Mind Games

       CHAPTER 9:  Awakenings

       For days Mariah drifted in and out of consciousness.  When she awoke she would feel the pain, and then, somehow, blessed relief as the clouds surrounded her limbs.  There was a sound that could have been the wind in the trees outside the wall, or could have been the low murmuring of voices.  Sometimes, on the edge of awareness, she could hear the breeze whispering to her, "Strength.  Life.  Courage." 

       Once she woke up.  A master she did not know was sitting on the edge of her sleeping ledge.  He held her left hand.  It seemed his voice was the breeze, for he was saying those words.  Then she slept again. 

       The next time she awoke he was holding her hand again, or still.  But this time he was sitting on the floor next to her sleeping ledge, his head bowed against his chest, breathing deeply, only his arm reaching onto her sleeping ledge to hold her hand.  His hair was so black it was almost blue, and curly and shiny.  On an irresistible impulse, she took her hand from his and smoothed down his hair.  It was soft to touch, like the leaf of a violet. 

       Reluctantly she drew her hand away.  He awakened with a start and turned to her, a haggard, embarrassed smile beginning on his lips. "Hey, there," he said softly, with the voice of the breeze.

       She froze, chilled to her core.  On the path, leading the horse, the stranger.  It was this master who had assured her he was not playing a mindgame, and, what was worse, who she had believed.  She shut her eyes and wished they had carried out their promise to kill her, no matter how slowly, in the fields.

       "Mariah, I'll never hurt you,"  Gabriel said.  "You're safe now."  His voice was soft but gravelly with sleep. He took her hand again and she involuntarily drew it back.  She concentrated on keeping her eyes shut, although the tears that could not fall made them sting.   

       Gabriel stood up clumsily, his limbs stiff. "You need to rest," he said at length.  "We'll talk later."  Mariah heard him leave the room and quietly close the door behind him.  For a minute or more she kept her eyes closed, fearing a trick. Hearing no noise in the room, she opened her eyes and looked around.  The master had indeed left her alone.

       The tears overflowed her eyes and she lifted her hands to wipe her face, then gasped as sudden pain shattered her right elbow, spreading through her arm.  She dropped her hands and concentrated on breathing through the pain.  At length it subsided sufficiently for Mariah to hear her own thoughts.

       Looking around, she recognized that the room was a small bedroom of an outer courtyard suite.  The window looked out on the Great Lawn.  Mariah realized with a start that she was not on a sleeping ledge but in an actual bed, alone.  The room had only the standard furniture, a bureau, a small bedside table, a wooden chair.  A pitcher of water and a glass stood on the bedside table, water droplets on its outside.  On top of the bureau she spied some bottles and what appeared to be dried leaves.

       These mysteries would be solved or not, Mariah told herself, but they were not important.  What mattered was that she was alive.  In the middle of a mindgame, true, but alive nevertheless.  The slave woman Rolanda's words echoed in her head.  Mariah had been outside the gates.  She had been free.  The thought of it made her heart pound fiercely.  And she had one thing that had been taken from Rolanda: her life.  Mariah now needed to gather her strength and to overcome whatever mindgame this new master was playing.  Then, she would figure out how to be free again.  She slept.

******

       

       The corn was well-grown.  It was late afternoon in the season when the daylight was short.  Mariah was carefully choosing the properly ripe ears and laying them in her basket.  She was towards the end of a row and deciding about a particular ear, fat but not full grown, when the bell clanged.  She started at the unexpected sound and stood for a moment, unsure whether to bring with her the corn in her basket.  With no time to dawdle, she plucked the ear she had been considering and lifted her basket, leaving it at the end of the row. 

       A few rows to her left Samson also placed his basket down.  He was newer to the cohort than she and reminded her of her brother, left behind when she had been brought to the whelping corridor.  She kept an eye on him when she could.  She silently indicated with a nod that he should walk with her and he trotted over, his sandy hair falling in his eyes.  "What is it?" he said in a stage whisper.  "Why is Master ringing the bell now?  It's so early." 

       Mariah shushed him and led him by the hand down the next row.  "I don't know," she said in a considerably softer voice. 

"Let's hurry." 

       They ran to the circle of lean-tos near the road as the cohort slaves appeared from all directions.  In the center of the circle was a slave woman, full grown.  Her hair was dark with mud, and tangled and over her face.  For a moment Mariah thought the slave woman was flying, like a witch, but then she saw that her legs dangled down like a scarecrow's over a vertical wooden pole that was dug into the ground, wide at the bottom and narrowing as it went up.  With a gasp Mariah saw that the pole went into the slave woman's naughty place.  Her arms were stretched out lengthwise over another pole which was attached near her hands to two other poles which also led to the ground.  Her entire body from her neck to her ankles was covered with fresh whipmarks.  There was silence as all the cornfield slaves took in the horror of the sight.

