“As you wish, Your Holiness.” The guard, a woman Mauricio hadn’t seen before, lowered her head in deference.
“What I wish is to have guards with an education for a change. How can you hire someone who doesn’t know anything about slaves?” the Priestess asked the audience, betraying her anger. “Did you, at least, give him his daily ration of water?” She singled out the tall guard, who was trying to disappear near the back of the room.
The tall guard briefly looked at the Priestess, her face twisted in a terrified expression. “I’m… not sure…” she answered, voice broken.
“You aren’t sure, or you know you didn’t give him his daily ration of water?” The Priestess’ voice boomed in the room.
“I might have… reduced the water.”
“Have you even read the handbook you mentioned? Do you know what it says regarding withholding water?”
“I…” The tall guard began sobbing.
“Get her out of here. I can’t bear stupidity.” The Priestess waited as the woman was escorted outside, then looked around, giving each and every guard left in the room a piercing stare and then continued, “The handbook clearly states that it is critical, I repeat, critical not to reduce the amount of water allotted daily to slaves. The slave’s productivity suffers from lack of water in their bodies. Semen production suffers without proper hydration. Now, do you have the slightest idea of what I am trying to say here?” She paused and low murmurs filled the silence.
Mauricio heard the words ‘this semental’, ‘the President’s daughter’, and ‘semen’ repeated several times by the scared guards.
“Exactly! I see that you aren’t completely useless. So, my question is, if the President’s daughter loses the baby, what are we going to do without his semen?” the Priestess stated.
At the Priestess’ words, Mauricio almost revealed he was full awake and listening. This isn’t possible… what she’s saying… did I hear correctly?
“I need him fully functional, and quickly. Give him something to hydrate him and, instead of three meals, give him six small meals today.” The Priestess wrote down her instruction and passed the tablet to a nurse.
Mauricio’s stomach started rumbling on cue; he was relieved when the Priestess left without having looked at him once the whole time. A nurse took his vitals and then punched his skin with a needle that was connected to a pipe that led to a bag full of a transparent fluid. Mauricio saw the liquid substance dripping inside the pipe, drop by drop, until it reached the needle. He couldn’t help gasping when the cold liquid started pouring inside him. The feeling was, at first, unpleasant, but after few minutes, Mauricio noticed that he could think better. The fog that had swamped his thoughts was clearing fast. The nurse took his vitals again, read the numbers on a display at the end of his bed, and nodded, satisfied. She fussed over the machines in the room, waited until all the liquid in the bag had found its way inside Mauricio’s body, hooked another full bag with a different liquid substance to the pipe and then left.
He soon felt better than he had in a month and was ready to go back to his cell. He didn’t like the room he was in. It smelled of that clean, citrus scent that, in Mauricio’s mind, was connected with that day, four years earlier, when the women had chosen him to be a semental. He was fully immersed in his memories when the door opened and a woman came in. Out of habit, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. Years of servitude had shaped him like that.
“I heard that you fainted,” a familiar feminine voice said with a hint of concern. Mauricio opened his eyes and saw the girl looking at him. She walked toward his bed but stopped when she realized that she was too close to him. “How are you now?” the girl asked.
“Better. This water is miraculous.” Mauricio raised his hand to show her the needle and the pipe with the light green substance dripping down.
“I tried it, too. It’s good stuff,” she said and then laughed.
Mauricio felt a foreign satisfaction at the fact that she was laughing. He didn’t understand why it meant something to him, but it did. “What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.
“Rose. But everybody calls me Rosie. What’s yours?” If she was surprised by his question, she didn’t show it.
“My dad used to call me Mauricio.” His voice broke. He hadn’t expected her to be interested in knowing his name. He had been a string of twelve digits for the last twenty-two years and had hated that number ever since a guard had made him memorize it.
“What a unique name.” Rosie seemed to think about it for a few seconds and then said, “I like the sound of it.”
“I like your name, too.” Mauricio said, feeling that, as replies went, this wasn’t the greatest.
“My mom has a penchant for flowers.” Rosie was playing with her hands.
Mauricio thought the way her fingers toyed with a ring on her right hand was nice.
“I don’t know anything about flowers,” Mauricio said automatically, his eyes lingering on her hands.
“Oh—” Rosie looked at him with wide eyes and then said, “A rose is a flower with many petals that comes in different colors.”
“It must be nice to look at.” He slowly raised his head.
“Yes, roses are the prettiest flowers and they also smell wonderful.”
“What’s it like?” His eyes were now openly staring at her.
“A rose smells like sweet and spice, and sometimes also like dew. When I was born, my moms planted hundreds of roses under my bedroom’s window, and when the buds opened I could smell the perfume drifting to my bed; their scent was almost intoxicating at night.”
“I’d like that…” To sit at night with you, surrounded by roses. His heart made a somersault in his chest, his lungs suddenly seeking air. Is this what feels like to be intoxicated?
“You’d love it.”
“I’m sure.”
“I—” She silently looked at Mauricio for a few seconds before lowering her head. Her ring slipped from her finger and fell to the floor, sliding toward Mauricio’s bed.
