by J. D. Jensen
‘Dear Zheeno, take me from this place,’ she whispered, ‘so we can be together for ever.’
She reached up, kissing his lips, and for several moments they remained locked in their embrace in the chilly darkness. The garment he wore smelt of age and strange odours, but nonetheless her nostrils could detect the familiar scent of his skin, and she delighted in its manly fragrance. She felt the lean hardness of his body tight against hers, not wanting to release him ever again, yet a bitter pang of sadness came upon her suddenly as she thought back to those hateful images of his cruel debasement.
Then in that moment, not daring to understand, she felt a brief stirring of him below, not imagined, but faint in its beginning nonetheless. Although she knew his cruel infliction had surely stunted his potency for life, it seemed, after all, that kind nature had allowed some trace of manly flush to linger in his loins. How this might be so she had no idea, nor cared… in that fleeting moment that gladdened her heart and spirits. Hesitant at first to let her hand wander to his loins, but rejoicing only at this brief stirring of his flesh, fearing perhaps to humble him, she said nothing and gave no indication of having noticed such reawakening of desire. Now was not the time for such things or passions.
‘We must go now,’ he whispered, as if reluctantly. ‘We must be as quiet as mice, but as swift as flying birds. The corridor beyond is long. The fat men use it to get to their quarters, and we must find the hatchway that takes us out onto the wall.’
Nassara’s eyes having grown accustomed to the darkness, she saw he had taken the knife again from the bag. He looked at her, his features grimly set. ‘This knife,’ he said, ‘that they used to cut my flesh, I will use to cut the throat of any man who gets in our way. We have only one chance; we must get to the hatch unchallenged and out onto the ledge. Then I must fix the rope I’ve made these past nights and you must climb down quickly. I will follow you, and then we must be speedily away before the guards hear anything, or we are undone.’
Looking down at the fearsome weapon, knowing what bitterness must be in his heart, she nodded. For a moment he peered back into her eyes. ‘The fat man,’ he answered her unspoken question, ‘the one who tended me and was ordered to cut my flesh from me, his name is Jazeerahi. When he healed me afterwards, and when my hate was thick upon him, he had such regret and such sorrow for me, so he helped me. He helped me get this instrument and these filthy garments that will hide our nakedness. He has told me how to flee this wicked city. We have a chance if we are as cunning as desert foxes, and if luck shall be with us.’
Nassara smiled up at him, her anxiety quietened by the determination of his words. ‘We shall have luck, Zheeno,’ she encouraged. ‘I feel it in my heart. And I will follow you to the edge of the earth, whatever.’
They kissed quickly again, and then Zheeno took her hand and began to move swiftly in the darkness, emerging into the long corridor. Zheeno stopped to listen, but there was no sound. At one end, high in the ceiling, a solitary oil lamp hung, its yellow light casting grim, dancing shadows on the walls. The two slaves crept cautiously along, and as they passed open doorways Zheeno would pull Nassara in closely behind him. They would wait, listening again before quickly passing on, and they were nearly at the end when suddenly out of the gloom in front of them a large shape appeared from one of the doorways.
The figure stood frozen in astonishment, and although his features were barely discernable in the half-light, Nassara recognised him immediately. It was Babbushan. A bowl was in his hand, and his bloated cheeks and opened mouth were filled with food. He looked first at Nassara, then at Zheeno, his small eyes wide with disbelief. But Zheeno did not hesitate for a fraction of a second, and in a sudden, silent flash of movement he launched himself at Babbushan, the vicious knife sweeping towards the fat man’s throat.
Nassara’s heart missed a beat and she quickly stifled a cry. Despite Babbushan’s huge bulk Zheeno was holding him tightly, his arms around his stout neck, the blade close against Babbushan’s throat.
‘Make no noise,’ he hissed, panting from the sudden burst of activity, ‘or I shall cut out your gullet and let your blood run.’
Babbushan tried to mumble something but the food in his mouth prevented any sound, his eyes bulging as he looked pleadingly at Nassara.
‘Zheeno, I beg, do not kill him.’ Nassara reached out and touched the tightly clenched hand that gripped the handle of the lethal weapon. ‘He will not betray us, I am sure… please, he was my friend.’
As if in acknowledgement Babbushan tried to nod, but Zheeno’s arm was so tight around his neck and the knife held so closely to it, that the fat man could scarcely breath.
‘Zheeno, release him,’ she urged again. ‘Spare him and he will let us go.’
For a moment Zheeno hesitated, then very slowly released his grip, lowering the wicked blade. Babbushan stood breathing heavily, then stepped aside, keeping his back against the wall, away from Zheeno, who still held the knife poised, as if not yet entirely reassured or convinced.
