by Henry Morgan
The bus clattered and lurched its way to the final stop deep in the heart of the city, where it disgorged its passengers into the clammy heat of the afternoon. At last feeling a little safer, all the passengers began screaming and making wild gestures with their hands, no doubt broadcasting the attack they had suffered earlier. Soon their actions attracted the attention of several policemen who made a beeline for the distraught group.
David’s conscience told him to stay and help in any way he could, but his need for secrecy urged caution. He would have great difficulty in explaining his sudden reappearance in the country with several gold bars. Trying to look as comfortable as he could, he strode confidently away in no particular direction. For half an hour he padded aimlessly along streets stuffed with all human life; beggars, barterers, sailors and businessmen, all rubbing shoulders in one seething exciting mass. It was essential now for him to rid himself of the gold before someone did that for him. Somehow he had to get it out of Pakistan and back to England. He couldn’t sell it openly without arousing unwelcome interest, and anyway, he didn’t know how to. The only option seemed to be a bank; somewhere to get advice.
He chose the Karachi branch of the International Bank of Credit and Trade. It boasted branches worldwide, but most importantly it had one in London.
The manager, Mr Ulhaq, admitted it was the first time someone had opened an account with the contents of two old socks. Not that he minded, the sight of six gleaming gold bars sent him into raptures.
‘Would you be able to sell them for me?’ asked David.
Mr Ulhaq pulled a large key from his desk drawer. David assumed it was for the safe, but it turned out to be for the drinks cabinet, which contained an impressive display of spirits. He poured them each a glass of scotch and water.
‘There will be a handling fee,’ he said. ‘The bank’s charge is ten per cent of the gross value.’
‘That’s a large commission.’
‘Alternatively,’ the bank manager added after a nervous sip of his drink. ‘Alternatively, I could act on your behalf.’
‘Is that illegal?’
‘Not at all,’ answered Mr Ulhaq. ‘You will still be a customer of the bank. You are using your own agent for the sale, that’s all.’
‘How much?’
‘Five per cent.’
David was anxious to convert the metal into a currency he could spend. ‘When will the money come through?’
‘That depends. If you want to watch the market and sell at the highest price it could take a while. Otherwise I could simply sell for tomorrow’s price – whatever it is.’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ said David. ‘Do that.’
More scotch was poured while the two discussed the security of the gold until it was sold. Not surprisingly, David was anxious that he should keep control of it until the transaction took place.
They agreed on the details, and then David telephoned the British Consulate in Islamabad to inform them – in those famous words – that the reports of his death had been greatly exaggerated. His call was met first with disbelief and then excitement, the consul telling him to stay in Karachi until he had been interviewed by someone from his office. The man would also bring David his new passport. They also agreed to transfer immediate funds into the bank so that he could pay his way. Before signing off, David assured them of his health and of his desire for no publicity to be attached to his reappearance. He also informed them that he would be staying with the manager of the Bank of Credit and Trade – as his guest.
He’d been in the city for only three hours and already had a bank account containing no small sum – complements of the British consular. He had also been invited to stay with the bank manager, and was now on his way to kit himself out in the latest in Pakistani fashion. Life had taken a distinctive upturn.
Karachi Haute Couture did not extend to Yves St Laurent, but David was happy with his purchases and could hardly wait to get to Mr Ulhaq’s home to shower and change.
The address brought him to an old part of the city overlooking the thriving port. It was a large colonial property with lots of wrought ironwork, both practical and decorative, a reminder of the not so distant past. A servant met him at the gate and led him into the sitting room, where he found Mr Ulhaq taking tea with his wife.
‘David,’ welcomed the manager with unexpected warmth. ‘So glad you’re here. Please meet my wife, Salim.’
David had seen that type of heavy veil before. ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘I hope I’m not imposing. It was very kind of your husband to invite me to stay.’