He reached for it at the same time she did, and for a moment, their hands touched. “Here,” he said, placing the ring on her palm.
“Thanks. I should be more careful with this. It has the Layans crest on it,” Rosie explained. When he didn’t say anything back, she added, “It’s my family ring.” She waited for him to acknowledge her words, but he wasn’t looking at the ring anymore.
“Just beautiful,” he commented, his eyes now firmly on her.
“Thanks,” she repeated.
Mauricio would have sworn that she was blushing.
“What happened to you?” she asked, changing topic abruptly.
“I haven’t eaten a lot in the last three days,” he said drily.
“You didn’t want to eat?”
“I’ve been really hungry.” Mauricio wanted to laugh.
Rosie’s eyes widened in understanding and she blushed even deeper. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” She came closer to Mauricio.
“Don’t worry.” He was affected by her proximity.
“I forget how things are for… you.” Rosie put a hand on his bed without touching him.
Mauricio wanted to move his hand and touch hers again, but doing so on purpose was unthinkable. He didn’t dare change his position on the small frame of the bed.
“Sometimes I think that Ginecea should be different. I don’t understand why things are the way they are.”
Mauricio looked at her, transfixed. He couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“You are the President’s daughter!” Mauricio exclaimed.
“How do you know?”
“I overheard the guards talking about you.” Mauricio remained vague on purpose.
“Oh, I can imagine the things they say.” Rosie laughed again.
“Not great things, actually.” Mauricio laughed too and realized that it felt good to be able to share a laugh in such carefree way.
“I heard them talking about me w
hen they didn’t realize I was there. I heard ‘stupid brat’ and ‘spoiled breed.’ I’m sure that they were being polite,” Rosie said with levity.
“No, that’s pretty much about it. What I heard was more or less along the same line.”
“I feel better, already.”
“Why are you here?” He knew it all too well now, but it felt the right thing to ask.
“I wanted a baby,” Rosie said with a clipped voice.
“Is your wife here with you?”
“No.” Rosie’s voice had become very cold.
Mauricio felt a weight on his chest at her answer. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Rosie stared at a corner for few seconds, breathed slow and then finally looked at him again. “You didn’t. Your question was to be expected,” she said in a gentler tone.
Mauricio thought that, if anything, his question wasn’t to be expected at all, him being a slave and she, the President’s daughter.
“I’m not married. I’m here by myself,” she admitted slowly.
Mauricio sensed there was something else she wasn’t saying, but he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
Rosie decided to satiate his curiosity anyway. “I don’t want to do the things that are expected of me,” she said with a timid smile.
“Don’t tell me,” Mauricio couldn’t help to reply.
“I’m sorry… I seem to be very clumsy with words around you. It’s that I’ve never talked to a slave before.” Rosie realized that she had just done it again and put a hand over her mouth. “It’s just that I don’t know what to say…”
“It’s okay. I feel the same way, but I like that you talk to me.” Mauricio felt like he was in a dreamlike state again. It happened a lot where Rosie was concerned.
“I do, too. I don’t act with you. I don’t have to put on a mask. I smile because I want to,” Rosie said, as if she was realizing it at that moment. “It is so refreshing to be able to just be myself. Not the President’s daughter everybody has to like in public, not the spoiled brat nobody likes in private. Just Rosie.” She paused for a moment and then added, “But I’m afraid I don’t even know how to be just Rosie. Because I’ve never been just me. I’ve never been good enough for the rest of the world.”
Rosie looked back at Mauricio and started laughing. “Poor me, right? I’m complaining about my life to a slave!” she said between chuckles. “Oops… I guess that I’m beyond salvation at this point.” Rosie tried to stop laughing, but any attempt failed and she doubled over, unable to sober up.
“I’m not offended. I am a slave.” Mauricio shrugged his shoulders.
“I know, and it’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not. Not for me at least,” he said with a gentle tone.
“I know!”
Mauricio heard the machine at his right beeping softly, he turned around and saw that the there was no liquid dripping from the bag to the pipe connected to his arm. He shot a warning look at Rosie one second before a nurse came into the room.
“Mistress! What are you doing here?” The nurse, a middle-aged woman with a graceless voice, looked wildly around, trying to assess what she was seeing.
“Did he attack you?” the nurse asked, worried.
“This slave is bound to a bed with an IV attached to his arm. I bet he can barely walk. How could he attack me?” Rosie had changed tone completely.
Mauricio saw the transformation before his eyes and couldn’t believe she was the same person he had been talking to. The girl staring down at the nurse was haughty and cold. Rosie almost looked like a younger version of the Priestess.
“These rooms are all the same. I’m late for my check,” she said as if it was the nurse’s fault.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right, of course, Mistress. The hallway of the birth center isn’t, well—” The nurse was interrupted by a single stare from Rosie. “If you want to follow me, I’ll escort you to your room.”
“Let’s go.” Rosie walked out with her back straight. The nurse scampered outside with a worried expression on her face.
