Norman Invasions (48 page)

I trust that you are working to free me as soon as possible.

I will share all the credit for the story with you. Have no fear. I will keep it for the magazine. I will not go elsewhere with it, despite its value. You may have the byline if you wish. My contribution may remain anonymous. The credit is yours, if you like. Or you may even give it to Holly, that meaningless little slut, whom I know is your mistress, if you wish. Have I not seen her fawn on you, and seen how she looks, when she looks upon you?

How I hate her!

Save me! Get me out of here!

I know you like me, or, at least, are attracted to me. A woman can tell such things. If you save me, you will find me more agreeable now, Irving. You see, I am calling you “Irving” now. I have always thought you were attractive. Perhaps you will give me a chance, when I get back, to show you my feelings toward you.

To be sure, you would not find me a Holly! I have pride! Surely you would not want a woman to be yours alone, and not hers, alone. As a true man, you would scorn to have a woman grovel at your feet, in awe of you, desiring to put all she is, and would be, at your feet, desiring more than anything else in the world to serve you, hand and foot, lovingly, helplessly.

As a true man, how disgusting you would find that!

I beg you to free me, Irving!

Yes, I beg it!

Figuratively I am prostrate before you.

Does that please you, Irving, that I should be prostrate before you?

Save me! I beg it!

Linda

Dear Irving:

A steel collar has been put on my throat! It is light and narrow, like a band, about a half of an inch in height. It is close fitting. It is attractive. It is not uncomfortable. I am seldom aware that it is even on me, but it is. In the back there is a small, sturdy lock. And the collar is locked! It is locked on me! I cannot remove it. It is literally locked on my neck! Is it a piece of simple jewelry? But I cannot remove it! I do not understand it. What does it mean?

I cannot believe the things they are teaching me!

I have still not been taught the meaning of the first words I was forced to say, “La kajira.”

They laugh at me. I dare not evince the least sign of disinclination to obey. They expect, and receive, instant, unquestioning obedience from me! Can you imagine that, knowing me? That I am obeying men? That I must be obedient to men?

And I am obedient to them, Irving. I am obedient to them!

And I am having strange feelings. I can't explain them, but they are sometimes overwhelming. I am finding that it pleases me to obey, that I wish to do so. How strange!

Can you imagine me obeying you, eager to please you, trying desperately to please you?

Wouldn't you like to have me obeying you?

In all things?

In whatever way you might wish?

It is strange, the things they are teaching me. They really seem to be of two sorts. Many are homely tasks, which I am learning for the first time, though with the tools and techniques of this place, things like cooking, cleaning, laundering, and sewing. Perhaps these are skills taught to housewives here, if there are women here. There must be women here. But of the other sorts of things I am taught I scarcely know how to speak. They are teaching me ways to move, and sit, and lie, and rise to my feet, and kneel. They make me kneel with my knees apart, widely, and back on my heels, with my head up, and my hands, palms down, on my thighs, or being held behind my back. In sitting and lying, one must point one's toes in a certain fashion, which curves the calf. One learns to turn the hip out. One learns to lower one's head deferentially. One learns how to crawl, on one's hands and knees, and on one's abdomen. It seems I am being taught gracefulness and submissiveness. Can you imagine that, of me, Irving?

Too, they are teaching me the application of cosmetics, and perfumes. Sometimes they put bells on my collar, and ankles, or wrists. I must learn to walk well in them. When I do poorly I am sometimes struck with a strap.

If you are very nice to me, when I get back, perhaps I will show you some of the things I have learned.

Linda

Dearest Irving:

Why have you not answered my letters?

Have you received them?

They still have not taught me the meaning of the words ‘La kajira', the first words I was forced to speak in their language.

I have been told that I may be allowed out of the house in a day or two, though I would be accompanied. But first, it seems, something must be done to me. They have not told me what it is. Before it is done, I am told that I must wash and dry my left thigh, high, just under the hip. It must be smooth, and pretty. I do not know what they have in mind. They keep me much in ignorance.

My lessons continue.

I have received instruction in the bathing of men. I do not think they are such lazy beasts that they cannot wash themselves. I think, rather, it pleases them to have this done by a beautiful woman. I am beautiful, Irving. I know that now. What could be the meaning of my beauty? I have received various injections. I do not know their purpose. I was permitted to see myself in a small mirror yesterday. I was startled. I look younger. It is strange.

