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Ferhana was as puzzled as
anyone by Ana’s abrupt change of character and appearance. She no longer dressed
in the smart modest 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 catch 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Binta immensely: she had withdrawn from sight, spending more and more time by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 she supplied on
an occasional basis would bit by bit gain her the remission she sought. 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 beneath her blouse.
“Poor
little Ana’s been doing a sterling job recently,” the Director continued,
“entertaining clients and me, and assisting more materially in alleviating our
constant employment problem of suitably attractive young 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 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 from respect for Ana’s 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 she 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 girls 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 red 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 video 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 video
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 man 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 girl 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 laid 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 cries 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 girls
because I am ... because all the other girls 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 men 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 seriously 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 hurt 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 girl
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
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 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 girls were Gammas or Deltas. Except one girl
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 girls 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
hurt 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
hurt 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 men 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 hurt 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 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 warmth gradually spread 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 video 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.
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