Please, please, look at me, just one more time… It had pained him to see that she could be like the other women. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, and yet it was. He thought about her the whole day. And, when he wasn’t thinking about her, he played in his mind, over and over again, the Priestess’ words. Not that he had anything else to do, in any case. The doctor came later on to take a look at his vitals, but she didn’t seem greatly concerned. Mauricio knew that the Priestess’ interest in his wellbeing had actually given him angrier enemies, if that was even possible given his status as untouchable, among both men and women.
He wasn’t an ordinary semental slave anymore. He was now the semental slave guards were losing their job over. Not a nice position to be in. The doctor was looking at him, and Mauricio shivered in anticipation of what was coming.
“I know why the Priestess wants you alive and well, but I don’t like it. You better behave, or… else,” the doctor said.
Mauricio knew all too well what ‘else’ meant. He lowered his head in submission and didn’t complain when the doctor yanked the needle out of his arm. Had he complained, the doctor would have found some new, painful analysis he needed. As it was, she grumbled something and then called two guards to take the slave back to his cell.
He walked between the two guards, almost grateful that he was going back to the familiarity of his cell. While passing by one of the doors opening into the hallway, he heard Rosie’s voice. Without warning, the guard in front of him slowed down and he collided into her.
“Don’t touch me.” The guard pushed him out of the way.
He staggered, lost his footing and ended on the floor. “Get up, you idiot,” the second guard said.
Give me a moment, for Heavens’ sake.
The women must have heard the Priestess’ voice because they stopped for a moment to listen; the door was open and a shaft of light flooded the darkness. Mauricio raised his head and saw Rosie deep in conversation with the Priestess. The older woman was wearing a plain green gown over her usual garish dress and she was reading something from a tablet. Rosie was lying on a bed, her body covered by white linen. He saw her absentmindedly wrapping her fingers around a corner of the linen sheet.
“The baby is fine. She survived the worst. In a week or two, if everything keeps improving, and I don’t see why it wouldn’t, you are going home for good.” The Priestess’ tone was calm, but it was clear that she had been repeating the same words several times.
“After all the blood I lost last time, I’m still worried that my baby isn’t going to make it,” Rosie said.
“Yes, I admit I would be scared too, but you are young, and the baby is strong. She’s going to have a wonderful life.” The Priestess talked to Rosie with a mix of sympathy and irritation.
“I know you don’t want me here. I’ll be out of the way as soon as you can assure me that my baby is one hundred percent fine,” Rosie said matter-of-factly.
“It’s not—” The Priestess shook her head.
“I don’t care if you like me or not. I probably wouldn’t like me if I were in your place. The only thing that matters is the health of my baby. I know that you wouldn’t send me home just to get rid of me. I trust your integrity on this.” Rosie’s words were out of line, even for the President’s daughter.
Mauricio’s guards gasped loudly, and all of a sudden, both the Priestess and Rosie turned around and saw them. Rosie’s eyes locked with Mauricio’s for a brief moment and then she turned around again to face anything but him. But Mauricio saw her.
“What are you doing out there?” the Priestess asked, cross from the interruption. She closed the door with a slam without waiting for an answer.
“On our way to his cell,” one of the two guards answered anyway. She pulled Mauricio up and against the wall and murmured to him, “Walk.” She didn’t have to add any menacing words to it; the tone said it all.
Soon af
ter, he was left in his cell, the fourth or fifth—he had lost track—of the six promised meals arrived and he ate. Mauricio spent what little was left of the day nibbling at his food and napping. Soon, darkness engulfed his cell and Mauricio waited to hear her steps. Although he tried to keep his eyes opened and his mind alert, he was still weak and dozed on and off. At one point in the evening, he rested his head on the bed and stared at the window.
“Are you there?” Rosie’s voice came from the outside world, bringing with her a playful gust of air.
Mauricio sat up immediately and stretched his sleepy body.
“Yes,” he answered back.
“How are you now?” she asked. Her voice sounded closer to Mauricio’s cell.
“Much better, thanks.” Mauricio felt even better now.
“I had to cut you dead today,” she said softly.
“I understood.” Mauricio didn’t say that it had really stung.
“I didn’t want you to be in any trouble,” she explained in the same tone.
“I know.” It was good to hear it out loud. “But… you sounded so different…”
“Like the spoiled brat everybody talks about?”
He didn’t confirm her words, but his lips curved up.
“It’s okay; I know I can be obnoxious. I’m really good at that. It’s one of my favorite characters. The spoiled brat keeps the brownnosers away.” Rosie chuckled her crystalline laugh.
“I imagine she has been useful to you.”
“You have no idea how hard it is to mete between the people I can trust and the ones who only want to take advantage of me.” Rosie wasn’t laughing anymore; her voice had grown serious in a matter of seconds.
“No, I don’t.” Mauricio was somber. He was frustrated by the fact that even using the same alphabet, they were speaking two different languages. Their lives were opposing to the point that even the same word didn’t mean the same thing for either of them. “I am alone. And I’m normally at the receiving end of the meting out.” His dad had used to tell him religious stories and the verb ‘mete’ was associated in Mauricio’s memory with ancient tales of justice and retribution. His dad had told him beautiful stories of a time when the men weren’t slaves. Now, as a man, Mauricio thought that probably his dad had invented the tales for him.
The Priest Page 5