I have been shown how to crawl to a man and beg him for his touch! How degrading! How shocked and offended you must be, to hear this!

Surely you, as a true man, would not want me crawling naked to your feet, and begging your touch!

How swiftly you would, in consternation, scandalized, looking away, that I not be embarrassed, draw me to my feet, and clothe me!

But I am afraid. Late in the lessons, I had strange feelings, and my voice trembled. Tears ran from my eyes. I tried to control myself, but I could not. I felt my body flushing and shuddering, and felt hot and alive, and moist and running and helpless, and alive, and alive, and so alive, and needful, and felt embarrassing, betraying, uncontrollable, irresistible, undeniable sensations, even secretions, I fear perhaps those of desire, Irving, of sexual heat, of literal sexual heat, Irving, overwhelming me, fierce, piteous sensations, needful and unrequited, emanating from my intimacies, suffusing then my body, my entire body and being! What could be the meaning of these things? But I feared I knew their meaning. What had they done to me? What was I becoming? On my knees, looking up, I discovered I did want the touch of a man. Quickly I put my head down, that they not see this weakness. Then I looked up, piteously. But the lesson was then ended. Unfulfilled, I was herded back, on my hands and knees, poked with a stick, to the cage, and locked within. I grasped the cold bars, and squirmed helplessly. What are they doing to me? What am I becoming?

No, no! You, as a true man, would not want me crawling naked to your feet, helpless, vulnerable, cruelly aroused, in fear of the whip, trembling with need, supplicatory, begging your touch. as piteously as might the most worthless of women, a stripped, needful slave.

Do you know that I found you attractive, my dearest Irving, that I sometimes brought matters to your attention with no other object than to see you, that I sometimes passed your office unnecessarily, to catch a glimpse of you? Did you think it strange that we often encountered one another in the parking lot?

Save me, dearest Irving!

I fear that I am becoming a woman.

Changing,

Linda

My dearest Irving, my beloved Irving, my hope:

I have been branded!

They have branded me!

It was done with a small, delicate white-hot iron, pressed into, and held in, for some terrible moments, my flesh. It crackled, and sizzled, and burned, and I could smell my flesh burning, my own flesh, and I screamed and, when it was withdrawn, cleanly, and smoking, I was marked!

This is a different world. I have suspected this for a long time, from the sense of the world, from its air, from certain foods, what I have seen of its culture, but dared not mention this in my letters, lest you think me mad. This is a wild, strange, beautiful world. Where it is I do not know, but there seems a single sun. It seems much like ours, only so different. I have seen no moons. I have surprising energy here, and vitality. My body thrives on the purity, the exhilarating freshness, of the air. I have never felt so alive on Earth. Perhaps this is the way the earth once was.

The foods I have been given are simple, but apparently nutritious. I am sometimes to force my face into a bowl of cereal, or gruel, and finish it, even to the licking of the pan, lest any be wasted. The water, though I must lap it from a pan on the floor, my head down, is wonderfully clear, and refreshing. The vegetables, and fruits, are fresh, and unbelievably tasty. I think they may come fresh from gardens, or farms, to markets in the city, for we are in a city.

As I said, I have been branded. It is a small, tasteful, delicate, but quite unmistakable, mark, high on my left thigh, just under the hip. It is a little hard to describe, but it reminds one of a cursive “k” without the closure of the loop. It is not large. It is about two inches in height and a half of an inch in width. It is clearly placed in my body. I do not know what it means, but it is there, and evident to any who might care to look.

It marks me well, but I do not understand the meaning of the mark.

After my branding, even while I was screaming, overcome with horror and pain, I was taken from the rack in which I had been helplessly bound, and thrown to my belly on the floor. Then a new collar was placed on my neck, and the older one removed. I must then needs kiss the feet of the men who had attended to my branding, and collaring.

There is printing on the new collar, which is much like the old collar, save for the printing. The printing is engraved there. I cannot read the script. I do not know what it says. It is not a matter of having difficulty reading it in a mirror. It is rather that it is in a different script. It must be in their own language. Others can read it, doubtless. But I cannot. It occurs to me that here, on this world, I am illiterate. How strange that seems to me. I do not think they are going to teach me to read. I do not understand.

