	Alif
        ====


	



	1

"Whatever thoughts, fantasies or conjectures you may have 
about working in a Brothel - especially a State Brothel - 
you should dismiss straight away. It really is no different to 
working anywhere else. You will not be expected to behave 
any differently to a secretary or personal assistant employed 
in any other business."

Ana nodded. This was what she'd hoped to hear. Although 
her interviewer was just a little bit more flamboyant than 
most, - as befitted the Director of the largest Brothel in the 
country, - she had been afraid that he might have been far 
worse. Mr Madir was not a tall man, but when wearing his 
top hat he had a bearing and demeanour that more 
than compensated for his vertical disadvantage. His stubby 
fingers were either fiddling with his cigarette holder or, as 
at the moment, delicately holding a cigarette a small 
distance from his mouth. Although his fingers didn't have 
the yellow stain of nicotine associated with a habitual 
smoker, there was a suggestion of roughness about them.

Ana had never visited the City of Blad before. She 
had never been very far from her home in Rif, a rural 
district in the heart of Alif renowned more for its wide open 
plains and sugar beet than it was for providing employment. 
She'd despaired of ever finding a job when one of her very 
many applications was returned not with the usual polite 
regrets but with an interview date. And now she was here, 
the interview was almost a formality. As soon as her duties 
were explained to her and the Director confirmed that she'd 
gained the requisite grades in her secretarial examinations, 
the tone of the interview shifted quite markedly from if she 
were to work as his secretary towards when.

However, this might not be so surprising, Ana reflected. 
Not many people would be attracted to working in a Brothel. 
Initially she had been very reluctant to post off her 
application form, despite all the effort expended in its 
completion. Some of Ana's friends were simultaneously 
shocked and titillated by Ana's potential job offer, while 
others advised her that with jobs so hard to find, especially 
in Rif, she shouldn't ignore any opportunity. It was also 
true that this job had its attractions: the pay was good and 
accommodation would be provided free of charge (not, as Ana 
was relieved to discover, in the Brothel itself).

The Blad State Brothel was an imposing building. It was 
difficult to determine the building's shape because from 
whatever direction it was seen other buildings in the narrow 
winding roads obscured some of it. Its entrance was a wide 
doorway, many times higher than the tallest man, leading to 
a foyer where men were sitting on armchairs or anxiously 
milling around. At first Ana was unsure where to go, but 
she breathed deep and strode towards the scantily dressed 
lady at the reception desk. She would not be deflected at 
this last hurdle. At the very least, she'd want to reclaim her 
not inconsiderable travelling expenses.

When Ana introduced herself, she was treated in exactly the 
same officious way she associated with receptionists at 
other interviews she'd attended. Mr Madir was informed by 
telephone that Ana had arrived and then, because he 
was such an important man, the receptionist escorted Ana 
into his private elevator and up to his office. Even then, 
Ana had to wait with the plants and plaques in the 
anteroom for nearly half an hour beyond the 
official scheduled time of the interview before the Director 
could see her. Ana speculated that this might be because 
there were other candidates for the job, but when he 
opened his door to invite her in there was no evidence of 
what might have delayed him.

"However, this is a Brothel," continued the Director, 
smoke billowing through the nostrils of his long thin nose. 
"And it is worth your while knowing how the institution 
works. No doubt, like many country bumpkins, you have 
some very peculiar ideas about it. And from what I've heard 
of State Brothels in the provinces, this may not be entirely 
due to rustic ignorance." He leaned forward to gaze into 
Ana's face, forcing her to lean back while still maintaining a 
fixed bland smile. "Do you have any idea what motivates 
women - or men - to work as prostitutes?"

Ana swallowed slightly. "No," was all she managed 
to eructate.

"None of your friends have ever been prostitutes? None of 
them ever considered it as a career?"

Ana shook her head. What must Mr Madir think of her?

"There are many different reasons for a woman, - and most 
of the prostitutes here are women, - to work as a 
Prostitute. The most positive ones are held by those 
attracted to prostitution as a profession, and who take it 
every bit as seriously as the legal, medical, pedagogical and, 
I dare say," the Director sniffed a little dismissively, "the 
secretarial professions. These are the prostitutes I most 
admire. They are the ones who have ensured that, over the 
centuries, the State Brothels continue to provide the highest 
possible level of service and satisfaction. A standard which 
would have ensured a state monopoly even if the law didn't 
already prescribe it.

"Then there are those attracted purely for the 
remuneration. Prostitutes are very competitively salaried, 
and the bonuses, overtime and fringe benefits are really 
second to none. Quite a few Prostitutes, and not just the 
Alpha grades, earn substantially more than me. Why an 
employee wishes to earn so much money is really none of 
my business and I do not wish to pry. However," and again 
Mr Madir leaned uncomfortably forward, "one hears 
terrible things about their private habits. Some even drink 
alcohol. And for a filthy habit like that they need the money 
to buy it on the black market. And some have children. You 
don't have children, m'dear?" 

Ana shook her head. She felt distinctly ill at ease. Even in 
her smart and demure interview outfit, - which rather 
exaggerated any stiffness or primness she might already 
possess, - the Director's pale brown eyes seemed to 
unclothe her.

"Good. And then there are those here in penal service. They 
most definitely do not enjoy the career advantages of other 
Prostitutes, but many choose to linger on as 
employees after serving their sentence. I don't enjoy my 
dual role as Prison Governor and Managing Director, but I 
am above all a servant of the Government and in that 
capacity I am thoroughly loyal. Do you have any 
questions?"

Ana couldn't think of any, and rather hoped the interview 
would end soon. It was difficult to avoid looking into the 
Director's face, and every time she did his eyes pierced 
straight through her. No doubt it was his profession that 
made him appear like this, thought Ana charitably. Or 
maybe, she wondered less benevolently, it was what he was 
already like that had decided his choice of profession.

"Irrespective of the terms of their employment all 
the Prostitutes are strictly graded according to their 
appearance, performance and special services. This is 
categorised by Greek letters. The highest grades are the 
Alphas with the Alpha Double Plus being the highest 
quality, most well-paid and, as far as the client is 
concerned, the most expensive. At the other extremes are 
the Epsilons. These might be considered bargain basement 
by the clients, and their services are usually only retained 
because of the demand for cheapness. Epsilons mostly 
consist of convicts and economic migrants. Personally, I 
would never avail myself of their services, but there are 
many poverty-stricken clients with sufficiently less 
discretion than myself.

"If you were employed as a Prostitute, I imagine you would 
be categorised as Beta Plus which is no bad thing to be. 
There are opportunities to work part-time as a Prostitute.  
Should you ever consider it, it's a very good way to 
improve your salary quite substantially." The Director 
paused to pull another cigarette from the silver cigarette 
case on the desk. He tapped it on the exterior, though 
there seemed no reason to suspect it needed such attention 
and fixed it in the end of his cigarette holder. "Does the 
prospect of such extra employment attract you at all, 
m'dear?"

Ana blushed. Revulsion gripped her stomach. She'd rather 
die! A heroic image of herself jumping out of the Director's 
window onto the city streets many floors below came 
to mind as she vehemently and speechlessly shook her head.

"Well, you may come to change your opinion with time 
and acquaintance," mused Mr Madir, who adjusted the 
cigarette holder in his lips and flicked open his cigarette 
lighter. He lit his cigarette carefully, watching the smoke 
rise. Ana averted her eyes from the smoke and focused 
them on the ponderous gold ring on his forefinger.

The remainder of the interview concerned more mundane 
aspects such as the starting date, salary, holiday allowance 
and the accommodation she would be offered. Ana soon 
found herself committed to commencing the very next day 
and despite her reservations about the Brothel and the 
Director himself, she could articulate no good reason for 
not accepting the offer. The Director had a tendency to 
digress and talk about his own job and responsibilities, and 
in these moments Ana had the opportunity to inspect 
the office. This was to be the place, she began to accept, 
where she'd be spending most of her working day, taking 
down short-hand, typing letters and exercising the 
Director's more menial duties. The office was very plush, as 
befitted the Director's status, and above his head hung an 
impressive portrait of President Marmeluke, dressed in a 
flamboyant military uniform, gazing imperiously down on his 
two subjects. 

After the interview, the Director escorted Ana to the 
Brothel Canteen along endless corridors and staircases. Ana 
wondered if she'd ever become familiar with the building's 
geography. Along the corridors were closed doors with a 
bright light above each one. Some were red, some were 
green and some were switched off. The Director explained 
that these described the Prostitute's current status. When 
the light was red, the Prostitute was engaged with a client 
and was not to be disturbed. When green, the Prostitute 
was on duty but was not at that time engaged with a client. 
And when switched off, the Prostitute was off duty.

Generally, the corridors were fairly empty. Occasionally 
they passed a man escorted by one of the receptionists 
wearing the regulation tight, rather revealing, leather 
uniform tottering on painfully high heels. These were clients 
being taken to a Prostitute, Mr Madir explained. Or, of 
course, he added, being escorted back to reception. No 
client was permitted to wander freely about the building. 
There were also Prostitutes walking singly or in pairs. 
These were off duty, the Director explained. But even then 
they had to dress as Prostitutes in case the client saw them. 
And indeed the scanty skin-tight clothes, the high heeled 
stilettos, the thick make-up and, in some cases, total 
absence of clothes, left little doubt as to their profession. 
Ana had never seen so many provocatively dressed, 
or undressed, women in all her life, and she felt 
embarrassment warm her cheeks and a curious excitement 
her body, which made it difficult to breathe or talk in a 
natural way.

