One of the fellows from the house walked over to me. “Put your knees down,” he said.
Immediately I complied. He then kicked one of my ankles to the side, so that I lay with my legs open.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
He who was apparently the leader of the strangers came and stood near me.
I looked up, but then looked away, quickly. I dared not meet his eyes.
He stepped away from me.
I moaned, a little.
“Are you interested?” asked the one who was first of those present, of the house.
“We will take her,” said the leader of those not from the house.
7
I did not break position.
I had not received permission to do so.
I continued to kneel before him, on the lavender grass, my head down to the grass, my palms upon it, as well.
The position is a common one, of obeisance.
I could hear some birds, among the trees. I could hear, a few yards away, the fountain.
I sensed that his eyes were upon me.
I was in the light silk. It was extremely brief, and was, for most practical purposes, diaphanous. Certainly it left little doubt as to my lineaments.
I knelt before him, in an attitude suitable for one such as I before one such as he, a male, that of obeisance.
I did not know who he might be, or what he might want.
Too, had he seen me near the wall?
“It is the rest period,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
I had heard voices from within the house but I had thought them the voices of the one who was first amongst us and the assistants of that one. Some of us, in a place such as this, are usually subject to others of us. I was surprised, and frightened, when I had heard the voices, for it was unusual to hear such during the rest period. The rest period, I knew, was not over, or should not yet be over. If I had thought it even close to the time for the rest period to be over, I would not, of course, have been in the vicinity of the wall. That is, you see, not permitted.
“Why are you not on your mat?” he asked.
“I was not tired,” I said.
“You wanted to walk in the garden?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It is the heat of the day,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why were you not in the shade?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“One such as you must be careful,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. I did not fully understand him. I was frightened.
“You should guard your complexion,” he said.
“Yes!” I agreed, relieved.
“It would not do to become sunburned, to become reddened, or blistered.”
“No,” I said.
“Or worse,” he said.
“No,” I said, trembling.
How was it that he was here, a man, now? Who was he?
“You might then be less pleasing,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“You are new in the garden,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. How could he have known that? I was sure he was not of the staff. Certainly I did not recognize his voice.
Could I be of interest to him?
Other, of course, than in the way in which one of my kind might be found of interest by any man?
“Position,” he said.
So said, so simply, I straightened my back, and knelt up, straight, but back on my heels, my knees widely spread, for this was in accord with my kind within a kind, the palms of my hands on my thighs. I kept my head bowed, however. This sort of thing, I had learned, tends to depend on the city, and the man. It is safest to keep it bowed, unless one knows that it is to be held otherwise.
“You may lift your head,” he said.
No, I did not know him. I did not recognize him. He was a strong, powerful man, of which here, in this place, on this world, there seemed no dearth. He was tall. He wore a street tunic, a fillet of wool holding back long, dark hair, a wallet. He did not appear to be armed. I was small, and soft, before him. I did not doubt but he, as one of his kind, would well know the handling of one such as I, one of my kind.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I have had many names,” I said. It was true. A name for the purposes of training, a name for the purpose of kennels, and so on.
“You have an accent,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“What are you called in the gardens?” he asked.
“Gail,” I said.
He smiled. “An excellent name,” he said.
I put down my head, but raised it again, remembering that I had been given permission to lift it, a permission which suggested that it might be well to keep it lifted, unless otherwise instructed. Still, he had not commanded me to meet his eyes. Accordingly, gratefully, I tended to keep my eyes averted from his. It can be difficult for one such as I to meet the gaze of such a man.
“For one such as you,” he added. I was silent.
“That is an Earth name,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
He then was aware of at least a portion of what is called the “second knowledge.” He might, thustly, be of high caste.
“You were originally from such a place?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“But now you are only from here, aren’t you?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. It seemed that nothing could be more true than that.
He drew a sheet of paper from his wallet. On it was a design, or a world, or name.
“Can you read this?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
I was illiterate on this world. I had not been taught to read or write any of its languages. Such skills were not deemed needful for one such as I.
He turned the paper over.
“Do you recognize this sign?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “It is the sign of the city.” It was a simple mark. I had seen it before, even within the house, on documents and such.
My mind raced. I did not know what, really, I was doing here, in the garden, or why I had been brought here. To be sure, perhaps I had been brought here, really, no differently from others, nor for purposes essentially different from theirs. That was possible. But I was not sure of it. The ‘flowers’ here were of astounding quality and I was not at all sure that I, even given the fact that I might be of interest, even of remarkable interest, on this world, really belonged among them, at least on purely aesthetic grounds. Similarly I was not versed in song, I was not skilled with lute or lyre, I did not even know the special dances of the gardens. It is one thing to writhe naked before guards, one’s body obedient to the slightest tremor of the flute, and quite another, for example, to swirl in a belt of jewels on the dancing floor of one of the golden taverns, reached only from the high bridges. But then, perhaps, they are not really so different after all. But, in any event, I had not had special training, or, at least, no training more special than any one such as I would have, who is not intended to be, and sold as, a dancer.
Why should he be asking me these things?
Of course I could not read! Could he not simply look upon my lineaments, and my silk, and know that? Of course some of the flowers could read. That was true. But I could not! Would he not know that? Of course I could recognize that one sign. Was it not well known?
What did he want?
He returned the sheet of paoper to his wallet.
I looked up at him. I wanted to read his eyes.
“Have you been near the wall?” he asked, offhandedly.
I must have turned white.
I was now sure that he had seen! He must not tell. He must not tell!
“Brand,” he said, idly.
I knelt up, from my heels, and, still kneeling, turned to my right. I drew up the silk on my left side, with the fingers of both hands, to the waist, as one does, this exposing the tiny, graceful mark there, high on my left thigh, just under the hip.
“A lovely flank,” he remarked.
Many times before had I received such compliments. My flanks, I had gathered, were of interest to men, and other portions of my body, as well, and the whole, the whole.
But then I sensed it was the brand he was regarding.
“Yes,” he said, looking at it.
But surely it could mean nothing to him. It was, as I understood it, in its variations, the most common mark on this world for one such as I. It was only the common mark, nothing special, or different.