Ishtah - The Prostitute's Daughter
Page 26
plunged my free hand into my pocket to clasp my mother’s pendant. I was hesitant to take it to the dealer my mother had connections with, since the last time I’d sold him one of her necklaces I suspected he began to sense my increased desperation. I knew before too long he would begin to take advantage of my anxiety. Visiting him more than once a week would be unwise, and anything I brought him would fetch a price that much lower. Sadly I knew I didn’t have much else choice that night for selling the item; with such large crowds filling the market it was risky to go exploring. Why delay the inevitable, besides? It was only a matter of time before we had to start whittling away at the other few possessions we had – fetching unspeakably low prices no matter what with my lack of ability to barter. Arriving a short distance from the dealer’s booth, I halted – seeing a group of stooped women already fingering through his collection.
Grateful the dealer was open at such a late hour, I contented myself to wait patiently behind an empty cart – momentarily resting my dizzy head against the stone wall at my back. At last the elderly women began to clear the booth. Readying to step out from hiding, I straightened – only to halt once more abruptly.
As the gathering dispersed, I spotted a pair of young girls near my age, rifling through the dealer’s goods. At seeing one of them was Phaena, my breath caught uncomfortably in my throat. It was surprising to see her out so late – and with Hesba nowhere in sight. Yet there she stood, laughing agreeably with her friend – a rather fat young girl I had met once before, daughter of a wealthy merchant; they hadn’t been friends long. At once my face dropped, fingers rushing to pull my scarf down toward the lower half of my face, my cheeks growing red as I stared. It was difficult for me to see Phaena, as the last time we’d interacted had been the night I’d gone to the temple with Hesba and she – the night I’d been attacked by the prostitutes. I hadn’t been able to see her expression after the incident, unable to assess her reaction to the very public assault. Now I found myself bending my neck, straining my eyes in the flickering torchlight of the market in hopes of seeing her, undetected – of learning from a safe distance what she might possibly think of me. Since she faced another way, my attempts were unsuccessful. Looking down at my worn sandals, I sunk further into the shadow cast behind the empty cart.
Either way I could tell she was happy – enjoying being out and about on her own with only a friend. I marveled fleetingly how she already looked like a young wife, ambling through the sales booths at her own leisure, with her husband’s money comfortably in her pocket. In actuality I knew she was most likely looking for something to wear to the festival, which was the day after tomorrow. I leaned back as I waited – face lowering still further as I contemplated how happy she probably was to be rid of my presence. Exhaling, I watched my chest sink. It took seeing her to realize that I didn’t really want to know what she thought of the incident with the prostitute, with her brother having stood so close when it happened. I clung to my water jar tight as memories of that night descended like a plague.
The two of them took an ample amount of time rummaging – dangling various earrings from their unpierced ears, draping assorted necklaces around their throats, nodding or shaking their young heads in approval or disapproval. Somewhat amused, I could see the dealer grow annoyed with the pair of them – doing his best to offer alternative pieces, anything that might excite their interest. For myself I waited quietly, neither bothered nor annoyed now at the delay – though my feet grew sore by and by. I would wait for any measure of eternity to pass if it meant escaping further ridicule or disdain.
Indecisive as ever, Phaena at last settled on a single item – her plump friend purchasing a handful of pieces for herself before the pair finally moved off into the market, whispering and laughing as they went. I waited a few moments longer before proceeding out into the open – wanting to be sure they were well away, so that by the time I stepped up to the booth the dealer was already rolling up his displays.
Wordless I held the broach out to him so he could see it in the torchlight.
“Well hello to you also,” he grunted in reproach, moving to take the piece between his coarse fingers. “Not very intricate workmanship . . . cheap, costume jewelry – it won’t get you much.” Lifting from the pendant, his eyes squinted as they studied my expressionless face. At last shrugging, he shifted weight and added, “An odd time to sell. Don’t you want to keep it till after the festival? A young girl like you could fetch attention from one end of Arrapha to the other wearing a couple of the pieces such as you’ve dropped in my hands of late.” A moment longer and he extended it back to me. “Bring it after the ceremony – and anything else you don’t want. You’ll get a reasonable price.”
