Emily Taylor - The Slave Girl

by Vi Grim

  Charming!

  He put his things back in his bag and was gone without so much as another word.

  21.

  Emily washed everything in the apartment, well everything that would move; the zebra skin rugs, the tatty and torn curtains that hung in front of the steel shutters, and all the clothes she could find. The guards rolled her up inside the shag-pile carpet, then fought their way up the ladder to the roof. It was like being inside an anaconda. Emily sympathized with the goats. Once up, they unrolled her, beat the dust out of the shag-pile and helped Emily wash it. It changed colour from rotten papaya to a delicate shade of apricot. With it back in place, the apartment smelled less of dead fish and more of alpine meadow.

  Using wire wool, Emily scrubbed twenty years’ build-up of grease off the tables and chairs then rubbed oil on them until the wood gleamed golden, then cleaned and polished the sculpture of the naked lady until her 1970’s skin was back to its original burnished ebony.

  Emily got up early and was up on the roof at the crack of dawn. As the sun rose up through the haze, all squished like a rugby ball, it reflected orange off hundreds of tiny threads, floating by in the morning breeze. It was gossamer, little spiders floating off to new homes. Emily wished she could escape like that, floating away in the breeze.

  They’ll think Bob’s eaten me and never know I’ve escaped.

  Emily had a plan.

  As soon as everyone was up, she washed the sheets again, keeping a careful eye on Bob. The bump in his tummy was gone and he was slithering about looking for food. When she spotted him sneaking up in the shadows, she squirted him with the hose and he snaked away looking for less prickly prey.

  Emily practiced tying the sheets together. At first her knots didn’t hold then she got the hang of it and quickly tied all the sheets together to make a rope. She tied it to a satellite dish and dropped it over the edge. Four floors down, there was a washing line with kids’ clothes on it, knickers and socks and onesies.

  They’ll rescue me, I know they will.

  If he didn’t look at me with such a hungry look in his eye, I’d take Bob with me and deliver him back to his arcadia tree and set him free. He’d like that.

  Emily edged over the side and slid down to the first knot. She’d escaped!

  Looking up, she saw Bob’s head come over the edge. It moved slowly from side to side, his tongue flicking in and out then sensing where she was, his head dipped down and slithered down the rope towards her. She screamed and slid down to the next knot. He was past the first knot and getting closer. Emily slid quickly, her hands burning as she shot down.

  Knot 3.

  Knot 4.

  Knot 5.

  Knot 6.

  He’ll never catch me now.

  Knot 7.

  Stop!

  It’s the last knot!

  Emily looked up. Bob was still three knots up.

  She looked down. It was fifteen feet to the washing line.

  Bob was two knots above her, then one.

  He’s coming for me.

  She let the last knot side through her hands and slowly inched down until she was at the end.

  Bob was right there. His tongue flicked across her fingers, cold and serpentine. He pulled his head back to strike.

  Emily let go.

  Crash!

  She was on the washing line.

  Yes!

  Twang!

  The washing line parted.

  Emily tumbled then stopped, caught in the next washing line, flat on her back, looking up at the sky. She could see Bob at the end of the rope, flicking his tongue in an out, in and out, as he searched for his breakfast. Above him she saw movement; heads poked over the side and looked down.

  It was Clutch and Borneo.

  Move girl, move.

  She rolled off the washing line on to a small terrace. A wrinkled face peered down at her, bemused eyes twinkling then the old man puffed on a cigarette and went back to reading the paper. Emily crawled under his feet and was in the living room, teenagers playing shoot-me up games on PlayStation. A high definition solider raised his gun towards her.

  Bam, bam, bam!

  The door flew open. Clutch rolled in and lay prone on the floor, alert eyes scanning the room.

  The solider turned his gun towards Clutch.

  Bam, bam, bam!

  The screen exploded and smoke filled the room.

  Strong hands grabbed Emily and carried her back up stairs to the thirteenth floor.

  Sarge fitted a security bracelet on her ankle. It was clunky, uncomfortable and weighed a ton. If she set foot outside the apartment, parachuted off the roof or got abducted by aliens, it would set off a loud alarm.

