Ishtah - The Prostitute's Daughter

by Ella Hansing

should have so there won’t be much time.”

  “He’s not coming back tonight is he?” I asked – voice hollow and flat. “Don’t you think he’ll be busy with the ceremony of Ashur being tonight? Won’t he have sacrifices of his own to make?” Though waving my hand as if dismissive, contempt began to leak through the corners of my mouth unchecked as I added, “I’m sure he’ll return to you at some point after the festival is finished . . . unless of course he finds something that entertains him more.” This last part I hadn’t fully intended to say aloud – face twisting afterward in anticipation of her fury.

  At last she detected the quiet malice in my tone – despite her self-absorption, hands folding unrushed between her bended legs and eyes rising slowly to meet mine. With head cocked to the side in amusement, she smiled shallowly back at my small frame, leaning forward as she responded, “I was anxious for you to return this morning, Ishtah – to share with you such exciting news.” Eyes glinting darkly, she lowered her voice in a manner which caused my skin to crawl, “Don’t think I don’t know how badly you want to go to the festival. What sort of mother would I be if I didn’t know it is the wish of every girl in Arrapha to attend?” Pausing, she looked over me from head to toe, nodding in theatrical approval before pronouncing, “I believe you are just the right age to walk out in the festival.”

  My eyes searched hers in quiet stun.

  “Now everything will be made right, and for once during the festival of Ashur,” she sang aloud, face shining brightly. “The gods are smiling on me at last, Ishtah, and I won’t be the only one to know it either. Tonight the others will see it – as clear as if it were broad day. He is not only returning tonight, but has agreed to take me out into the streets with him – to walk alongside him in the festival procession to the high temple.”

  “What – what do you mean?” I stammered.

  “I knew if I waited he would return,” she continued – laughter ringing in her voice. “I can read a man as easy as a priest reads scripture. I’ll keep my door closed tight to anyone’s knock but his. This one eats from my hands, Ishtah.”

  The thought of her walking in the festival painted and costumed alongside her paying lover, for all Arrapha to see, caused my head to swim. Never had something so brazen been done – neither of us having even attended the festival before, let alone watched it from afar. Though it was common enough for one or more prostitutes to skirt the edges of the event, to my knowledge none had dared participate in it – my mother least likely of all as she had always had company of her own.

  Smiling emptily back at me – much in the way a cat taunts a dog, her eyes devoured my every emotion. Swaying, my hand reached for the nearby wall to steady myself, unable to think what to say. Using every ounce of strength I felt I had left, I lifted my chin so as to meet her gaze. I wanted to understand what part of what she said was merely her wishful delusion speaking, her obsession with something that could never be? What part of it was her awareness of my contempt, her penalizing me for my disdain? Or did she even know that I hated everything about this? Her intentions seemed too scrambled for me to know which point I should begin to challenge her on.

  “He won’t know you beyond this month, so save yourself the care,” I spat blindly.

  Pouting, she drew her robe across her legs.

  “Go see if the bread is done,” she directed.

  “Fine,” I snapped, “You want to parade yourself in front of all Arrapha? I won’t stop you – or comfort you when he deserts you in a week’s time.”

  “Ishtah, you don’t understand love,” she insisted. “You’re too immature to even know what it is.” Waving her hand as if to dismiss me, she nodded in the direction of her new necklace – still lying on the floor in the corner of the room. “The jewelry he gave me will last an eternity, just as his love for me will – he swore so just last night, and tonight he comes again so you must be present. I imagine he will bring even you something if you would stop your childish brooding and be pleasant for once in your life.”

  Her words sent me over the edge of an abyss – hurling me down so fast that I could scarce utter a response. “Play pretend with him all you want – all you can stomach,” I managed at last. “I won’t interfere.”

  With difficulty she drew herself up onto her knees – eyes closing briefly to overcome her dizziness, skin glistening with perspiration and breathing heavy. “I’m not as selfish as that, Ishtah,” she spoke through clenched teeth, hands now closing into fists at either side of her. “You will make us supper tonight and then accompany us to the festival. He swore he would walk with me there and you will see for yourself, he is unashamed.” Her eyes bore coldly into me before adding, “Though I cannot say as much of my only daughter.”

