Ishtah - The Prostitute's Daughter

by Ella Hansing

joint in my body locking in dread, I was relieved to see the door already barred.

  “Baila, come out in the street!” continued Ninharrissi. “Join me! – I’ll find wine enough for two so we can celebrate and begin our thanks to Ashur early. What do you think – should we dance with the young virgins at the ceremony together?” Unexpected, her fists began to pound our door – shaking it so that my stomach became nauseous. After a brief moment of silence she leaned close to the door, calling in a softer, slurred tone, “If I could choose a bride from among them all I’d choose you – would you choose me, Baila?” After another pause I listened to her set her back against the door, sliding roughly downward to sit on our front step.

  Likewise sinking to her knees, my mother raised both her hands, covering her ears like a child as she hissed, “Get rid of her – get rid of her, Ishtah! What would he think – such a time as this for every worm in Arrapha to come crawling to my door – are the gods laughing?”

  “What do you mean – who is coming?” I demanded, my confusion now giving way to anger. I knew my mother’s behavior had always been selfish, to point even illogical, but she’d never acted rash when it came to her guests before, being too mercenary to knowingly hinder her relationships with any of them. From where I stood there could be no reasonable explanation for her decision-making. It would have been far less humiliating to have let Ninharrissi quietly inside – as there would have been far less for the neighbors or any passers to watch. Besides, it was hardly the first time a guest had arrived drunk to her door, and she had yet to turn one away; if anything she often further indulged their drinking once they were inside, providing we had the means to do so. Now her behavior had gone too far. It was too reckless to cut out her richest client and not only that but leave her drunk on the front step. Without further delay I moved to lift the bar from the door.

  With the agility of someone much younger than her years, and eyes flashing, my mother rose to cut between me and the door. Too stunned to react, I watched her push me to the side and slam the cross-bar firmly back in place.

  “I won’t have her in here,” she spoke, finishing the matter.

  Dazed, I inched further away, mouth cracked loosely open as I sank to the floor.

  By no means did Ninharrissi leave soon. Instead, she stayed camped at the foot of our door for the greater part of the next hour – despite the severity of the sun, now raised directly overhead. Rambling noisily, she called my mother’s name aloud – more frequent than I preferred, speaking at first fondly but soon ended with cursing, adamant at last that she’d seen my mother inside and knew she was being tricked. At one point she even began to beat the window shutters, to the dismay of both my mother and myself. If she hadn’t become tired so soon and quit, no doubt dehydrated from so much drinking the other night, I felt sure she would have broken them open.

  As the minutes stretched by like hours, the only thing I could think to be grateful for was my inability to see outside – to look and see who might be watching the spectacle our house had surely become. Finally, just when I’d given up hope of her ever leaving, silence descended. After one, last vengeful blow to our door – now hoarse and tired, Ninharrissi conceded her post – staggering, no doubt, back up the road toward the market.

  Shoulders sinking under the weight of my fatigue, I allowed my face to drop into my cupped hands. I could only hope Ninharrissi wouldn’t remember what had happened, as I knew she’d been drinking heavily. I prayed inwardly she would find company and entertainment not too further down the road, since there was much drinking going on elsewhere in the city with the festival being the day after tomorrow. If she found herself a good time elsewhere perhaps she wouldn’t think too ill of my mother’s discourteous behavior. In the silence she left us with, I wondered who might replace her – or if anyone else would visit my mother soon. What other options for money were left us now?

  Slowly my face lifted – eyes venturing painstakingly to gaze on my mother, still crouched against the door. I didn’t desire this life. I didn’t desire this sort of existence – the yelling in the streets, the moments spent waiting in the dark, darting around corners and constant hiding from others. Grimly my eyes met hers, lips sealing tight. I didn’t desire this sort of existence – but nor did I wish to starve. I knew we had food now but what about later? What was going on in her head?

  “What are you thinking?” I spoke at last, voice sharper than expected.

  Combing loose strands of hair back from her face with her long fingernails, she broke free of my hot glare, rising dismissively from where she leaned against the door – having successfully barricaded the entryway with her weight.

