Chapter 8
The Power of the Lash
Abu-Anga appeared in the zariba, or harem enclosure, looking grave and walking slowly and pensively. Fardji the Eunuch ran forward to welcome him; then at a curt word from the Emir, hurriedly retired the way he had come, re-entered the tokul,-the thatched hut of straw, and sent the women about their business, at the same time informing Grace of the master's arrival.
At the entrance he stopped short, his tall form and broad shoulders almost completely blocking up the narrow doorway. Grace crouching on her mat in the same place as before, greeted him with the old, unvarying smile on her lips. Instantly, by the man's measured gait and constrained attitude, cringing and suspicious both at once, she knew he was still under the spell. For some time he stood undecided on the threshold, and nothing could well be more piteously grotesque than his athletic frame thus frozen in a posture so expressive of hesitation and timidity.
Eventually he came forward and sat down in front of her, but looking at her askance, evidently anxious to avoid her fascinating gaze and the domination of her eyes. Presently he spoke, and his hoarse, guttural voice assumed tones of exquisite tenderness:
"How is it with you? Have they carried out my orders? Have you been well treated?"
"Yes!"
"Are you happy?"
"As happy as a captive can be, who has seen her friends all fall around her, massacred by your warriors."
"Nay! forget! ... Begin a new life,-one you can make splendid or wretched at your own good will and pleasure. I am great and powerful; have you never heard speak of Abu-Anga?"
"Yes! Gordon feared you. I know you are a brave man ... and yet you tremble in my presence!"
The Emir looked round him with a scared expression. Then he rose to his feet, breathing heavily, and began walking up and down the hut in extreme agitation.
"Not another word! ... Your silence is scornful, but your words are open insults. Not another word, I say!"
A silence ensued; presently he came up to her again.
"Why this everlasting smile? Is it gladness makes you smile?"
"And you, why do you smile no more? Once, like the Malidi, you smiled unceasingly; your looks were full of kindness. Now you wear a perpetual frown."
The great man made no answer, and she went on:
"Shall I tell you why? ... Because you are afraid!"
He grinned a scornful smile; then in a cold, commanding tone:
"Up, slave! ... Come here, and sit you on my knees."
She obeyed,-the more willingly for a cunning, una-vowed thought that suggested itself to her mind. Already her hand was creeping forward; but he grasped the wrist, his strong hand closing on it as if it would break the joint. She uttered a sharp cry and fell upon her knees. But now her eyes were getting dark and stormy again, the sombre pupil encroaching on the lighter iris. The man's will fainted and failed before their expression, and his hold relaxed. She made another effort to have her way, and administer the disabling, demoralizing caress; but he brushed her arm aside with a rough, rapid gesture.
"Not! I tell you."
"But I want to!"
"Silence! I command you. Did you not understand before? I told you to be silent! ... How dare you speak so to your lord and master? No woman ever showed such insolence before..."
"If you are my master, what hinders you from making yourself obeyed?"
"I cannot tell! truly I cannot tell what ails me ... I want you! You are mine ... I covet you,-as I never yet coveted woman before! You belong to me ... And I dare not have you! Once upon a time ... when a woman pleased me, I took her and had her. What easier? and besides, is it not the law of Nature? The lion mounts his mate, when he feels the rut of love. Sometimes the lioness tries to get away, but the male, by his superior speed and strength, forces her to yield, and soon makes her share his own heat. . . "
"You are as strong and brave as a lion ... And I am only a poor, weak woman!"
"But you have some strange spell in you that destroys my strength,-some weird fascination in your eyes! ... I cannot bear to see them; cover them with this veil! ... No! I will confront them boldly! I love to gaze into their depths; when your eyes were hid, I thought night was come. Now it is broad day, the sun is shining again!. . . Yet they have none of the velvety softness, the languishing pleading of our women's eyes. They are cold as steel, and of the same pale, polished hue ... But they brim over with gentleness and soft seduction ... Yes! you said true,-I am afraid of you, or rather of your compelling eyes!"
"Shall I cover them again?"
"No!"
"Why do you push my hand away?"
"Take care, woman! Else I will have you whipped."
"Now you talk like a master! As you are so proud and masterful, why not deal with me as you did with the women you spoke of just now, who were so ready to fulfill your pleasure?"
"I would have you yield yourself freely and frankly!"
"Nay! you told me so yourself, it would be against the law of Nature. The lion..."
He interrupted her to interject:
"But you are my slave, my concubine..."
"There you see! ... You have every right over me ... to say nothing of your superior strength,-your well-trained, vigorous muscles of a man of war."