  At her words my throat became as dry as the streets outside.

  Lifting to her feet she cast the hem of her robe down around her ankles, sweeping past me into the kitchen, close enough so that she brushed with my shoulder. Moving to the oven she stooped to inspect the progress of the bread for herself. In her absence I found I was unable to move – unable to follow her steps or shape words of any nature. The light bleeding in from the open window fluttered as passers in the street made their way toward the market – toward the central temple where soon the religious proceedings and later riotous festivities would begin.

  With both ears ringing I was incapable of hearing my mother call me to come and join her, scarce able even to turn my head and watch her pull the bread from the oven, sliding it skillfully onto a reed mat. Unlike my agonizing memories of the past few days – of my confrontation with the prostitutes outside the temple, or of my breaking Aeros into pieces outside our door – these new visions now dancing rampant before my eyes, of things yet to come, ruptured anguish in my gut so sharply that I half imagined I’d see blood when glancing down to check myself.

  In the dim shabbiness of our home I could now see plainly that my humiliation would meet no sudden end, as I’d comically planned for only a short while ago. Considering my prospects for the night, it was laughable to think of now. Already I could feel the looks of disdain burn my flesh – picture the scathing glances, hear the whispers of ridicule over the throng of celebration, of singing and dancing. We would be a spectacle unrivaled. Alone, drawing a degree of attention dangerously envied by anyone left in her wake, my mother would attain nothing less than the eyes of all surrounding her. Her breasts, her jewels, her scent, her tall neck and lofty walk would steal the thunder out from under even the virginal dancers crowding the temple arena in heroic though futile attempts to outshine all else. Their efforts would be at a loss as there were none that could match the radiance of my mother in all her splendor.

  I wondered what Hesba might think at seeing me paraded alongside my mother in all her glory, like a small animal held captive on a leash. Would Phaena feel gratified watching me among the true company I belonged with? Would I even be able to look and see what Aeros might think? Eyes closing tight, I lowered my face. Maybe only in seeing me in such a way would he finally understand the mistake he could have made.

  “Look now you’ve burnt the bread because you’re moving too slowly,” growled my mother, tapping the loaf with her finger. “Lucky for you your little friends left their jar of grain by the front door yesterday, so you can bake that for our dinner tonight before my guest arrives.”

  Picking up the hardened loaf with her skirt she moved it to the front room where I stood, dropping it on the mat before taking seat – flinging her hair behind her shoulder in exasperation as she settled into place. Without waiting she tore a piece from the loaf, grimacing as she placed it between her teeth.

  I had forgotten entirely about the jar of grain Aeros had tried to offer me. Watching my mother eat, I resolved in silence that I would rather die than bake it for her and her lover. Before I could open my lips to speak, she interrupted my thoughts.

  “I expect you to refrain from sulking tonight, Ishtah,” she spoke through open mouthfuls. “Be happ
y. Why don’t you smile once in a while?” Leaning forward she reached to pour the last of the water from our jar into her cup, dribbling it down her chin as she quenched her thirst. In sitting back her eyes settled disapprovingly on my motionless form. “Hurry and eat your share and then run go fetch water. I need to wash myself before I’m painted, and since you went out so late again last night this room still needs to be tidied as well. The sun will start setting before too long. I haven’t even decided what I should wear.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I snapped, eyes blazing. Without further discussion I swept the empty water jar from before her and stormed to the back of the house.

  “Don’t go near that old hag, Ishtah,” her voice chased after me – referring I assumed to Hesba. “Time isn’t yours to waste – only the gods live forever. Your loyalty is with me tonight, where it belonged in the first place. Don’t forget it.”

  I left without response, slamming the backdoor shut behind me. Thoughts shattered and heart racing, I accepted readily that there was nothing else that could be said – nothing else that could be done. Nothing could compete with the gifts bestowed her – nothing could vanquish her thirst for fleeting passion. She was the tidal wave