to drop their
traditional customs for those of the invaders. I can talk to you quite
freely here, and tell you all the things you need to know before I drop you
off at the border. You're probably asking yourselves though why we've
arranged for you to leave the country at this particular point?"
"Well, yes," admitted Ana whose conversation with Binta had been about
little else when they realised how very desolate the village of Bab was.
"And it's still quite a long way from the border."
"There's a bus which comes to the border once a day. We shall time our
arrival at the border to coincide with it to minimise suspicion. It would
be too dangerous however for you to actually travel by it. It's regularly
searched by police and, at the very least, questions would be asked as to
why you should be going to Agdal. The questioning is rarely subtle and it
would be very disconcerting for you - particularly for Binta who has only
just come out of the Brothel. It's possible that the cost of them allowing
you to continue on your way would be to provide sexual services for the
police, and there's no guarantee that they would be true to their word.
You would certainly be expected to pay quite a substantial sum of money as
a bribe. That would be the least you could expect without an Agdal
passport. Agdal citizens do not expect or get that kind of treatment,
though it's almost routine for Alif nationals, particularly those without
passports of any kind."
Wahata paused, and leaned over to rummage in a large handbag she had by
her side. She pulled out two green plastic booklets which she passed over
to Binta and Ana. "With these, however, you should be a lot more secure,
although we still have the odd complaint from our own citizens of very
uncivilised behaviour from your minor officials."
Ana looked at the booklet. It was her first sight of a passport, and it
came as rather a surprise that such a very important document should look
so ordinary. She was disconcerted to find that it was already creased and
worn, with several visas already stamped inside, but there, on the opening
page, was her photograph and the name Aghba Mustafubal printed underneath.
Binta's passport was in a similar state and the name inside was Harama
Asine. Ana flicked through the pages, feeling a little disappointed. "Why
are they both in such a bad state?"
"Common sense, I'm afraid. Passports in pristine condition would
attract attention. Someone would be bound to suspect that they were
forgeries. It's not unknown, you see. We have deliberately distressed
them and given them expiry dates which are really not far into the future.
We have also faked an entry visa into the country, because that will be the
first thing that the border guards will search for. Fortunately, Alif
visas are not very sophisticated and are extremely easy to forge. The
names you've been given have been randomly selected but are more common in
Agdal than they are in Alif. Your real names would also attract attention.
We have to do everything possible to reduce the possibility of your being
found out."
"We're very grateful," said Binta. "You've gone to a lot of trouble on
our behalf."
"It's not entirely for you alone. It is in our interest and that of the
future success of the Amnesty from Oppression programme that you are not
discovered. Agdal's relations with Alif are always very fraught and
President Marmeluke's government isn't at all averse to making high level
complaints for every incidence of granting asylum to Alif nationals. The
fewer such incidents known to your government the better for us. If they
don't find out now or in the future, the better it is for everyone,
including any future petitioners. That's one reason for moving so promptly
on Binta's release. The longer you tarried the more likelihood that
someone somewhere might suspect something. What we hope is that people in
your government will believe that you two have just disappeared: not an
unknown phenomenon for people like you who have little to gain from being
known as convicted lesbians. Our people are already laying tracks which
will suggest just such an action." Wahata turned to face Ana. "Have you
phoned work yet to say that you aren't coming in today?"
Ana shook her head. "No. I haven't been near a telephone since we left
Blad."
"Well, you'd better call in now!" Wahata pulled a portable telephone out
of her handbag and extended its aerial. "What we want you to say is that
you have contracted 'flu and that your doctor has advised that you take a
week off work. We will send your office a forged doctor's note which
should allay suspicion. This will hopefully buy you a little time."
"Why do you want to do that if we're going to be in Agdal by this
evening?" Wondered Binta.
"It's not for you we want to buy time, but for your friends and
colleagues. They will be as mystified as anyone when you don't turn up for
work again, and with the benefit of extra time it is likely that when it is
known that you have absconded from work plenty of other alternative
theories and hypotheses will have propagated which will muddy the waters a
little bit and lessen the chances of the correct solution being arrived at.