And so I am in a new collar, and I do not know what the printing on it says. It is a very attractive collar, close-fitting, and such, much like the other, and, as you would suppose, it, too, is locked on me. I cannot remove it. It is not uncomfortable. But it is there. It is a strange feeling, when you think about it, being locked in a collar.

I understand so little!

What sort of woman would be branded?

What sort of woman would be put in a collar, a locked collar?

Are you negotiating with my captors for my release?

Why haven't you written?

Have I offended you? Are you angry with me? At one time I would have laughed at such things, but, now, I am afraid.

This morning, after my branding, and collaring, I was given my first bit of clothing, if one may call it that, a sleeveless, scandalously brief tunic, with a tie at my left shoulder, which, if tugged, would drop the garment about my ankles. It does cover the brand, though, of course, not the collar. My hands were then cuffed behind me, in light metal restraints, and I was put on a leash, yes, a leash, and led from the house.

Oh, what a marvelous place this is, dearest Irving, how beautiful, dazzling, wonderful, incredible! And there are women here, some tunicked, as I was, and others veiled, and clad in cumbrous robes. There are children here, too, and they are as wild, as unrestrained, as playful, as mischievous, as children anywhere. We went through various streets, and saw more than one market. There are animals here, too, which are unfamiliar to me, some large, lofty, and silken, some massive and hairy, some sinuous and leopardlike. I saw one animal with six legs, in a jeweled collar. I saw no police, as we would know them, to whose attention I might call my predicament. There were some helmeted, armed men, but they seemed so stern, so fierce, and mighty, that a girl, perhaps I should have said a woman, would hesitate to approach them, lest she simply be taken in their arms and utilized for their pleasure. The men here, even peasants, as I suppose them to be, and merchants, and craftsmen, seem sexual and alive. From Earth, I found such virility terrifying. This world is unbelievably primitive, colorful, and sensuous.

Were they just exercising me, as one might walk a dog, or did they wish me to see this world, perhaps that I might better understand my situation? Perhaps both.

I was thrilled!

I did not miss the dense, impatient traffic, the pervasive noise, the gray, choking, sickening air, the rushing about, the crowding, the screaming, of our city.

Earth need not be as it is!

Some of the tunicked girls, let us call them that, for they are girls, given their tunics and collars, yes, they, too, wore collars, lovely, graceful bands upon their necks, closely fitting, collars much like mine, and I do not doubt but what theirs were locked on them as securely as mine on me, looked upon me as though comparing me with themselves, the meaningless sluts! But I straightened my body and returned their haughty gazes. I did not regard myself as inferior to them. I am perhaps trimmer now, and more interestingly curved, than you remember me. It is perhaps the diet, the training, the forced exercises in the house. Perhaps it has to do, too, with the injections, the serums. I do not know. Perhaps these changes are merely in my mind, in my imagination. I do not know.

Three days ago I was permitted to launder for some of the men in the house. I enjoyed this, the tubs, the water, the garments which had been next to their bodies.

We passed more than one girl, sitting, lying, or kneeling, chained by her neck to a ring, placed in the side of the building. There are a number of such rings about, particularly in the business areas, placed there, it seems, as a convenience. Doubtless animals may be fastened to them, too, of course.

The fellow who was my guide in this unusual peregrination spoke some English. When we were in a less frequented district, I addressed him. “May I speak?” I asked, using the formula I had been given early in my stay in the house. It is generally a good idea, I had discovered, sometimes at the end of a strap, before speaking, to learn if speech will be permitted. To be sure, much depends on the fellow, and the context, but, here, on the street, it seemed appropriate to inquire. The leash was a long one, coiled in his hand, and I had no wish, if I could avoid it, of being knelt down, my head to the pavement, and having my calves lashed with the free end of the leash. He seemed a bit taken aback, but said, “Yes.” I knew enough, by then, of course, having been several days in the house, to kneel before him, and look up at him. That is commonly how I have been instructed to place myself before men. My hands were fastened behind my back. The leash looped up to his hand.