  They’re going to know I’m gone, the second I go.

  22.

  Emissary arrived at the door. He was very British; tall and wiry with an aristocratic nose. He had a real name but it was one of those double barrel ones and his accent was so far-back that Emily didn’t catch it.

  ‘I’m an emissary from the Prince,’ he said. ‘We’re looking for a virgin bride.

  An emissary; it sounds like some sort of sad disorder where you can’t get too far from a toilet.

  ‘The Prince?’ Emily asked.

  This sounds promising. I wonder if it’s one of the British ones. They’re quite dishy. I’ll live in Buckingham Palace and have my picture in the papers, wearing frumpy clothes and cutting ribbons with great big scissors. Dad and Mum can come and stay and we’ll eat fish and chips and throw sticks for the corgis and get them all muddy. They’ll probably want me to make some princes. I’ll do that, it might be fun, but we’ll have to redecorate the palace first. The paintings of the boring old farts will have to go, I can’t live with them; they’ll give me the creeps. The Prince and me will throw them out the palace window then paint the walls yellow and purple.

  Emissary and Emily went up on the roof and had a cup of mint tea, red and violet sheets flapping around their ears. Emily was glad she had read Penelope’s book of etiquette. This was her big chance. She was careful to speak proper like they do on tele. She minded her Ps and Qs and didn’t say fuck or spoze, cos he’d think she was too common and she couldn’t marry the Prince.

  I’m too young anyway; even though I’ve been across the desert, I’m still just a little girl. Maybe the Queen just likes to organise things well in advance so she can plan her diary and not have any nasty surprises.

  ‘What is the Prince’s name?’ asked Emily.

  ‘Mohammed Ahmed Kashta.’

  He didn’t sound very British. She hoped the emissary didn’t see her face drop. Maybe Prince Charles made some babies in Africa and didn’t tell anyone.

  ‘Do you want to have children?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, lots! Not just yet though.’

  ‘Good,’ said Emissary. ‘We just have to check that you’re a virgin.’

  ‘What’s a virgin?’

  ‘Um…arrr…um.’ he seemed lost for words.

  ‘I’m sure I’m one,’ said Emily.

  They climbed back down the ladder to the apartment.

  Emissary said to Abdullah, ‘She’s cultured, she’s charming, she’s perfect!’

  ‘Good,’ said Abdullah. ‘We’ll do business.’

  ‘We will,’ said Emissary, ‘I just have to have her undress so I can verify that she’s a virgin.’

  Emily saw a guilty look cross the grizzly’s face. ‘Of course,’ he said then turning to Emily and looking daggers, said, ‘Get your clothes off.’

  ‘Can we do it somewhere private?’ asked Emily. She didn’t like that look and didn’t want the grizzly bear to see her bits and get ideas. Once was enough.

  ‘No,’ said Emissary, ‘I need a witness.’

  ‘What about Fazilah? We could do it in her bedroom.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said Emissary.

  They went to Fazilah’s room and Emissary had Emily take her belly-dancing outfit off and examined her from top to toe
. He didn’t like her tattoo or the cigarette burns on her bottom.

  ‘We will have to remove those,’ he said.

  Emily didn’t say anything. The burns could go, but she liked her scorpion.

  He put on rubber gloves and some special glasses with built in lights that made his eyes go all funny and asked Emily to spread my legs. He looked closely at her fanny and gently pushed a finger in.

  It made her squirm. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

  Looking at the scars where her stitches were, he said, ‘It’s recent, what happened to you?’

  ‘I had an accident,’ said Emily, cringing at the memory.

  ‘Nasty,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

  She lied. ‘I was balancing on a chair, trying to clean the mirror ball and I slipped. I landed on the naked woman.’

  ‘Ouch! Nasty,’ he said, scrunching up his face. ‘You’re not intact, but I think we can say you are a virgin.’

  Good. I can marry the Prince!

  When he left the room, Fazilah said, ‘You lucky thing. You’ll live in a walled compound in Southern Sudan, wear fine clothes, have lots of babies and servants and whatever you want. It’ll be a whole lot better than this dump!’