‘Go quickly,’ Babbushan told them. ‘Do not delay.’ He looked first at Zheeno, then at Nassara. ‘May luck be with you, my beautiful girl,’ he added. ‘I will think of you and hope you can go far from here. Find happiness and freedom, both of you.’
Slowly Zheeno stood back, lowering the knife yet keeping his eyes fixed warily on Babbushan. Nassara breathed again, reaching out to touch the fat man, with affection and understanding.
‘You tried to help me,’ she whispered. ‘For that I will always be grateful. I hope the masters do not punish you for what Zheeno and I do this night.’ Babbushan did not reply as he looked sadly and anxiously at her. ‘Look well to yourself, Babbushan. I will think often of you, and of Achoochi, and I shall feel no bitterness at having known you. You only did the masters’ bidding, and you were kind to me in my lonely desolation.’
She turned quickly away, gently taking Zheeno’s hand, and without a single backward glance they moved again swiftly and stealthily along the corridor.
Before long Zheeno had located the hatchway, which groaned alarmingly in the silence. For a moment they held their breath, listening for any sound behind them. But there were only distant noises of the city on the other side of the hatchway, so without a moment’s more delay Zheeno pulled the small square hatch fully open.
At once the freshness of the air came refreshingly upon them, although there were strange and alien smells that hung in the night. It was Nassara who crawled out first onto the ledge, so that Zheeno could pull the hatch shut behind them again.
She peered out over the edge, down at the steep sides of the wall that dropped below. But the distance to the ground was not too great, and her fear was not of the height, but only of detection and capture. Now they were outside beneath the starry sky, Nassara felt a more positive surge of hope and exhilaration rising within her. She breathed deeply of the crisp night air, already tasting freedom.
The moon was still bright, but lower in the sky, and when she looked down into the narrow alleyway beneath she could see that the shadows cast by the low buildings on the other side would conceal them from any casual observer as they climbed down. But at this late hour there was no sign of anyone around anyway.
Pulling the rough cloak tighter around her she made it fast with a loose fold of torn fabric, her teeth beginning to chatter as she waited for Zheeno. He was carefully laying out the rope, one end already secured around the stone balustrade, then with a quick nod he quietly dropped the other end over the side, and watched anxiously as it uncoiled, spilling down into the alleyway, settling against the wall.
‘Hold the rope firmly,’ he instructed. ‘It is strong, but your grip must be keen. I will join you soon enough.’ Zheeno took a final look over the side, and then gestured to her urgently. ‘Now, my butterfly, go now.’
The sun was low in the hazy sky; a large, golden ball floating in red curls of wispy cloud. T
he evening sky seemed to reach down below the horizon and mingle gently into the sea beneath, casting a wash of red and orange dye across the calm surface.
A woman sat near the solitary hut by the shore. She gazed out beyond the lapping line of where white sand met the water’s blue. So motionless she sat, as if recollecting past images and emotions. There was an air about her of quiet beauty and serenity, such that it seemed her presence in that place was justly fitting.
A man was in the distance, by the shoreline. Tall and lean, and very slightly stooped, he walked slowly towards her. His hair was long and wavy with streaks of gold, gently bleached by the sun. From time to time he waved at her, and she waved back. A long rod rested over his shoulder and she could see, even from where she sat, that a wriggling clutch of eels dangled from the rod. She smiled to herself, and her heart was warm as she gazed at him.
How long ago it all seemed. How far from this place it had been. Yet in her mind the images were as clear as if it had been only three sunrises past, and the place was no greater distance than just beyond the fringe of palm trees across the bay. Even as she gazed out over the sea, feeling the stirring of melancholy that often came upon her, the sad thoughts spilled into her mind as she remembered Belithza and Ugimba. She wondered what had become of them, and of Babbushan, and of Achoochi.
By and by the man came to her. He leant down and kissed her forehead affectionately, his bronzed face still handsome, still strong, and with smiling lines.
‘We shall eat a true feast of serpent-fish this sunset,’ he laughed, throwing down the clutch of eels then going about his business of making the fire.
His gentle eyes had not seen the fleeting hint of pain in hers; not having thought of serpents’ tails. To him it was so long ago; a safe, forgotten image not fitting for this place of contented tranquillity; here where the only tails of serpents were those of wriggling eels, fresh from his catch.
She smiled back at him, her heart warm again. Absently she fingered the pendant that hung from her neck, feeling the cold stone of cruel memory. Although Zheeno had melted down the chains and bells of her slavery those many years past, having used the gold to make good their escape, to clothe and feed them and to find a sanctuary far from that palace of misery, she had kept the pendant so that each day it would remind her of the man who had put it there.
She often told herself that one day she would toss it far into the sea and watch the water close over it, cleansing the memories from her mind forever.
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