I close my eyes, and he pulls me in tighter and lifts me slightly off the ground. His breath deepening, he stops kissing me for a second and says, “Mina, I . . . ,” and then there’s a sound from the hallway.
We separate as if we’ve been slapped.
“Get in bed,” he orders, looking around the room. “Now.”
I obey without question, leaping onto the perfectly made bed. Juda disappears into the wardrobe on the far wall, before I have a chance to blink.
Just as my head hits the pillow, Damon walks into the room. He’s wearing silk pajamas with an animal print. Tiger? Leopard? I really don’t care. His slippers match.
He smirks at me. “I saw your open door.”
I turn away, raising a hand to cover my unveiled face. “I went to the bathroom.”
“I thought maybe you were out scrounging for food.”
“I should have been. You said you would send me dinner.” I lunge toward the chair where I placed my cloak and veil, but he blocks my way.
“Father decided it was best not to. He thought you needed to learn a lesson.”
I would love to tell Damon what I think of this lesson, but what I really need is for him to leave.
Still refusing to look at him, I say, “It’s inappropriate for you to be in my bedroom.”
“Interesting,” he says, “that you should be so caught up in the rules now.”
I hear him shut the door. My body tenses.
“I didn’t know it was champagne!” I say.
“Here I thought you were such a good girl, so faithful and compliant.” He circles the bed, trying to make me look at him. Sitting down on the mattress, he says, “But you’re just a little lush, aren’t you?” He slides his hand toward me.
“I have begged God’s forgiveness for my transgression.” I scoot to the far end of the bed. He seems entertained by my discomfort.
Flicking out his hand, he grabs me by the calf. “I found you beautiful when I first saw you, Mina, but I never imagined you would be so full of . . . sin.” He yanks me toward him by my leg, which causes my dress to pull up toward my hips. He leers at my bare legs, then leans over to kiss me. I hold him back, and he laughs. He likes this game.
I wonder how much Juda can hear from the wardrobe.
I try quoting the Book. “Do not practice fornication; it is debauchery and a wretched path to follow.”
“It’s hardly a sin when our marriage contract is already signed,” he mumbles, stroking my knee.
Thinking of another strategy, I look deep into his eyes. “Damon, darling.” Tasting the word “darling” on my lips for the first time makes me sicker than the champagne. “Haven’t you ever waited for anything? Like that first, succulent morsel of lamb after a long day of fasting? Isn’t it the best lamb you’ve ever tasted?”
His leering smile is wicked. “I enjoy lamb whenever I’m hungry.” He leans in again, and this time he doesn’t allow me to hold him off but pushes down my arms, shoving his mouth onto mine. His cold lips taste like garlic and beef. He thrusts his tongue deep inside my mouth until I can’t breathe. He starts to make horrible moaning sounds, and I can’t believe he’s experiencing pleasure when I’m so obviously disgusted by him.
I try to push him off me, but he just leans into me harder. He weighs so much. He gropes at me, running his hands up and down my chest and legs. A different, more frantic panic washes over me.
“Please,” I beg. “No.”
I know that when we’re married, I’ll have to submit, but I’m not going to give in one second earlier than I have to. And how can I suffer this humiliation, knowing that Juda will have to listen to the whole thing?
His hand goes underneath my dress. “Damon, NO!” I say in a commanding tone.
He instantly sits up, grabbing my hair and yanking back my head, much harder than my mother did, as if he actually wants to snap my neck. “A woman is not allowed to speak to me that way!”
I can’t move. Cold, hard fear replaces the panic. Tears are running down my cheeks.
Damon keeps one hand on my hair, pulling it harder, jerking it painfully from the roots, while he takes the other hand and starts to unbuckle his pants.
“Please, Damon, not like this . . .”
“I think this is how you wanted it all along,” he mutters.
And that’s when I see Juda.
He’s come out of the wardrobe, and he’s holding a chair above his head. I try to say, “No!” because he’ll be killed for striking his master, but it’s too late. The chair comes smashing down over Damon’s head.
