"People are in fact owned?" I asked. ~ she said. "And fully."
"Then, truly," I said, "there are slaves here. There are slaves in this place." "Yes," she said. "And generally."
Again I did not understand the meaning of "generally."
She spoke almost as though we might not be on Earth, somewhere on Earth. My heart was heating rapidly. I put my hand to my bosom. I looked about the room, frightened. It was like no other room I had ever been in. It did not seem that it would be in England or America. I did not know where I was. I did not even know on what continent I might be. I looked at the girl. I was in the presence of a slave, a woman who was owned. Her master was Ligurious, of this city, said to be Corcyrus. I looked to the barred window, to the soft expanses of that great, barbaric couch, to the chain at its foot, to the rings fixed in it, and elsewhere, to the whip on its hook, to the door which I could not lock on my side. I was again terribly conscious of my nudity, my vulnerability.
"Susan," I said.
"Yes, Mistress," she said.
"Am I a slave?" I asked.
"No, Mistress," said the girl.
I almost fainted with relief. The room, for a moment, seemed to swirl about me. I was unspeakably pleased to discover that I was not a slave, and then, suddenly, unaccountably, I felt an inexplicable anguish. I realized, suddenly, shaken, that there was something within me that wanted to be owned. I looked at the girl. She was owned In that instant I envied her her collar.
"I am a slave!" I said, angrily. "Look at me Do you doubt that I am a slave? I am wearing only an anklet and perfume"
"Mistress is not marked. Mistress is not collared," said the girl.
"I am a slave" I said. I wondered, when I said this, if I was only insisting that I was a slave, that I must be a slave, because of such things as the barred window and the anklet, or if I was speaking what lay in my heart.
"Mistress is free," said the girl.
"I cannot be free," I said.
"If Mistress is "not free," she said, "who is Mistress' master?" "I do not know," I said, frightened. I wondered if I did belong to someone and simply did not yet know it.
"I know Mistress is free," said the girl.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Ligyrious, my master, has told me," she said.
But I am naked," I said.
"Mistress had not yet dressed," she said. She then went to the sliding doors at the side of the room, and moved them aside. Thus were revealed the habiliments of what was apparently an extensive and resplendent wardrobe.
She brought forth a lovely, brief, lined, sashed, shimmering yellow-silk robe and, holding it up, displayed it for me.
I was much taken by it, but it seemed almost excitingly sensuous.
"Have you nothing simpler, nothing plainer, nothing coarser?" I asked. "Something more masculine?" asked the girl.
"Yes," I said, uncertainly. I had not really thought of it exactly like that, or not consciously, but it now seemed to me as if that might be right.
"Does Mistress wish to dress like a man?" she asked.
"No," I said, "I suppose not. Not really."
"I can try to find a mans clothing for Mistress if she wishes," said the girl. "No," I said. "No." It was not really that I wanted to wear a man's clothing, literally. It was only that I thought that it might be better to wear a more mannish type of clothing. After all, had I not been taught that I was, for most practical purposes, the same as a man, and not something deeply and radically different? Too, such garb has its defensive purposes. Is it not useful, for example, in helping a girl to keep men from seeing her as what she is, a woman? "Mistress," said the girl, helping me on with the silken robe. I belted the yellow-silk sash. The hem of the robe came high on the thighs. I looked at myself, startled, in the mirror.
In such a garment, lovely, clinging, short, closely belted, there was no doubt that I was a woman.
"Mistress is beautiful!" said the girl.
"Thank you," I said. I turned, back and forth, looking at myself in the mirror. I adjusted the belt, making it a little tighter. The girl smiled.
"Are such garments typical of this place?" I asked.
"Does Mistress mean," asked the girl, "that here sexual differences are clearly marked by clothing, that here sexual differences are important and not blurred, that men and women dress differently here?"
"Yes," I said.
"Yes," she said. "The answer is "Yes,' Mistress."
"Sexuality is important here, then?" I said.
"Yes, Mistress," she said. "Here sexuality is deeply and fundamentally important, and here women are not men, and men are not women. The sexes are quite different, and here each is true to itself."
"Oh," I said.
"By means of different garbs, then," she said, "it is natural that these important and fundamental differences be marked, the garbs of men being appropriate to their nature, for example, to their size and strength, and those of women to their nature, for example, to their softness and beauty."
"I see," I said. I was a bit frightened. In this place, I gathered, the fact that I was a woman was not irrelevant to what I was. That I was a woman was, I gathered, at least in this place, something fundamentally important about me. This fact would be made clear about me even by the clothing which I wore. I glanced at the wardrobe. Deceit and subterfuge, I suspected, were not in those fabrics. They were such, I suspected, as would mark me as a woman and even proclaimed me as such. How would I f are in such a place, I wondered, where it might be difficult to conceal or deny my sex. How terrified I was at the thought that I might have to be true to my sex, that I might have little choice here but to be what I was, a woman, and wholly. I looked in the mirror.
That is what I am here, I thought, a woman.
There was a sudden, loud knock at the door.
I cried out, startled. The girl turned white, and then, facing the door, immediately dropped to her knees. She cried out something, frightened. The door opened.
A large man stood framed in the doorway. He seemed agile and strong. He glanced about. His eyes seemed piercing.' He had broad shoulders and long arms. His hair was cut rather short, and was brown, flecked with gray. He wore a white tunic, trimmed in red. He looked at me and I almost fainted. It was something in his eyes. I knew I had never seen a man like this before. There was something different about him, from all other men I had seen. It was almost as though a lion had taken human form.
"It is Ligurious, my Master," said the girl, her head now down to the floor, the palms of her hands on the tiles.
I swallowed hard, and then tried, desperately, to meet the man's gaze. I must show him that I was a true person.
"Get on the bed," he said. His voice had an accent. I could not place it. I fled to the bed and crept obediently upon it.
He came to the edge of the bed and looked down at me. I half Jay, half crouched on the bed. I was very conscious of the shortness of the robe I wore.
He said something to Susan and she sprang up and came to the edge of the bed. He said something else to her. I did not understand the language, or even recognize it.
"He says he thinks you will prove quite suitable," she said to me, in English. "For what?" I begged.
"I do not know, Mistress," she said.
"Get on your back," he said.
Immediately, obediently, I lay supine before him.
"Raise your right knee, and extend your left leg," he said, palms of your hands at your sides, facing upward."
I immediately assumed this position. I felt very vulnerable, particularly, interestingly, as the palms of my hands were exposed. I began to breathe deeply. I was terrified. I also realized, suddenly, that I was very aroused, sexually, obeying him.
The man glanced to the side. He said something to the girl.
"He notes that you have not touched your breakfast," she said.