There was one source of extra income available Khedra mentioned that Ana had no difficulty in contemplating, and that was to escort prisoners on the privileged day release they were deemed to have earned. So it was that Ana found herself on Sunday morning escorting Ferhana to the Cathedral of Blad, a privilege readily granted in recognition of her positive attitude and good behaviour. It seemed to Ana a fairly pleasant way to earn extra pay at time and a quarter.

She met Ferhana in the foyer of the Brothel, where for all but the administrative staff it was just a normal day. Ana was dressed in the same clothes she’d worn for her interview, and scarcely recognised Ferhana in the modest and demure clothes she was wearing. Her dress was made of dark purple crush velvet and covered her from her neck, where it constrained her throat, down to her ankle boots. She was waiting for Ana with the Brothel Chaplain, a small leather handbag clasped to her side.

Chadora, the chaplain, was a short woman of medium build who wore the dark heavy clothes of her profession, her head covered by a modest cap and a cross secured around her neck and dangling over her breast. Her duties kept her very busy, Ana had heard, as so many prostitutes felt the need for her spiritual advice and for someone to listen to their confessions. She smiled as Ana approached.

“You’ve come in good time,” she laughed. “We’ve got enough time to walk to the cathedral. It’s a nice sunny day.” She beckoned to Ferhana. “Come along, dear. It must be quite a time since you last had a day outside the brothel walls.”

“It must be more than a month,” Ferhana admitted.

They strode out of the foyer, which was very quiet this early in the morning. There was only one man milling around - clearly undecided as to whether to take advantage of the Brothel’s services - and the receptionists were laughing and chatting over idle computer screens and Sunday morning papers. Ana enjoyed Sundays in the city of Blad . It was so much more peaceful with all the shops closed and no commuters about. If the city were always like this, she’d even prefer it to Rif .

Ferhana paused and blinked as they left the main entrance, accustoming herself to the greater expanse of space that welcomed them. The sky was clear, and the office buildings opposite cast well-defined shadows.

“Have you ever been to the Cathedral, Ana dear?” wondered Chadora.

“No, not at all! I’ve seen the photographs. It looks enormous!”

“It is indeed. The people of Blad have expressed their devotion in great style and dignity. Let’s see! The best way there is probably down there.” She indicated a broad avenue leading to the right. “Right! Let’s get going. We don’t want to be late for the service.”

The three walked along, with Ferhana unusually mute, presumably lost in her own thoughts. Ana didn’t want to interrupt her reverie, so she chatted with Chadora. The chaplain was very interested in how Ana was fitting in with brothel life.

“It must be a very strange place to be working as a secretary.”

“No more so than as a chaplain, I’d have thought.”

“Oh! Not at all! There’s been a very long tradition of religious devotion amongst those engaged in what they call the oldest profession. It’s not for me to say why I believe that should be so, just as it isn’t for me to pass comment on the girls’ chosen careers. There are undoubtedly stresses and uncertainties that their kind of work brings them, and I hope that in my capacity as their spiritual advisor I can bring a measure of comfort to their lives.”

“It’s not a chosen career for all of us,” commented Ferhana slightly bitterly.

Ana looked at her companion, wondering if she could tell from her face what her feelings were; but Ferhana’s face had relaxed into an inscrutable smile.

“Indeed not, Ferhana dear,” agreed Chadora. “And it is a special duty which I am proud to make available to those who have not exactly entered the brothel by choice. In fact, Ana, I’d say that the majority of my time is spent counselling prostitutes who are serving penal sentences.”

“Do you ever see Binta?”

“Binta?” wondered Chadora. “There are several girls here with that name. Which Binta do you mean?”

“She means her friend. The lesbian from Jebel. The girl she spends so much time chatting with in the canteen and in her room.”

Ana blushed. She hadn’t thought that her friendship with Binta had attracted so much attention. Was Ferhana expressing resentment at Ana’s friendship? If so, her face didn’t express any sign of it. And anyway, Ana reflected, why should Ferhana or anyone else mind that she was developing such a close friendship? She had no friends in Blad other than those she had made at the Brothel.