‘Nonsense,’ beamed Mr Ulhaq. ‘It is the least I could offer the man who has brought such good fortune into this house. Now please, sit down.’
As David lowered himself into a chair Salim got up and left.
‘She has many things to do,’ said Mr Ulhaq by way of an explanation. ‘She is not being rude, I assure you.’
David shook his head, dismissing any suggestion of offence, but said, ‘I thought Moslem women wore their veils in public only.’
Mr Ulhaq was unperturbed by the question. ‘Normally yes, but Salim and myself belong to a strict sect that prohibits women from showing their face to anyone other than their husbands. We are devout believers.’ He handed David a cup of tea, then changed the subject. ‘Your gold will be sold tomorrow; I have already made all the necessary arrangements. It is a straightforward transaction. At today’s prices it will realise over one hundred and ninety-seven thousand pounds – with my commission deducted, of course. A tidy sum, I’m sure you will agree.’
David whistled softly and grinned. ‘Bloody hell, I never dreamt it would be so much. Let’s celebrate. Can we go somewhere for a meal? Or to a club perhaps?’
‘I am one step ahead of you,’ said Mr Ulhaq. ‘I have reserved a table at the Mountbatten Hotel. I hope you are in agreement?’
‘Wonderful. What time?’
Mr Ulhaq rose and motioned to the door. ‘It is not until nine-thirty. I considered you would like to wash and rest before we left. Come this way and I will show you to your room.’
8.
They travelled to dinner in Mr Ulhaq’s large black chauffeur-driven Wolesley. If it had flown a flag on the front, David would have felt like the mayor.
The meal was very pleasant, as was the conversation, which centred mainly around David’s adventures since his arrival in Quetta all those months ago. By the time they had finished the sun had gone down, although Karachi was anything but in darkness. The city still buzzed with activity, and life continued its hectic pace on a twenty-four hour basis.
‘Cooler to do your business now,’ explained Mr Ulhaq.
The Wolesley arrived and the two men climbed in the back.
‘Tell me,’ said Mr Ulhaq as the car set off. ‘You say you were repulsed by what you saw in building eleven, and yet you still imposed yourself upon the Afghan female. Was it the power you wielded or her vulnerability which aroused you?’
David considered his answer very carefully before admitting he didn’t really know. ‘The guards revelled in the prisoners’ humiliation, and at first I was disgusted. What bothered me was my change of attitude in such a short space of time. Within a day or so they had me believing that women really were put on this earth simply for our pleasure. I mean, the Afghan was actually desperate for me to enjoy sex with her, and when I caned her in the desert she was really aroused. It was as if we were both fulfilling our true destiny. It was natural.’
Mr Ulhaq tapped the driver on the shoulder and said something in Urdu.
‘I hold similar beliefs, as does my wife. In fact, you will find most Eastern men and women do. It is not good for the sexes to be constantly battling for superiority, especially when in the West your governments are always having to create new laws to protect your women. Why would they have to do this if women were meant to be man’s
equal? It is a nonsense.’
‘Is that why your wife wears her mask indoors?’ asked David.
‘That is why, yes. It is a mask like the one of your Miss Haines. She wears it because she knows I wish it. In return I protect and care for her. You see, there is no friction, no ill feeling. Each to their allotted position. It is the natural way of things.’
Although David liked what he was hearing, he was unconvinced. ‘And what if the woman does not want to be subservient? What then?’
‘Our culture is an ancient one, David. It hasn’t been built on the fantasies of a thousand American movies. It has evolved over thousands of years. But I understand what you are saying. Sometimes our younger girls see the tourists, see their wealth, and wonder what having all those things would be like. They have momentarily lost their way, that is all. If such a thing happens we send them off to revision school. That is where we are going now. Wassim is driving us there. When you told me about Malek and the Englishwoman I thought you would like to see it.’