Soon enough, they passed through some swing-doors with 
Entry Forbidden to Clients etched on the glass, and the 
doors now had titles, like Internal Examinations, 
Catering Clerk and Foreign Services, with which Ana felt 
more comfortable. And there was an arrow labelled To 
Staff Canteen.

The Brothel Canteen really could have been a canteen 
anywhere, sharing the same air of temporary reprieve. It 
was larger than any canteen Ana had seen before but there 
were all the expected features: formica-top tables, 
counter and canteen staff, red plastic trays and cardboard 
coffee cups. The Director beckoned over one of the 
canteen staff, a harassed middle-aged woman in an apron 
and simpering smile, who scurried forward to take his order 
for coffees. 

"Where shall we sit, m'dear?" the Director asked.

"I don't really mind," said Ana who had nevertheless 
scanned the tables and saw many that she probably would 
mind sitting at. On some tables there was the customary 
chaos of empty cups, wrapping paper and coffee stains. On 
others, there were women in several states of dress and 
undress gathered in pairs or groups, some observing Mr 
Madir and her rather warily.

"I'll introduce you to some of the workers," announced 
the Director striding towards a table with three women 
sitting at it. Ana tailed him, her reserved interview clothes 
very much out of character.

The Director briefly introduced the three women in turn, 
before sitting in a chair. Ana sat next to him. One girl, 
Ferhana, was slim and black, wearing black suspenders, 
stockings and black lace underwear. Her hair was fairly 
short and she beamed at Ana with a peculiar mischievous 
grin. Opposite Ana was Binta, who had long mousy brown 
hair to her waist and wore no clothes at all. Ana found the 
prospect of sitting so close to a pair of  round naked breasts 
and their lightly pronounced nipples curiously threatening. 
The third girl, Bezaffa, was extremely plump with soft white 
skin, most of which was clearly visible through her skimpy, 
nearly transparent, dress. Although fat, she was not at all 
unattractive, her friendly, welcoming face framed by blonde 
shoulder-length hair.

"Ferhana's a foreigner as you can probably tell," the 
Director continued after the canteen assistant had produced 
two cups of coffee, both in somewhat superior china with 
sugar cubes and a spoon resting in the saucer. "Not many 
jobs where you come from are there, m'dear?"

"Very few," admitted Ferhana, who spoke with a flat 
accent. "Haj is a very poor country. Not like Alif. Many 
people do not have enough to eat and the cities are very 
dirty. That is why I have come here." 

She smiled broadly and gazed straight into Ana's eyes.

"We don't have many niggers in Alif," explained the 
Director, "so they possess premium value in the Brothel. 
You're doing quite well here aren't you, Ferhana dear?"

"Yes," she admitted. "When I first have come to the 
Brothel, I was just a Beta Plus. But I have done many tests 
and many exercises. Now I am an Alpha Minus and many 
more clients want me. I have learnt how to look after my 
body so I am much more good at my work and much more 
good to look at."

"Actually Ferhana's serving time here," elaborated the 
Director. "She was found guilty of smuggling alcohol into 
the country, weren't you?"

Ferhana looked remorseful. "Yes, that is true. In Haj it is 
not against the law to buy and sell alcohol. And I made very 
much money selling it. But I was caught and I was sent 
here to be reformed." She smiled at the Director. "But I am 
reformed now. And soon I will work here and make very 
much money selling my body."

"A much more creditable way to make a living," he 
said approvingly. "It always fills me with pleasure when 
girls in my care are reformed. It makes the custodial aspect 
of the Brothel much easier to bear."

Ferhana sipped from her cardboard cup fixing her eyes on 
the Director. "It is good to know that I have a good 
career waiting for me at the end of my sentence."

"Binta's also here for remedial purposes," the 
Director continued. Binta visibly jumped at being 
addressed, but nervously composed herself. "Like Ferhana 
she was classified on arrival as a Beta Plus, and I'm sure 
that she too could attain an Alpha grade if she worked at 
it." Binta nodded but her eyes wandered away from the 
Director and towards Ana. "These two girls are actually 
quite untypical, m'dear. Most of the prisoners we get are 
quite poor grade. Most are Gammas and Deltas. We even 
get a few Epsilons. My greatest reservation of government 
policy in placing criminals in my care is that they tend to 
lower the general standard. And so few of them are 
properly motivated. Isn't that true, Binta?"

"Probably," she answered noncommittally.

"I don't think Binta's got quite the right attitude," 
the Director sniffed. "But, Ana, what do you think about 
the way she dresses?"

Ana blushed. "I'm sorry. What ...?"

"Or the way she doesn't dress," the Director continued. "It's 
not my choice. I prefer the girls to be smartly turned out 
like Ferhana here. A good pair of heels. Well-applied 
makeup. But the Department of Public Services has quite a 
liberal attitude and it allows this nudist look. What do you 
call it, Binta?" Binta frowned. "Naturism, isn't it? There is a 
sufficiently large demand for naked girls for this kind of 
appearance to be permitted. They can get away without 
wearing any makeup or other kind of prescribed body care 
as long as they remain naked all the time. Isn't that so?"

Binta nodded. Her eyes wandered back towards Ana who 
caught a flash of insolence before they lowered in token 
subservience.

"Binta's not the only nudist you'll see here," the 
Director continued, "but thankfully there aren't too many of 
them. I wouldn't like the Brothel to look like some heathen 
place. But I can't answer for the clients' tastes. And it's the 
public to whom I'm ultimately answerable." He pulled a 
cigarette out of its case and tapped it on the Formica 
surface. "But you'd say you're a reformed girl, wouldn't you 
Binta?"

"Yes, of course," she said firmly but without enthusiasm.

"President Marmeluke's government doesn't lightly 
institute policies. There's a great deal of reasoned debate. 
And it's very cheering to see demonstrable proof of its 
wisdom. Binta won't treat public morality with such 
disrespect again, will you?"

Binta shook her head. 

Ana found herself sympathising with Binta's somewhat sullen 
attitude towards the Director. Indeed, now that she'd got 
over the original shock of sitting opposite a naked woman, 
it no longer seemed so strange. It would probably have 
detracted from Binta's fresh-faced attractiveness if she'd 
been dressed in underwear with such pronounced makeup as 
Ferhana. Perhaps not all prostitutes are sluts, she 
reflected.

"However, for a model for my other employees there can 
be none better than Bezaffa. Can there, m'dear?"

"You flatter me," smiled Bezaffa coyly.

"Unlike these other two, Bezaffa came into the profession 
by choice. And she's a true professional. An Alpha Plus. 
Isn't that so?"

"It is," Bezaffa agreed modestly.

"You might wonder how someone as ample as Bezaffa, 
someone as voluptuous, could get such a high rating. But 
that's because certain species of employee are classified 
appropriately for their particular virtues. And for her type, 
Bezaffa is quite simply top notch."

"It's hard work maintaining it," confessed Bezaffa, smiling 
confidentially at Ana. "I have to spend a lot of time every 
day practising and keeping myself in shape."

"No hardship keeping your figure, though," the Director 
commented, leaning towards Bezaffa. 

Ana reviewed Bezaffa in an attempt to evaluate why she 
should have such a high rating. She supposed that she did 
seem peculiarly attractive for such a large woman. Her face, 
in particular, shone with a fresh gleam with dark blue eyes 
and light blonde hair. Her smile had a flirting seductiveness 
which dimpled her round smooth cheeks. Her breasts swelled 
over the roundness of her belly with her enormous pink 
nipples clearly visible through the skimpy white dress.

"Bezaffa's very much in demand. Indeed most of your work 
is spent visiting clients rather than them visiting you here. 
And you're booked quite a few days in advance."

"Well, I do have my regulars - which ensures a very full 
appointments diary."

"And I bet they give you a little extra on the side," the 
Director joked slyly.

"I wouldn't admit to that, would I, sweetie?" Bezaffa 
answered. "But I can refuse clients I don't like. That's 
almost the greatest privilege of being an Alpha Plus."

"Don't say that too loudly," laughed the Director, "or the 
other girls will be even more jealous of you!"

"It's not very often I exercise my prerogative, of course," 
Bezaffa elaborated. "I like all my clients. Especially the 
regulars. In fact, I really enjoy my job."

"It's a good career, isn't it?" the Director enthused. Ana 
noticed that Binta didn't seem to share Bezaffa wild-eyed 
enthusiasm. Indeed she scowled at the very suggestion of 
the profession's appeal. "Tell Ana about the advantages of 
your work."

"It's a good career. It's a good way to meet a lot of very 
interesting people and it keeps you terribly fit. In fact, it's 
almost all I can do to keep myself as plump as I am. There 
can't be many jobs where you're paid to enjoy yourself and 
get paid so well. The holiday allowance is very generous, 
there's an index-related pension and plenty of opportunity 
for overtime. You ought to do some part-time work in it 
yourself, dear. You can certainly earn quite a bit of extra 
cash - more than your regular income. Have you considered 
that option at all?"

Ana blushed. "No, not at all!"

"Well, I'm sure you'll get round to the idea. Your 
predecessor, Inta, was just like you to start with but after a 
while she got to be quite enthusiastic about it."

"She did very well," agreed the Director. "But don't you 
worry; if it's not for you, then that'll be respected."

"Of course, sweetie," Bezaffa agreed. She glanced at the 
tiny red plastic watch which pinched into her swollen wrist. 
"Well, it's been nice talking to you, but I've got a client to 
visit so I'll have to be going." 

