"The police were very kind. They removed the intrusion from within me and set me free. One of them found a rug in which I could drape my charms. But I will always remember how I blushed when one of them was carrying out the offensive leek. I heard a fine British voice out in the hallway say: ‘Goes lovely in a stew, George. My missus does ‘em up a treat.’"
"I saved much money. The English police does not accept bribes or rewards," Mr. Rabin complacently supplied the happy ending.
Dorinda found herself looking at Thalia Rabin with fresh interest. She was a beautiful girl. She had tremendous poise. It seemed probable she possessed a sense of humour. Why had she related this shocking ordeal from her past?
Mr. Rabin bestowed upon each of the girls his very warmest smile. "You are quite free to make comment. I would like you to. There will be no punishment for imprudent words…" His tone was benign.
‘ Comment’ Dorinda groped. They could freely express sympathy or shock. But she was sure that was not required. She looked up and found Thalia’s eyes watching her inward struggles with amusement. Quite suddenly a shocking parallel became obvious. "You were kidnapped. Now we are kidnapped. Not much difference in principle, is there?"
"Ah!" said Mr. Rabin, his eyes alert, pleased.
"That’s right, darling. You put your finger neatly on the spot. The moral is that I have been where you are. I know your feelings and reactions. The marks on your bodies tell us that you have been hurt. Perhaps more than I ever was. So we are very much even." "But where is the happy ending for us?" Dorinda’s voice held pathos.
"I don’t believe you should think in that view. Live each day only." Thalia sounded as though she could easily have evoked Allah.
Dorinda lifted her handcuffed wrists for all to see. "A slave has no tomorrows.." She let the words hang in the air.
Thalia looked at her parent qeuryingly. He smiled indulgently. "Yes, tell them of how you were once very bad." He turned to Dorinda and Terry. "It is good that you know."
"I have told you of pain. Now I tell you of punishment. They are the same and not the same. A matter of motive and acceptance." She looked at her alert audience and smiled reassuringly. "Would it surprise you to know that my father has had me whipped?"
Thalia laughed again at their startled attention. "I have told you I am a product of two worlds. There is much friction between those worlds. As I went back and forth between Girton and my father’s house I was constantly subject to pressures. The overshadowing one being filial piety. The English were as flip about parents as they are about most things. When I came home for my first holiday I called my father ‘Pater’. He promptly had me caned before both family and servants. I didn’t mention the incident when I got back in school."
"Then I got mixed up in ‘causes’. At sixteen a girl is fertile ground. With my background it’s understandable that ‘Women’s Rights’ should catch my imagination. When I came home and started missionary work on the locals and our staff I was promptly locked up in a nice little stone room we have here for a couple of days of bread and water. However, my zeal had ignited one of the younger female staff. She unlocked the door. I ran away. When I was brought back I was tied to a post in the courtyard and left there for all to see my shame. The next day I was tied there again and very soundly whipped. And the next day… and the next… Each evening I was asked if I saw the error of my ways. You will understand the depth of my involvement when I tell you it took five days before I was able to say that yes, I did see
…"
"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. Had Rabin been that – - -
"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?"