The Price of Hannah Blake

by Donway, Walter

  Charles and David were naked, both of their bodies had black hair that in the twilight made them look primitive. Their arms were bound behind their backs; they could only kick—the cock fight. The target of the fight was obvious. She glanced down at David; he looked so vulnerable!

  They were circling, eyes intent on one another. Charles grinned, watching for fear and consternation in David’s face. There was only calm calculation. And both boys and girls, a dozen in a semi-circle, hooted and called out.

  Charles suddenly darted in, launching a kick, and David stepped back, lifting his leg to block it. Before Charles’s foot had even regained ground, David took a step forward and kicked in turn; Charles swiftly turned to the side, and the kick hit his thigh. Their feet were bare, the kick that counted was between the legs.

  Charles whirl and dashed in, bending low, and David jumped back. It cost him his balance and he fell. Charles was over him, his foot lifted, but David had flipped onto his stomach and was already getting up, his back to Charles. The crowded cheered wildly, but Hannah watched in agony.

  Though his arms were behind him, David threw his hips against Charles, and, as Charles stumbled back, David leaped after him and delivered a powerful kick, toes back, to Charles’s ribs. Charles gasped, but the kick did not knock him over.

  Charles was bent, now, protecting himself. David seemed about to try another kick, but Charles leaped out of his crouch, into the air, and jammed a flat foot at David. It stuck his midsection and he staggered back. Charles pursued him, kicked at the target. His foot narrowly missed, but David again stepped back. Then he dived toward Charles, shoulder low, with all his weight, and slammed Charles against the legs, knocking him down hard. For one moment, Charles was exposed, legs wide, on his back, but David paused. Something in Hannah silently yelled, “Get him!”

  Charles was on his knees, got a foot under himself, and pushed off. He landed on the other foot, body hurtling forward, and David kicked at him. It might have hit Charles in the right place, but not hard enough; it didn’t slow his charge. But now, David had one leg raised, his foot to Charles’s body and Charles used his body to push against it, delaying David from regaining his footing. David began to fall back and put the other foot behind him to catch himself.

  Hannah gasped. He was totally exposed. Charles did not miss the opportunity. His kick came up with incredible swiftness, the foot stretched forward, flat, and caught David full. The blow made the sound of a wet slap.

  The crowd was yelling and the girls clapping even before the pain caught up with David and he bent forward, as though he would have clutched himself if his hands were not tied. His knees hit the ground, his body bent far forward, his forehead almost on the grass, his midsection protected—too late.

  Hannah’s hand flew to her lips; she wanted to dash out, go to him. She leaned against the tree, stopped herself. She saw Charles standing over David, chest heaving; he only glanced down, as though wondering when he would hear the first cry of despair, see David roll over, his legs churning in agony. Then, he turned to the others, grinning.

  They laughed. Charles said, “Leave him like that, he needs a good cry. We’ll come back and untie him.” He said, “Someone untie me.”

  Then the crowded was moving off, talking excitedly, and the last shadows ran up their backs. Charles carried his clothes in one hand, walking naked. Someone called back, “Have fun!”

  They were not out of sight when Hannah shot from the trees and ran across the lawn. She fell to her knees beside David. But what should she do? He wasn’t moving, just bent, forehead on the ground. He was breathing in slowly, deeply. She put a hand on his arm and asked, softly, “David, what can I do?”

  “Oh,” he said. It was partly a gasp. He slowly straightened up, let himself roll over, and lay on his back, legs parted. His opponent had left the field.

  Hannah started to explain, “I came, I had to. I saw it all.”

  David nodded, and said, expelling his breath, “I know.”

  “You saw me? How did you?”

  He shook his head. He managed a smile. “I knew because you don’t do what you’re told, Hannah.”

  She looked at his sex. It seemed normal, maybe darker even than usual. Should she touch them? Rub them? Instead, she lay beside him, resting her cheek on his chest, feeling the rough hair, and began to pass a hand gently over his chest, his stomach. He grunted and nodded, his eyes closed.