I can't emphasise too much how much risk your friends may already be in if
the slightest suspicion reaches the appropriate authorities."
With her heart thumping painfully and a glaucous mass lodged in her
throat, Ana carefully punched in the digits of her work telephone number.
She started with surprise when the bleeps of the automatic dialling
resolved themselves into a piercing whistle, but then she realised she'd
not prefixed it with the dialling code for Blad. She reset the receiver,
punched in the longer code and waited with trepidation as the phone at the
other end rang and rang. It was not at all welcome to her when the voice
that barked angrily down to her was unmistakably the Director's.
"Hello. Who is it?"
"It's me, Ana."
"You! What are you ringing in for? Why aren't you here, you bitch?
Why didn't you ring in earlier? How do you expect the office to run
without you?"
"I'm ill. I've got 'flu."
"'Flu, my foot, you slut! You should be here. Come in this minute."
"I've got a doctor's note. He says I've got to stay off work for at
least a week..."
"A week? You lazy bitch! You better send that note in, m'dear. Bit of
a coincidence, isn't it, you getting 'flu on the day after your girlfriend leaves the Brothel. You're not with her, are you? Dyking about
together?"
"I don't know where Binta is. I ... er ... I didn't even know she was
due out."
"Lying dyke!" Snorted the Director. "That means I'll have to hire a
temp. Didn't give me much warning, did you bitch? You seemed all right
yesterday."
"It came on very suddenly. I feel very ill."
"Huh! Well, I suppose you just haven't got the stamina, have you
m'dear? I'll have to cancel the clients I had arranged for you this week.
They're going to be damned disappointed. Get well soon, and I won't have
any sympathy for you if you're off one day longer than the doctor's note
says. Stupid bitch dyke!"
With that there was a sudden click as the Director put his receiver
down. Ana gently lowered the portable phone, and stared at Binta and Wahata
with a face drained of all colour.
"Your former boss doesn't sound like a very pleasant man," commented
Wahata mildly.
"He's really horrible!" Binta exclaimed. "He's always seducing the
girls at the Brothel and treats them really badly. You wouldn't believe
some of the obscene things he's had poor Ana submit to!"
"I've been in this business just long enough to believe anything, I'm
afraid. Alif is not a country for the kindness that its treat
its women." Wahata stretched a hand over to grasp Ana's which was still
gripping the phone and staring at it blankly. "You handled that very well,
Ana. Your boss clearly suspects that there is a connection between your
absence and Binta's release. We shall have to watch your flat carefully to
see whether he sends anyone to investigate. It's likely that what he'll be
expecting is that Binta and you will be there together, so not finding
either of you there may rather shock him. As long as no connection is made
between your disappearance and the Republic of Agdal then no unfortunate
conclusions may be drawn." Wahata turned to face Binta. "Although you are
free from the Brothel, are there any appointments which you are due to make
with anyone? Perhaps on the Brothel's post-employment rehabilitation
programme?"
Binta shook her head. "No. Not at all. It's just a way they have of
trying to persuade people like me to continue working for the Brothel after
we've been released. There are no jobs in Alif, except in places like the
State Brothel, and I want nothing at all to do with it in future."
Wahata nodded. "Your uncooperative behaviour over the last few years
will have made such reasoning totally plausible. So, the authorities
presumably have no way of tracing you. That's all for the good. Unless
something very untoward happens in the next few hours, you have both seen
and heard the very last of the Brothel, and I dare say you must be
delighted if that's the case."
Ana's phone call to the Director still shook her. She eased her grip on
the phone and handed it back to Wahata who carefully dropped it into her
handbag. "He's such a horrible man!"
Wahata nodded sympathetically. "Many in Alif are like him. A
country like yours seems to encourage male chauvinism. Not just in
Brothels, of course. In every walk of life. In hotels, offices,
factories, everywhere where women work. Women are very much second class
citizens here, derided when they are successful, despised when they're not.
