"I am first of all a Communist. Communism offers the only hope to the South Vietnamese. And the end justifies the means!"
“Communism offers them pipe dreams and more poverty, you mean,” I told him. “And the means, as usual, perverts the end. Think that over, sonny-boy.”
His face reddened at the insult to his youth. "That will be enough of dialectics, Mr. Victor." He spat the words out at me. "Just remember that you are my prisoner. I have the means, and your end is strictly up to me."
He had me there. I shut up.
Mustafa Ben Narouz turned his attention to Samantha. “You can't be very comfortable here my dear," he said unctuously. “Are you sure you wouldn't like to reconsider and join me in my cabin?"
“I'm sure!" she told him shortly.
“Sooner or later, you will have to make your peace with me."
“If you mean go to bed with you, I'll never do so willingly. The only way you'll ever make love to me is if you rape me!"
“I have considered that possibility. It could be very painful, you know."
“Then don't do it."
“I won't, if you will only change your attitude.” He put his arms around her and tried to kiss her. Then he sprang back with a curse. Samantha must have bit him hard. His lower lip was bleeding freely. "Bitch!" he cursed again. He reached out with one hand and slapped her face back and forth with great force.
I jumped up and started for him. Two things stopped me: the gun pointed at my belly; and the wolfhound’s fangs at my throat.
“Hold, Kai!" Mustafa’s voice stopped those canine tusks from closing over my jugular. “Don’t interfere again, Mr. Victor. Kai has been trained to kill anyone who tries to attack me.”
“Big man!" I said bitterly. “Slapping a helpless girl around!"
Ben Narouz ignored me. Samantha crouched aways from him, trying to stop sobbing. Anna Kirkov stirred slightly and moaned in her sleep. It was the first sound she'd made.
The Egyptian glanced down at Anna. His face filled with a sadistic excitement; he’d been struck by a cruel idea. “So you will not change your mind!" He almost purred the words at Samantha.
She shook her head. It was easy to see that his expression frightened her even more than his slaps had.
“You talk of rape, but you have no real conception of it," he told her. “I shall have a demonstration put on for your edification. When it is over, perhaps you will change your mind about receiving my attentions willingly."
He disappeared up the ladder for a few moments. When he returned, four of the Chinese sailors came down behind him. He spouted some orders at them in Chinese and they converged on Samantha, and then me.
They trussed us up expertly and then set us side by side across the hold from Anna Kirkov. Mustafa spoke again and the faces of the sailors broke into hungry srnirks. They started for Anna Kirkov as his last two words still hung in the stale air.
I recognized those two words. They weren't Chinese. They were Japanese. “Enza-bobo!” Words of terror from the Japanese occupation of China during the second world war. Enza-bobo! The horror of Chinese women; the shame of Chinese men. But a shame mixed with envy, for when the Red Chinese picked up where the Japanese had left off, enza-bobo became as common a sport with them as it had been with the invaders. And the Japanese words became a part of the Chinese language. Enza-bobo! Translation: “rotation rape"!
Samantha and I watched, tied up and helpless, as one of the sailors stooped over Anna Kirkov and slapped her face until the eyes flickered open to a sort of semi-awareness. Mustafa Ben Narouz issued another order and a large jug, gurgling, with a tube leading from it and a pipe on the end of the tube, was brought. I recognized the water-pipe apparatus used by opium smokers in Chinese joss houses. Anna's eyes grew bright and her hands trembled as she grabbed for the stem and thrust it in her mouth. She took deep, sucking breaths; it was like an asthmatic inhaling life-giving oxygen, the gasps of the newly- and truly-hooked.
A little color came into her face. The trembling stopped and her eyes became serene. Her body grew visibly limp as she continued sucking like a baby with a pacifier. Finally, they took it away from her. She protested automatically, but she was too far gone to let even this disturb the cloud of tranquility upon which she now floated.
Anna remained passive as the Chinese sailors stripped off her clothes. They talked among themselves as they undressed her. I caught the Chinese phrase,“a-fu-yung” and realized that it meant that the opium was about to be spiked, for the benefit of the men, with an aphrodisiac. They passed the pipe among themselves and the a-fu-yung mixture soon had them tearing off their own clothes and displaying its visible effects.
What followed was a scene right out of the Chin P’ing Mei (The Golden Lotus) of Wang Shih-Cheng. Turning Anna over on her stomach, they spreadeagled her legs and tied the ankles to the ladder and to a pipe running up the hold a few feet from the ladder. They tied her ankles high enough so that she was forced to support her weight on her hands and knees and her nude body was squeezed into a crouch. Like a beast of the field, the first man mounted her for a violent session of what Porphyry, the hero of The Golden Lotus, expounds upon as the joys of "back-door blossom beating."
The four Chinese men followed one another with not one of them attempting so much as a stab at the more “normal” target. The reason for this, I recalled, is summed up repeatedly in Islamic folklore by the sneer of Arab females at "the narrowness of China." Scientifically, there is more accuracy in this insult than in the popular Westem misconception which asks “Is it true what they say about Chinese women?" with a wink which implies that the slant of the eyes is paralleled by the angle of the feminine orifice.
That question is a canard, but observable differences, both male and female, do exist. The organ of the Chinese male is far more slender than that of other men around the world. Fortunately for him, the Chinese female is noteworthy for her vaginal tightness. At that, he's better off than the Japanese male, whose member is not only thin, but ranks among the shortest in the world under the most aroused circumstances. He too is fortunate, for the Japanese female is small in all ways.
The under-endowment of Orientals has had two results. First, in the best observable example of the workings of the inferiority complex, all of their sculpture and art back to ancient times stresses the sex organs and portrays them in Herculean proportions to the rest of the body. Thus Chinese and Japanese art is the world's most forthright expression of wishful thinking. Second, it has made Oriental men a laughing stock among the prostitutes of the East and many of them refuse to serve the Orientals no matter what the bonus offered.
To compensate for this, when making love to non-Oriental women, the Oriental man has come to prefer “back-door blossom beating" to normal intercourse. In many parts of China, this has led the men to a preference for homosexuality. The reason for this, as Wang Shib-Cheng explains, is that “as with horseback riding, when the lover is in the saddle, he prefers the sort of livery which affords a pommel to be gripped throughout the ride."
Now, the four Chinese sailors were making do without such a “pommel." They assaulted Anna repeatedly and, although she didn't protest, I judged that their fierce and repeated attacks must have been quite painful. Under the influence of a-fu-yung, their lust was insatiable. However, they soon embarked on a new variation which demonstrated yet another Japanese trick learned from their erstwhile conquerors.