Damon collapses in a heap on top of me. I can’t breathe.
I wait for Damon to roar up in anger, but he doesn’t. He just lies there.
Juda rolls him off me. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“Is he d-d-dead?”
Juda looks like he doesn’t know who I’m talking about. He leans into my face. “Mina? Are you all right?”
“Y-y-yes, I’m fine. What have you done?”
“He was touching you. . . . He was going to—”
“You killed him!”
Juda looks at Damon. He leans over me, placing two fingers on Damon’s neck. “He’s just unconscious.”
Thank the Prophet. “Juda, you have to get out of here!”
He stares at me as if I’m speaking another language.
I jump out of the bed and shake his huge shoulders. “Now, Juda. Run, before his parents come!”
Finally, the reality of what he’s done seems to sink in, and I see fear in his eyes. “You have to tell them that I came from outside your room,” he says. “So they won’t punish you, okay?”
“Yes, yes. Just go!”
He heads for the door.
“Juda,” I say, and he stops, and I think of the thousand things I want to say, but the only thing I can manage is “thank you.”
He nods and smiles weakly.
And then he is gone.
THIRTEEN
I LOOK AT THE SCENE IN MY ROOM AND WONDER if there’s anything I need to move or change. Noticing that the door of the wardrobe is open, I rush over to close it.
Damon, who’s still spread out on my bed, lets out a whimper and begins to move. I run to him, ready to play my part.
“Damon! Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
He raises his head, looking at me in confusion. “Did you do that?”
“I . . . I . . . uh.” What can I say? He’ll see the splintered chair on the floor soon enough and know that someone else was here, but I can’t form the words in my mouth—Juda did it. I can’t bear to be the one who seals Juda’s fate.
But it doesn’t matter, because a second later, Mr. Asher, in purple silk pajamas with a matching robe flowing around him, sweeps into the room, a befuddled hawk roused from his nest. His gray hair sticks straight up, and I feel embarrassed to see him in his nightclothes. “What’s going on? Juda just ran out of the apartment!”
Damon holds his head. “Good. He must be chasing the man who just assaulted me!”
“He wouldn’t speak to the door guard on his way out.” Mr. Asher moves his head back and forth in quick, tiny motions, as if he’s having a spasm. “The door guard said he appeared to be fleeing!”
“That’s ridiculous!” Damon says. He tries to stand, wobbles, then sits down again. “Juda wouldn’t dare strike me.”
“Are you all right?” Mr. Asher asks. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No. I’m fine,” Damon says, irritated with the question.
Mr. Asher spots the debris on the floor. “Did Juda attack you?” His voice is full of incredulity.
Damon shakes his head, confused, and Mr. Asher looks at me for the first time. “Cover yourself!” he says, his voice shifting from bewilderment to disgust.
I put on my cloak and veil as quickly as I can, but I’m already shamed.
In the same tone he uses with his servants, he says to me, “Tell me what happened.”
But before I can s
ay a word, Damon answers. “I decided to bring Mina a snack, since she missed dinner. We were sitting here, talking, when suddenly I was hit from behind.”
I open my mouth to contradict him, but then stop. Damon is the firstborn son, and I am a woman. My word is worth half of his. To call him a liar would be an enormous insult to his father and the entire family. I dig my thumbnail into the flesh of my forefinger, waiting for Mr. Asher to accept Damon’s explanation.
But Mr. Asher looks around, seeming to note the lack of food in the room. “You were . . . talking when Juda hit you?” From his tone, Mr. Asher seems suspicious of his son’s story, allowing me a flutter of hope.
Damon nods, stubborn.
Mr. Asher’s nostrils flare. “Juda has worked for this family for nearly ten years. He’s never laid a finger on you, not even when you belittled him or struck him. He’s never stolen so much as a grain of rice. Why do you suppose he would suddenly attack you, unprovoked, after all this time?”
“Maybe you should check the safe.”
“I don’t think I need to,” Mr. Asher says, stepping in toward Damon. “I think the reason is sitting right here in front of us.” He gestures at me dismissively.