It's not the worst country in the world in that respect, but it's clearly
not the best. You'll be much happier in Agdal, I'm sure, where there are
laws to protect women from the worst excesses of male behaviour, though I'd
be lying if I said there weren't far too many instances of male harassment
and chauvinism in Agdal too. Alif is not a country which seems likely to
improve the lot of its women in the near future and while like your
Brothel Director remain in positions of power and influence it's unlikely
to happen very soon at all."
"Are there other ways in which Agdal is better than Alif?" Wondered
Binta.
"It's more difficult to think of many ways in which Alif is at all
better than Agdal. But President Marmeluke's government would not be in
power at all if it didn't govern with the consensus of at least a sizeable
minority of its citizens. I'm not saying that it is legitimate in the
sense that it actually does win those fabulous majorities in your national
elections that it so consistently claims. No party in Agdal has ever
gained the massive electoral support your government boasts. What I'm
saying is that there are enough people in your country who genuinely
believe in the policies of your President Marmeluke to keep him in power
until another would-be dictator comes along and by treachery or deceit
manages to oust him from power and become president himself. It's unlikely
though that any change of government in this way would make much difference
to the policies your government pursues, whoever the actual individuals
composing it are."
"But you managed to change your government in Agdal," objected Binta.
"Surely the same could happen in Alif." s "Perhaps. Perhaps. But at great
cost, I can tell you! It took at least a decade of chaos, civil war and
invasion until Agdal evolved into the nation it is now. Many thousands of
people died in the process and it didn't always seem inevitable that a
liberal or enlightened regime would take power. I'm not sure I would
gladly wish that kind of penalty on the people of Alif in their desires to
attain better rights and economic prosperity."
Wahata signalled to the waiter who had been standing out of earshot in
the entrance to the cafe. He wandered towards them, as Wahata stood up and
paid for the coffees. "Right!" She announced to Binta and Ana. "We'd
better get going."
The three of them strode into the dusty unmetalled road running through
Bab, lined by sandy coloured buildings, on whose flat roofs were washing
lines and the occasional television aerial. Wahata led them down the road
to an area of dusty ground where a car waited amongst the odd blown page of
newspaper and a sleeping dog. Ana was surprised to see that the car was
really not the grand Embassy limousine she'd expected, but, while Wahata
was turning her key in the car door to release all the door locks, she
reasoned that this too was not to attract unwelcome attention. It was
quite modest, not at all new and the number plates were familiar as
belonging to Blad. The three of them entered the car, Binta sitting in the
front next to Wahata.
"We'll be arriving at the border rather early," Wahata announced. "The
bus isn't due to arrive for at least an hour, but I think it's rather
better to be early than late." She turned the key in the ignition and
steered the car onto the road, bumping uncomfortably over the uneven
ground. Wahata drove carefully and slowly, avoiding the potholes and hens
scattered about the road.
"You may wonder why we've selected this particularly border post for you
to leave," Wahata said. "There are after all many such border posts, and
most are a great deal more salubrious. For instance, one could have left
the country by 'plane, bus or train. All much more convenient than this.
But our objective is to minimise risk as much as possible. The passport
control and customs here are much more lax than most others in Alif. They
would be less likely to pick up on the fact that you don't have Agdal
dialects and are dressing rather more conservatively than Agdal women
would. They would also be less likely to be amongst the first border posts
notified if your descriptions were circulated should anyone suspect you
were trying to leave."
"Surely, no one knows that we're here," Ana remarked from behind
Wahata's head.
"Nobody knows, but they may have their suspicions. Who knows whether
one of your colleagues at the Brothel has discovered about your escape, by
whatever means I couldn't say, and has broadcast it to the authorities.
Your boss has made the connection between Ana's day off sick and Binta's
release. Although that connection may be useful later on in explaining
your abrupt departure from the Brothel, it may be that his suspicions may
be further aroused. Events like these have been known to happen, and in
cases under my care as well."
"What happened in those cases?" Binta asked. "How did they find out?
What did they do?"
