Alif (18)
"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 girl 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 men 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 boys 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 man 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 young 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 girl 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 men 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 red lights above the rooms and the sight of women tottering by on their punishing stilettoes, 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 girls in their red 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 story 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 girl 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."
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