From Nemesis Island

by Christine Mustchin

  ‘I learnt English from a man in my country. It was he who educated me. He was a teacher, alone and single. He had an illness, diabetes I think, which made him impotent. But he had great desires and I helped him. He was always kind to me. I liked him and I saw him regularly. He couldn’t afford to pay me but he offered to teach me instead. I was intrigued. I had no need of his money; I was well paid, so I agreed. He taught me all I know. I never gave up being a prostitute but I spent three years of my life with him. In the end I lived with him. Then he died of a heart attack. I decided to go abroad. He showed me I could be more than a prostitute. He believed I could be a teacher too. In my country that was not possible. I felt I owed it to him to try, so I left.’

  ‘And what do you think now you’re here?’

  Kia searched for a suitable reply. How could she say that every day she had dreamed and planned of escape, of swimming across the sea to the mainland and freedom. She knew where she would go. Her mother had told her stories of nuns who dedicated their lives to God. She would find a convent and seek sanctuary there. She could become a teacher that way.

  ‘I can’t answer that,’ she said, ‘I haven’t been placed.’

  ‘What do you hope for when you are placed?’

  She did not like to lie. A half-truth would ease her conscience.

  ‘I hope that my placement will be with a kind and educated man. That I will satisfy all his needs and that if I continue to please him he will help me find another role.’

  She knew it sounded naïve. She knew how far from reality it was likely to be. She looked steadily at the chief and read incredulity in his eyes. He began to speak.

  ‘You girls think ….’ And then he stopped abruptly, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly, a hand placed to his chest as though in pain. The moment passed and he continued to speak, but differently now.

  ‘You lost your mother when you were very young. Tell me about that.’

  Memories overwhelmed her and she struggled to select the essence of the love and pain of that happy relationship.

  ‘I remember her as a calm and loving person, struggling with poverty but never complaining. She was very religious and a regular churchgoer. It was her strength, I think. She told me Bible stories and about the love of God, but it was her love that I remember most. She had very little money, barely enough to buy food but I remember that somehow she managed to buy me a second hand doll for my fifth birthday. I treasured that doll. My father threw it away when I was thirteen. I don’t think he liked to be reminded of her. I don’t think she can have made him happy. Sometimes I would see bruises on her. She never complained though. I couldn’t see that she ever gave cause for a beating. Our shanty hut was always spotless and there was always food of a sort even if only a handful of rice or thin soup. She was gentle and beautiful in her own way. It was as if goodness had found a home within her. I was ten when she died.’ Kia’s voice faltered.

  ‘You said she was shot.’ The chief prompted her.

  She paused. It was something she never talked about, but he was looking expectantly at her. Reluctantly she forced herself to speak.

  ‘Yes. I saw it happen. When I was older my brothers told me she had been caught in crossfire between two rival gangs of drug pushers.’

  She lowered her head unable to continue and the chief did not insist this time. Instead he gazed ahead at the sea. He turned and looked at her with a close enquiring stare that she could not read.

  ‘Let me see you swim now,’ he said. ‘I’ll undress you.’

  He stood up and held out his hands to help her to her feet.

  She knew better than to resist and stood staring out to sea as he removed her clothes. He pointed to the sea and she ran naked towards the sparkling water immersing herself in its warmth, then striking out in a familiar rhythm till she was far from the shore. She trod water. She could now see the men at the top of the cliff. She knew they had guns but she was out of range. The chief was standing on the shoreline. She was out of reach of him too. Now was her chance. This part of the island was close enough to the mainland. All that separated her from freedom was a strait of water. She was strong; she had practised every day in the pool. She began to swim away from the island. Suddenly she turned back. If she made it to the mainland she would have the shame of her nakedness, but more than that. There was something about the man on the beach that drew her back. She knew she could not leave him. She swam slowly back and walked through the shallow water to face him, her body dripping from the salt sea. He ran his hands over her wet skin. She saw the men above them still on watch. He took her hand and led her back towards the cliff. They were hidden from view now. He touched her again.

  ‘The sun has dried you now. Lie down.’

  She lay down on the soft, silk sand and watched him undress. His penis was already erect and ready but it took time and patience to make him come. Afterwards he appeared exhausted and lay breathing rapidly until a violent cough forced him to sit up. Spatters of blood hit the white sand. Kia buried them with her hands.

  ‘You are to say nothing of this,’ he cautioned.

  16

  Trish had often walked down Harley Street without giving a thought to its reputation in the world of private medicine. Now she looked closely at the nameplates which meant nothing to her. He had no nameplate. She assumed he was renting rooms on a short-term contract. Trish rarely had an initial consultation with clients other than in her own office. She liked to be on her own territory. But Dr Jalbis Zachion had insisted she come to him and curiosity about an unfamiliar world had persuaded her to make an exception this time. She found the number of the building easily enough and entered a general reception area where she was directed to his personal suite. She was welcomed by a glamorous secretary: perfect make-up, manicured nails and immaculate clothes.