"I don't know the answer to your questions at all, but I remember
clearly one case I was supervising. Through a different crossing point to
this. In fact, it was by sea. We do try to vary our selection as much as
possible within the slim choice of relatively lax crossings. Like today, I
escorted the and his wife, who were being persecuted for their
political activities, to the crossing point, as far as I could go - the
actual crossing has to be done without any assistance from me I'm afraid. I
watched them walk to the border patrol, and spent several anxious moments
from a vantage point in the harbour waiting for them to pass through and
embark on the boat. I waited and I waited, and still there was no sign of
them. Eventually, I abandoned the wait and drove back to the Embassy. The
first I knew about them for sure was that neither of them ever arrived in
Agdal. The next I heard was in a report in one of your national
newspapers. They were one of many in a list of people arrested for alleged
alcohol smuggling and corruption of minors. What happened to them after
that I don't know, but I can only fear the worst."
Wahata continued driving along the uneven roads, past derelict houses and fields in which women farmworkers wearing scarves over their
hair were bent double over the crops they were working on. In the middle
distance, some splendid mountains towered above, which Wahata identified as
being on the Agdal side of the border. The only other traffic they passed
were carts pulled by oxen or mules, and a small open-topped van in which
several women were sitting, watching the fields as they went by. Among
them was a thin teenage with most of her front teeth missing who
smiled broadly at them as they passed. Both Binta and Ana were captivated
by the view, while Wahata drove doggedly on, occasionally cursing the state
of the roads. "I don't think they've been maintained since this was Agdal
territory!" She remarked bitterly at one stage.
Eventually, Wahata stopped the car by a derelict farmhouse, and parked
it out of sight of the road. She pointed at a single bus shelter just by
the road which had none of its windows and very little of its roof left
intact. A few people were gathered there disconsolately between their bags
and suitcases. "That's where I suggest you wait until the bus arrives.
Those other people have come through the border from the Agdal side, and
are no doubt waiting for the bus to take them deeper into Alif. There are
very few buses which can travel through the border, and the bus which comes
here does a round trip. This is where it drops off those heading for
Agdal, and picks up those who've just arrived. For the moment you will be
masquerading as people heading into Alif. Avoid talking to anyone and if
you have to, be as noncommittal as possible about where you come from and
what you've been doing on your supposed holiday in Agdal. It's quite
likely that the only people who'd be interested in you are not people with
your best interests at heart. It's possible that there may be a secret
policeman surveying the border for contraband and very likely to be
scouting for his own slice of the pre-sale proceeds of alcohol or drug
smuggling. It may be that you'll be approached by smugglers who would try
to tempt you into a profitable sideline. Guard your bags well. If it's
thought that you're going into Alif, someone may slip some contraband into
them to protect themselves from being caught on the bus by the police.
Don't even look at people. Do you understand? It's very important that
you do."
Ana and Binta nodded. "Every stage of this journey seems fraught,"
Binta remarked bitterly.
"It is, I'm afraid. You can't actually see the border patrol from here,
and you won't be able to see it from the bus stop. It's about a hundred
metres further on, just over the slight ridge. But you can see the
border." Wahata indicated a long barbed wire fence occasionally topped by
tall watch towers. The dead body of a was lying by one point. Beyond
the barbed wire was desolate countryside much like that on the Alif side of
the border, and then a second row of barbed wire a twenty or so metres
beyond. There was no other feature in the whole landscape.
"Be prepared to hand over all the money you have. It's actually illegal
to export money from the country, but I don't believe there's any harm in
having some Alif money on you. The patrols are accustomed to the idea of
Agdal visitors not spending all their money, and they'll be quite happy to
relieve you of it. It'll actually make the crossing easier for you if they
get something out of you, and it is more typical of Agdal carelessness with
money than Alif parsimony. However, you'll need these."
Wahata handed over a few worn change receipts from Alif banks. Ana
examined them. There was an awful lot of money which had been changed.
How could anyone ever have spent so much money?
"And here's some Agdal currency."
These notes were similarly worn and unlike Alif notes did not feature a
portrait of the head of state. Instead there were pictures of historical
figures Ana had never heard of and strange mythical beasts which were the
emblems of Agdal.