“Binta. Yes, I know. I’ve seen her. From a distance, that is. But she’s never come to see me for spiritual guidance. Unusual in a way, because it is often girls serving time for sexual misdemeanours such as the ones she’s committed that are most solicitous of my time. Theirs is a difficult sin for me to counsel - particularly as sections of the Church are undecided about the nature of it. Some, and I won’t claim to be one of them, say that it isn’t the rôle of either the church or state to give more than advice on such behaviour.”

“What do you say to lesbians when they see you?” wondered Ana.

Chadora looked steadily at Ana, as if to assess her feelings. “I tell them that the church’s rôle in Alif is to urge compliance to the law and that it is not for us to ever suggest that anyone should in any way diverge from that proper observance. I tell them that they must repress any criminal tendencies they may have, and if they find this difficult to seek guidance in the message of Jesus Christ Our Saviour. I do not tell them that their behaviour is wrong or sinful. That is for them to find in their understanding of the Holy Scriptures.”

“Just as you don’t condemn me for drinking alcohol,” laughed Ferhana.

“Well, you don’t drink any these days, do you, Ferhana dear. Not that you could even if you wanted to. But please don’t misunderstand me. I know that there is a difference between complying with the law from agreement with its virtue and from fear of its penalties. I hope that all the wards in my spiritual care learn to observe it willingly and not from sufferance.”

“Would you condemn Binta for being a lesbian?”

“Whatever your friend has done in the past is something for which she is already punished. I can do no more than help her, if she came to me, in facing up to her sentence in the brothel; and if she asked me for guidance in mending her tendencies towards criminal sexual behaviour I would give her all the assistance it is in my power to give. But less of that! Look at the wonderful sight of the Cathedral.”

Chadora indicated its massive bulk that lay ahead of them in a large public square populated mostly by pigeons and the odd Sunday stroller. A statue of President Marmeluke stood at its centre, striking a heroic gesture towards the flying buttresses, spires and gargoyles of the Cathedral. Ana had never in her life seen such a majestic building. The towers had such grandeur, the stones composing it were so massive and the dome at the top looked as if it could hold several of the churches she was so much more familiar with.

“You may wonder why prostitutes and criminals alike find comfort from religion,” Chadora continued thoughtfully as they wandered across the massive square. “There are two main reasons I feel. One is that Jesus Christ has promised forgiveness for our sins, if we truly repent them. For criminals such as Ferhana and your friend, Binta, the true forgiveness offered to us by Our Saviour is undeniably of comfort. For other prostitutes, whose work is hardly illegal, it is more difficult to explain why they desire Jesus’ forgiveness. However, just because something is legal or even encouraged by the state does not necessarily make that thing virtuous. There are many prostitutes who regard the practice of prostitution as necessarily sinful despite the approval given it by our government, and it is to salve their consciences that they look to Christ’s forgiveness.

“The other reason, I believe, is the comfort and succour that Christ offers all believers in the promise of a better life in the hereafter. The life of the prostitute can be a hard one. I know from my counselling that it brings great distress and some pain to some of my wards. Their hope is that their devotion to Jesus Christ will be rewarded in the afterlife and that in this way their lives will not be merely ones of suffering, with the constant anxiety of how their performance and appearance rating becomes inevitably downgraded as they age. However, let us think now of the glory of Jesus Christ and His love for us, as we enter this hallowed place.”

Chadora led Ana and Ferhana through the wide and tall open doors into the interior of the Cathedral, which impressed Ana more than the outside. The ceiling was so high! It was a wonder it didn’t collapse. But she noted with relief the many columns and beams, and how very substantial they were. The Cathedral was illuminated by beams of sunlight radiating through stained glass windows high above, which cast a magical kaleidoscope of colour at their feet. As if this light were not enough, thousands of candles were lit all around them, including some on a massive candelabrum supported by a long cable to the very tip of the dome and dangling yards above their heads. Chadora and Ferhana crossed themselves solemnly as they walked down the wide aisle looking for available seats amongst the already very full congregation. The echoing music of an enormous organ came from all directions. Its source was high above them where a small figure was massaging the many pedals with his feet.

