Taboo

Keywords: Ch., 2, Things, All, Come..., 07, Vol.,

What do you think?' Angela blew him a kiss.
The path led down a small hill into a shallow ravine where a deep stream flowed. Women in colorful cotton dresses were at work doing laundry, kneeling by the stream and washing each piece by hand. He looked for the guard and found him sitting on a rocky ledge, admiring the way the wet cotton dresses clung to the washer women. He attracted the guard's attention and leaned his rifle against the rocks, placing the leather bag next to it. Then he waded into the stream until it was up to his waist and sat down in it, submerging himself completely in the water until his lungs demanded more oxygen. He surfaced and looked around.

Sara was standing by the edged of the stream, apparently unsure of what to do. He considered, for a moment, the idea that she might be slow and decided that she was probably just overwhelmed and a little shocked.

"Dump the laundry on the ground, bring the buckets over here," he called and made his way to a portion of the stream where the water ran shallow, knee deep, through waist high boulders.

He stripped off his pants and tossed them onto the pile of clothing. Sara was wading gingerly through the water towards him.

"No worries. The guard will warn us if anything dangerous gets close."

She froze at his words, searching the water for threats that she had no knowledge of. He laughed, knowing it was cruel, but doing it anyway. When she reached him he took the small bucket out of her hand and showed her the soft, material inside.

"Soap," he said, "Not very nice soap. The ladies have started adding some fruit scent to it lately, so it's nicer than it was."

He took the larger can and held it up.

"Rinse bucket."

He set the rinse bucket and the soap can on one of the boulders and looked her in the eyes.

"Wash me," he said.

As she worked, he talked.

"You might be regretting your decision back on the trail. But you don't really have any other options now. On the trail I could have killed you and ordered your body taken back. That option isn't open to us now. The boys would get mad if I killed you without offering them, all of them, the opportunity to play with you. Imagine that for a moment. Imagine going through what you just went through two or three hundred times. It would probably kill you. Maybe not. But your options now are simple. You can go to them, or you can go to me. You might survive with me. This is a new world. There is no right or wrong. No considerations of morality. There is only survival. You need to learn the rules of this new world if you want to survive. I have the knowledge you need. So long as you don't make my life difficult I'll keep feeding you that knowledge. Make my life difficult or dangerous and the boys will be lining up on the parade ground for their turn on you.

"Rule number one is that you do what I say when I say it. You can ask all the questions you want, but only while you are carrying out my order. I may or may not answer your questions.

"Rule number two, forget morality. You are not going to be judged on your moral character. You are going to be judged on your ability to please me. To put this in terms you understand, you will act like a whore for me. Or like you think a whore would act. You shouldn't feel guilty about this. It doesn't make you a bad person. You do what you have to in order to survive. A month from now you can be back in the civilized world, telling a shrink or a priest all about your horrible experience. And they will tell you that you are still a good person, to be proud you found the strength to survive, and to go out into the world and live your life.

"Rule number three; you are mine and mine alone. If one of these bastards tries to rape you, you had better fight like hell. Put your thumbs in his eyes. You don't want to survive this hell and die slowly of AIDS or hepatitis. Neither do I. So you'll be useless to me if I even suspect you've picked something up.

"Rule number four; fit in. Watch the other women. They have survived, and will continue to survive. Learn. As part of this you'll need to learn a new language. We speak Esperanto, sort of, around here. Language helps define identity. Here's your first lesson. Repeat after me. 'Mi estas la virino de la kapitano'. I am the Captain's woman."

"Mis estas la virino de la kapitano," she repeated.

Her eyes widened.

Robert nodded as Sara absorbed the words, comprehension manifest in her eyes.

"Jes, Sara. Vi estas mia. You are mine, and right now you are nothing more than property. Like a farmer's horse. I think we understand each other; as much as we need to. I'll keep you alive, I'll even protect you from the worst of this nightmare. You pay attention and do whatever I tell you to do, even if you don't understand my reasons. We don't have time for grieving now. Later. Tonight you can grieve, cry even. But first you must survive today."