"You've been on holiday in Alif for two weeks. If anyone asks you at
the border, you found everything in Alif very cheap, but the hotels were
dreadful. Complain about how you've been perpetually harassed by during your stay, but say nothing which could be interpreted as criticism
of the government, and especially not of President Marmeluke."
Wahata opened the car door, and Binta and Ana followed Wahata as she got
out of the car, pulling their bags out of the boot.
"Now, make your way to the bus stop. Keep as much out of sight of the
road as you can. Wait till the bus arrives and join the other people as
they head towards the border. On no account be among the first to arrive,
and try not to be the very last. Somewhere in the last five or six would
be best. Answer all questions briefly and with no ambiguity. Surrender
some if not all of your Alif money if asked, but bear in mind that there is
no consistency to the questions that will be asked or the demands that will
be made. Accept that your luggage will be searched, ostensibly for alcohol
and drugs (though why anyone would wish to smuggle them out of Alif I
really don't know!), and that items will almost certainly be confiscated.
Don't appear too resigned to their loss, but don't make too much fuss about
it. Remember your new names and particularly your homes. Remember that
the last hotel you stayed in was the Hotel Marmeluke in Blad."
"What do we do when we get to Agdal?" Binta asked.
"I was just about to get to that. Go to the nearby town of Alan and
book a room at the Hotel Liberty. You will soon be met by officials from
Agdal who will guide you through your first few days in the country.
They'll organise a flat for you to stay - probably in one of the cities -
and help you find a job. There are plenty of jobs in Agdal's cities if you
don't mind working in a fairly menial capacity at first."
Wahata scratched her face in the hot midday sun. "Well, I think that's
everything. Remember everything I've told you, and don't even speak to
each other until you get through the border. Anything you say even to each
other could arouse suspicion. I hope it all goes well, and that if I ever
see you again it'll be on the Agdal side of the border. Best of luck!"
With that, Wahata turned to each of them, and gently hugged them and
kissed them in turn on the cheek. She smiled bravely, and then turned
round to her car. She got inside, and pointedly turned her face away from
them. The last words she said before the two lovers wandered along to the
bus shelter weighed down by the heat of the sun and the bulk of their bags
was: "Don't wave to me when you leave. It might attract unwelcome
attention. Good luck again!"
28
Ana and Binta shuffled together along in the queue of anxious people
waiting to leave Alif. The barbed wire marking Alif territory was just
metres behind them, with the striped barrier pole raised by an officer
carrying a fearsome submachine gun. Ahead of them and temptingly near was
the barbed wire border of Agdal. Between them and the border, however,
were very officious looking customs officers and armed guards who were
meticulously discomfiting all those ahead of them in the queue. Already, a
couple had been rudely pushed to one side, and stood helplessly by in the
midday sun attended by an armed guard. Their baggage was separated from
them, perhaps forever, and the woman was sobbing while her boyfriend
comforted her with an arm around her shoulders.
The border officials examined every passport with incredible care,
slowly turning each page and examining the visa stamps. Beyond were
customs officials, in front of which had already developed a queue, who
were being equally thorough with the contents of their luggage. Alif
passports were particularly scrutinised, and their possessors were asked a
frighteningly extensive list of questions. Did they have relatives in
Agdal? Had they visited Agdal before, and if so, for how long? Had they
ever drunk alcohol? Were they likely to do so on their visit? Had they
ever been imprisoned or cautioned for any civil or criminal offences? Were
they now, or had they ever been, employed by the government of Alif? One
young with a male friend was bluntly asked if he were homosexual. Ana
shivered as she listened to this exchange in which the indignantly
declared otherwise only to be asked further blunt and humilating personal
questions. The two were then taken to one side. Ana feared what might
happen to them, but less than ten minutes later, after Ana and Binta had
shuffled a couple of metres nearer to passport control, they were walking,
clearly shaken, towards the customs post.
"You've been to an awful lot of countries, lady," remarked the
passport official when it came to Ana's turn at the counter. "Gharab,
Aras, and ... what's this? ... Dafathy?"