  ‘Good afternoon. May I help you?’ The secretary spoke first.

  ‘I have an appointment with Dr Zachion at two thirty.’

  ‘Ah yes. You’re from the public relations agency. Do take a seat. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.’’

  She disappeared into an inner room and Trish waited, taking in the plush and comfortable interior. She wondered how many pounds a second it would cost to become a client. Perhaps this was an exaggeration but somehow she thought not. The secretary returned immediately and asked Trish to follow her.

  Dr Zachion stood up as she went in and extended his hand to her. They shook and exchanged the necessary pleasantries.

  ‘Please take a seat,’ he said warmly. ‘I’m delighted you could come.’

  He was an attractive man but the extent of his warmth unsettled her and she responded rather more coolly than intended.

  ‘I usually prefer to have a first appointment with potential clients in my office.’

  He smiled and she softened her approach. ‘In this case, of course, being a new venture for us, it’s useful to get an early picture of your working environment.’

  ‘There’s not much to see here, I’m afraid. This is just a base for my initial consultation. The surgical work will be done in my clinic abroad. I’ll show you round anyway and then we can discuss business.’

  He got up and invited her to follow him. It did not take too long to see the two other rooms, one of them set out for clinical examinations.

  ‘May I offer you something to drink? Tea or coffee or perhaps something stronger?’

  ‘A tea would be fine. Just black please.’

  ‘Would earl grey suit you?’

  ‘Lovely. Thank you.’

  He was nothing if not courteous and full of old world charm. Trish found him quite compelling. He arranged some papers on his desk and altered his approach to the business in hand.

  ‘As you know I work in a private clinic abroad. I qualified in my specialty fifteen years ago and have being doing cosmetic procedures for ten years in my country. I’m now ready to offer my services on an international basis and have chosen England as the ideal place to commence.’
<
br />   ‘Exactly what services do you offer?’

  ‘My area of expertise is a delicate one. I have here one of the brochures that I use in my clinic. It has not yet been translated into English but the photographs should be self-explanatory.’

  Trish did not recognise the language in the brochure but the anatomical terms were Latin based and understandable. She opened the brochure at random: before and after pictures of a woman’s labia stared back at her. She looked up at Dr Zachion and closed the pages abruptly.

  ‘As you can see I offer cosmetic procedures for women only. I have prepared a list in English of those that I undertake.’

  Trish took the list from him and was reading intently when the tea arrived. She was fascinated. This was cosmetic surgery that was certainly not main stream in her circles. She read the list: clitoral enlargement, labial enhancement, hymen reconstruction, vaginal refashioning.

  ‘Would you like me to explain?’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’ Trish was quite happy to be spared further medical details.

  ‘Genital surgery can have profound psychological effects. You have to be careful in selecting the right women. Not everyone can benefit, but a great many do.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Trish, at a loss for words for once. She put down the paper and took a sip of her drink.

  Was this something she wanted to take on? Well, it would certainly be different.

  ‘I understand your hesitation. It’s not an area of cosmetic surgery that is widely publicised but there is a need for it, believe me, and I am prepared to pay well for your services.’

  ‘We usually have a fixed rate for our fees.’

  ‘I would be prepared to double whatever you usually charge.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The clinic where I work is unable to help me pursue this project, though it’s perfectly happy for me to take on foreign clients. It is for this reason that I thought it best to approach a company such as yours for advice and assistance in marketing.’

  He had become obsequious in his manner but Trish made allowances for a cultural difference between them.

  ‘A very prudent decision, Dr Zachion. The rules and regulations regarding medical practice and the marketing of cosmetic surgery are complex. Would you mind if I ask you a few basic questions?’

  ‘Not at all and please call me Jalbis.’

  Trish hesitated and decided to avoid using any name at all for the moment.

  ‘Companies like ours are bound by codes of practice. I have brought along some information for you to consider.’ She handed him a copy of the Committee of Advertising Practice Notes. ‘In addition to this we need to be satisfied as to your qualifications and experience. I should need to see original documents. Once all is clear we can start preparing a web-site and look at other suitable methods of promoting your services.’

  ‘It all sounds very complicated, Patricia.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is.’ She ignored the personal form of address. She rarely heard the full version of her name these days.

  ‘Just to give you an idea, I’ve printed off some details from the Health Commission Advisory Services for you to look at. Some of it is irrelevant, as you will not be performing the surgery in England. But it will give you an idea of what we have to take into consideration.’

  ‘Ummm.’ He was frowning now and showed a reluctance to take the longer document.

  ‘I’m sure there’s nothing that we can’t sort out….Jalbis.’

  He relaxed on hearing his first name spoken and accepted the papers she held out. There was too much at stake to baulk at the first hurdle.

  ‘We shall need to meet again soon so that I can check over your documents. Meantime it would be helpful if you would email me some details about yourself and your clinic and the services that you offer so that I can discuss things with my boss and agree a formal contract and fees.’