He searched her eyes for a long moment, watching the inner conflict reflected by her body language. She raged quietly against circumstance, hope and despair wrestling within her heart. In the end, he perceived acceptance. A commitment to personal survival, if nothing else, and, perhaps, a degree of hope.

"Bona virineto. Good girl," he said, looking directly into her eyes.

He held the eye contact, watching her face color and then fix itself with a determined look. She applied soap to his body, roughly at first but then she caught sight of the amused look on his face and she thought better of her meaningless show of rebellion. When she came to his waist she hesitated until his laugh goaded her into action. Uncertainly she stroked his penis with her soapy hands, curiosity writ large upon her face. The curiosity was replaced by a moue of distaste as her hands reached between his buttocks. She had to kneel to wash his legs, and looked adamantly at the water as she did so.

He nodded in approval and walked into the deeper water to rinse himself off. Then he walked over to the shallows and leaned back against a rock. He imagined the water carrying away the stress of the past week and felt his body respond by relaxing.

"Puru vi, Sara. Wash yourself," he ordered, "You're a beautiful woman. Belulino. You shouldn't be covered in filth."

He looked over at the women by the side of the stream, every last one gawking at them.

"Kio vi gapas? Cxu vi bezonas plilaboro?" he snapped.

The women quickly resumed working, dropping their eyes to the laundry they scrubbed.

She scooped up a handful of soap and began to lather her upper body. It was a moment before she realized that he was watching her. She blushed furiously and turned her face away to hide her emotions. She turned her back to him and stepped further into the water until it reached up to her waist. Carefully she washed herself, wincing when her hands passed over her labia. She sat down in the deep water to wet her hair, using her fingers to work the worst of the knots out and resolutely not looking at anything. She began to work the soap into her long blonde tresses, absurdly wondering what she would be able to use for conditioner.

Robert watched her bathe, fascinated by the motions of her hands, flowing over the lines of her body. Her modesty made the actions all the more erotic to him, her half-clothed state made her seem more naked than naked. Her T-shirt clung to her body, molding itself to her contours, half-revealing the flesh beneath those areas it clung to. When her hands dropped below the water to scrub, his imagination quickly filled in the details of her actions. He could, he realized, order her to stand and scrub herself in front of him. He considered doing this, but did not. He was enjoying the way she moved naturally, without direction. She had a certain grace to her actions that was at odds with the mechanical world he had brought to the jungle. Although not a part of the jungle herself, she fit better here than anyone else. He wondered why this might be.

When she began to scrub at the bloody T-shirt he muttered, "Don't scrub too hard," to himself, "It never really washes off."

He shook himself physically, trying to bring himself back to reality. He laughed when he realized this.

"And what is real?" he asked himself.

"Puru laj vestoj, Sara. Wash the clothing," he told her.

Robert walked out of the water, striding over to his rifle and the leather bag. Finding a place in the sun to sit, he propped the rifle next to him, opened the bag and started to pick through it. The bag itself was a fashion designer's idea of what a backpack should be. Perfect for 'adventure' day trips and completely out of place in the jungle; like a Cadillac at an off-road rally. The contents themselves were about what you would expect from someone who had packed for an adventure but never really been away from civilization. Some of the clothing could be given to the women, and the Tylenol and such would go to the infirmary.

At last, all the way at the bottom of the bag, he found what he had hoped for. He popped open the small container and found a half empty set of birth control pills.

'Virginal and naïve, but not stupid,' he thought to himself, surprised at the small feeling of satisfaction the thought created.

He counted the pills and then lay back against the rock, basking in the warmth of the sun and calculating.

'It'll be close,' he thought, 'but it should do.'

If all went well he, and thus Sara, was in for a very long walk. The walk would be hard enough for her, but if she were pregnant it would likely kill her. He had tried to ensure that the 'army' be well supplied with condoms, but George had over-ridden him, citing several arguments. So far as he knew, he had maybe six condoms left and he had a use for those in mind.

With this thought he turned his head to see how she was faring. She knelt by the stream, apart from the other women, and struggled with the washing process, imitating, as best she could, their actions. The other women, for their part, ignored her.

Keywords: Ch., 2, Things, All, Come..., 07, Vol.,