       The woman slave moaned weakly and shook her head, vainly trying to get her hair out of her eyes.  Mariah's own eyes welled up with tears at the sight.  At her side Samson grasped her hand tightly, clinging on to it.

       As if on cue, Master Timon stepped out of the shadows of one of the lean-tos with a mistress who was a stranger.  They approached the slave woman and then turned and faced the cohort. 

       The strange mistress spoke.  She was about the same age as the slave woman, but tall and imperious, her blond hair pulled back in a neat braid, her body muscular under her knee length green tunic.  "This cunt's name was once Rolanda."  The mistress's voice was as proud and strong as her body.  She looked at each slave in turn as she spoke.  "I gave her that name, the same name I have given to each cunt who has been privileged to serve me.  Now she has no name."  Her voice dropped.  "You are all young and do not know what is to become of you, and I am not allowed to speak of it.  But I will tell you that some of you, if you are found worthy, will serve masters and mistresses.  The work is easy and good, and your master or mistress will love you, and you will love them."

       Mariah grasped hungrily at this bit of information.  On a clear day, when her work brought her to the top of the hillock, she could see the mansion.  She knew she would be going there soon but had never been told what would await her, aside from whispered tales at night that were just the nonsense of the ignorant.

       The mistress continued.  "Rolanda was found worthy, and she served me, and I loved her.  But Rolanda was deceitful.  She pretended to love me but she did not."  The mistress looked at them with glittering blue eyes.  "One day I took Rolanda on an outing, to a peaceful place by a river.  I did this for Rolanda because I loved her.  This place was also near the outer gates of Riviera.  I did not worry about this because I believed that Rolanda loved me.  But she did not!  When I rested Rolanda ran away.  She ran past the outer gates of Riviera and tried to escape." 

       Outside.  Some of the tales talked about outside.  There really was such a place, then. Riviera had a boundary just like her cohort's acres had a boundary.

       The mistress continued.  "Of course she was caught immediately.  No slave has ever escaped Riviera and no slave ever will."  Amusement sounded in her voice.  "But Rolanda lost her name, and she will also lose her life.  Not kindly, in the service of Riviera, but slowly, as an example to all of you, so that when you are grown, if you are ever tempted to disobey, for even a moment, you will remember the fate that will await you."   

       The mistress turned and touched her lips to the bound slave woman's lips, pressing them for a moment.  Mariah felt a strange tingling sensation as if she had to relieve herself.  The mistress's tongue flicked out and touched the corner of the slave girl's mouth.  The slave girl whimpered slightly, and weakly shook her head.   The mistress pulled back, and grasped the whip that was attached to the waist of her tunic. 

       The whip was light, lighter than the one Master Timon used. But as the mistress brought it down across the slave woman's stomach, it drew blood as it crossed the fresh wounds of the recent whipmarks.  At the very first blow the slave let out a half moan, half scream. 

       The second stroke of the whip landed directly on the slave woman's left breast, curling around it.  This time the slave shivered, and as she did so her body slid a fraction of the inch down the pole that was inserted into her sex.  This in turn caused her to wriggle again, moaning uncontrollably.

       Mariah watched with her cohort, horror struck. She knew that if she looked away she would certainly be punished. The mistress brought down the whip a third time, this time on the Rolanda’s behind.  She jerked forward, again sliding down the pole in her, and then jerking backwards as rapidly.  Tears streamed down her face and she made incoherent sounds.  The mistress paid no heed, but aimed the whip at the top of the slave's legs and struck her there, again, again, and again.  "Please," the slave begged hoarsely.  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry."  This seemed only to enrage the mistress.  Her arm was a blur of action as the whip struck the slave, front, back, up, and down. 

       At last, worn out, the mistress paused and looked at the cohort slaves one by one.  When her eyes rested on Mariah, for a reason Mariah could not explain she blushed.  A smile played on the mistress's lips.  "This slave will be taken from one field to another and whipped until she finally dies," her voice rang out, breathless from her exertion.  "This is the fate that awaits each of you if you fail to obey."  The mistress turned then to Master Timon and said, not so softly that Mariah could not hear her, "She needs to be fed and watered.  May I?"  She tilted her head coquettishly.  Master Timon responded with a slow smile, "Surely. Pick any one you want."

       Premonition came to Mariah like a cold shadow.  She pried her hand away from Samson's despite his silent protest.  As if in a dream the mistress turned to her and beckoned.  Mariah dropped to her hands and knees and crawled towards the mistress, purposefully banging her knees on the ground to distract herself from her fear.  She stopped at the mistress's feet and touched her forehead to the ground.  She heard Master Timon dismiss the other slaves and saw them scuttle away towards the fields. 

       "Kneel up," the mistress commanded, and Mariah obeyed, humbly keeping her eyes down.  The mistress placed two fingers under Mariah's chin, forcing her to look her in the eye.