  “Can you stand it?”

  “Just his bare feet. Already better.”

  Her hand moved and slid over his balls, not touching them. Then the hand came down, lightly, and David gave a startled jerk, then lay still, again. She put her hand over him and closed it. She lay there, holding him, saying nothing, and the lawn grew dimmer. Finally, he said, “They may be back—or maybe not. You’d better untie me. We shouldn’t be seen together, like this—and I might need to defend myself.”

  He rolled on his side, and Hannah pulled at the knots. It wasn’t difficult. She pulled away the rope, tossing it aside, and David said, “You go first, all right?”

  “No, you go, so I know that you’re all right. I’ll follow. They won’t see me. David grunted and rolled on his stomach, getting to his knees. He caught his breath. “Ah, God!” he gasped. He was slowly getting up. Hannah had already found his clothes, now she handed them to him. Gingerly, he drew them on, turned, and said, “Come right after me.”

  “I’m coming to your room later.”

  “No, not after curfew. We’ve had two bad days, Hannah.”

  “You won’t let me come?”

  He sighed, then turned and started walking away. He asked, without looking around, “That matters? See you later. Be as careful as you can, Hannah.”

  Chapter 22

  “The Danger Is Real”

  “What does it mean to be a ‘Jew’”? She lay beside him on the bed. He leaned back against a pillow, legs open, saying, “got to give them some room.” He wore only trousers and Hannah’s hand was down there, holding him, scarcely moving, as though she wanted to protect him. She felt him begin to swell beneath her hand and moved a little more.

  He let out a breath and said, “You mean like dirty, greedy, sly as a fox hunting hens?”

  “Well, just from the plays at the fair. I always love to see all the plays about kinds of people I never meet.”

  “Those things aren’t true of Jews, they are true of some people of every kind, but not most people. But Jews have a different religion, and England, and Europe, have been Christian for hundreds of years. Many Christians can’t stand any disagreement. Even between Protestants and Catholics.”

  “We…”

  “And they are all Christians, just with different beliefs. Jews don’t believe that Jesus was a god.”

  “The son of God.”

  “Not that either.”

  “What do you believe, then?”

  “Well, what do Jews believe? I don’t believe everything that Jews do.”

  “Not even what they do?” And she asked, “Why do they cut off part of your prick?” Her hand moved more freely, now. She did not look up at him.

  “Well, do you know that even before Jesus was born the Jews lived in Palestine?”

  She looked up, waiting. “Palestine is where Jerusalem and Bethlehem are.”

  “Oh, yes! I know that.”

  “And Jesus was born there, but the Jews had been there for a long, long time before that. Jesus was a Jew.”

  “He couldn’t have been! Because Christians think Jews…” She hesitated.

  “Jesus was a Jew who made up a new religion and convinced people to believe it was the only one.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “You know they also called him ‘Christ’? Well, it’s from his name that ‘Christian’ came. Think of the spelling. It is from his name because he invented it.”

  “And your prick?”

  “Oh, yes. Jews began their religion a long, long time ago, and I think they thought it was he
althy to remove that part of the penis.”

  “I don’t think so…”

  “I don’t think, so, either, but they did then. And now Jews do it because it means to be Jewish. And I had no choice. I was only eight days old.”

  “Oh!”

  “I don’t remember it at all.”

  Her hand moved with more determination. “Good.”

  He put his hand on hers. She looked up. “Hannah? I could talk with you like this for a long, long time. I hope someday I will. But not now.”

  “And not touch you?”

  “Not now, because I’ve decided to tell you something. I wasn’t going to, but seeing your courage, I have to tell you, even though it is very dangerous.”

  She looked up into his face. “All right.” She waited, watching him. For a few moments, he gazed down into her face. He said, “So beautiful…”

  ‘‘I never saw a man like you, David.”

  “Now, I must talk, and you have to be ready for this, but you never can be ready, not for this.”