Ana had studied her passport well enough to remember the real name on
the visa. "Thafady," she corrected.
"Thafady. Did you go mountain-climbing there, lady?"
Ana was quick-witted enough to answer: "No. There are no mountains in
Thafady."
"Hmm! No, maybe there aren't. Though Dafathy's well equipped with
them. And what is your home town like?"
"Akin. It's very nice."
"Better than anything in Alif?"
"No, about the same."
"And did you enjoy your stay in Alif?"
"It was very pleasant."
"And what was the purpose of your visit? Do you have any relatives in
Alif?"
"Not that I know of."
Eventually, the official seemed satisfied and at last picked up his visa
stamp, flicked through the pages and pressed it down on the ink pad before
transferring it to the passport. He then squiggled a mark over it in biro
and handed it back to Ana, before proceeding to do the same thing for
Binta.
Ana and Binta had pretended for almost an hour now not to know each
other, had only exchanged smiles at each other, and Ana trembled as she
strode on to the next queue while Binta was being interrogated in much the
same nature as herself. She felt a certain degree of elation as she strode
on, nearly but not quite free of Alif. As she settled at the end of the
queue, she spent several anxious moments watching Binta from a distance who
like her was asked a series of questions. It seemed like an eternity, but
it couldn't have been more than five minutes, until a smiling Binta strode
towards her, separated by an elderly couple from Agdal who had been
processed by the other official.
The next ordeal was to have their bags searched, and questions asked on
how much they had spent in Alif and where it had been spent. In the
process, as Wahata had predicted, they were made to surrender their Alif
money (some of which Ana had cautiously secreted into a pocket, more for
reasons of sentiment than practicality). The customs official seemed quite
satisfied by the amount which he meticulously counted separating one or two
notes from the others which he carefully placed in an official box. Ana's
bags were not so much unpacked, as tipped upside down, the contents of
underwear, shoes and clothes scattered over the bench and onto the floor.
Ana was instructed to pick up these items and to replace them on the table.
"You seem to have an awful lot of clothes," sniffed the customs
official, hardly disguising his disappointment. "More changes of clothing
than you had days in Alif I think."
"I like to be well prepared."
"Many of these clothes have Alif labels. Did you buy them while on your
holiday?"
Ana could see the clothes were mostly too worn for that to be plausible.
"They must have been imported into Agdal where I bought them."
"It's good to see that Alif exports something!" Grunted the official
cynically. "Let's look in your other bag. You may pack the first bag
again." He opened the bag and produced a and a radio which were
hidden among more clothes, towels and personal belongings of mostly
sentimental value. "I see these are Alif goods. Have you got an export
license for them?"
Ana shook her head mournfully, knowing that this was the last time she'd
see either of them again.
"I'd best confiscate them, lady. You presumably haven't been
informed of our government's very strict policies regarding exportation."
As the official scrutinised the few books, ornaments and the travelling
iron she had in the bag, she was very grateful that she had decided after
all not to take with her the letters written to her by her and
which she'd been so reluctant to throw away. The official would have
probably opened them and read them, particularly on noting the fact that
the stamps and postmarks on them were unmistakably of Alif origin,
featuring the ubiquitous features of President Marmeluke. Several pens,
two novels and a nail clipper did not rejoin the other items she was
eventually allowed to stuff back into her bag, although no mention was made
of any export regulations regarding them.
And then Ana was free at last. She strode along the desolate path to
the Agdal border. A single guard stood there with his hands in his pocket.
Ana showed him her passport, and he merely flicked through it with a bored
expression. He handed it back to her with a smile. "Have a nice day," he
said before returning to the stool in the shade of the small hut where he
was based and waited for the next person.
It was an agonising ten minutes Ana waited by the roadside as other
people passed her through the border, her bags at her feet and sweat
streaming down her forehead. At last, Binta wandered along, still trying
to secure her case, and just managing to retrieve her passport to show to
the guard.
"Welcome home to Agdal," he said smiling, letting Binta through.