She eased out of her plastic chair and heaved herself up. 
She leaned over and kissed Ana tenderly on the cheek. 
"Welcome to the Brothel. I'm sure you'll enjoy working 
here. And I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other." She then 
bade everyone farewell and walked off in long confident 
strides on stilettos which demonstrated a degree of delicate 
charm not often associated with such large women.

The Director glanced at the canteen clock. "One o'clock!" 
he announced. "I must get back to the office. And it must 
be time for your shift, too, Ferhana m'dear."

"Oh yes!" she answered, promptly leaping to her feet. "I 
was just about to go."

"And what about you, Binta?"

"I'm on a later shift," she announced.

"Right, m'dear!" The Director stood up and shook Ana's 
hand. "So, we'll be seeing you punctually first thing 
tomorrow morning. I'll go through your duties with you 
then."

Ana nodded, still unsettled by her changed circumstances, 
and watched as the Director and Ferhana disappeared 
together through the canteen doors which slammed shut 
behind them with a puff. Ana was left sitting just opposite 
Binta and not at all sure where to direct her eyes. She 
couldn't very well look away from Binta as that would seem 
rude, but she felt very nervous gazing at a naked woman 
however natural her nakedness might appear.

Binta smiled reassuringly at Ana. "You're new to Blad, 
aren't you?"

"Yes. I've never been to the big city before."

"It must seem very intimidating. I've not seen much of the 
city myself - except, you know, what I can see from the 
Brothel. And that's not a lot."

"Are you here all the time?"

"Yes. I'm never let out! I might run away, you see!"

"You really are a prisoner here!"

"Nothing could tempt me to stay here otherwise," Binta 
affirmed. She examined Ana quizzically. "You poor dear. 
All this must seem very queer to you. If you like, I'll show 
you more of this place. Would you like that?"

Ana glanced around the rest of the canteen at all the strange 
women and the counter staff more animated now that the 
Director was gone. 

"That would be interesting."

"I'll show you my room. It's not much, but it'll give you 
more of an insight of what the Brothel's about." 


	2

Binta escorted Ana from the Canteen, along another series 
of corridors, illuminated by lights over the doors, around a 
confusion of corners and up disconnected flights of stairs. 
Ana felt very self-conscious of accompanying a naked 
woman and averted her eyes as much as possible. She had 
no idea where they were in relation to the Canteen and the 
elevator by which she had originally arrived, but she 
understood better the scale of the Brothel. Binta chatted 
idly to Ana and greeted the prostitutes they passed either by 
name or by just a smile. They differed somewhat in age and 
appearance. Not all were particularly attractive and many 
were immigrants. Most wore make-up and provocative 
clothing, which gave the impression that they had been 
unexpectedly interrupted while getting dressed. 

"So you come from Rif?" asked Binta. "I don't know it, but 
it's probably quite similar to Jebel, the district I come from. 
Do you know it?" 

"No, not at all. I've never travelled far from Rif before." 

The door to Binta's room was identical to all the others, 
paced out in both directions. The light above the door was 
switched off, but the light above many other doors was 
green. The one above the door to the right was red. Binta 
pushed open her unlocked door to reveal her room. 

"It's really nothing special," she said desultorily, waving 
her arm around theatrically. "Almost all the bedrooms are 
exactly the same. Their official title is boudoir, but since 
it's where I sleep and stay when there are no Clients it's 
mostly just a bedroom to me." 

The room wasn't especially exotic. It was dominated by a 
plain double bed with a robust mattress covered by 
synthetic silk sheets. Lining one wall were a wardrobe and 
book-case adorned by paperback novels and inexpensive 
ornaments. Next to that was a small alcove enclosing a 
sink, a mirror and a plastic shelf supporting an array of 
scented soaps, shampoo and tooth-paste. On the other side 
of the bed was a simple arm-chair and a full-length wall 
mirror. A sealed double-glazed window was beside the bed, 
through which was a view of office blocks and a distant 
park. The only evidence that the room served as a boudoir 
was the predominant rich sherry red of the room and the 
three pictures on the wall displaying women in states of 
undress. One was a black and white photograph and the 
other two were prints of paintings by not particularly 
talented artists. 

"No, I didn't choose the decor!" laughed Binta, sitting on 
the edge of the bed while Ana cast her eyes around. "I hate 
the pictures and red is not my favourite colour! I'd have 
painted it green, I think, if I'd had the choice. But at least I 
get a nice view." 

Ana smiled shyly, closed the door behind her and strode to 
the window to survey the City of Blad below. It still seemed 
intimidating but exciting. Would she ever get used to the 
hustle and bustle? She turned round, her back to the 
window, and mused at her reflection in the mirror. She was 
such a timid animal with none of Binta's natural 
self-confidence. She could never walk around a Brothel 
with no clothes on. 

"It's a very nice mirror!" Ana remarked, her eyes tracing her 
figure from her buckled low-heeled shoes to the straight 
hair that felt so lank and unmanaged. 

"It's in a very commanding position, don't you think?" Binta 
commented, also regarding Ana's reflection.

"Yes," Ana agreed. It was set at forty-five degrees from 
one wall to the other and cut a corner off the room. "You 
can see every part of the room in the mirror." 

"And it can see you in every part of the room as well. It has 
a television camera behind it, you know." 

Ana gasped. "What! To spy on you?" 

"All the Prostitutes have them! It's no big deal. It's so that 
the Clients can view us from the selection room when we're 
on duty. They scan a live video relay of prostitutes to 
choose the one whose services they want to purchase. 
When on duty, we have to stay in our rooms all the time, so 
they can examine us like that. Do you see the light above 
the door?" 

"It's just like the one outside." 

"When it's green, that means that I'm being looked at, so I 
have to advertise myself and look like I'm really keen to 
provide my services - though of course I haven't got any 
idea at all of who to!" 

"Ugh! That's sounds horrid!" 

"You really don't like prostitution at all, do you," smiled 
Binta indulgently. "...And when they've chosen you, the 
light goes red and you know that for the next half hour or 
an hour you're not going to be able to continue doing the 
crossword, reading the paper or whatever else you might 
have been doing before." Binta lay on her back on the bed, 
her head resting on the pillow. She rolled over to observe 
Ana who was still standing by the window. "My theory is 
that that's not all they use the mirror for. I think they record 
us having sex with Clients and make pornographic videos." 

"I can't believe they would do that!" 

"Well, I don't know for sure, of course. But I wouldn't put 
it beyond them. I often think someone out there's watching 
what I'm doing and evaluating my performance!" Binta 
smiled wickedly. "You mustn't forget that this is a Brothel, 
you know." 

Ana felt uncomfortable, so she sat in the armchair, after 
facing it away from the mirror. "But living here is not all 
just being a prostitute is it?" 

"No, not at all. It's a prison as well. It's all things. It's home, 
work and prison. And it's most like a prison when it's work. 
Then, I'm confined here waiting for the green light to come 
on. And when the light is red, no matter how bad I feel, or 
whether it's one Client or ten, I have to provide a service. 
The more Clients I serve and the more satisfaction I give 
the more likely I am to be offered remission for good 
behaviour. On a very good day, the light never goes red."  

Binta rested her head against the wall and supported her 
body on her shoulders. Ana's eyes nervously wandered 
down the length of Binta's slim tanned body to focus on the 
mass of brown hair between her legs, but she checked 
herself and raised her eyes up to gaze at her face. 

"I can do what I like when I'm not working, as long as I 
don't leave the confines of the Brothel. I can watch 
television in one of the television rooms. Visit other girls 
who're not on duty. Drink tea in the Canteen. Keep fit in 
the swimming pool or gym. And even tend my garden on 
the roof and enjoy the little bit of fresh air that I'm 
allowed. It's not such a bad life, I suppose, when I'm not 
working. There are people in Alif, not in prison, much 
worse off than me. I can see the beggars in the streets 
below. I've heard about the poverty and famine in the 
remoter regions of Alif. But I hate the work. I hate sex with 
these nauseating men! And I hate never being able to leave 
the Brothel!" 

Ana shivered at the mention of the men and Binta noticed 
that. 

"You're even more appalled by prostitution than Inta, 
aren't you? She hated it too, although not as much as me, I 
think! After all, she volunteered for it in the end. Do you 
have much prostitution in Rif?" 

"Not very much at all. There's a brothel in the County 
Town, but I don't know anyone who's been there and I've 
never even seen it." 

"Much the same for me in Jebel," admitted Binta. "I always 
thought prostitutes were repugnant and filthy. I never 
believed I'd ever become one. And all the obnoxious 
obscene perverted things I thought that men would do: it's 
all true. And worse! I don't know how men can live with 
themselves. They're all perverts. I didn't like men before I 
came here, and I'm certainly never going to like them after 
the personal hell they've put me through." 

Ana's gaze wandered away from Binta and through the 
window. The sight of the blue sky and the seagulls flying 
over the city buildings made it easier to listen to Binta. 
Ana's knowledge of men was not very comprehensive and 
Binta's account generated a sensation of abhorrence. Her 
gaze floated back to Binta and unconsciously centred again 
on the pubic hair, which confirmed to her how different one 
woman could be from another. 

"I don't suppose you're used to being with a naked woman, 
are you?" commented Binta, covering her crotch with a 
hand. "It's not what I would normally choose to be myself. 
I'm no more a naturist by conviction than I am a prostitute, 
but I'd rather wear no clothes at all and pretend to be one, 
than walk around in underwear all day. Or in leather. Or 
squeeze my feet into those horrible shoes with the 
ridiculously high heels. Or spend my life in front of a mirror 
covering my face with rouge, paint and lipstick. The reason 
I'm officially a naturist, is simply to avoid all that. And I get 
away with it because enough men think it's sexy. But it 
does mean that I own absolutely no clothes whatsoever, 
and that, once a month, I have to be especially clean." 