The car pulled up outside the one time home of an English tea merchant, on the opposite side of the port from Mr Ulhaq’s house. Wide verandas ran the full length at the front of the property, constructed from ornate ironwork of a similar style to that used at the bank manager’s home. Inside little had changed since the days of Merryman and Pearl; supplier of fine beverages to the Empire. The cream of Karachi’s businessmen sat on the very furniture brought from England by the tea merchant to adorn his offices and home. Hepplewhite chairs and French sofas were arranged for easy congenial conversation between the like-minded men of the city, some of who were enjoying fine champagnes from heavy cut crystal glasses.
‘The best of both worlds,’ David mused. ‘And why not?’
The two went further into the room where David quickly learned that it wasn’t only occupied by men. A profusion of svelte females were parading amongst the guests carrying trays of drinks and snacks. Their bodies were by and large unencumbered by clothing, except for leather eye masks, some of which were decorated with metal rings and studs. Several of the girls sported gold pins through their nipples, the metal shining brilliantly against their dusky skin. One or two even had their labia pierced, and occasionally a guest would take the weights that hung there and roll them between their fingers.
‘Beautiful, are they not?’ enthused Mr Ulhaq. ‘Each one so eager to please.’
Just then a large well-dressed man appeared in the doorway, calling to Mr Ulhaq. All that David understood was the exchange of names, until Mr Ulhaq introduced him and spoke in English.
‘Have you come to purchase a wife?’ asked Ayub. ‘Perhaps Imran’s daughter would be suitable. She has finished her training and is sure to be taken soon.’
David turned to Imran Ulhaq. ‘Your daughter is here?’
‘Certainly – why ever not?’
‘But they’re naked,’ exclaimed David. ‘They’re parading naked while these men talk business and look at them!’
‘My, what a prudish man you are,’ chuckled Imran in mock disbelief. ‘This house is where I purchased Salim. Now she has presented me with a daughter, what better place to find her a husband than here?’ He turned to Ayub. ‘Where is Calsoom?’
‘I shall fetch her immediately,’ said Ayub. ‘She is being surveyed by Zulfiqar, the spice merchant.’
Imran returned his attention to David. ‘This is a club where men share the same ideals. Wealthy men too. I have no doubt Calsoom will be well cared for. When she reached the age of fifteen I brought her here to learn the art of obedience. She has been training for two years now. With her skills she shall be able to keep a man happy for many lifetimes. A man who buys from the house of Ayub will not regret it.’
A Pakistani girl with the deepest amber eyes offered drinks from a salver.
David chose a long wine cooler to help combat the heat. ‘Who pays for the training?’ he asked with stirring curiosity and excitement.
‘I do, of course,’ answered Imran. ‘I pay a monthly premium until Calsoom is ready for sale. Then Ayub takes his commission and I receive the rest. The purchaser has a wife he knows will please and look after him. Calsoom knows that a man willing to pay the price Ayub asks will treat her with respect. And I am rewarded for my investment. There is no loser, David. Everyone is happy.’
As he finished Ayub returned with a girl, and despite the leather eye mask David could see she was of such exquisite beauty that he could not suppress an involuntary gasp of appreciation. With measured strides she walked before Ayub and Zulfiqar the spice merchant, stopping just in front of her father and his new friend. Around her neck was a polished silver choker, upon which no join or clasp could be discerned. Through her nipples she wore silver pins, about an inch and a half long and terminated with silver spheres.
Imran reached between his daughter’s legs and jiggled two rings that hung from the lips of her vagina. ‘I insisted on these from the first week she was here,’ he proudly announced. ‘They enhance her beauty, do they not?’
David could do little but agree. It was, after all, the truth. By the time Imran had finished showing off his daughter Zulfiqar was getting a little impatient. He had made the first offer for her when Ayub announced the sale, but he only had one hour to confirm his intention or he would have to drop out.
‘Please, Imran,’ put in the spice merchant. ‘We have little time. Let us withdraw to the sale room.’