  She’s right.

  23.

  Pots and pots of paint arrived and were stacked up by the door. Emily baked some magic melting moments and gave them to guards, steaming hot with a cup of mint tea. Then she asked them a favour. Once they’d finished their game of backgammon, they arranged the heavy paint pots around the apartment as an obstacle course, like giant stepping-stones. Emily jumped across them and reached the sofa without landing in the hot lava. Coming back the paint pots were floating in a swamp full of crocodiles. She fell off and got eaten – oops!

  The pails sat there for a week. Emily overheard the grizzly saying that he couldn’t offload them. She inspected the pots: Snow White, Aqua Blue, Chromium Red, Violet Purple and Midnight Black.

  ‘Abdullah,’ she asked. ‘We could paint your apartment. It’ll look great with some fresh paint.’

  He rubbed his chin, looking doubtful then said, ‘You can paint the apartment. Violet in my room, the rest is up to you. Just don’t get any on the carpet or I’ll kill you!’

  Clutch headed out, coming back with brushes, rollers, big sheets of plastic, and a big bag of old clothes. They moved the tables out of the way then stretched a plastic sheet across the room, covering everything. They turned the stereo up loud, dressed up in the old clothes and danced around. The guards looked so funny wearing skirts and dresses.

  Clutch opened up a pot of each colour and stirred the paint with a stick before rolling a bit of each on the wall. Emily wanted to paint everything black but he said, ‘No, it’ll be too dark.’

  While Emily and the boys painted the living room walls blue and the ceiling white, the girls did the bedrooms, starting with Abdullah’s. They pulled the broken mirrors off the walls and ceiling leaving just a few shards to give it a modern look, then filled the bullet holes and danced around with brushes and rollers, splashing the purple paint on.

  Emily wanted to paint the kitchen yellow but when she tried mixing the different colours together all she could make was light blue, pink or gungy brown. The kitchen ended up aqua blue. The wives and her painted fish swimming around on it so it was like being underwater.

  The fumes were so strong that Emily keeled over. She came to up on the roof with Sarge splashing water on her.

  ‘Strong stuff,’ he said, ‘Antifouling paint for ships.’

  ‘Antifouling?’ she asked.

  ‘It stops the barnacles growing,’ he said.

  That’s good. It might stop the mould growing on the bathroom walls!

  The new paint looked good but the apartment was still dark.

  ‘Do we really need the steel shutters?’ asked Emily.

  ‘No,’ said Abdullah, ‘It used to be like the wild west here. There were helicopter gunships patrolling the sky, tanks rumbling down the streets, and snipers on the rooftops, but it’s much quieter now. Let’s open her up.’

  ‘Let there be light!’ he said, grabbing Sarge’s gun and firing a burst of automatic fire at the shutters, punching a row of holes along the top. Beams of bright sunlight sliced through the smoke and dust in the dimly lit room.

  The guards unbolted a couple of the heavy shutters and dragged them to one side, letting light flood into the room. Using the butts of their rifles they smashed the remaining glass out and sent it crashing down onto the rubbish heap below. It was so cool, the floor just finished, there was Emily’s little ledge, then it was thirteen floors straight down, not a place for toddlers!

  Even with Abdullah back, everyone was happier than before. While the girls still watched soaps operas in their rooms, they now had music in the lounge with great big speakers that made the walls shake when you turned the volume up. The wives hung out together and chatted; they swapped clothes, did each other’s hair and went for girls’ nights out. Emily didn’t know what they got up to but it was always a riot when they came back at four in the morning. After a slow start the next day, there was always a lot of giggling and laughter. The guards helped them cook dinner and everyone sat around the table to eat, the grown-ups washing dinner down with beer or a cocktail, Emily with a coke. After dinner they played backgammon or squeezed onto the sofas and watched the football or a shoot-em up movie.

  I’m starting to feel quite at home here…

  24.