The mistress watched her dispassionately for a moment.  At length she said, "You are well grown.  You will be leaving the fields soon."  Mariah tried to look as humble as she could.  No answer was required or expected from her.  The mistress turned Mariah's head to the right and then to the left, looking her over critically.  Then she dropped her fingers from Mariah's chin.  "Look at that slave," she commanded.  Mariah obediently looked over to the slave who had been called Rolanda, fainting and held up by the poles.  The mistress contemplated her as well.  "She will be put to death for her disobedience and deceit," the mistress said, and there was something that sounded akin to sorrow in her voice.  "But her death will be by pain, not thirst and hunger.  Bring her water, and feed her."  When Mariah remained, unsure of the mistress's command, the mistress grasped at her whip handle.  "Go now," she said.  "I have no time for games." 

       Mariah touched her forehead to the ground.  "You honor me, mistress," she said automatically, and crawled away as quickly as she could to obtain water and gruel.  She heard Master Timon exchange low, laughing words with the mistress and the two of them slipped off together to his workday cabin.  When Mariah returned to Rolanda with the food and gruel, she was alone with her. 

       Rolanda appeared to be unconscious still.  With a quick glance around Mariah stood up and gingerly wiped the hair off Rolanda' face, as the slave woman had been trying to do by shaking her head when Mariah first saw her.  She had no cloth so Mariah dipped her hand in the bowl of water she had brought and wiped Rolanda' face with it.  Rolanda came to with a start, again sinking down on the pole in her sex and bouncing back up again.  She looked around for a moment, wild eyed.

       "Shsh," Mariah said in a low, soothing voice she might use with Samson or one of the other younger slaves.  "We're alone.  I have brought you food and water."

       Rolanda squinted her eyes shut for a moment and then opened them, focusing on Mariah.  "Water," she said, in a low, ragged voice.  Mariah brought the water dipper to the slave woman's mouth and poured slowly.  Rolanda swished it around in her mouth and spit it out, splashing Mariah's feet.  Mariah jumped back involuntarily.  A sound came from Rolanda mouth like laughter or grunting.  Mariah lifted the dipper again and Rolanda took a long drink.  Rolanda looked at Mariah again, then.  Echoing her mistress, Rolanda said, "You are well-grown.  You'll be leaving the fields soon."  Mariah nodded but did not reply.  She lifted the bowl of gruel she had brought and spoon fed the slave woman, one bite and then two.  Then Rolanda clamped her mouth shut and refused to be fed.  When Mariah lowered the spoon Rolanda said,  "No more of this slop."  Mariah's eyes widened at the slave woman's defiance.  Rolanda laughed again.  "You eat it," she said.  "No one will know that you haven’t obeyed."  Mariah looked at her fearfully.  "Go on," Rolanda urged her.  "This isn't a mindgame.  You eat."

       "No," Mariah said.  "You need to eat.  You need your strength." 

       Rolanda laughed again, harshly and quietly.  "You're sweet," she said in a ragged voice, "But aren't you paying attention?"  She stopped for breath and continued, "I'll be dead soon, and better sooner than later.  Look at me--fucked to death by a pole!" 

       Mariah looked at her blankly.  Rolanda snorted and then coughed weakly.  "Of course, you don't know what fucking is yet, do you?"  Mariah shook her head.

       "Eat the gruel," Rolanda said.  "And I'll give you some advice."

       Mariah looked around.  It was that part of dusk when it is difficult to distinguish shadows from reality.  Master Timon and Rolanda' mistress were in his cabin.  The other slaves would be emptying their baskets into the waiting wagons.  Mariah moved closer to Rolanda and quietly began to spoon the gruel into her own mouth.

       "Listen to me closely," Rolanda whispered.  "This will help you to survive. Your whole life," and with her head she managed to indicate all that surrounded them, "everything you have been taught, it is all a mindgame! Every word!  But remember, the only way to get through a mindgame is to play it to the end.

       "Soon they'll take you from here, to the factory.  Don't believe a word of what they tell you, not one of them.  They will try to take you from one mindgame to another.  They'll make your body betray you, and tell you it is proof that you deserve to be a slave.  It's not true.  It's not!"   The slave began to sputter and cough.

       Mariah gave her more water from the dipper.  "You don't understand what I'm saying, do you?"  Rolanda asked, and she seemed not to see Mariah.  "It doesn't matter.  Just remember!  They all lie.  None of them care for you.  None of them love you."  Rolanda was weeping now.  "I was outside the gates for an hour, maybe two.  She tries to tell me it never happened, but I remember.  For two hours I was free!  It was glorious!  I wish I could live, for the hope of another chance.  But I will die in peace.  Two hours of freedom."  Rolanda's voice trailed off, and Mariah knew she could not see her; but what vision Rolanda was having Mariah could not comprehend.  Gently she again brushed the hair of Rolanda's face and did what she could to bathe some of the dirt out of her wounds.  Rolanda merely muttered.  "Two hours.  I know it happened.  Two hours."