Turnabout

by Carmen Webster Buxton

  “Could be thieves,” the buff woman said.

  Dorscha smiled grimly. “Hardly worth a thief’s trouble.”

  Vasha laughed. “Esi should leave that incuharu and join our household.”

  I wondered what incuharu meant, but I didn’t dare ask.

  “Household?” The buff woman shook her head. “Tent-hold is more like it.” She sighed.

  “We do the best we can with what we have,” Dorscha said.

  “We’ve been together for four years now,” Vasha said. “When will the Kabaregas recognize us as a household?”

  Dorscha frowned. “We shouldn’t talk about clan business in front of a guest.”

  They all looked at me just as I was taking a bite of bread. I choked, and the buff woman slapped me on the back.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, slapping me again. “You’ve got something caught in your throat.”

  Horrified, I remembered unbuttoning the collar of my tunic. My Adam’s apple must have been in plain sight.

  Dorscha’s eyes widened. She stared at my hands, and then she jumped up. “He’s a man! Grab him, Oni!”

  The buff woman froze for a second, then stared at me.

  I dropped my plate and started to run, but I hadn’t gone three steps when the buff woman brought me down in a flying tackle.

  Suddenly I was the piñata at a birthday party. Hands grabbed my clothes and pulled; other hands tugged and patted relevant body parts. The older women poured from their tents to join the feeding frenzy. In a very short time I was lying on the ground, damn near naked. All I had on were my briefs and what was left of that fucking bra.

  “Careful with him, Oni!” Dorscha said. “Don’t injure him.”

  Oni hauled me to my feet, and I stood nearly naked in a circle of ten women.

  “She’s a man!” Oni said.

  “A boy, I think,” Dorscha said. “Do you remember the Ocan Garun’s announcement?”

  Oni unlaced the bra and pulled it off. “We can get the reward.”

  Dorscha’s smile sent a chill up my spine. “I don’t think we want to claim so small a reward when something much better is in our grasp.”

  I sighed to myself. Now instead of two women who wanted to sell me, I was in the hands of ten.

  “What do you mean, Dorscha?” Vasha said.

  Dorscha laughed. “Why should we give up what we’ve all been hoping for—all but you, anyway, Vasha.”

  Oni looked from me to Dorscha. “What have we been hoping for?”

  Dorscha held one arm out to point at me in a triumphant gesture. “I’d like you all to meet our new husband.”

  My jaw dropped. Out of the frying pan into fucking hell.

  THE quarreling started almost immediately, just as soon as they got me tied up.

  “Why do you get to be the senior wife?” a gray-haired woman demanded. “I’m the eldest.”

  “You’re too old,” Dorscha said brutally. “And you haven’t worked in years.”

  “We can’t marry him,” Oni said. “He’s only sixteen. We could all be arrested.”

  “It happens all the time,” Dorscha said. “People get impatient.” When no one spoke she added a qualification. “We just have to keep his age a secret.” She surveyed me critically. “I’m sure we could make him look older.”

  “Why do we need a husband?” Vasha asked. “We’re doing fine without one.”

  “Fine?” Dorscha waved a hand. “Do you see any children running around the camp?”

  “We don’t need a man for that.” Vasha frowned. “If we just had the money for the fees—”

  “Well we don’t.” Dorscha practically snapped out the words. “And even if we turned him in for the reward, it wouldn’t pay for more than a few visits to an insemination site.” She glanced at the assembled women standing and sitting around the fire. “Which of us would get them? And if none of them took, we’d be right where we were before.” She gave me a hard glance. “Now that we have our very own husband, we can keep him on the job until every one of us who wants a baby has one—or more.”

  I felt a cold chill in my stomach. Dorscha looked like she was pushing forty, but I was pretty sure she would be in line with the others. Somehow even Zuwina looked good by comparison. At least she only wanted one child right away, while Dorscha wanted to make me a father many times over as soon as humanly possible.

  “But why do you get to be senior?” one of the other gray-haired women said.

  “Because I’m the leader,” Dorscha said. “I earn the most, I’ve helped you all from time to time, and it was my idea.”