The party, David included, retired to a room dominated by a contraption which reminded him of an exercise centre so adored by the keep fit exponents back home. It was surrounded by desks, behind which sat those who had come to witness the sale and by those who were there to take part in the event.
Ayub took up his position to orchestrate the proceedings, and alongside him was the recorder. His job was to document the qualities evident in the girl up for sale. The chair next to him was reserved for the prospective purchaser, although he was free to get up and examine the girl himself, if he so chose.
Calsoom was placed on a platform raised about a foot off the ground and in a central position. The mask was removed and the examination was started by Zulfiqar’s representative.
‘Hair,’ he began. ‘Black, full bodied and to her waist.’
The recorder began his log.
‘Skin. Dark, smooth, one minor blemish; a birthmark on her left inner thigh. Nails, clean and healthy.’
The man stepped down and was replaced by an optician, who examined her eyes with an ophthalmoscope, declaring them free from any defect, and then, almost as an afterthought he gave their colour – dark teak.
A dentist replaced him and began an examination of her mouth, from which he informed the recorder that she was without disease or any sign of tooth decay. Each specialist gave his opinion, including a chiropodist and finally a gynaecologist. He had Calsoom lie down on a bench where her feet were placed in leather stirrups that bent and opened her legs. The men of the room gathered around the business end of the bench awaiting his judgement. Carefully the doctor slipped a speculum inside her, then eased open her vagina to enable a thorough and intimate examination. While this was proceeding Calsoom remained calm and emotionless, passively looking at the ceiling until she was pronounced a virgin and told to stand for the physical tests.
To ensure her fitness she was taken to the exercise machine and made to run for several minutes whilst her heart was monitored. She passed with flying colours. Ayub was not surprised; part of his training included quite severe exercise. Maintaining his girls in excellent condition was one of his main priorities.
A few other tests followed, the most interesting for David being the squat lifts which meant Calsoom had to lift weights from a crouching position up to a standing one. When she bent her knees her lips spread wide and the rings dangled down quite a distance. It was a glorious sight for everyone in the room.
When the tests were ov
er Calsoom was refitted with her leather mask, covering her eyes and nose once more.
Imran explained to David that the mask was only removed during a sale. ‘A woman’s beauty is not something to give away lightly by showing it to anyone. That is why she is covered; to protect her from the lascivious gaze of men.’
Zulfiqar was duly satisfied and agreed to the price. Calsoom had flown through both the medical and physical examinations, and was to be bought for the sum of four hundred thousand rupees. Ayub signed her documents and exchanged them for the appropriate cheque.
‘Don’t you have to do anything?’ David asked Imran. ‘Surely as her father you have to agree to it, or sign something?’
‘I signed my contract two years ago when Calsoom first came here. Ayub has the final say regarding any of the girls. Now, if you go through to the main room I shall say goodbye to Calsoom and then join you there.’
David had polished off several glasses of wine by the time Imran returned. It had left him relaxed and anxious to sample the delights of the beautiful girls parading in front of him.
‘How much does it cost to sleep with one of these girls?’
Imran turned with a shocked expression. ‘To have sex with them, you mean?’
‘Of course,’ David quipped. ‘Why else would I want to sleep with them?’
‘I’m afraid you have the wrong idea about this establishment, my friend. These girls are being taught to serve gentlemen. You may look at them, you may touch them, but you cannot have sex with them. Each one is a virgin.’
‘But,’ stammered David. ‘I thought you said they’re taught to please a man in every way. How can they do that without having been fucked?’
Imran laughed. ‘There is more to sexual pleasure than simply sticking your penis up a woman. Here she is taught to relax her man, arouse him, sense his needs and his desires. Of course Ayub shows them how to move and bend their bodies to provide variation for the husband, but penetration is reserved strictly for him. As for things such as oral relief, Ayub allows them to practice on him. He teaches them how to suck on his prick and drink the seed of a man.’
