Anthropology

Postscript

Karen was surprised at herself – she would never have though that she would give herself up to her circumstances in the way that she now felt she must. As she lay on the couch watching the others, her mouth filled with the gag, her limbs heavy from the chains about her wrists and ankles she found it almost impossible to think straight. It was as if the culmination of all the experiences, of all the sensations of the last few weeks, had completely swamped her judgement, her ability to decide, her sense of self.

She tried to bring herself back to thinking about the situation as she would back in the university, positioning the various aspects of Kushtian culture into the framework she had built up over her years of study, how the men sought to maintain their position relative to the women in their culture, and how they tried to do the same one to another. She thought about the way in which the dynamics of the household seemed to have evolved to both reinforce the position of the men and to protect the women. The more she tried to analyse the cultural experience of being Kushtian, the more she found herself falling back into luxuriating in the sensation of the fine silks against her flesh, the comfort of the padding on the couch, the play of light as it bounced and shimmered on the golden and jewelled lanterns that hung from the ceiling, the sweet, hypnotic, perfume of the incense that wafted through the Seragla.

That was something new, she thought, I didn’t notice it earlier. The thick, musky scent hung in the air, wafting from burners at each corner of the concubine’s hall. The scent seemed to capture the essence of being in the Seragla; luxuriant, calming, almost soporific. The more that the incense bathed her senses, the more relaxed and quiescent she felt and, as she lay back on the couch, she drank in the feeling of tranquillity and the dreamy patterns that her mind conjured as she sank into a rapturous slumber, stretched out in the grasp of her shackles. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, was a memory of how sweet incense was often used in Kushitian Seraglas but its purpose and nature were lost to her.  

Unnoticed by Karen through the haze of incense fumes, above the hall, on the gallery that overlooked, it a small group was deep in conversation.

Kolani Kustanki looked across the hall, the blue incense smoke hung like a Kushtian veil across all beneath it. He turned to his overseer. “I see that you are burning hunashif in the hall tonight.”

“Yes, Excellency. Its vapours have a soothing effect. It spreads calm for your concubines, Excellency. After the difficulties of recent times I felt that a little hunashif would help restore the sense of well being that your Excellency values so highly in those in his service. We have been short of it until now. The harvest last year was so poor but, this year, excellent! We can return to using it regularly.”

“That is good,” Kustanki responded. “It will help our new guests to become more quickly accustomed to our ways, I am sure.”

“Indeed, Excellency,” the overseer responded. “The American woman seems to be most affected. The hunashif seems to have freed her of her drive to return to her past. She finds herself becoming increasingly given over to the ways of the Seragla.”

“Good, good,” said Kustanki. “In which case she will enjoy what I have in mind for her tonight. My new wife to be has been something of a trial today,” he turned to Alana who was standing silently beside him. “Show my good friend here how difficult you have been,” he said.

Alana gave a guttural growl that demonstrated the effectiveness of the moaungf that she evidently wore beneath her veil. Kustanki ignored her protests gripped her by the arm and span her around and tore her gown open so that the overseer could see her back.

The overseer looked closely at the criss-cross pattern of welts that Kustanki had evidently given her for some infraction or other. Kustanki knew of course the shame that Alana would feel being exhibited in this way to one of the household servants. He carefully explained how each blow had been applied and how each was contributing to the correction of Alana’s many faults. “So,” he concluded, “I fear my new wife to be will spend tonight recovering from her punishments. Please have the small hanging cage set up in my rooms, whatever her misdemeanours she should not be apart from her husband before her wedding. She will be confined there but at least she will be with me.”

“Very good, Excellency,” the overseer agreed. It would not take long. The cage was small but it was still heavy with thick bars as though built for some small but extremely powerful bird. It hung from a frame that could be moved on its own wheels, there would be no difficulty in setting it up in Kustanki’s rooms.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Kustanki said. “A man should have the comforts of a woman before his wedding, even if he cannot have them from his wife. Bring the American woman to me. I believe that an evening enjoying the delights of her flesh, abandoned as she is to the hunashif, will bring great fulfilment.”

“Of course, Excellency,” the overseer replied. “I am sure she will be ready to delight you.” He looked down into the hall to where Karen was stretching out on her couch. The hunashif seemed effective. She would be happy to be led to his Excellency's bed chamber tonight.

     

THE END

© 2007 Freddie Clegg

All characters fictitious.

Dr Armstrong also features briefly in Freddie’s story “Market Forces” available here.

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