"Most Prostitutes have to wear those clothes?" 

"Of course. They're Brothel issue. Those who're not 
designated naturist are issued with a wardrobe and can 
wear nothing else at all when in the Brothel. There's not 
much variety. It's all rubber, leather, lace, nylon, silk or 
gauze of one kind of another. It's stilettos, suspenders, 
basques, stockings and collars. And the make-up! It makes 
everyone look like aliens from another planet. What do you 
think?" 

Ana nodded. "I've never seen people dressed like it before!" 

"I suppose that's the idea of it. If Prostitutes looked like 
everyone else, then the Clients would realise that they're 
just human. And that would never do!" 

"If you hate prostitution so much, why are you here?" 

"Well, it was either this or an all-woman's jail, where the 
conditions are much worse and the male warders might 
rape or molest you, or a convent. No convent would 
accept me because I never go to church and I don't want to 
go to the jail." 

"But what crime did you commit? Was it drugs?" 

"No, I've never been a drinker!" laughed Binta playfully. 
"What do you think it might have been?" 

Ana wondered. She couldn't imagine Binta as an armed 
criminal or terrorist, even with clothes on. She was too 
well-educated and intelligent. Perhaps it was tax evasion, 
but Binta was too young to have earned enough taxes to 
evade. And it certainly would not have been freelance 
prostitution. She shook her head. 

"I've no idea. None at all!" 

Binta smiled. "No idea? I was beginning to think it was 
written all over my face. You really don't know? I'm not 
sure I know how to tell you. You might be shocked or 
alarmed!" 

"Is it murder?" gasped Ana, suddenly rather frightened. 

"No, it's lesbianism." 

Ana wasn't sure that she heard right. Did such people 
actually exist and was she sitting in the same room as one? 

"What did you say?" 

"I'm a lesbian," Binta repeated. "I'm here for repeatedly and 
unashamedly performing homosexual acts with another 
woman. It doesn't matter that she was a consenting adult. I 
have committed the serious offence of lesbianism." 

"And you're in the Brothel for that?" 

"I can be grateful for small mercies. It was once a capital 
offence. Lesbians would be stoned to death or 
disembowelled or something. Now it's just a period of 
incarceration." 

Ana looked at Binta's naked body with trepidation. So, this 
is what a lesbian looked like. She had no preconceptions of 
what they were like, but she knew that lesbianism was 
wrong. Not only wrong but perverse: contradicting the 
natural, God-given order of the world. And Binta was a 
lesbian. Was she safe being in the same room as her? 

"I suppose just as you've never met a prostitute, you've 
never knowingly met a lesbian before," Binta commented, 
sitting up, her hair falling over her breasts and obscuring 
her crotch. 

"Knowingly?"

"Well, you've probably met lesbians without knowing it." 

"Do you think so?" This was a novel concept for Ana. "I 
thought it was obvious." 

"Of course, it isn't! What did you think?" 

"I just had no opinions at all," Ana confessed. 

"Don't worry. I'm not going to attack you!" Binta said 
comfortingly. "You really are as naive as you appear, aren't 
you?" 

"Yes," admitted Ana, feeling a little foolish. "Rif's a very 
quiet place." 

"Don't worry about me being a lesbian," continued Binta, 
reassuringly. "It's just one of those things. Think of it like as 
if I were black. Or disabled. I'm just a little different, that's 
all. If it weren't illegal, you wouldn't think anything of it." 

"Are you sure?" wondered Ana uncertainly. 

"I'm sure. After all, lesbianism's not illegal in every country, 
so it can't really be that bad. Everyone knows that Alif's a 
repressive country. Lots of things are illegal in Alif that are 
legal elsewhere." 

"Is that so?" queried Ana who hadn't known this before. 
"What things?" 

"You know: trades union membership, alcohol, gambling, 
women driving, lots of things." 

"And there are countries where they are legal?" 

"Not just legal. Almost encouraged. Have you never 
thought about it? What about alcohol? Why do you think 
it's banned here and not everywhere?" 

"I always thought Alif was somehow a better country for 
banning drugs like that." 

"Why does it have State Brothels, then? Why do people 
smoke so much? Why is there so much poverty?" 

"I don't know. I don't know at all!" parried Ana. What was 
she doing sitting in a room with a convicted criminal (a 
pervert at that!), listening to all this seditious talk? Perhaps 
Binta would ask her to take her clothes off and indulge in 
lesbian sex and drink alcohol. Ana thought this image 
would inspire absolute disgust, but the tremor of fear that 
shook her was precisely because it did not do so.

	3

Binta swung round and sat on the edge of the bed 
facing Ana, her feet trailing on to the red nylon carpet. 

"I may be a lesbian but in my heart I know that it is for 
love not vice that I've been condemned. The fact that my love 
is for a woman is not material. My love is what I imagine the 
love of a man must be for most women. My love is 
a passionate love. A romantic love. A true love. As real as 
any love."

Binta's passionate pleas comforted Ana. She felt great 
sympathy for anyone's love for another person, and 
she reasoned that it was probably just odd that it should 
be for a woman rather than a man. 

"Who were you in love with?"

"Am in love with!" Binta emphatically corrected. Her eyes 
wandered around the room, briefly resting on her 
reflection in the mirror and then back to Ana, her face 
expressing sadness and almost tragedy. "Her name is 
Mezyana. To me she is the most beautiful girl in the 
world. She has - or had - long brown hair, almost as long as 
mine. She's a bit thinner than me. And I've known her all 
my life. We were schoolfriends long before we were lovers. 
We never imagined we were that horrid thing known as 
lesbians when we first declared our love for each other." 

Binta looked down at her hands clasped together over her 
knees and let her hair flop down to cover her face. Ana felt 
quite uncomfortable. She had only just met this girl and 
now she was acting as her confidante.

"Mezyana's quite different from me," continued Binta, 
raising her head and pushing a stubborn lock of hair away 
from her face. "She's much more moral in many ways. 
Ethical, you could say. She's got very strong religious and 
moral beliefs. Whilst I never go to Church, she goes - or 
used to go - every Sunday without fail. She even worked 
voluntarily as a Sunday School teacher. I could never see 
the point of it myself, but she finds comfort in it and I've 
always respected that. She would join in the singing, the 
prayers and all the other things you do in a Church. How 
she never finds it boring, I'll never know. But naturally it's 
quite difficult to be religious in this country if you're also a 
lesbian."

"Doesn't the Bible have some rather harsh things to say 
about homosexuality?"

"I really don't know," Binta admitted. "But it can't be 
too severe because there are plenty of countries where 
homosexuality is allowed with the Church's blessing. 
But it's not easy to be homosexual in this country. Mezyana 
would say that God made her a lesbian to test her faith. I'm 
not sure she meant that she had been tempted by love of a 
woman and had failed the test, or if it was some other more 
subtle test she was undergoing. But she did say - or she 
said it once or twice - that the love we felt for each other 
was so strong and so good, that it must be blessed by 
God!"

Binta paused again and Ana felt sure she saw a glint 
of moisture in her eyes. Her voice had become quieter, less 
confident and somehow a little distant. Ana wanted 
to comfort her, but was afraid of doing so by touching her 
in a reassuring way.

"We were schoolfriends, Mezyana and I. From such an 
early age. We were best friends. We sat next to each other 
in all the classes. We walked home together after school. 
We played games with each other at school and at home. 
We would always be visiting each other and staying 
the night at each others' homes. It was a friendship between 
two school-girls no different to any other. Perhaps stronger 
than most, but not unusually so. The games we played, like 
Doctors and Nurses, Mothers and Fathers, and so on, were 
just the innocent games that girls always play. My parents 
and Mezyana's parents were ordinary people: caring, 
helpful, friendly. There was no history of sexual or drug 
abuse. In Jebel, our families were considered respectable 
and unremarkable.

"I don't know how it evolved into a love affair. There 
certainly wasn't a day when I said to Mezyana 'Let's be 
lovers.' And I'd certainly never have said 'Let's be lesbians.' 
As children we declared our undying love for each other: 
but that was quite innocent. It wasn't sexual love at all. It 
was simply an expression of the strength of our feelings as 
best friends. It was expressed as love, because other words 
never seemed strong enough. And anyway we were always 
encouraged to declare our love for our parents and, in 
Mezyana's case, for God. But we recognised from a very 
early age that we loved each other."

Binta paused again, looking not at Ana but at her reflection, 
seemingly lost in thought. Ana recalled her own best friends 
at school. She had never declared love for any of them, but 
she acutely remembered the strong bonds that tied them 
together.

"Mezyana was a Church-goer from the beginning. Her 
parents went to Church regularly, and she continued going, 
even when she no longer had any compulsion to do so. I'm 
sure they would have understood if Mezyana had decided 
not to. Mezyana's religious passion still continues, of 
course. She's opted to serve her sentence as a novice in a 
Convent rather than in a jail, you know. She'd never 
contemplate serving it in a Brothel, however harsh life 
might be in a prison. Religion and Ethics were the only big 
differences between Mezyana and me. But as children 
these didn't matter at all. I'd never had a religious 
upbringing, and Sunday mornings and sometimes 
Sunday evenings were just times I couldn't come out to 
play with my best friend.