  ‘This is all very time consuming for me, Patricia.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry Jalbis, but I’m afraid there is no other way.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do.’

  They shook hands again but, despite the use of first names, Trish noticed his goodbye was curt.

  Dr Zachion frowned as Trish closed the door behind her. Dealing with an emancipated western European career women would not make his task easy but he needed her help. In his own country there was a lack of private work and that meant a lot less money, and that would never do. He was not altruistic about his work.

  He helped himself to a large tumbler of whisky. If he wanted to earn big money from his cosmetic surgery, he would have to attract a good client base here abroad. He needed that for the second part of his plan. There was a market here that he was particularly keen to exploit. The illegality of it was not of concern to him but the practicalities enabling to capitalise on it most certainly were.

  ‘Will that be all?’

  It was Linda, his secretary.

  ‘Yes thank you. You can go now. I’m staying on. I’ve still got some work to do.’

  He watched her neat form turn to leave. She was attractive but it was lost on him. He paced the room, his thoughts elsewhere. London was one of the financial capitals of the world and, with a large immigrant population, he was hopeful that a PR firm would have no problem finding the clients he needed. It should be easy enough to market his services; he had already found out that his speciality was under-represented. The more lucrative work would follow by implication. That would remain his secret, of course. For that he could set himself up on the island. It was the perfect place. A pity he would have to involve his brother, but he needed an injection of capital. Not an unreasonable request. Setting himself up as the chief had brought innumerable benefits for his brother. Jalbis felt the chief owed him.

  17

  Richard had always wanted to pilot a speedboat: one of those ambitions that Trish would relegate to the ‘toys for boys’ category. Admittedly he was not, at that moment, at the helm, but he could still relish the thrill as the boat sliced its way rapidly through the water heading for the island. The wind tousled his hair and stung his cheeks. For a moment all he felt was exhilaration. Too soon the boat slowed to a gentle pace, ready to moor. Richard turned to look at his two fellow passengers. He had been introduced to them as a local businessman and a professor of education from the university in the capital of the region. The other three guests were in a second speedboat. Richard mentally registered them again from their introductions; a local tax officer, an eminent doctor, also from the capital, and a priest from one of the neighbouring towns: all apparently upright honest citizens. Richard tried to see what he was missing and gave up. The days of waiting had dented his curiosity despite Dougie’s playful messages. He gave himself a mental shake and told himself simply to concentrate on the task in hand, however boring and pointless it seemed.

  Two black four by four vehicles met the party, each chauffeured by two muscular young men. From the port the road climbed a little between craggy rocks, then opened out onto a more flattened landscape of undulating hills and glades. The rugged beauty made Richard regret the ban on cameras. The photos in the brochure did not do the island justice, and, in the distance the unmistakable, towering presence of the volcano cast its shadow.

  The grandeur of the baronial building, which was their final destination, struck Richard as a dramatic contrast to the small and poor habitats of the port on the mainland. The opulence of the interior made an even greater impression. No expense seemed to have been spared. It was certainly not like the teaching institutions he had ever been privy to. He turned to the professor.

  ‘This is all very grand. I must say the places where I was educated wouldn’t stand up to comparison. What about you?’

  The professor merely nodded without making eye contact. Richard thought better of making further efforts to communicate; after all he alone had English as his first language. They followed the men who conducted them into a large and well- equipped library. They
were invited to sit and waited politely until a distinguished older man entered and sat opposite them. He introduced himself and began his address in English.

  ‘Welcome to the island. I am pleased to extend our hospitality to you all and am proud to show you the facilities we have developed for the education of our female students. These girls are hand picked and have the potential to follow a successful and lucrative career after completion of their education and training here.

  I will now speak in the language of my country out of respect for the majority of our guests and excuse myself to our English colleague who will find further information in a written translation.’

  Richard took the sheets of paper that were offered to him and perused them, as the rise and fall of incomprehensible words filled the library. At length it ceased and he heard English spoken again.

  ‘And now gentlemen, if you would remain here for a few minutes, you will shortly meet the girls who are to escort you and show you around. Each of you will be treated to an individual tour that will follow a different itinerary, to allow you to get an uninterrupted picture of what we have to offer. Thank you. I shall see you again after the tour when I shall endeavour to answer any questions you may have.’

  They all stood up as he left and the others talked animatedly amongst themselves. Feeling a definite outsider, Richard wandered around the library scanning the titles. It felt old fashioned. Like going back to Oxbridge in the sixties. He wondered what they would have to offer in terms of more high tech learning. He thought of the man who had spoken to them. He had an undeniable charisma that Richard could not associate with the world of education. His address had been convincingly delivered, but his demeanour was rather that of a commander than a professor. He had introduced himself without the benefit of a title. Richard turned again to the professor in the group.

  ‘I didn’t catch the speaker’s title,’ he said.