“I won’t be dancing,” I responded flatly.
“You’re a girl, just like the others – right?” he insisted.
“See that sheep over in that pen?” I interrupted, pointing to a small stockyard nearby. “It’s a girl. Do you expect it to dance at the festival as well?”
At my tone his eyes dropped quickly to reconsider the piece, muttering, “I wouldn’t think your house in want of anything, what with the festival upon us and so many visitors to the city – plenty of fresh meat to be had for your sort, but have it your own way.”
“Just tell me what you can offer,” I spoke sharply, angered by his previous attempt to sound considerate. With reluctance he dropped a small handful of coins into my outstretched hand. Though I was no dealer, it seemed a fair amount for the size piece. I moved away without thanking him, knowing his eyes would be watching me until I passed from sight. Reaching the next street over, I dropped the coins hurriedly into my pocket and swallowed. It was good to hear them jangle together as I walked – lessening my fears somewhat; they would buy not only food but also several nights’ worth of better sleep for me, as well as more time to figure out our predicament. With only my trip to the well remaining, I became much calmer in passing back through the drifting market crowds. Filling our new jar all the way to the brim when it finally became my turn, I was careful not to trip on my way through the dark, winding alleyways – cautious not to lose a single drop, as I knew we were headed for a dry spell back in our home.
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During the early hours of the next day, shortly after we’d finished our morning meal and after I’d washed the dishes, I finally set about gathering the soiled clothes from every corner of the house. For myself I had only two skirts to my name, which I rotated weekly according to whichever was cleanest. Much to my annoyance, though, I soon discovered my mother had accumulated an immense pile stashed behind her bed screen at the front of the house containing nearly every garment she owned. It had been sitting there, dirty and growing, ever since she had quit entertaining company. In dragging the entirety of the mass out from hiding, I soon surmised the task of doing the washing alone would take the rest of the day – as well as the rest of our water. A chore which I usually tended weekly, I had delayed only out of having lost both our jars – having had nothing to carry water from the well with. In checking, I saw that we had just enough water in our new jar to plunge each item individually before stringing them out across the roof – with perhaps only a little extra that could be set to the side to wash myself with, before we ran out.
Holding in my stomach I squeezed myself behind the oven, stretching my arm as far as it could reach so as to grip our ribbed washboard – next bending sideways to collect our small vessel of scented ash that we used for soap, which, like our other household ingredients, was beginning to run low. Scooting out from behind the oven I made an internal note to buy more when I went back to the market later that week. After brief consideration I decided to move my wash assembly line to the roof, deciding it would be easier to hang the clothes straight after scrubbing them rather than carry them up the ladder soaking wet – though I knew carrying the heavy water jar up the ladder without spilling it would be an initial challenge.
Knowing it was past time I washed myself, as well as the lau
ndry, I first took up an additional, small bowl so as to set aside some of the water before it became dirty. With so much having happened over the past few days, I knew I’d increasingly neglected my own needs. Hoping now was as good a time as any to undertake cleaning myself, I was quick to climb back down into the kitchen and lift the heavy water jar. Before too long I’d succeeded in lying out nearly every item of clothing my mother possessed, as well as my two skirts, in a wide circle around me on the roof.
Though by nature shy, I felt no reluctance in stripping bare so high up – since I knew well enough how to stay hidden from sight. As long as I kept myself low, there were none that could see me – other than the sun of course, which was too busy enveloping me in warmth and light to bother ridiculing my thinly frame, my naked skin tingling under its full radiance. With eyes closed tight, I pretended I was stashed away inside a womb – hidden in a natural element, vulnerable yet safe. I had to shake my head to keep from dozing off, to keep from quitting lazily and lying down – reminding myself that before long the sun would rise higher, intensifying its