  There was some grumbling at this, but no one said anything out loud.

  “Take him to my tent.” Dorscha jerked her head toward the largest canvas structure. “Make sure he can’t get away.”

  “What about the ceremony?” Oni said. “You can’t just take him off to your bed without a marriage taking place.”

  “The ceremony will be tomorrow.”

  “We can’t get an elder to come here so quickly,” the gray-haired woman said, “especially not on Wahlau.”

  “I’ll perform the ceremony.” Dorscha glanced around like she was daring anyone to object. “But first Oni will go into the city and see if she can find a pharmacy that’s open during the holiday. We need a good supply of puojao.”

  Several women snickered.

  Oni frowned. “That doesn’t seem right.” She looked at me with something close to pity. “He’s only sixteen.”

  “If you feel that way, you can wait a year for your turn.” Angry derision filled Dorscha’s voice. “I don’t intend to miss my last chance at motherhood because of a scruple.”

  I really wanted to know what puojao was, but I was afraid to ask. A couple of the women took hold of the rope Dorscha had used to tie my wrists and tugged me toward the tent. I tried to set my heels, but they just pulled harder.

  Dorscha came up behind me and pushed. “Go inside, little one. No one will hurt you. Tomorrow you will be our husband. Tonight will be your last night sleeping alone.”

  I gave up the struggle. I was damn tired, and I figured I needed a good night’s sleep.

  A bunch of them followed as I was escorted into the tent. They trussed me up like a rolled roast, wrapping my whole body in rope that they tied off behind my back where I couldn’t reach any of the knots. They laid me down on a straw pallet, and Dorscha threw a blanket over me.

  “I’ll sleep in your tent tonight, Vasha,” Dorscha said. “It may be the last time for awhile.” She pointed at three of the younger women, Oni and two others. “You three bring your blankets and sleep across the doorway to keep guard. No one touches him until after he’s our husband.”

  She went off and left me alone with three of my fiancées.

  “Well,” Oni said, “I hope we don’t all live to regret this decision.”

  One of us was already regretting it.

  MY wedding day dawned clear. When Dorscha lifted the tent flap the next morning, the sky behind her was a beautiful blue.

  “All right, everyone,” Dorscha said to the three women standing guard. “Get him cleaned up. I’ve found some clothes for him.”

  She left a pile of clothing on the ground and whirled away like she had a lot to do.

  Oni and the other two women untied me, wrapped me in a blanket, and walked me to their latrine. They wouldn’t leave me alone, but at least it was better than using a tin can.

  Next they took me to a spot where a metal bathtub had been enclosed by canvas walls, a sort of tent without a roof. The tub was already filled with water, and a lump of soap and a towel waited on the stand next to it.

  “Hop in,” Oni said.

  I was feeling grubby, but not eager to wash in front of them.

  “Or we could give you a bath?” Oni said.

  I stripped off my briefs and stepped into the tub. The water was freezing. I soaped myself all over and then plunged in for a quick rinse that left my teeth chattering.

  Once
I was clean and dry they gave me the clothes Dorscha had brought. The pants were too short, but at least I was clothed—and not wearing a bra. They gave me my shoes back, but they took my underwear—to wash, they said—so the shoes were the only things I wore that had come from Hobart’s house.

  Oni looked me up and down as she led me out to the center of the camp. “I’ll look for a thrya in the city. A man can’t get married without a decent thrya.”

  “What’s puojao?” I asked.

  She grinned. “You’ll find out tonight.” She turned to go and looked back over her shoulder. “There are eight of us, not counting me and Vasha, so you’ll need it.”

  The two women guarding me pushed me down on a stool, and I watched Oni walk away from the camp with a brisk step.

  Every time I thought I’d had my worst day on Makoro, I turned out to be wrong. I spent that day sitting, my ankles bound tightly to the legs of the stool, while two women guarded me. I would have killed for twenty minutes of decent jazz—even the new fusion stuff. Instead, I had nothing to do but observe the camp and dread the coming of night.