Damon looks at me, surprised.
“I think the best explanation is one of the oldest,” Mr. Asher says. “Jealousy. It must be.”
“That’s ridiculous. Juda has seen me with plenty of beautiful women, and he’s never batted an eye.”
I’m supposed to ignore the implications of this remark. A new bride has to be as pure as a downy chick emerging from its shell, but the rule doesn’t apply to the groom. On the contrary, society expects him to enjoy his freedom before he shackles himself to one girl. Propriety usually forbids the discussion of any such activity around the bride, but I think propriety was thrown out tonight with the remaining champagne.
Mr. Asher strokes his brow as if to contain the pressure building behind his wrinkled forehead. “I believe we may have come to the core of the problem. Despite Miss Clark’s questionable behavior in our home this evening, she is not a working girl from the Theater District! Perhaps you had a problem differentiating the two and Juda was upset by your confusion? Am I getting closer to some version of the reality of what occurred here this evening, Damon?”
I should be shocked that Mr. Asher has mentioned the Theater District in front of me, but I’m too busy concentrating on the edge of disdain for Damon’s behavior in Mr. Asher’s voice. It makes me believe that all is not lost for Juda.
I wait in the heavy silence for Damon to answer.
“Well, Damon?” His father looks more tired than he did when he first entered the room.
Through gritted teeth, Damon says, “I think you and I should speak alone, Father.”
“Why? Mina is aware of what happened here this evening, is she not?”
“Fine,” Damon says, growing more furious by the second. He purses his lips, glares at me, and then looks at his father. After an excruciating silence, he says, “If Juda was jealous, it’s because she led him on, not because I acted inappropriately.”
“That’s a lie!” I say, etiquette forgotten.
“Now, now, Mina,” Mr. Asher says. “Be careful, dear. Don’t say anything you might regret.” He takes a deep breath, giving me his full attention. “I now find it necessary, Mina, to ask if you ever lowered yourself to become a temptress. Did you or did you not try to seduce or enthrall Juda?”
“No!” I say. Feeling my cheeks flush, I thank God I have the veil to cover my face. Did I try to seduce him? Was that what I was doing when I met him in the stairwell? When I let him kiss me? Have I committed a horrible sin, and now it’s time for my punishment?
“And did you think it was appropriate to allow my son into your bedroom, in the middle of the night, with no supervision and no veil?”
“No, sir,” I say quickly. “But it wasn’t like that—”
“I think there are several guilty parties here,” Mr. Asher says. “I must confess that you have been an enormous disappointment to me, Miss Clark, and I’ve always been fond of your father. First, you become inebriated in my home, and then you lure my son into your bedchamber before your wedding night. I feel I’ve been deceived as to the true nature of your character. Perhaps it would be best for me to call off the engagement.”
His words should fill me with joy. Isn’t this exactly what I wanted? To be away from his disgusting son forever? But it will mean the end of Father’s career. His dream of ensuring fresh water for everyone in the city will be destroyed if there’s no marriage.
“No,” I say. “Please.” I look to Damon. “Please tell him the truth.”
Using the nasal, whiny voice he produces when dissatisfied, Damon says, “Father, you’re overreacting. There’s no need to cancel the engagement—”
“Overreacting! Look at this sinful behavior! And Juda, our best guard, a good, decent boy, has fled into the night!”
“He can’t get far,” Damon says, with an attempt at reasonableness. “Why don’t you wait until he’s captured before you decide about the marriage?”
A deep sadness settling on his face, Mr. Asher makes more tiny shakes with his head. “We have spoiled you, and you have no respect. I should have known that something like this would happen.”
“I respect you, Father,” Damon says, but even I can see he’s lying.
Mr. Asher walks to the door. “I’ll use my contacts within the Guard to look for Juda. We won’t alert the Teachers yet. Not until we know the full story. I’ll make my decision then.”
Smiling, Damon says, “Thank you, Father,” simpering like a boy who’s received an extra scoop of ice cream.
“Thank you, Mr. Asher,” I say.