"We were always together the rest of the time, however. 
And that's how our love developed. We held hands, 
we kissed each other tenderly and innocently, and when we 
came to puberty we played with our bodies in the way 
children do. We explored each other in detail, with 
especial fascination for our developing mounds of bosom, 
the changing shape of our bodies and the area between our 
thighs. It was so innocent though. Nothing remotely sexual 
at all. Sensual, maybe. But not sexual."

Ana again reflected on her past. There were no times that 
her closest friends had ever seen her naked body, except in 
the school changing-room showers. She had no memories 
of exploring her friends' bodies, but Ana accepted that 
different people had different childhood experiences and 
this was one way in which Binta's differed from hers.

"At some stage, our innocent probings of each other must 
have evolved into something more physical and sexual. 
Maybe it was when we were eleven. Maybe it was much 
later, when we were fourteen and our bodies were much 
more mature. I don't know. I'm sure only someone who can 
exactly define how a sexual act differs from any other could 
pinpoint it. At some time, however, the sexual aspect of our 
friendship was unavoidable. We were no longer just best 
friends. We were also lovers. It took a very long time for us 
to recognise the fact, and even longer to actually believe it 
or to be aware of its implications. But by that time - which 
must have been when we first realised that lesbianism was 
not a foreign condition but a word that described our love 
for each other - our passionate love was far too committed 
for us to break it off. But the realisation changed our 
relationship forever.

"Now that we knew that we were engaged in a lesbian love 
affair, we also knew that we had to keep it secret. It would 
change other people's attitude towards us. It would 
upset our parents. It would upset our friends. And we also, 
rather belatedly, became aware that it was illegal. That 
came as a great shock to me, but when I told Mezyana she 
surprised me by telling me that she already knew. In fact, it 
was she who comforted me as I cried and cried about it. I 
felt so miserable. It also surprised me that Mezyana, who 
attached such great store in religious law, could have such a 
detached attitude towards criminal law. 

"It was not at all easy to keep our love a secret. People 
must have thought it strange the way we whispered in 
corners and the frequency with which we felt obliged to 
touch each other. Our lovemaking became quite 
clandestine, although as best friends nobody thought it 
strange when we spent the night at each other's home. At 
first we were horribly frightened. We were so nervous 
taking our clothes off together, in case we should be seen. 
Our relationship seemed soiled and anxious. But we 
gradually came to accept it and simply made 
elaborate precautions before making love together. 

"It was also very romantic, of course. Secretly holding 
hands in public places. Kissing one another passionately 
when we were sure nobody was looking. Holding each 
other close and feeling our bodies together, perhaps 
through our clothes, and knowing that we were carrying 
the secret of a love that could condemn us to imprisonment. 
And this danger was undeniably exciting and erotic. It 
added great spice to our love." Binta paused again, swept 
along by her recollections and now beached by the intensity 
of her feelings. "I'm not boring you, I hope?" 

Ana shook her head.

"Jebel is a very good place for a clandestine love affair. It's 
quite hilly and craggy. And some parts are rather remote 
and quiet. It was never too difficult to find secluded spots 
in the hills where nobody could see us before we saw them, 
and where we could fling off our clothes and make love 
together. The search for such places became obsessive. We 
would walk in our school holidays or at weekends with the 
express purpose of finding another secret spot where 
we would never be found. We may have insects in our 
pubic hairs and our bodies might be covered in grass or 
dust, but it gave us the joy and freedom we needed.

"Jebel villages, like Quria where we lived, are mostly 
agricultural, but neither my parents nor Mezyana's are 
farmers or farm labourers. My father works in a bank in the 
County Town which he drives to every day and Mezyana's 
father's a veterinary surgeon. It's quite a conservative area, 
probably quite typical of Alif outside the City of Blad. It's 
probably much the same in Rif. Not particularly wealthy, 
but not desperately poor either. The community centred 
around the Church, the School and the Village Shop. A 
traditional Alif town, unchanged over the generations." 
Binta smiled as she recollected her home. "Is it just the 
same in Rif?" 

"Pretty much so," Ana admitted. "Not so hilly, though. 
More gently rolling hills than crags, I would say."

Binta nodded and continued her narrative. "I don't know 
exactly when things changed for us in the village, but it 
was around the time we were sixteen or so, and quite 
clearly fully adult. People began treating us differently. Less 
indulgently. Nothing was actually said, but I think people 
had suspicions about the nature of our friendship. The girls 
at school were no longer so friendly towards us, and 
reacted with alarm if we ever got too close to them. The 
local shopkeeper eyed us in a funny way. And once when 
we were having one of our walks in the country, a couple 
of boys followed us all the way. Even some school teachers 
treated us oddly. For instance, we were arbitrarily separated 
from each other in one class and had to share desks with 
other girls, even though we were always good pupils.

"Even our parents treated us differently. We were forbidden 
to spend the night with each other: an announcement which 
caused me to argue and shout and cry for hours. It felt like 
the end of the world for me, as it also did for Mezyana. We 
weren't given a good reason for this change of policy, 
except that we were 'big girls now' and that 'girls of our age 
don't carry on like that'. I was felt that the world was 
conspiring against me. That everyone was plotting to 
destroy my love for Mezyana.

"We were still very naive of course. We were presented 
with all this evidence that people knew about the nature of 
our relationship, but ignored it and pretended that 
it couldn't be so. After all, we'd been so close for so long 
we just couldn't imagine we would ever part. We made an 
extra effort to disguise signs of affection in public and our 
rendezvous were more secret, but we never really 
appreciated the true significance of our ever being 
incriminatingly discovered together."

Binta paused again, her face contorted by emotion and 
battling to regain its composure. She gazed down at the 
clasped hands on her knees. She kicked out her legs to 
examine the full length of them. She unclasped her hands 
and leaned back.

"We were about seventeen or eighteen years old when we 
were arrested. It was undeniably our fault. We'd got used to 
the way people were treating us. We no longer really cared 
for what they thought. And we were getting a little blase
about disguising our secret rendezvous. I suppose it's the 
classic case of believing that this sort of thing happens to 
someone else, but will never happen to you. But of course 
it did.

"In most ways it was an unexceptional day when it 
happened. I certainly didn't imagine or suspect I was being 
followed when I made my way to meet Mezyana at our 
secret place in the hills, and I don't imagine she did either. 
We met each other as usual. And, without any variation 
from our normal routine, we were soon undressing and 
kissing each other. It was only when we were actually in 
the process of making love that we were interrupted by 
three policemen and a couple of men from the village whom 
we recognised but didn't know by name. I was 
totally stunned! Mezyana instantly broke into tears, 
standing up, hiding her breasts and crotch with her hands. I 
just stood there, not really bothering to cover myself while 
a policeman read out the terms of my arrest. I could hardly 
hear him through the rush of blood to my ears and the throb 
of my temples. We were then forced into our clothes, had 
handcuffs clapped to our wrists and escorted separately 
down the hill to a police van which drove us away to our 
prison cells."

"That must have been horrible!" gasped Ana.

"I've never spoken to Mezyana since then. We were locked 
in separate cells and we were only able to see each other 
from a distance across court rooms and through prison 
bars. We weren't beaten or physically abused, but the prison 
warders and especially other prisoners said some very 
hurtful things to me, and I'm sure to Mezyana as well. 
Everyone called me a dyke, a term I'd just never heard 
before. And a pervert. And they asked indecent questions 
about what Mezyana and I did together in our lovemaking. 
They made vile salacious speculations, which exceeded 
anything I'd ever imagined to be possible.

"The next few weeks went by in a kind of daze. My 
parents were horrified, and they cried a great deal. What 
upset them most was that I'd been arrested before I'd 
finished my school examinations. No one else visited 
me, except Mezyana's parents who were actually more 
sympathetic and understanding than my own parents. They 
told me that they'd discussed our love with their daughter 
(which she'd never told me) but made no statement of what 
they felt about it.

"We were taken to court eventually. That was the first 
time I'd seen Mezyana since we were arrested. And the last 
time I saw her. She was dressed like me in the simple 
one-piece prison tunic that all prisoners wear and looked 
dreadfully pale, with her hair tied back in an unattractive 
pony-tail. The trial was very brief, although at the time and 
in my memory it seems to have lasted forever. There really 
wasn't much to it. Both Mezyana and I were guilty. There 
was really no way to pretend otherwise. We were caught 
unequivocally in the act of an illegal homosexual act, with 
three police witnesses. There were others from the village 
willing to bear witness of other occasions in which we had 
been seen indulging in similar lewd and immoral behaviour. 
Our only defence was our age and naivete.

"The only part of the trial not predetermined was the 
sentence, but it was clear from the choice of the judge, who 
had a very low opinion of immoral behaviour, that it wasn't 
going to be a light sentence. Prior to the trial I 
had discussed with a solicitor which of a Brothel or a 
Prison I would choose to serve in if I had to accept the 
choice. Initially, I inclined towards the Prison, and said so, 
but I was given time to decide. As a result of chatting with 
my cellmates, I soon heard enough about prisons to decide 
that a Brothel mightn't be such a bad option. After all, 
Prostitution is a choice some women make voluntarily, 
which can never be said for prisons! So, when the judge 
pronounced sentence I was consigned to a Brothel. He said 
this was appropriate. And it would lead me to see the 
errors of my perverted ways and no doubt teach me a better 
understanding of a woman's proper sexual role. He 
obviously believed that sexual intercourse with men was so 
much better than with a woman that I'd soon renounce my 
lesbian tendencies!" 

Binta sniffed angrily and emphatically thumped her fist into 
her palm. 