  The camp was pretty spread out. A half dozen canvas tents of various sizes—some gray and newer-looking, some tan that were patched and tattered—had been pitched in two straggling lines. Near the bathing area, several clotheslines had been strung from tall posts, and trousers and tunics flapped in the breeze. A ring of stools and logs around the central campfire made a sort of outdoor dining room. The well worn paths between the tents, the weathered wooden posts, the absence of any grass near the campfires, showed that the Kabaregas had lived there for a good while.

  I watched the women busily tidying up and decorating the tents with greenery and flowers, singing as they cooked, and calling out to each other to admire their efforts. They were having a party, and I was the main course. I had hit a new low.

  They offered me food, but somehow I wasn’t hungry. After they had the camp ready, they all lined up to take turns bathing. The two women guarding me got their turn with two other women taking their place. When the first two guards came back, they looked dressed up. One of them, the skinny woman who had come looking for Dorscha the night before, wore the gray tunic that had been part of my disguise. It looked better on her than it had on me.

  And then Oni came striding into camp, whistling a cheerful tune.

  “The place looks nice,” she said to my guards. She handed me a bundle of folded cloth. “Here. Your wedding thrya.”

  I unfolded the bundle. The thrya was ankle-length and made of silvery fabric.

  “Excellent!” Dorscha said, coming up behind Oni. “Did you get the puojao?”

  Oni turned and handed her a small package tied up in brown paper.

  “You’re sure it’s genuine?” Dorscha said. She gave me a measured look. “I wouldn’t want to poison him or anything.”

  “I got it from a pharmacist,” Oni said. “I told her my brother had turned shy, and we needed it for his wedding. She was very sympathetic. She even put something in it to keep him from getting anxious.”

  Dorscha smiled a pleased smile and twitched the thrya out of my hands. “We’ll have him put this on after we get the puojao into him. Wouldn’t want to get it dirty.”

  She walked off with the thrya and the brown paper packet.

  I wanted to puke. If I hadn’t been tied to the stool I was sitting on, I would have tried to run, even with all of them right there.

  Oni gave me a pitying look. “Cheer up, Jayzoon. Every man gets wedding jitters. You’ll get over it.”

  I remembered she had had qualms about my age. “I’m only sixteen!”

  She shook her head. “I asked around in the city. They said you claimed to be sixteen when you arrived, but no one knows for sure how old you are.”

  The skinny woman laughed. “Does that mean you’re going to want your turn, Oni?”

  Oni shrugged. “No, not tonight. I’ll give him a few months. By then he’ll be older and more used to the idea.”

  She walked off without even a backward look at me.

  It was late in the afternoon by then, and in spite of the cold lump of fear in my throat I was hungry. My guards gave me some food, but before I could finish it, Vasha came running into camp.

  “Quick!” she shouted. “Hide him! The Rufaro is coming!”

  Oni raced out from a tent. “What’s going on?”

  “Marjani is coming!” Vasha said, panting. “We have to hide him.”

  Oni grabbed one of my arms. “Vasha, you take the other arm.” She waved a hand at the skinny guard. “We’ll drag him into a tent. You cover up the marks, Kambo.”

  Oni and Vasha tilted me backwards and then pulled. The stool came with me, and left two deep grooves in the dirt as they dragged me toward a tent. The skinny woman took a piece of greenery and rapidly brushed the grooves away while the other guard sat down and began to eat from my plate.

  Once we were in the tent, Vasha closed the tent flaps and started to tie them shut.

  Oni clapped one hand over my mouth. “Keep quiet.”

  I pulled her hand away and drew a breath to scream, but before I got more than an abortive sound out, Oni knocked the stool over and jumped on my chest, straddling my torso with her legs. My head hit the ground, the air left my lungs, and my feet, still tied to the stool, stuck up into the air.

  “Shut up!” Oni put a hand on my throat and pressed down.

  I tried to push Oni’s hand away, but Vasha grabbed both my hands with her own and held them.

  I pulled my hands loose and tried to swat at Oni, but I couldn’t breathe. The tent swam around me for a few seconds. When I came to, Vasha was tying my wrists to the sides of the stool.