He advanced upon her, with fierce, determined looks, his hands open, ready to seize and hold. But the instant he touched her, his weakness returned, and he sunk down; his head resting on his knees, sobbing as if his heart would break. Grace smiled mischievously, and began with her delicate fingers gently caressing his massive neck at the back, slowly swaying her body backwards and forward with a soft, rhythmic movement. Her voice took on a tone of tenderness, as she asked:
"Then you love me true?"
"Yes! yes! I love you, indeed I love you ... It is the pain of loving that makes me weep ... Tell me, what can I do to prove my love?"
"I want you to love me,-to love me well and deeply, better than you do now ... It is my pleasure to give you pain!"
"Have mercy!"
"Not! not now ... Your pain comes not from love, but baulked desire. You have women enough and to spare; why me rather than another?"
"Because it is you I want!"
"Wait, wait ... and you shall see. Delay exasperates desire. I am for keeping unknown delights in store for you ... Only you must wait!"
"I will not wait!"
"Listen to me! Have another woman; have her before my eyes..."
"What! indulge in such debauchery, such odious debauchery at that!. . . If the Master, the Malidi, were to hear of it! He holds such-like refinements in abomination!"
"It you were a common soldier, you might fear his anger. But what has Abu-Anga to dread, Abu-Anga the most valiant of the Emirs, the Malidi's chief mainstay and support?"
"Say no more of this!..."
Some minutes passed, Grace still smiling seductively in his face. Abu-Anga gazed at her; his nostrils began to quiver and his great chest to heave and fall, while from his half shut eyes shot a look of love, an adoring gaze of ardent admiration. At last he stammered:
"You wish it?"
"Yes!"
"So be it then!"
"What woman will you send for?"
"What care I? So it is not you, what matter which it is! Come, help me; do you choose for me!"
"Have Zorah the Nubian. She is strong and tall; her body is like mine."
"Why not a white woman? I would rather have a white woman."
"No! I will not have it!"
"Now you storm! Can it be you are jealous?"
"Perhaps so!"
"What! jealous of a white woman, and not of a negress? You puzzle me ... But, if you are jealous ... it means you love me?"
"You ask to know too much! Call in the Eunuch, and old him bring Zorah to us!"
The Nubian girl manifested no sign of astonishment, but passively satisfied the master's caprice. It was a strange embrace,-the black woman's long slender oody under Abu-Anga's massive bulk, which she enlaced and enfolded in her supple, coiling limbs, while he lay covering Grace's hands with kisses!
The same scene was repeated on many other occasions, sometimes Zorah, sometimes some other woman from the harem being requisitioned as assistant,-always at Graces choosing. Nor was it long before the lawful wife, the head of the household, learned what was going on. She was mad with indignation and remonstrated earnestly with her husband; but Abu-Anga was in no humor to listen to reason, and his whip caressed the shoulders of the angry negress to such purpose that she swore with the most terrific oaths not to betray the secret. A secret,-known to a whole tribe of women, not to mention the chief eunuch Nay! the very look of Abu-Anga's face was enough to arouse suspicion. All his former gaiety and his pleasant smile had quite disappeared; he was morose and seemed to take no interest in anything.
Abdullahi, the Khalif, was the first to notice the change and soon afterwards the Malidi himself questioned the Emir, anxious to discover the reason of his obvious melancholy. Abu-Anga made what excuses he could, attributing his condition to ennui and the dislike he had for a state o: idleness. The Malidi comforted his officer, declaring i hard fighting was what he wanted, he should very soon be satisfied to his heart's content. All his enemies were not vanquished yet; there was many a good blow to be struck yet in the sacred cause.
In fact an alarm had occurred already to disturb the Dervishes' triumph. Two days after the capture of Khartoum, two steamers were signalled on the Nile, to the East of the Island of Tuti. It was the English, the expedition o: rescue so feverishly expected by poor Gordon. They advanced cautiously under half steam, not knowing whether the town was still in Gordon's hands or had been taken by the Dervishes. But very soon the Forts of Omdurman dissipated all doubt by opening fire, while the Dervishes rushed wildly to the river bank. The women were specially excited, brandishing sticks and shouting shrilly, "Mot lil Inglez,"-Death to the English! The two steamers swung round and moved off, soon disappearing in the distance, pursued by the long, luminous trail of the shells.
For the moment the question was the reduction of such tribes as still remained recalcitrant. The whole Sudan was to be brought under and forced to recognize the Malidi's power; then they would see about the conquest of Egypt. Abu-Anga listened to these brave words with a face of delight. The moment there was good hard fighting to be done, he was willing and ready. At the head of his "Dejeadieh," his chosen band of black soldiers, he felt equal to subduing the whole world.
But one thing cut him to heart, the thought of Grace. Before setting out for fresh battles, he longed to possess her. He sighed gloomily.