"The idiot! Like most men, he thought that what a woman 
needs is a penis inside her and she'll instantly be 
converted to heterosexuality. For me, however, the more I 
see of men the more confirmed I've become in my love 
of women. And my yearning for Mezyana just hasn't 
lessened at all!"

"And so you came to the Brothel and Mezyana was 
sentenced to a Convent?"

"That's right! It wasn't an option I was given, but then 
Mezyana is such a keen church-goer. Perhaps it was her 
vicar who stood up for her. I don't know. It's a Convent in 
the suburbs of Blad. I'll probably never be allowed to see 
her there. She's probably had her head shaved like nuns do, 
spending all her time praying and doing good deeds. Her 
religious views certainly softened the judge's attitude 
towards her. He said he hoped that in working for the Lord 
she would cease to be tempted by the sins of the flesh and 
see the error of her ways.

"Like me, she was in tears when the sentence 
was pronounced. Neither of us really believed it was 
happening. Nobody we'd ever known had ever been 
imprisoned. Nothing we'd ever done had knowingly caused 
anyone any harm. And we'd not made any material profit 
from our actions at all. From then, until I arrived at this 
Brothel, I imagined the very worst and time and time again 
contemplated the practicalities of suicide!"

	4

"My life would be so much richer, if only I were free I were 
free and with Mezyana. If  only we could express our love 
in the way most lovers can without fear. All I can ever think 
of is Mezyana and how much I yearn to be near her." Binta 
sighed. "If you've never loved, you can never know how 
much pain this separation causes. Whenever I think of love 
or comfort or devotion - and that is so often - all I can think 
of is Mezyana.

"I want to live with her when I leave here. To share all my 
moments with her. Especially those little moments: the ones 
which mean so little when experienced alone and so much 
more when I'm with the one I love. We'd have our own 
home. We'd sleep in the same bed. Kiss each other as we 
left for work in the morning. Sit arm in arm, watching the 
television, feeling the comfort of our embraces. Laugh over 
shared memories over a beer or a meal out. Be as 
inseparable as the best of heterosexual couples. These are 
such innocent desires. And they so utterly overwhelm me."

Binta ran her hands through the long strands of her hair and 
gazed sadly at her naked lap. Ana smiled wanly. Her 
emotions were curiously unfocused. She was reassured by 
Binta's commitment to someone else. She'd never felt so 
strongly towards someone as Binta had, but she appreciated 
and rather envied the yearnings.

She was about to comment, when a knock distracted her 
attention towards the door. A broad smiling woman's face 
was peering round. Like Binta, she wore no clothes and her 
very long hair reached down to just below her waist. She 
was deeply sun-tanned and her hair was bleached blonde by 
the sun. She was much taller than Binta, - who wasn't 
especially short, - and built proportionately. She boasted 
round breasts, a taut stomach and muscular thighs. Ana was 
acutely aware of the incongruity of her interview clothes 
and the nakedness of her companions.

"Hiya!" their new companion called out breezily. "How's it 
going?"

Binta noticeably responded with less enthusiasm. "Hello, 
Ketaba. Have you met Ana? The director's new secretary."

"Pleased to meet you, Ana!" Ketaba grinned warmly, 
approaching her and kissing her tenderly on the lips. "So 
you've not come to join our profession? Well, I'm sure that 
like Inta you'll soon see its advantages. It's a good life! 
Very healthy and curative! As I'm sure Binta's been telling 
you..."

"Of course I haven't, Ketaba! I'm no more likely to endorse 
prostitution than you are to endorse alcohol or tobacco."

"There's just no comparison, you silly girl!" rebuked 
Ketaba, sitting by Binta's feet on the end of the bed. "But 
you're, well, unnatural. So you're not likely to have a very 
balanced view on the profession." She smiled warmly at 
Ana. "Don't believe all the perverse advice our pretty little 
dyke might give you. She hasn't exactly chosen this career. 
She doesn't know how lucky she is that the government has 
deemed this an appropriate punishment for her criminal 
behaviour. She's got a chance in life she'll be inestimably 
grateful for the rest of it."

"I just don't understand how you can possibly imagine that 
the torment of being mauled and abused by strange men can 
ever be something to be grateful for."

"Don't listen to her! She'd never have opinions like that if 
she enjoyed normal unperverted sex. Prostitution is a good 
career. It's the only one where a woman can be physically 
active, give pleasure to others, earn a respectable salary and 
still never have to leave her bed. It's kept me healthy and if 
I were skinny and malnourished like Binta I'd be more 
grateful. Still, despite her admirable devotion to naturism, 
she rather compromises her healthy image by her 
carnivorousness and sloth."

"There really can not be very many women who advocate 
prostitution as healthy. It's not just a way to keep fit and 
healthy on the punters' expense."

"Don't be so facetious, Binta! What do you think Ana must 
think hearing your sarcasm about a career which most 
people here have freely chosen? I take pride in my work. I 
like the physical exercise it gives me. And I like it when 
clients appreciate a good job done well. And a man cannot 
disguise his appreciation:  I can tell you!"

"Don't disgust me, Ketaba! Any lingering enthusiasm I ever 
had for men before I worked here has been more than 
eradicated by rather too frequent and intimate association."

"Don't deny that you enjoy it!"

"Of course I do. I can't understand how women could ever 
voluntarily put themselves through this ordeal. What do 
you think, Ana?"

Ana's composure was disturbed by the question. Her 
natural sympathy inclined her towards Binta, but she didn't 
wish to disagree too strongly with this large naked woman 
to whom she'd only just been introduced. 

"I just don't know enough to hold an opinion." 

"Listen to the less perverted employees here and you'll get 
a much more balanced view. One of the advantages of the 
profession is that it understands and caters for naturists. I 
just don't think Binta at all acknowledges how lucky she is 
to live and work where clothes are optional. It's a healthy, 
life-giving freedom you just can't find anywhere else. Much 
as I might criticise Binta for her unconstructive attitudes 
and criminal tendencies, I must admit to a kindred feeling to 
a colleague who shares my enthusiasm for a natural 
untrammelled life."

"Our similarities there are extremely shallow," sniffed Binta. 
"You're just a fanatic"

"At least I'm not a pervert!" snorted Ketaba in return. 
"Honestly, Ana, I don't know how you can sit in the 
company of someone who so blatantly disregards the 
natural order as Binta does. Surely the very notion of her 
crude perversions disgusts you! How do you know she's not 
going to try and seduce you?"

"Don't scare Ana with your crude homophobia. I'm no 
more likely to try seducing her than you are to seduce every 
man you meet..."

"Don't be sarcastic! What could be more natural than the 
active pursuit of sexual intercourse? What do you think, 
Ana?"

Ana's experience of sex was far too inadequate for her to 
express an opinion. She stuttered a few non-judgmental 
words before her face burnt into a blush. Fortunately, 
neither of her companions chose to comment on her 
virginal embarrassment.

"I detest all unnatural practises, especially homosexuality. 
The purpose of sex is to reproduce, and women who 
practise it with other women, and men with other men: 
Why! it's as disgusting and unnatural as murder, drug-
taking, sodomy and cannibalism! Our government 
recognises this and does its best to suppress such activities. 
The president has frequently spoken of his intentions to 
stamp out it out, and although I disagree with him on 
most things, on this I am in full accord."

"I'd have thought that President Marmeluke would be very 
unlikely to share your opinions on naturism," challenged 
Binta. "I imagine he considers it every bit as perverse as 
sado-masochism and incest."

"There really is no comparison! Naturism is nothing more 
than a return to the natural order. It is a healthy and 
commendable relaxation of the individual in the unfettered 
body. The other things you mention are all totally contrary 
to the natural order. If everyone were homosexual then the 
human race would very soon be extinct. If everyone were 
naked, then everyone would be much healthier and more 
fulfilled. I'm shocked to hear a fellow naturist even hint of 
any comparison. The only reason naturism isn't widely 
practised in this country is consideration to those misguided 
people who have an unnatural disgust for their own bodies, 
but if it were so bad why is it permitted in a state institution 
like this Brothel?"

"Entirely for the titillation of the clientele!" Binta bitterly 
responded.

"Unlike you, Binta, I see no contradiction in the instinctive 
delight a healthy heterosexual man gets from looking at a 
naked woman and the pleasure I get from displaying my 
body. Would you prefer it if men derived no joy from 
seeing you unclothed? There is nothing more natural than 
the naked human body, and it is equally as natural for a man 
to enjoy regarding it. It's just your dykish tendencies that 
make it impossible for you to treat it as anything other than 
a selfish indulgence."

"There aren't very many places where nudity is 
commonplace..." began Binta.

"That's where you're wrong! Well, not totally wrong. There 
are quite clearly not enough such places. It would be far 
better if Alif were a place like Agdal, where a woman can 
freely walk down the streets of the capital city wearing 
nothing more than a contented smile and sandals, carrying 
all her possessions in a handbag."

"Agdal again!" Binta smiled. "I wondered how long it 
would take for you to raise your favourite subject again. 
Everything's so much better in Agdal!"

"But that's because it is. And a well-kept secret in Alif it is 
too!" retorted Ketaba. She leaned forward and placed a 
hand on Ana's knee. "What do you know about Agdal?"

"Not a great deal!" 

Ana knew only that the neighbouring republic supplied 
consignments of fruit and vegetables to Alif and that its 
principal mountains were large enough to be seen from Rif. 
She knew more about the other neighbouring kingdoms and 
republics than she did about Agdal, but geography had never 
been her strongest subject at school. 