The service matched the cathedral in its grandeur and pomp. Every aspect of the service outmatched those she was familiar with in Rif on the occasions her family had enticed her into a church. The raiment of the minister was magnificent, decorated with gold and silver. The choir was dressed in beautiful ornate white cloth and their voices echoed to the hymns with a purity in intonation and quality in delivery she had previously only heard on compact disc. The priest’s voice resonated with an authority and power that left Ana in total awe. This was so much more impressive than the relatively amateur services in the Rif churches, which relied so much on the voluntary services of the congregation.

Ferhana and Chadora prayed with a fervour and solemnity that made Ana’s own observance seem relatively insincere. She watched Ferhana’s bowed head as she devoutly murmured “Amen!”, cross herself as she raised herself and gazed with dignity at the priest who had raised his hands above his head. Ana listened intently to the service which related to some text in the Apocrypha she’d never heard of before, wondering at the trails of logic that led the minister towards his message of devotion and love. Ferhana nodded at critical moments to particular aspects of the sermon she found especially profound. If Ana hadn’t known what Ferhana’s life mostly consisted of, she would never have suspected it of such an apparently Christian young woman.

After the service, Ferhana wandered towards the confessionals while the rest of the congregation filed out, following the example of the priest and his retinue of choristers and lesser ministers. Chadora crossed herself and smiled at Ana.

“A good service, don’t you think? Are they like this in your own town, Ana dear?”

“Not as impressive, I’m afraid.”

“I suppose not. But I suspect the devotion of the congregation in Rif is more keenly felt than that in Blad.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have observed that the church’s doctrine is most well observed outside the big city. I have always been very inspired by the devotion expressed in the provinces, as if there were an inverse relationship between the pomp and ceremony, and the meaning it has in people’s lives. Too many of this congregation will feel that they have now expiated any need for devotion beyond that which they have already expressed, and will, like Ferhana, return to their lives untroubled by any Christian concerns.”

“I’m sure that’s not totally true,” Ana remarked uncertainly, “although people in Rif do seem more devout than most of those I’ve met in Blad. I can’t believe that those who come here are so hypocritical.”

“Well, not hypocritical as such. Just busy. But I confess I am rather cynical. It may be because of my own experiences that I became a chaplain: to become more wholly involved in the practice of my faith.”

“What were you before?”

“I was a prostitute, I’m afraid.”

“A prostitute?” Ana found it very difficult to believe. Chadora was very much the opposite of what she believed a prostitute would ever be like.

“I worked at the State Brothel in Blad. Not like Ferhana. Not as a criminal who has been sentenced to it, but wholly from choice. I was attracted by the money and the lifestyle. Like many prostitutes, however, I became interested in the church. It addressed so well those parts of my soul that the trade of prostitution neglects. I felt that it was demeaning me and that my motives were less from a desire to give pleasure and more to earn a good living. So I handed in my stilettos and stockings and took up the cloth instead. It’s not a decision I regret, and I am now ideally suited to serve the needs of my wards.”

Ana was a little embarrassed by this confession. She wasn’t at all sure what response was appropriate. Chadora noted her uncomfortable silence.

“I’m certainly not the first prostitute to have turned to the faith for comfort and guidance. It is said that Lady Magdalene was herself a prostitute before Jesus Christ brought her to see the light. He promised forgiveness to those who sought salvation in His message, and many other ex-prostitutes have become active in the church. Many, it must be said, wait until age has sufficiently devalued their market value before they make such a decision - but their choice is no less sincere for that.”

“Do you think Ferhana will do the same?”

Chadora smiled ruefully. “Much as I would like to say she would, I don’t believe she wishes to express her devotion so completely. She is also not one who believes that the practice of prostitution or indeed alcohol smuggling is inconsistent with a devout faith.”

When Ferhana returned from her confession, smiling cheerfully as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Chadora remarked that she had some other business to attend to at the Cathedral and wouldn’t be able to return to the Brothel with them. “I’m sure, however, that Ferhana can be trusted to stay with you.” She squeezed Ana’s hand affectionately. “I hope to see you again in the Brothel. Perhaps in a spiritual capacity if you ever need it.”

Ferhana and Ana left through the enormous doors of the Cathedral. She was hushed by the deadening immensity of the consecrated ground, now echoing only with the occasional conversation of the visitors.