"What is the reason of your sadness?" inquired the Malidi. "You suffer, like a man tortured by the bile; yet your eyes are clear, your liver healthy ... Come, my son, hide nothing from me. Ask what you will of me, and I will grant it."
"Master!" replied Abu-Anga; "your generosity is without bounds, but there is nothing I desire, no boon I crave."
"Your grief is manifest; what must be done to dissipate it? May be, good advice would help you in your need. Speak then! in the name of God, Almighty and All Merciful, I command you, speak!"
Abu-Anga trembled, but still persisted in his efforts to deceive his chief.
"How can I speak, when I do not know myself the reason for my sadness?"
"No lies! ... Falsehood belongs to women and cowards. Speak! God bids you speak, by my voice!"
The Abu-Anga related simply and straightforwardly the incidents that had befallen in his harem. The Malidi listened to the tale without interruption but with frowning brows; breaking silence at length, he spoke eagerly and emphatically:
"You must needs be one of those that chant our holy prayers mechancially, with wandering wits, and never seek to fathom the meaning of the words they idly repeat.
Remember how the men say, 'Be praised oh! Lord, Thou which hast created me in Thine own image, which hast thought good to make me a man;' whereas the women declare resignedly, 'Be praised oh! Lord, Thou which hast made me according to thy good pleasure!' God in his inscrutable wisdom, his infinite kindness, has decreed woman to be the handmaiden, the slave of man. This is why he has created the female in all respects inferior to the male; her muscles are feeble, and her brain small, she is slow and inept in thought as she is in action. Her part is passive,-to submit; and love, the craving to perpetuate the species, while a stimulus and a delight to the man, is for the woman the primary source of all her sufferings. She suffers at the rupture of her maidenhood, she suffers in childbirth; and motherhood, her chief aim in life, destroys her beauty. Humble and timid before the male, she desires, yet fears, his caresses. She longs for sexual satisfaction, yet her pleasure is never full and complete, unless it is put on her by force. But she has kept all the cunning the serpent taught our first mother Eve; and by her fascinations she endeavours to soften the heart and enervate the vigor of the opposite sex ... Woe to the man that suffers himself to come under the seduction of any, woman's beauty! Better were it for him, if he had never been born! Hell is his inheritance; even in this world he endures already the torments of Gehenna! More artfully than all the Djinns, the demons of Satan, does a woman, that creature of falsehood and cruelty, know how to break and ruin a man's heart! Let a man once declare himself her thrall, and her joy is to make him undergo tortures the most refined."
"But pain is good sometimes!" muttered Abu-Anga. "Pleasure is rekindled by suffering!"
"Oh! my son, what impious words are here! What! is your heart so spiritless-you the brave soldier, the indomitable warrior! Believe me, a woman never forgives the man who has once groveled at her feet. She abhors him; it is tor the tyrant who bullies her she reserves her sweetest caress ... The chalice of a woman's love contains happiness supreme, the only bliss that for a brief moment brings the creature into comparison with his Creator, and gives him a foretaste of the delights the Almighty reserves in Paradise for the Elect. But his bliss must be enjoyed without wasting one thought on the instrument ... If you would pluck a rose, do you fall on your knees and make prayer and supplication to the rose-tree? If you stretch out a timid, hesitating hand, the thorns will tear you; but if only you will pluck the flower boldly, its perfume shall delight your nostrils, and never a scratch hurt you."
"Has she cast a spell upon me, think you, Master?"
"Nay! I think not. But to be sure, my presence is needful. Go, Abu-Anga, return to your harem. If the Englishwoman asks you to have another woman, pretend to consent ... Go, I will be with you anon!"
Abu-Anga left the Malidi's presence, his heart beating high with hope.
"To-day, I wish you have Meryem the Abyssinian; she is stately as a statue and her skin is smooth and red as copper."
Abu-Anga clapped his hands, and gave orders accordingly.
With slow and stately step the Malidi entered the tokul His everlasting smile still on his lips, he addressed the Emir in a tone of fatherly remonstrance, not deigning so much as to notice the presence of the woman:
"What is toward in this harem? We have heard of strange doings; they say that you, Abu-Anga, the gallant warrior, have put your neck beneath the shameful yoke of a slave woman. Is this woman she? ... So it would seem our generosity has proved your undoing? We thought by giving you this woman but to add to your pleasures. What arts has this concubine used to gain the mastery of a man such as you? Can she be a witch? If this be so, she shall
I undergo the doom we have seen fit to pronounce against all casters of spells and makers of amulets; her right hand and left foot shall be cut off."
He spoke slowly, sounding each word separately and distinctly, anxious that Grace should understand all he said. The simple eloquence and savage emphasis that had won him the hearts of his warriors, vibrated in every sentence. Grace, frantic with terror, fixed her wide, tightened eyes on the Malidi, her teeth chattering with apprehension.