"Exactly! The government of Alif is embarrassed to have 
such a much more liberal neighbour. They just don't want 
people to know that just over the border there is a country 
where naturism is widespread and unexceptional. A country 
where there are no restrictions as to how many or how few 
clothes one can choose to wear. A country where there are 
people naked in the city streets, in the countryside, working 
in offices, driving tractors, and doing all the other everyday 
things that one can do without the tyranny of clothes. For 
naturists like me it is truly a paradise. Whenever I have 
a holiday, I'm on the first train there with my exit visa and 
just the clothes I need to get to and from the border."

Ana had never suspected that Agdal, or any other country, 
could possibly allow people to wander freely in the nude. 
Surely people would object! Perhaps Ketaba was simply 
telling an elaborate joke.

"You haven't told Ana everything about Agdal though, 
have you Ketaba?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. The country's liberal 
policies don't stop at trivial things like nudity. It also allows 
other things..."

"Like alcohol, you mean?"

"Don't be so coy, Ketaba! Like freedom of speech. Like 
trades unions. And of course homosexuality!"

"Well, you would focus on something like that, wouldn't 
you? The most disgusting thing about Agdal - and probably 
why so much about the country is kept secret in Alif - is its 
tolerance of homosexuality. In fact, it almost encourages 
the perversion! Wherever you go there are depraved men 
dressed as women, sometimes with surgically enhanced 
breasts, women dressed as men, women consorting with 
women, and men with men. It's perverts paradise! It's the 
serpent in the Garden of Eden, and my fear is that if it's not 
eliminated then the whole edifice will collapse."

"How on earth can letting a few people live their own lives 
possibly cause any disaster..." wondered Binta.

"A pervert like you just can't understand why..."

"Well, you're passionate about going around in the buff. 
You think it's a big deal, and what you like about Agdal is 
that it lets you do so. Whereas I really don't think nudity's a 
big deal at all. I could quite happily wear clothes if there 
were a better choice than there is here, but I can't change 
my sexuality. For me, the attraction of Agdal isn't to show 
my body off to everyone, like you do, but just to be able to 
lead a normal contented life."

"The only way you can do that is by renouncing your 
unnatural tendencies. How can you possibly think that there 
is anything normal or to be contented about in lusting after 
other women? The whole idea makes me feel rather 
unwell."

"Maybe so, but ..." began Binta, who evidently enjoyed 
arguing with Ketaba, when she was quite suddenly 
interrupted by a loud persistent buzz. She cursed under her 
breath and then frowned at Ketaba and Ana. "I'm afraid my 
shift's due to start now. I'll have to ask you to leave."

"That's fine, Binta dear. A girl's got to do an honest day's 
work!" smiled Ketaba as she stood up.

Ana stood up too. "Well, goodbye then."

"Goodbye, Ana," smiled Binta warmly who stood up and kissed 
her tenderly on the cheek, sending a frisson through Ana's 
body. She just wasn't used to even the most innocent kisses 
back home, and she was very aware of Binta's tastes. However, 
Ketaba also kissed Binta as they left, so Ana concluded that 
this kissing reflected nothing more than casual affection 
and was bound to be commonplace in an institution like the 
Brothel. As Ana and Ketaba left, she observed that the light 
above the door was now set to green.

"So, what do you think of Binta?" asked Ketaba as they 
walked along the corridor.

Ana didn't know what to say. She felt quite unsettled by 
their conversation and by the continued presence of a naked 
woman. What was she supposed to think? People weren't 
like this in Rif. 

"She seems all right," she answered noncommittally.

"I wouldn't say that. Being homosexual, there's obviously 
something wrong with her. I just hope she gets over it. 
What about you though? When did you start working 
here?"

"I start tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! My! You are new to the Brothel! What do 
you think of it so far?"

"It's bigger than I thought," Ana remarked, awed by the 
extent of the corridor punctuated by red, green and yellow 
lights. How would she ever find her way out?

"Well, it's the biggest Brothel in the country, you know! 
Probably the world. You should feel proud to be working 
at such a prestigious place. And while you're here, I really 
urge you to seriously consider a spell of prostitution 
yourself. It's healthy, it's good money and it'll do you a 
world of good..."

"No, I don't think so. I'm just a secretary. That's all I want 
to do here..."

"That's what your predecessor, Inta, said at first. But she 
soon changed her mind. Although she was only a Gamma 
Plus, she didn't do too badly out of it. However, I'd be 
foolish to believe you would have any concrete idea of what 
you really want to do on your first day here. I'm sure you'll 
see your way to a more active career." Ketaba paused as they 
arrived at a stair-case. "Erm, I don't suppose you really know 
your way round here yet. Do you know where you want to go?"

Ketaba escorted Ana to the foyer down a complex series of 
corridors and stair-cases. She chatted away amiably, telling 
Ana about all the exciting things to do in Blad: the cafes to 
visit, the theatres and the tourist attractions. She 
interspersed her chat with references to the enjoyment and 
satisfaction she got from her career and how Ana should at 
least consider becoming a naturist. 

Ana only partly heard what Ketaba was saying. Her thoughts 
retread her day so far, returning frequently to the image of 
Binta lying on her bed waiting for the male clients she so 
despised.


		5

Ana began learning her secretarial duties, and finding her 
way around the office and the software she had to use. 
There was a lot to learn and her only guidance was some 
unspecific instructions from the Director such as where she 
was to sit and what she was expected to produce, but her 
college training had prepared her well, and she soon felt 
quite confident in her work.

She felt rather less confidence when she ventured outside 
the office to walk along the labyrinthine corridors to the 
canteen or to the toilet, but although often horribly lost at 
first, she was now more concerned about her 
embarrassment as she passed the scantily clothed 
employees. This included Binta whom she met by chance 
while taking some documents to the centralised 
photocopying room. As always, she was totally undressed 
and Ana blushed quite visibly as she approached from the 
other end of the corridor.

"Fitting in well, I hope?" Binta wondered.

"Yes, thank you," Ana shyly answered. "I'm beginning to 
remember where everything goes."

"I'm sure you are," mused Binta, dawdling by the fire door 
running her fingers through her long hair. "Look...erm... do 
you want to come for a swim after work?"

"A swim?"

"Yes, in the Brothel Baths. No one would mind you turning 
up."

"But I haven't brought a swimming costume with me."

Binta laughed. "You'd look pretty out of place in one of 
those, I can tell you! This is a brothel, remember. No, Ana, 
you don't need a swimming costume: just your sweet self. 
Come on! You haven't got anything else lined up, have 
you?"

Ana had to admit she hadn't, so immediately after work she 
eventually located the Brothel's swimming pool, which was 
closed off to the public and accessible only to employees. 
As Ana could see before she made her way into the 
changing area at the pool-side, there was definitely no need 
for any kind of bathing costume. None of the half dozen or 
so girls splashing about in the pool were wearing any more 
clothes than Binta who was floating in the deep end with 
her hair fanning out around her, looking like an exotic giant 
water-lily. Ana self-consciously took her clothes off, 
uncomfortably aware that this was the first time she'd ever 
bared her slim untanned body in public, and stood 
nervously by the poolside.

Binta swam towards her, her back and buttocks obscured 
by a trail of long hair. "Hi there! Come on in. The water's 
lovely and warm!"

Ana cautiously lowered herself down the steps into the 
pool, feeling the distinct chill of water progressively lapping 
up her legs and thighs. Then, with the courage she knew she 
had to find, she surrendered her whole weight to the water, 
braving the sting of chlorinated water in her eyes. Her head 
and hair sank beneath the surface where she saw Binta's 
naked body glide towards her. 

"This pool's one of the few things I'm grateful for here," 
laughed her friend when Ana's head surfaced. "It's to compensate 
for the hard work we do, I suppose."

Ana regarded the other prostitutes, some of whom 
fastidiously swam with their faces and bound-up hair out of 
the water so as not to smudge the thick make-up or to get 
chlorine-scented locks. Ana span around and lay on her 
back, looking up at the evening sunlight streaming through 
the glass-covered ceiling. Binta was right: this was a very 
pleasant pool. Perhaps she could come to enjoy working 
here.

As she righted herself to chat to her floating friend, she was 
suddenly sprayed by a sudden wave caused by someone 
diving into the pool rather too nearby. The pale body of the 
culprit descended to the very bottom of the pool and then 
propelled itself like a torpedo to the surface.

"Why hello, Binta!" a child's face with very short boyish 
hair greeted them. Ana was initially unsure whether this 
intruder was a boy or a girl. The chest was very flat and 
there were very other few signs of gender, but the girl's 
nudity couldn't disguise her sexual identity for long. She 
bobbed around in the water chuckling and giggling with the 
childishness suggested by her body. "So, Binta, who's your 
new friend?"

"Ana, the Director's new secretary," announced Binta. "She 
only started a couple of days ago."

"Oh! Inta's replacement. Shame about her! Hi! My name's 
Zabba! It's my real name as well! My parents had a strange 
sense of humour. Glad to meet you. Are you new to Blad?"

"Yes, I am. It's all very different for me."

"I bet! And new to brothels as well, I imagine?"

"The ones where I come from don't offer full-time 
secretarial work," answered Ana, falsely suggesting that 
had they done otherwise she'd have taken the opportunity 
of working at one. "What do you do?"

Zabba laughed, with an indecent lack of restraint. "What do 
you think? This is a Brothel you know! I suppose I could 
just be a receptionist or a cook or something, though I 
don't think they'd let me do jobs like that! And they 
certainly wouldn't pay as well! No, Ana darling, I'm a 
prostitute. Like your friend, Binta! What else could I be?"