“When Chadora has said that I can be trusted to stay with you,” Ferhana remarked, “she has said that knowing that I am black and in the city of Blad , a black girl can not easily hide for long. But before we return, shall we sit outside the Cathedral? I enjoy so much the freedom of the open air. It is so much better than in the Brothel.”

The two girls sat on a bench at the edge of the square, Ferhana with her small handbag placed delicately on her lap and an enthusiastic smile on her dark face. “I hope you are liking your work at the Brothel, Ana?”

“I’m getting used to it. And I’m making friends there.”

“I hope you will think that I may be a friend of yours. I am glad you have made such good friends with Binta. She is so lonely, I think. She hates the work and she needs the comfort of friends who are not also prostitutes. I’m sure it makes her life seem so much better.”

“Do you hate working at the Brothel as much as Binta?”

“I hate it. That is true. But I hate it less than Binta. She hates it not only because the work is so bad. She hates it also because she does not like to make love with men. I am better than her at thinking it as just a job. Not a job that pays well, or at all, but a job for all that. For that I am treated very well by the director and his close associates. Binta will never even pretend to like the job - and for that she will never improve her PAR. But Binta is like me. She is at the Brothel because she has broken the law. Not because she has chosen to work there.”

“You were sentenced for alcohol smuggling, weren’t you?”

“Yes, that is true. I have made much money importing spirits and wine from my home country into Alif. In Haj alcohol is freely available and here it is not. It was such a simple matter to bring alcohol in, and so many people wish to pay much money for it. For a while, I was rich and I have met many interesting people. Many of these people are the same people who condemn me now. But when I was free to sell them whisky, gin or vodka, they were very friendly. Often they have encouraged me. ‘Bring some rum’ they would say. ‘I want a litre of best whiskey.’ ‘I want two litres of gin.’ Now, if they see me they will look away. When I was rich, I lived in a very nice flat in Blad. I had many friends who would visit me. I could afford many expensive things. But soon I was discovered. The police arrested me and they sentenced me to the Brothel. I had friends who worked as prostitutes and I thought it may not be so bad. But I still hate it. I hate the customers and I hate the way I have to dress and have to be nice to them.”

Ferhana looked up at the Cathedral ahead of them where a party of children in smart clothes was being escorted by a matronly woman and where pigeons rose in a sudden flurry of wings to avoid them. They circled around and then descended back to almost exactly the point from which they had taken off.

“I did not go to church when I was dealing alcohol. I believed, of course. All my family in Haj are very religious. And I do not believe that my trade was at all contrary to my faith. Now I am in the Brothel, however, I find the church a great comfort. It is like finding a friend whom I have not spoken to for a very long time. Whatever I do now, however horrid the clients may be, I know that God watches over me and that He cares for me.”

“Do you regret selling alcohol?”

“I regret being discovered. I had such a very good life. Especially compared to the poverty in Haj where, although we can drink as much alcohol as we like, life is much harder than here. There is great poverty. Most people live only from the riches of the land. It is no wonder that there is such a dedicated following of Jesus Christ. His message of Love and Forgiveness in this life and forever after is very appealing. It is strange though that in Haj where so few can afford it there is so much alcohol, and here where everyone can afford it there is none. It is a strange world.”

“Are there many countries where alcohol’s legal?” wondered Ana, who craved to know more of what it was actually like. All she knew was from films where alcohol drinkers were shown to be a very villainous lot who after only a little resorted to either violent behaviour or lethargic idiocy. She knew it came in strange shaped bottles and was the same colour as urine, but since the films she saw were only those permitted in Alif she didn’t know how closely they resembled reality.

“There aren’t that many countries where it’s actually illegal. There are a few where it’s actively discouraged, but no one ever gets sent to jail - or a brothel - for selling it, let alone for drinking it. But I don’t know why your President Marmeluke is so keen that it remains illegal here. I do know that many people quite closely associated with his government are illicit consumers, not that I could ever prove it.”

“And now you are in the Brothel for your crimes...”

“Yes. I wish I were elsewhere. But not in one of your country’s horrible jails. Many people have told me about them. I am at least forewarned when my body is to be violated, and there is a freedom that I would cherish greatly if I were chained in a cell all day. Binta may complain - as I know she does - of how horrid her life is. In a prison it is much worse, although in a woman’s jail she would at least meet many other lesbians.”