Facing me, Mr. Asher says, “You are not to leave this house until Juda is recovered. If he tells us that you behaved in a manner unbecoming to a Deserver, I will send you to the Tunnel without a second thought. Is that clear?”
I nod, head spinning. If Juda is caught, what will he say? That we met in the Square? That I led him into my bedroom? If it means saving his own life, why wouldn’t he?
Mr. Asher and Damon walk out of my room. Hearing a soft click, I realize they’ve locked me inside.
I look around the room, as if I’m going to find another way out, but of course there is none. I think about yelling for help, but who would hear me? Mrs. Asher? The servants? All people who take orders from Mr. Asher.
What’s left for me to do?
Dropping to my knees, I begin to chant my daily prayers, and I have no intention of stopping until Father or the Prophet Herself comes through the door to save me.
FOURTEEN
I HAVE NO WINDOWS OR CLOCKS, SO I CAN’T BE sure, but I think I’ve been locked in this room for nearly twenty-four hours. I haven’t even been allowed out to use the bathroom. I got so desperate this morning that I finally just peed into Mrs. Asher’s weird white vase. It didn’t seem to be serving any other purpose.
I’m starving. I’ve had nothing to eat or drink. How can they treat me this way?
I’ve heard tales of girls who betrayed their families, who spoke against the Prophet or who made eyes at a brother-in-law, who are locked inside dark rooms and abandoned. The girls either starve or go mad. Is that what’s happened? Have they found Juda and already sentenced me? Yes. That must be it. I’ve been left in this room to wither away, and no one—not my parents, not Dekker, not even Sekena—will ever know what became of me. If only I could get word to Nana; she’d know what to do.
My ears ring. Sharp pain starts at my temple, stabs down through my jaw. Nana is dead. She can’t help me anymore.
The funeral. They have to let me out of here, or I’ll miss Nana’s funeral!
I’m determined not to cry, because surely I’ll become thirstier if I waste tears. My mouth is so dry that my tongue is starting to swell.
How could Juda betray me like this? Juda, Juda, Juda. I say his name over and over again until it becomes a mush of nonsen
se in my mouth. Juda, Juda, Juda. You are the Devil who tempted me. I hate you.
Yes. You’re the Devil. You were sent by God to test me, and I failed. God knew me, knew my innermost thoughts, and created you so that I would stray from my family and commit sin after sin—talk to you and touch you and think about you, oh God, how I think about you and want to smell you again, sandalwood and soap—but I shouldn’t want to, because you are the Devil.
The door swings open, and Mrs. Asher walks in, holding a tray of food. I’m sure she’s a hallucination. “Get up,” she says.
The smell hits me. Roast lamb and potatoes—I swoon, it smells so good. She places the tray on the desk, next to the vase. Sniffing the air, she crinkles her nose. “On second thought,” she says, lifting the tray back up, “it would be better for you to get out of this room. Clean yourself up, and then join me in the dining room.”
I watch as she takes the food out of the room again. If I were stronger, I would rip the tray from her hands, but I’m sitting on the floor. I’ve been down here since my prayers last night.
I stand. The room spins, so I lean on the wall.
Mrs. Asher left the door open. Strange to see it wide open after it has sealed me in for so many hours. I drag myself through the doorway and cross the hall. I can’t remember the last time I was so pleased to see a bathroom. After I relieve myself, I notice that Mrs. Asher has left a large, fluffy towel folded by the sink. “Clean yourself up,” she said.
My stomach rumbles. I wish she’d allowed me just one bite of potato.
A porcelain bathtub as big as a taxi stands on gold claw feet at the far end of the bathroom. I turn the faucet, shaped like a gold swan, and scalding water pours out immediately. Figures.
After a few minutes, I climb in, moving as slowly and stiffly as Nana did with her bad knee. I can’t believe how good the hot water feels and the cold porcelain feels nice against my scorched back. I had planned to splash myself quickly and get right out so I could get to my food sooner, but I find I’m paralyzed with relief. My muscles begin to melt. I wonder if I’ll have the strength to climb out of the tub again.
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