"It was the whip talking, wasn’t it?" Terry asked innocently.
"No!" Thalia’s negative was vehement. "It was not. The whip told me what I was and where I was. At the post each day I did much thinking. What girl wouldn’t? There is also something very potent about being tied. When a girl cannot move her body or her limbs it is her mind that becomes free. I suddenly saw women’s rights as a dream of spinsters. I shocked them back at school by telling them how lucky they were to be female." Thalia laughed roguishly. "A girl becomes very female when she’s whipped."
Dorinda wondered, with a clutching of the heart, in how many places and from how many people that lesson would be learned. Thalia’s eyes were almost maternal. "We tell you these things, darlings, so that you may learn with least pain. In England and in America, oh yes, I have been there, a girl and a whip are not related. In our land, here, they are never far apart."
That night Dorinda felt the chain upon her ankle and knew herself very far from home.
Dorinda would always think of it by the name Terry had coined. ‘Rabin’s Rentals’. She would speak it with caution. But its utter absurdity was all too apt. She watched, half ashamed, but with a mounting curiosity as papers were signed and money changed hands. The money paid for her. She was being ‘rented’. "Is a nice and easy job for first time." Mr. Rabin patted her back benevolently as he handed the key to her cuffs to a grinning man in uniform.
Corporal Kuhdin was a dedicated young man. Proud of his uniform and his stripe. Proud, also, of a motley brand of English picked up whilst working on sundry freighters with their motley crews. He accepted delivery of his naked charge with a flourish.
But not quite naked. Some unexplained motive of kindness of property had allowed her to wear Mike’s thoughtfully donated briefs. The same sentiment had probably cuffed her wrists at her front instead of at her back. She felt almost free and well dressed. In deference to her single garment which he fingered appreciatively whilst helping her into the truck the corporal vouschafed.
"The general’s a son of a bitch about cunts, miss."
The ambiguity defeated her. But of more immediate concern was the truck. It was not large, the ordinary open type on which hoops and a tarp made a conversion. It was covered now. But beneath the tarp was wire. The back, too, had been wired. The effect was as of a cage. Uncomfortable seated she made her usual ploy, more as an opening gambit to conversation than with hope of success.
"Could I have my handcuffs off, please?"
Corporal Kahdin established an all time first. He took them off and put them in his pocket. "We can have tail later," he approved.
Dorinda sighed. It was hard to do the best thing. Certainly the recreation he had suggested would be impractical in a truck on a road as rough as that hey now traversed. "Would you like to tell me what I have to do?" she asked politely.
He seemed surprised she did not know. "You are captured saboteur, miss. General Hakim is making fine example."
There were too many ambiguities. "Fine example of what?" Dorinda demanded.
"Of you miss. Captured enemy of the people miss. Very bad girl. Put on display. People spit."
The fine mesh wire began to make sense. Mr. Rabin’s ‘nice easy job’ seemed to depend on the angle from which it was viewed. "You mean your general wants a martyr on display?"
"Oh, already has a martyr, miss. Is nice Jewish girl. Very white like you. Could easily hang tomorrow. But the general is wishing to sleep with her. So she is nicely tucked away in little room he keep for very bad girls and tomorrow you hang instead. Everyone is happy."
Dorinda was aghast.
"Please do not fret," The corporal put his hand reassuringly on her arm. "You do not really hang. Just drop through the trap."
"What’s the difference?"
"The rope will break when you out of sight in hole. Most clever."
She looked at his smiling face in disbelief. This was Ian Fleming at his worst. With a service such as this, no wonder Rabin’s Rental prospered. "How do you know it will break?"
"I myself have cut it. Is now stuck with glue. Very poor quality." He eyed her anxiously. "You do not think we would harm you?"
"Wouldn’t you?"
"Oh no, miss. General Hakim is paying most large damage deposit."
Mr. Rabin thought of everything.
"What about this spitting business?" Dorinda asked doubtfully.
"It is very hard to spit straight through wire. Most miss."
"Won’t they throw things?"
"Yes, but wire protects," he glowed. "Also, we have military escort. I will be there." He sounded like general McArthur.
It was all too Arabian nights! With people like this no wonder Sheherazade could tell her thousand and one tales. "Did this poor girl actually toss a bomb?" she asked.
"Oh yes. At bridge. Much noise. She was caught on way to the border. Her jeep got a flat tire. Man with her shot. She very well known girl. Much bad. General Hakim most lucky to sleep with her."
"Why?"
"She fight and spit and bite. He must whip her every time they have tail. Is very good like that."
"And he’s going to keep her… keep her for that purpose?"
"For long time. When he tire of her, he’ll sell her to Rabin."
All was grist that came to Rabin’s mill. Dorinda felt like goods upon a shelf. This military truck bumped its way across an infinity of nothing. Corporal Kahdin exuded bonhomie, his gaze rarely leaving the curves and contours of the costly package to which he was escort.
"Have nice tits and belly," he informed their owner approvingly. "Face much nice too," he added as a chivalrous afterthought.
Surprisingly the corporal provided lunch from a package and a thermos produced from beneath the seat. The truck paused long enough for them to eat in comfort. For desert the corporal availed himself of the privilege of his office. Dorinda wished the floor of the truck had been softer.
When in mid afternoon they stopped again. Dorinda knew she had reached the scene of her ordeal. There were sounds. Corporal Kahdin became embarrassed. He produced the handcuffs awkwardly.
"Behind back, I’m fearing," he requested.
The hired girl turned and placed her wrists conveniently. How familiar the steel bands had become. He made them as tight upon her as he could without pain.
"Must be at back," he explained apologetically. "All peoples are wishing to see Jew girl’s breasts. Jew girls have fine breasts.
"But I am not a jewess."
"Ah true. But no one knowing. Your breasts are most fine. With little hands chain at back, cannot cover. Is not allowed for girl to cover in ceremony." Thoughtfully he inserted a finger beneath the briefs, pulled and let it snap back against her hip. "Most will think this should remove. But not now. General Hakim must believe in little something kept in reserve."
"If you’ll take off the handcuffs I’ll promise to show myself and cover nothing," the captive offered.
"This I would do. But people enjoy to see a girl in chains. Wicked Jew girl who tried to blow up bridge. She must be punished. But I put on handcuff. No more."
"Am I supposed to do anything?" the impending martyr asked bemusedly. "I mean, make faces, stick my tongue out? Do I sit down or stand up or lay on the floor? Should I look scared or brazen?"
"Not know brazen. Best look very haughty. Eyes flash fire and hate." The corporal did his best to demonstrate. "But I must ask you to stand up straight and turn about so everyone see. Is bad with truck in motion, but you manage." He looked at her with sudden compassion. "Must take tarp off now."
It was not a good moment for the nearly naked girl. The line that divided her from a girl sentenced to die on the morrow was to fine for comfort. Today there was no difference between them. She would receive the same insults and the same missiles and the same spittle as if she was the guilty one. She would be terribly alone. She wanted to cry, but would deny herself the comfort as long as she could.