  “I’m scared, now.” She gazed into his eyes, as though pleading with him not to hurt her.

  “Your father was a sailor, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “How do I know?”

  She nodded. He said, “And two years ago, he sailed.”

  “He said for California. In America, but very far.”

  “Yes, but his ship went much farther. It went all the way to China.” He paused. “Cathay.”

  “But no one knows.”

  “That took a year, and, in Cathay, they told him they must sail to the Crimea. That is near Russia. He didn’t expect any of this. He sent a letter to you. You got nothing.”

  She sat up abruptly. She stared at him. “What, then? Tell me! Who told you?”

  “Come here,” he said. He reached for her, tried to pull her toward him.

  “No! Just tell me!”

  “Your father is alive. He came back, back to Devon, very soon after you left.”

  She shrank back, shaking her head. “No, no he did. Don’t say he’s alive or came back.”

  “He did. Does it scare you that he is in Devon and you might be here…forever?”

  She covered her face with both hands and began weeping.

  He reached out and touched her.

  “No!”

  After a moment, he said, “This is why I didn’t tell you. One of the reasons I didn’t tell you.”

  “Is my mother happy?”

  “Yes, I think so, but so sad that you aren’t there, too.”

  “Is there more money? I have to get home.” She had lowered her hands. Suddenly, she said, “But how do you know?”

  ‘I am here because he began a search for you. And a lot of things happened very fast. And I came here.”

  “You came? To be a prisoner? Forever?”

  “They brought me here, just as they brought you. But they only thought I had no choice. It was arranged that way.”

  “I don’t know,” said Hannah dully. “I don’t know about any of it.” She fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. After a while, she said, “What should I do?”

  He leaned over her. “Don’t do anything, now. You have to keep surviving here, Hannah. And know that I’m here. Because of you—and because of the others, too, and all of this.”

  “But you can leave?”

  He shook his head. “No more than you can leave. I’m a prisoner to them. That’s all. I can leave if I find a way to leave.”

  “But no one does.” She still stared up, not looking at him. “Can you tell me all of it, everything, and what my daddy said?”

  “Hannah, I put us both in danger by telling you this much. If they knew, I might be killed. And maybe you, because you know.”

  “Of course I had to know. He’s my daddy.”

  “The danger is real, Hannah. If they even thought you knew something, the guards would get it out of you, no matter what they had to do.”

  She nodded. “All right. Tell me what to do.”

  “Go to your room. It’s long after curfew. Don’t change anything you do.” He hesitated. “Can you act as though nothing has changed? You don’t know anything.”

  She was sitting up, moving toward the side of the bed. “I think so,” she said. She stood up now, facing him. Her arms were crossed over her breasts, hugging herself. “When you escape, can I go?”

  “That is one of the things not to think about, Hannah. If you don’t think about it, try not to think about it, you will be safe. And you will know I’m here—because of you.”

  “And that’s what this is about?” she asked. She looked down, her voice bleak. “That’s why we’re here together, and you talk to me?”

  “Hannah, I am here because I was sent here, and I told you why. Then I met you and saw what kind of woman you are. And now, I think I may love you.”

  “Oh!” She looked up, her arms tightening around herself.

  “But the danger is real. Hannah that is what you can’t forget. Because we don’t want to be here. We want to be free—together.”

  She went to the door, pressed her ear to it, and glanced back. She said softly, “I love you,” and backed out, pulling the door closed.

  A voice behind her in the corridor said, “Come with me. This is curfew.”

  At the first sound, she gave a cry of alarm and whirled around. It was Cara. She reached out for Hannah’s arm. She said, “They will punish you.”

  The door opened and David stood there. Cara looked at him. “They will punish her. It is curfew. They may punish you.”

  “I was hurt,” said David evenly. “They made me do a cock fight and I was hurt. They left me tied up on the lawn, at night.” He pointed at Hannah. “She found me and helped me back. I couldn’t walk by myself. She helped me. That’s all.”

