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Meggi
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32
Revenge
She lay completely still. It was almost dark; only a single oil lamp cast its feeble glow through the room. She was cold, even though it was a very warm evening. The women had just left, and a half-dozen mutilated servants had carried the large tub away. In the air and on her skin lingered a slightly soapy scent of roses and saffron, which could have been delightful. Her body had been thoroughly washed, shaved, anointed, and perfumed. What a ridiculousness that she was cleaned just to be soiled again right after.
For he would come to her again today: she had only been in the palace for a few days. As long as his ardor lasted, he came every evening to his latest wife, it was said. Until he wanted the next one and discarded the previous one among the others.
Most families that received the message - rather the command - from the Sultan to give him their daughter in marriage bowed down, perhaps feeling it was an honor. But not all; and her kin, led by her mother, had not complied. A brave, strong woman who had known what awaited her daughter and had wanted to spare her such a fate. Especially since a wedding with a lover was imminent. It had done no good, but a family and this time even a fiancé had been accused of a despicable offense, and for their resistance had to pay with their lives.
It was hard to believe that as a little girl she had envied the women of the Sultan. For the lavish, days-long wedding celebrations, for example. Or when a palanquin glided through the streets as if it had floated out of a fairy tale, surrounded by an incomprehensible fragrance of rose petals and gentle spices. She had imagined being cared for by dozens of willing hands. There had been no golden cage or groping fingers in her childish thoughts.
He would have bathed as well, would be perfumed with the scent of fiery spices, which nevertheless could not conceal his true filth. He never wasted much time. He would throw off his garment, pull down her blanket, and roughly knead her breasts for a moment. Then he would push his powerful belly against her and shove her legs aside. If they did not obey immediately, clumsy hands would help with brute force, and he would take possession of her. Well, he would believe he was taking possession of her, as only such a man might think. But he would never possess her; her innermost self remained hers.
After each time, she had to think of her lover with tears of pain and sorrow in her eyes and of the only secret time when he had been able to come to her. As clueless as they had been, as awkward the hands of young people must have been, they had touched each other so tenderly and sensitively, so lovingly, later passionately and impetuously. She had willingly let him in - what could happen, just a few days before the wedding? It had been unexpected, a little frightening. And wonderful. Quickly, their kisses had to stifle the sounds of both.
She shuddered and pulled the thin blanket tighter around herself at the thought of what nightmare it had now become. And she could count herself lucky that the Sultan had not noticed that he was by no means the first. The days and nights since the pompous wedding had passed like behind a veil of dull horror. But the day before yesterday morning, she had woken up with a completely clear mind and had known what to do.
After a short time above her, he would start grunting like one of the wild boars from the forests. The smell of his sweat would invade her nose. And although it would be the mild, fresh scent of an outwardly clean body, she would feel covered in animalistic stench when the little streams sprang from his sides and his heated belly and laid a slippery film over her body. Then, all of a sudden, it would be over. Almost.
She had thought everything through carefully. With two fingers of her right hand, she would feel for the right ribs beneath the leathery bulges on his back. Yesterday she had tried it; with some pressure, it worked. He would take her firm grip for the excitement that the other women had advised her to feign, and would grin foolishly and self-satisfied. He truly believed he was providing pleasure! As soon as he lay exhausted on her, she could take the stolen knife from the kitchen - it was already under the pillow - and stab it through his heart from behind her fingers. And when she had rolled him off her, it would graciously take her own life as well.
The door opened, and a beam of light fell into the room. A moment later, a shapeless silhouette darkened the light.
For he would come to her again today: she had only been in the palace for a few days. As long as his ardor lasted, he came every evening to his latest wife, it was said. Until he wanted the next one and discarded the previous one among the others.
Most families that received the message - rather the command - from the Sultan to give him their daughter in marriage bowed down, perhaps feeling it was an honor. But not all; and her kin, led by her mother, had not complied. A brave, strong woman who had known what awaited her daughter and had wanted to spare her such a fate. Especially since a wedding with a lover was imminent. It had done no good, but a family and this time even a fiancé had been accused of a despicable offense, and for their resistance had to pay with their lives.
It was hard to believe that as a little girl she had envied the women of the Sultan. For the lavish, days-long wedding celebrations, for example. Or when a palanquin glided through the streets as if it had floated out of a fairy tale, surrounded by an incomprehensible fragrance of rose petals and gentle spices. She had imagined being cared for by dozens of willing hands. There had been no golden cage or groping fingers in her childish thoughts.
He would have bathed as well, would be perfumed with the scent of fiery spices, which nevertheless could not conceal his true filth. He never wasted much time. He would throw off his garment, pull down her blanket, and roughly knead her breasts for a moment. Then he would push his powerful belly against her and shove her legs aside. If they did not obey immediately, clumsy hands would help with brute force, and he would take possession of her. Well, he would believe he was taking possession of her, as only such a man might think. But he would never possess her; her innermost self remained hers.
After each time, she had to think of her lover with tears of pain and sorrow in her eyes and of the only secret time when he had been able to come to her. As clueless as they had been, as awkward the hands of young people must have been, they had touched each other so tenderly and sensitively, so lovingly, later passionately and impetuously. She had willingly let him in - what could happen, just a few days before the wedding? It had been unexpected, a little frightening. And wonderful. Quickly, their kisses had to stifle the sounds of both.
She shuddered and pulled the thin blanket tighter around herself at the thought of what nightmare it had now become. And she could count herself lucky that the Sultan had not noticed that he was by no means the first. The days and nights since the pompous wedding had passed like behind a veil of dull horror. But the day before yesterday morning, she had woken up with a completely clear mind and had known what to do.
After a short time above her, he would start grunting like one of the wild boars from the forests. The smell of his sweat would invade her nose. And although it would be the mild, fresh scent of an outwardly clean body, she would feel covered in animalistic stench when the little streams sprang from his sides and his heated belly and laid a slippery film over her body. Then, all of a sudden, it would be over. Almost.
She had thought everything through carefully. With two fingers of her right hand, she would feel for the right ribs beneath the leathery bulges on his back. Yesterday she had tried it; with some pressure, it worked. He would take her firm grip for the excitement that the other women had advised her to feign, and would grin foolishly and self-satisfied. He truly believed he was providing pleasure! As soon as he lay exhausted on her, she could take the stolen knife from the kitchen - it was already under the pillow - and stab it through his heart from behind her fingers. And when she had rolled him off her, it would graciously take her own life as well.
The door opened, and a beam of light fell into the room. A moment later, a shapeless silhouette darkened the light.
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