  The first thing Abdullah did when he got his plaster off was to squeeze up through the trapdoor to see Bob. He was delighted to see his snake and picked the hissing serpent off the roof and wrapped it around his neck and torso, holding the snake’s neck in his big hands. They snarled and hissed at each other, their noses inches apart. Then Bob pulled away and hunted through Abdullah’s pockets looking for live rats and mice.

  ‘It’s nice up here,’ said Abdullah. ‘I’ll put some stairs in and make it part of the apartment.’

  ‘We could have a barbecue, and cook up a goat and potatoes and corn and stuff.’ said Emily.

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Abdullah, ‘We’ll do it this evening.’

  Emily rolled up the zebra skins and carried them up to the roof then hunted around in the kitchen and found all the bits and pieces that were needed for the barbecue: aluminium foil, salt and pepper, plates, tomato sauce, knives, some napkins and a box of matches. The girls turned up with brightly coloured beanbags, candles, a huge loudspeaker, some potatoes and corn on the cob.

  Sarge and the guards found everything they needed in the rubbish heap at the foot of the building. They made a fireplace out of rough bricks, then carried up a mountain of broken pallets and smashed furniture. A rack out of an old cooker became the barbecue and a worried looking goat was dinner.

  Emily dozed off on one of the beanbags. She had nice dreams to start with. She was lying on her back in the desert watching the stars, Zula beside her. A shooting star arced across the sky.

  He said, ‘Make a wish.’

  She wished that she was with him, forever and always.

  Suddenly there was a slimeball. It swallowed Zula up and was chasing her across the desert. There was nowhere for her to run, no escape. It was going to swallow her up.

  Flick, flick, flick.

  Something cold touched her cheek, then again and again.

  Emily was awake. It was Bob. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t panic. She rolled sideways out of the beanbag, then jumped up and ran.

  She ran and ran, zigzagging around the dishes then doubled back until she was behind Bob. Now she was chasing him. She tagged the tip of his tail. He turned and came for her, ducking to the left and right, cutting off her escape and herding her towards the corner.

  Naaaa.

  The goat was with her. They were trapped. One of them was going to be dinner. The goat panicked and butted into Emily. She fell and slipped over the edge. The rough concrete scraped down her arm as she went. She cau
ght the edge with one hand and hung there, not sure whether to look up or down.

  Splattered on the ground thirteen floors down or squished in Bob’s coils, how shall I die?

  She took a deep breath, then another. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back in the desert, looking up at the twinkling stars.

  Her fingers started to slip.

  Come on girl, you’ll never be with Zula if you let go!

  She reached up and grabbed the edge with her other hand.

  I guess I’m going top die in Bob’s coils. I hope snakes are ticklish!

  She hauled herself up slowly until she could just see over the edge.

  All was quiet. Bob had the goat in a death hold and was tightening his coils. Emily stopped right in front of him, face to face, and hissed at him. He flicked his tongue and hissed back.

  I really should keep a mouse in my pocket at all times; we could become friends.

  They were going to need another goat.

  25.

  Dog was almost as good. They basted him with honey and chillies then cooked him up in the embers, carving off the juicy roasted flesh as it got crunchy.

  Yum, yum!

  They ate corn, cooked with the husks on. It was so sweet and delicious that it must have been picked that morning.

  If I can get some dirt, I’ll grow corn up here, strawberries too, and peas in the pod. Potatoes will be tricky, they grow under the ground; I need things that grow up, not down.

  Potatoes!

  Oops, I’ve forgotten all about the potatoes.

  They’d wrapped them in foil and put them in the fire ages ago. Emily burnt her fingers pulling them out. Most were totally frazzled, light like ping-pong balls, but one or two were okay. They scraped off the burnt bits, added a knob of butter and salt and pepper and the potatoes had a super yummy nutty taste.

  After dark the girls lit the candles, and belly danced; their coins and charms glinting in the firelight.

  Emily joined in and even danced solo. Once she’d found the beat and was in the groove, she pretended she was Bob and turned into a snake.

  They made a huge fire out of the smashed up pallets and furniture. It roared, crackled and spat, sending orange flames clawing skyward.

  I hope the building catches fire. I’ll get rescued in a helicopter and fly across desert and sea, heading for home.