  Cara had taken Hannah’s biceps. She said, less certainly, “They may punish her. It’s curfew.”

  “Will you tell them what I said? You can ask Charles, any of them. They left me tied, outside. I was hurt. It was night. Ask them.”

  “Now, she has to go to her room. In the morning, they may punish her. I will tell them all that you say.”

  “Thank you,” said David. He looked at Hannah, “And thank you, Hannah, for helping me. I would have been left outside. All night. And I was hurt. Thank you.” And he closed the door, as though no longer interested in Hannah or the matter at hand.

  After a brief, silent walk, Cara stood holding open the door to Hannah’s room and said, “Do not come out of your room until I come for you. Tomorrow.”

  “I understand. I will stay here.”

  Cara pulled shut the door. Hannah wondered why she didn’t feel afraid. Because it seemed unimportant. Her father was alive, home, with her mum and her brothers and her sisters and he wanted to find her. He had found her! How? He was just a sailor. Or maybe, now a mate, but… Her family was back together after two years, but it wasn’t. She was not there.

  She threw her clothes on the chair and fell back on the bed. And David had said he loved her—seemed to say he might. But she knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about how he came, or why, or why he thought he might escape when no one ever did. If he loved her, really loved her, perhaps she would be happy here. She thought of them on the beach, near the woods, making love on the grass. She closed her eyes and her hand slid down to her belly. Was this all she ever wanted, now?

  How had her father found her? And why did David come? And what would he do? She wouldn’t sleep, not tonight. David was alone, and maybe he still hurt, hurt terribly. She liked his prick with the dark red bulb, a little blue around its base. Her hand slipped between her legs. This was the clit and she was wet. Without even touching.

  If the prick went inside, did it feel even better than touching? How could it? She squirmed, slowly grinding her loins. If it was in there would it feel impossibly big, stretching her, making her belly wish to expel it? No, she imagined it in her, moving like the di
ldo, sliding in and out, and it felt good. She heaved up her loins and murmured, “Ohhh!” When she had thrown herself sideways, curling up and squeezing together her thighs, protecting herself against her own finger, she lay gasping. The racing thoughts, the questions still were there, but not pestering her. She should think about them. And then she was asleep.

  Chapter 23

  “The Duke Wants Me To Be A Virgin”

  Gripping Hannah’s arm, Cara led her down a corridor she never had seen. When Cara had knocked, that morning, Hannah woke still lying on her stomach, her hand beneath her. But now sun had made a white square on her hips and buttocks.

  “Yes,” she had called, rolling off the bed. She washed quickly and drew on the two garments. She stepped into her sandals. Cara would wait if she didn’t take a moment longer than necessary. Anything else? No.

  Now, they halted and Cara said, “Here is where they want you.” It was just a door. Cara raised her hand and knocked. The man who opened it was dressed in white. Thick black wires were around his neck and his head was wrapped in white. Looking past him, Hannah could see that the room was small and the walls white, with shelves that were lined with bottles. The man looked at her, smiled, and then looked at Cara.

  “She is Hannah,” said Cara, pushing her forward. “I will wait.”

  The man nodded. He said, “All right, Hannah, come in, and he stood aside. Hannah walked past him. It wasn’t the guards. Just inside she stopped. In the center of the room was a high table covered with leather; it had fixtures attached, but she didn’t know what for. It also had straps, hanging to the sides. To hold her perhaps. Well, she had been tied up.

  She liked the man’s voice. He said, “I’m Dr. MacLeod. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  A doctor! She had seen a doctor only once, perhaps twice, in her life. There was no doctor in the village, but once one came and talked to her mum and other women, saying that if girls in the village were going to have babies, they should come to the new lying-in hospital. They should not give birth at home. Later, Hannah’s mum said she didn’t like that. She was a midwife—sometimes, when needed. And she said girls went to the hospital to have babies and died. It was better at home. The doctor might just want money from the girls.