  “I wasn’t in the mood,” she responded shortly. “She knows I don’t receive callers during the day.” She shrugged, almost as if to reassure herself rather than me, murmuring, “She’ll be back when the festival is done – when she wakes from her drunken stupor, about ten days from now.”

  I rose equally as quick, my thin right arm reaching to bar her path to the back of the house – though I knew any attempt to block her was absurd, as she was twice my width and at least a foot taller than me.

  “You are expecting someone else?” I questioned, even and low so she wouldn’t underestimate my anger.

  Her lips twisted oddly, her eyes avoiding mine as she moved to step around me.

  “No one, Ishtah – in the name of Ashur, I’m expecting no one.” Pushing past me into the kitchen she went to the space beside the oven to search for something to eat, hungry at last. “Am I allowed even to hope?” she demanded sourly, “Or is that against your beliefs, or too much to your disliking?”

  I refrained from pursuing her into the small space, instead watching her as she hunted unsuccessfully for food. How tired and haggard she looked, stooped beside the oven in such an odd way so as to see through the clutter.

  “You’re hoping that man will return,” I commented, my voice hollow.

  Having found one of the loaves I’d recently baked, she tore off a large piece and began to ravenously chew – neglecting to answer me.

  Leaning lightly against the doorframe, I studied the back of her head, my ribcage sinking into me as my lungs deflated. Slowly the past few days began to make sense to me – her melancholy and indecisiveness. She hadn’t really given up on this man who’d forsaken her – her most prized guest. She was in love with him – or else something very similar to love. It was obvious now, now that I realized it. She was waiting for him to come back around the corner, to burst through the door, to save her – to carry her off in his arms. Though I couldn’t be sure what her exact vision was, it was plain to see now that she’d had a particular idea of the way she wanted things to go for some time.

  “What happened – when he left you? What did he say?” I asked, trying my best to sound sympathetic.

  Looking back at last, her eyes widened with emotion.

  “He didn’t want to leave me, Ishtah . . . what man would?” she explained – mouth full of bread as she spoke. “He only thinks it must be this way. He isn’t as strong as I am. I know he pines for me. All he wants is to stay in my arms. We could face anything, if we were together.”

  “Why did he go?” I asked again, frustrated by the challenge of drawing information from her.

  Face darkening slightly, her eyes returned to the ground.

  “Recently he married a new wife,” she spoke at last. “The daughter of one of Arrapha’s high councilmen. He says he only wants to please her father for a time, but I know it is because she’s a terribly jealous woman. He tells me frightful things about her – that she flies into fitful rages every day and frightens all her servants.” Having finished the bread she moved slowly to join me, placing both her hands heavily on my shoulders. “How many wives must each man take – and each of them such a burden? Men come here one after the other to unload the trouble these devilish women place on their shoulders. They should know when to quit and learn what they really want – learn what will bring
them the truest delight this life has to offer.” Hands sliding off my shoulders she looked away forlorn. “I will be fasting tomorrow, Ishtah,” she murmured beneath her breath. “I want you to fast with me and pray that the gods deliver him from this witch. He doesn’t want it this way – I know he thinks of lying by my side alone.”

  Sensing it uselessness to respond, I allowed her to slide past me – inwardly wanting nothing more than to protest, or at the very least tell her how foolish she sounded. I wanted to speak more on Ninharrissi – angry and worried over the incident, though my lips remained closed. Judging by the look in her eyes, I knew there would be no reasoning with her that night. Trailing away in a state of melancholy, she curled up on her floor mat in the corner of the front room, draping a thin blanket across her body. I wasn’t sure whether she expected me to follow her or not – whether she expected me to kneel at her side and offer her what comforts I could. Either way I left her on her own, turning back into the kitchen to sink beside the oven.

  Despair waited for me in the darkest corners of each room – watching for when I became most vulnerable, waiting for the right moment to slip from hiding, to gnaw at my bones. I felt shattered – crouched at the back of our house as if I