  Oni had moved off of me but still held one hand over my throat. “Hold still,” she whispered fiercely. “If you make a sound, I’ll cut off your air.”

  I hesitated. From nearby I could hear a murmured conversation. It faded quickly.

  Oni didn’t move her hand until a few minutes later, when the tent flaps twitched.

  “Just a moment.” Vasha rushed to untie the tent flaps.

  Dorscha stepped into the tent and glanced at me. She smiled. “I see you have him in hand, Oni.”

  “Is it safe to let him up?” Oni asked.

  Dorscha nodded. “She’s gone. She just came to get food and some pain killer for Esi, who has a badly broken ankle.”

  I felt a twinge of remorse for having left Esi with a broken ankle, but not much, because she had helped to kidnap me.

  Dorscha made a sweeping motion with one hand. “Get him up out of the dirt. We don’t want a dirty husband.”

  Oni and Vasha pulled me upright, my wrists and ankles still tied to the stool.

  “My legs ache,” I said.

  Dorscha chortled. “You won’t have to stand long, and then you’ll be lying down all night.”

  “It would be better if he could walk to the campfire,” Oni said. “Let’s untie him now and walk him around for a bit.”

  “First we give him this.” Dorscha pulled a small bottle from her pocket. “It takes at least an hour to work, it says. That should be about right.”

  I stared at the bottle in her hand. It was about the size of a travel-size bottle of mouthwash, but I was pretty sure the pale green liquid in it wasn’t Scope or Listerine.

  Dorscha took off the cap and stepped up to me. “Open your mouth.”

  I clamped my mouth shut.

  Vasha reached over and pinched my nostrils closed. I tried to pull my head away, but Oni came up behind me and got me in a headlock that would have done Doofie Slater proud. I held my breath as long as I could and then I opened my mouth and gasped for breath.

  Dorscha poured the liquid into my mouth, and before I could spit it out Oni tilted my head back and pulled my jaw shut.

  “Swallow!” Dorscha ordered.

  I tried not to, but Dorscha stroked my throat like Mom used to do to Sancho when he had to take a pill, and then Oni closed my nostrils agai
n.

  “Swallow!” Dorscha ordered, and I did.

  They let me go, and I spit what was left in my mouth onto the ground, but it wasn’t much.

  “Do you think you got enough into him?” Vasha asked.

  “I don’t know if it will be enough for all of us,” Dorscha said. “But it will be enough for me.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant. I really didn’t want to think about what she meant.

  They untied me after that, and Oni and another woman walked me around the camp. Every woman we met smiled at me and said my name, although all of them said it Jayzoon.

  After about an hour, the light started to fail. They fed the main campfire until it flared up into a bonfire, and then Dorscha brought me the silver thrya.

  “Put this on,” she said, holding it out.

  I didn’t move. “I don’t want to get married.”

  Dorscha handed the thrya to the four women now acting as my guards. “Put this on him. We’re ready to start.”

  “I don’t want to get married!” I shouted as they forced my arms into the sleeves. “I don’t want to be one woman’s husband, let alone ten.”

  Dorscha stepped up to me and scowled. “Do you think you’re the first reluctant groom in the world?” She waved a hand at the fire behind her. “Why do you think there’s a version of the wedding ceremony that doesn’t require you to speak?”

  “I don’t fucking want to get married!”

  For a second I thought she was going to slap me, but she didn’t. “We all have to do things we don’t want to do.”

  She turned and walked toward the fire.

  My guards pushed me forward.

  Dorscha started the ceremony by announcing that the household had chosen a husband. She gave my name, but she called me Jayzoon Kabarega Miller.

  “That’s not my name!” I shouted. “I’m not in the Kabarega clan.”

  “Hush!” Oni swatted at the back of my head. “Be quiet. This is a solemn moment. Show some reverence.”

  I started to feel suddenly strange, not quite light-headed but weird.

  Dorscha called each woman’s full name in turn, and asked each one if she wished to marry Jayzoon Kabarega Miller or leave the household. One by one they all said they wanted to marry me—even Oni and Vasha.