As Binta approached it was as if the cares and worries of the last few
days, and the trials of the last few months disintegrated like vestiges of
cobweb from Ana's mind. Binta was grinning broadly, scarcely capable of
restraining her delight and relief. "Free!" She exclaimed. "Free! Really
and truly free!"
"Oh, Binta! Binta!" Ana replied, rushing up to her lover and hugging
her tightly against her. "We've done it! We did it! We're here in Agdal.
Where we can be ourselves. Where we can be a normal couple. Where we can
say what we like. Where we won't be put in gaol or sent back to the
Brothel. Where," she added slyly, "we can take our clothes off in public
like Ketaba does when she's in Agdal."
Binta smiled, glancing slightly to one side at the shoulder strap of her
skirt which was slipping down her shoulder. "I don't think I'll be taking
my clothes off. At least, not for a good while. It's more liberating for
me to be able to wear them again after all these years. The first thing
I'll do when we've started earning, is build up a wardrobe of clothes I'll
be happy to wear."
"Of course. Of course you must!" Breathed Ana. "What's important is
that we've got the choice. No more Brothel. No more Director. No more
..."
"No more filthy, abusive, dirty-minded men. Ever again. I'll never
ever have anything to do with them again. Ever! From now on, it's just
you and I. Nobody else."
She eased herself out of Ana's grip, and allowed her bags to drop to her
feet. She turned around, holding Ana's hand in hers, and scanned the
horizon. Ahead of them were the mountains they had seen from the deserted
farmhouse, led to by a metalled road in good condition and dotted by houses
in much better condition than those neighbouring the border on the Alif
side. A few kilometres ahead, a tractor was slowly ploughing across a
field followed by a flock of seagulls. Cattle were grazing in fields
nearby. A bus was standing by a bus stop just thirty metres away in which
the others who had come through the border were already sitting. Several
green taxis stood by a taxi rank where and women were sitting around,
smoking cigarettes and chatting. Trees dotted the plain with wire
protecting their bark from any unwanted grazing.
"Those border guards!" Binta remarked turning her head back to face the
barbed wire defending the Alif border, which now seemed so much more
distant than the few metres between them would suggest. There were still
people being processed by the Alif officials, while the sole Agdal border
guard was sitting on his stool reading a paperback with headphones over his
ears. "They asked so many questions. They said my clothes were in a
pretty poor state for someone from Agdal. I told them I didn't wear them
very often, which is true, but it was not really the right answer. They
asked me what sort of a whore I was? Did I practice my loose morals in
Alif? Had I imported any alcohol? All sorts of horrid questions. They
searched me and found some Alif money I'd in the handbag you gave
me, and accused me of trying to smuggle it out. Of course, they took it
from me. Such an awful amount! All the savings I'd ever had before I'd
been sent to the Brothel. I thought they were going to turn me back. It
was awful!"
"But they didn't, did they? You weren't turned back. You were let
through."
"I don't think they'd really suspected me of being an Alif citizen.
Safari's such a long way from Jebel that I might as well have come from a
foreign country. They just didn't like me because they thought I came from
Agdal. They think all women from Agdal are whores. Ironic, really. They
just wanted to humiliate me. Alif's last word, I suppose. They took the
ivory doll which Ferhana gave me. They took the bracelet Zabba gave me.
It was horrible. I had to crawl on the floor to pick up all the underwear
they'd dropped down there. But believing me to be from Agdal, they
probably thought they couldn't do anything to stop me passing through."
"But we're free now!" Pointed out Ana.
"Yes. Free!" Binta turned to Ana, her arms outstretched and a tear
running out of the corner of her left eye and over her cheek. "Oh, Ana!
I'm so happy! So happy! This is the happiest moment of my entire life!
We are here, together! You and I. No other moment could ever be so
perfect. Oh, Ana! None of this could have been possible if it wasn't for
you! Never would I have seen a day like this if it wasn't for all the
selflessness you've shown towards me. All the suffering you've been
through because of me! All that you've done for me, despite everything.
Ana! Ana! I love you so much!"
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