Abu-Anga threw himself at the Malidi's feet, humbly kissing the sleeve of his djibbeh,-or Dervishes' frock,-and crying:
"I am the one to blame! She is no witch. Her power comes only from my feebleness!"
"If this be so, she must be taught the power her master wields; she must be humiliated! You shall have her Abu-Anga, here and now,-directly, in my presence. But first her proud spirit must be chastened! Let the Eunuch thrash her!"
Grace lay without a word, her eyes wide with horror; fixed on the Malidi's face. She clasped her hands in sign of supplication, and suddenly throwing herself at his feet, kissed the hem of his robe. But he snatched it from her with a haughty gesture, and pushing Grace from him with his foot, struck his hands together. Fardji entered at the summons.
"Give this woman twenty lashes. Thrash her as they thrash women that are cold and barren."
"Shall I take her away, and chastise her before the other women?"
"No! here, and at once."
So saying the Malidi seated himself on the sheepskin, inviting Abu-Anga to sit beside him. The giant trembled in every limb and great drops of sweat stood out on his forehead. He kept his head down, so as to avoid Grace's eyes. The Eunuch laid hold of the girl, who was now livid, so stunned with terror she actually helped Fardji to take off her clothes, never ceasing all the while to cast imploring glances at Abu-Anga.
It was not till she found herself stark naked that the shame of her nudity before the men struck her, and she made an abortive movement with her hands, which Fardji prevented her from completing. He tied her two wrists together, and laid her across the angareb, or native bedstead, her face outwards. To each foot he attached a thong, taking care to have the legs well stretched asunder.
Then began the punishment. Fardji measured his distance, and the flexible end of the Kourbash, after describing a figure of eight over his head, fell whistling on Grace's loins. She uttered a piercing scream; but already a second blow, answered by a howl of agony, was biting into her posteriors. Unceasing and unremitting the lash descended again and again on the delicate flesh, blow following blow in regular cadence till ten had been administered. The heavy kourbash scarified her buttocks, while the pliant tip kept catching her thighs on the inside, just where the skin is so tender! Grace sobbed and screamed, in hoarse unintermitting cries of pain, now in English, now in Arabic:
"Enough ... enough! ... Stop! I implore you, stop! ... I shall go mad ... You say you love me, Abu-Anga,-and you let them kill me! Show you love me, now ... . Help! help! Save me from this torment, I ask you to save me! ... No! no ... . Don't,-don't for heaven's sake!. . . Oh! I will love you so ... I will kiss you ... such kisses ... Oh! I love you, I do love you..."
But the only answer was the whistle of the kourbash through the air, and the dull thud with which it came down on the victim's flesh. And Grace with groans and incoherent phrases broke by sobs and sighs, breathed out her agony:
"Oh! the pain-oh! the pain!. . . Anything,-I will do anything ... Yes! anything you wish! ... I will, I swear I will ... Mercy! mercy!"
Not a doubt of it, she suffered; but in the midst of the pain, was an incipient sense of voluptuous pleasure. She groaned with anguish, but there was an undercurrent of sexual desire. The blows kindled a strange ardour, and she gasped with a languorous craving as much as from mere pain. She was wild for the embraces of a man,-the strong, vigorous male whose power she was feeling. For him she was ready to lavish all the delights of her flesh, ready and willing to show him every sign of the most abject submission.
The executioner, after a short rest, set himself to his task afresh. First came a sharp stroke on either calf, and Grace shuddered, throwing herself back as far as the play of her bonds allowed. Next the lash, drawn from below upwards, wound round her, its tip reaching as high as her navel, rasping the tender flesh. This was followed by a storm of hoarse inarticulate cries, screams in which the words were no longer distinguishable. But the blows fell regularly and methodically, beating always on the same place, touching up the thighs, the tip striking along the belly up as high as the navel.
Meantime the Malidi examined Abu-Anga with a cold and critical gaze. The colossus, eyes half closed and nostrils quivering, stood as it were fascinated. His whole body was a-tremble, and his clenched fists seemed to announce an instant and savage onslaught. The malidi made a sign to the Eunuch, who unbound the woman and left the hut. Then with the word "Now!" he pushed Abu-Anga towards Grace.
With a roar like a wild beast, the Negro threw himself on the white woman, straining her in his arms as if he would stifle her, and kissing her frantically. Now she returned his kisses. Their savor seemed no longer sour; her nostrils quivered as they drank in the odor of the male. The smell of negro seemed a heady perfume, strong and delicious.
Abu-Anga enfolded her in his stalwart and passionate embrace, and the shock of his flesh against her tortured body, all swollen under the lash, appeared to Grace a torture of ineffable delight. She gave herself to her lover in wild pangs of frenzied voluptuousness.