Ana's cheeks burnt through the film of chlorinated water. 
She hated to be reminded of the sordid aspects of where 
she worked. She still found it difficult to reconcile the 
distasteful nature of the profession with the actual 
practitioners. 

"Zabba's actually quite high-grade as well," elaborated 
Binta, her arms rotating to keep herself afloat. "She's an 
Alpha."

"Yes! I admit it!" the girl replied proudly. She lowered her 
arms to let her body sink into the water. "And as you can 
see, not for the most obvious of reasons. I don't exactly 
have the classic Alpha grade figure, with my teeny tits and 
slim thighs. But girls like me who look so much younger 
than they are and (let's admit it!)  look like little boys: we're 
in great demand. That pushes up my grade a lot. I could 
never be an Alpha Plus. You need more dedication, stamina 
and willing than I'll ever have. But I'm quite content to be 
an Alpha. The pay's good and I'll be able to retire at the age 
when most people are just starting their working lives."

"However much you earn, I'd much rather be me than you," 
Binta commented, "Your clients have got the strangest 
obsessions."

Zabba smiled. "I get my fair share of perverts, I must 
admit," she agreed, running a hand through her short damp 
crop of dark brown hair. "My bottom gets ever so sore. 
You couldn't imagine! But you're only young once."

"And you look like you'll be young forever."

"Well, I am young. One day my looks just won't be 
marketable any more. But I'm in this trade for the money 
and I don't have to do nearly as much work as a Gamma or 
a Beta to earn tons more than they can."

"Well, infinitely more than me," sniffed Binta bitterly.

"I'm sorry, sweetest. I keep forgetting you're not here 
voluntarily. And if I were only a Beta, I don't think I'd 
bother either. It'd hardly be worth the effort. But for me: 
where else could I work at my age to afford a luxury flat in 
the select Honey suburb and earn far more money than a 
young girl knows what to do with? You've got to admit 
that those of us who've got a lot to sell get a lot out of it!"

"If you can put up with all the abuse..."

"Not all of it's abuse, Binta darling. Some clients are 
actually quite sweet, which even you'd admit if you weren't 
so dead set against men. But let's be honest: I'd be ready to 
go through a lot more than this for the lifestyle. The hours 
are great as well! I go clubbing all night and don't have to 
worry about getting up like all the other girls working in 
this city. And I don't believe the occasional sore bum is 
really such a bad penalty. It's those who work in factories, 
supermarkets and restaurant kitchens I feel sorry for. They 
get hardly nothing for what they do. And gain nothing like 
the respect from their customers that I'm accustomed to."

"Is this what you always wanted to do?" wondered Ana.

"Goodness no! I'll be out of this profession long before my 
sell-by date. What I do next I really don't know. And I don't 
really want to think about it. Growing old really depresses 
me. I hope I never have to get older than my teens!"

Zabba abruptly broke away from Ana and Binta, and swam 
a length of the baths. The other two followed behind, Ana 
enjoying the lash of the water against her body as she kept 
pace. They arrived at the shallow end, where Zabba stood 
to rub the water out of her eyes and to reveal where she 
shaved to make her look even younger. Ana crouched 
down in the water, still too shy to stand and openly display 
her body.

"What do you think of the Brothel, Ana?" Zabba wondered. 
"Do you share Binta's negative opinions?" Ana nodded her 
head. "Well, you're new here, and I'm sure you'll come to 
take a much more liberal view of it, like your predecessor. 
Perhaps like her you'll be tempted to earn a bit of extra 
money. Everyone loses their inhibitions after a while."

"I don't think that's such a good thing," opined Binta. "But 
even if you weren't a prostitute, Zabba, you'd have a fairly 
active and varied sex life."

"You want to bet!" the girl laughed. "What could be more 
fun? Sure. Left to my own devices entirely there are pretty 
few of my clients, even the regular ones, I'd ever 
contemplate if I didn't do it for a living. But when you get 
fully immersed in it, there can't be anything more fulfilling."

"Pah!" Binta disagreed. "It hasn't made me any more 
enthusiastic!"

"Well, Binta dear, you are an exception! Nobody could 
accuse you of having a normal attitude towards sex."

 "I really don't think that my preference in partners has any 
bearing over what I think about prostitution in general. It's 
absolutely abhorrent."

"I can't pretend to understand you, Binta, but you're 
probably quite right. Many of my clients undoubtedly prefer 
boys to women. The number of times I've had to pretend to 
be one myself! I'm sure you'd find that even more 
disgusting. Perverse even, if you weren't yourself a 
homosexual. But it's fairly harmless. And I'm sure the 
provision of my services spares countless real boys 
attention they probably wouldn't appreciate. I am at least a 
professional and know exactly what to expect."

"I don't believe that my sexual preferences make me likely 
to have any more sympathy for men who lust after children. 
If there's any sexual behaviour the government is quite right 
to make illegal, it's that..."

"Making it illegal doesn't stop it, you know," laughed 
Zabba. "It just provides obstacles. And anyway Binta, 
sweetheart, if you knew some of these men as well as I do, 
you'd be no more censorious towards them than you'd want 
them to be towards you. My services are provided to 
sublimate such desires in a socially acceptable way."

"Isn't what they do to you illegal?" wondered Ana 
contemplating Zabba's groin and her references to a sore 
posterior. 

"Sure it is!" laughed Zabba. She pinched a slim buttock 
with a hand. "It doesn't stop them. And it doesn't prevent 
me providing the service either. As long as they're willing to 
pay me that little extra that the tax-man never knows about, 
I'm not going to complain about a service the Brothel can 
never be seen to offer or condone. And those who're most 
keen on that sort of thing and the ones who most like me to 
dress like a little school-boy and avert their eyes from what 
truly distinguishes me from a boy: they're the ones who are 
the most publicly vehemently opposed to homosexuality 
and what they deem immoral sexual acts. But why should I 
care!" 

Zabba dipped her hands into the water and desultorily 
splashed water over her incompletely formed body. 
"However, unlike you Binta, when I've done a day's work, I 
don't have to stay here all night. I have my own home to go 
to and friends to go out with. So, if you don't mind, I'll be 
off now." She leaned over to Binta and kissed her tenderly 
on each cheek, and then repeated the compliment on Ana, 
who discovered for the first time how short Zabba was. 
Only the relative maturity of her conversation made her 
seem at all adult. Zabba left Ana and Binta swimming 
slowly up to the other end of the pool: Binta on her back 
and Ana more cautiously facing forward.

"Zabba's very odd, isn't she?" Ana commented.

"Odd? Why? Because of what she looks like?"

Ana hadn't really meant that. "I suppose that's one way. No. 
I mean her attitude towards prostitution. I really thought 
that most prostitutes would absolutely hate it, like you."

Binta tread water to keep afloat. "I can't speak for all the 
girls here. They have all sorts of attitudes. Some like Zabba 
quite enjoy it for one reason or another. Some detest it, and 
those who are convicted prisoners like me are going to hate 
it the most. After all, I didn't exactly volunteer to work 
here. The majority though are probably somewhere in 
between. A job they do for the money. Or which has 
enough good points to seem good enough for not doing 
something else. You can't be sure how honest most 
prostitutes are, the ones who do it by choice, that is. Some 
who hate it will pretend otherwise to justify their choice 
of career. And some who quite like it will claim to hate it to 
retain some kind of self-respect. However, Zabba is quite 
right: it's a much better career for the higher grade. Alphas 
like Bezaffa and Zabba make good money, and they know 
they'll be able to retire on it. Even Betas like me are 
generally respected by the clients. But the Deltas and 
Epsilons: it must be extraordinarily disheartening. They get 
the worst salaries, probably don't have the choice of 
another career and get the most abusive and unsavoury 
clients." Binta wiped her nose with the back of a hand. "But 
don't listen to Zabba when she says you should contemplate 
prostitution as a career. You would be the very last person 
to enjoy Zabba's lifestyle. You're better off as you are. If it 
was so wonderful, why did your predecessor leave in such a 
hurry?"

"Is it only prostitutes who have liberal views like Zabba's?"

"Of course not! But those who do, don't necessarily want to 
become prostitutes. There was a girl Mezyana and I knew 
who was visiting Jebel who was a lot like Zabba in many 
ways. Well, not physically. There can't be very many people 
in the whole world with a body like hers. Her name was 
Azhnia, from which you can guess she wasn't an Alif girl. 
Her country is quite rich and although she always claimed 
to be broke she always seemed to be quite well off. It must 
be something to do with the exchange rate. God knows 
why she was in such a remote place as Jebel, but she 
claimed to love the countryside and its slow pace of life."

"What country did she come from?"

"Gharab, I think. Somewhere where they speak the same 
language. Mezyana and I were really envious of her 
country. Homosexuality and alcohol are legal, as are plenty 
of other things I could never imagine being legal here. They 
have films with people having sex in them, some of which 
she said were filmed in Alif. You can openly buy all sorts of 
drugs, but you have to pay tax on them, of course. People 
are much freer in what they can say and write. They don't 
have to be careful about saying something the government 
mightn't like. It sounded wonderful to us, I can tell you: 
always having to be careful about revealing our 
relationship."

"How did you meet her?"

"Mezyana and I were never really very sociable. We only 
met her by chance in the countryside when we were looking 
for a place to enjoy ourselves together. We were certainly 
not looking for other company. But as we were climbing up 
the hills, we came across this strange girl in leather clothes 
and short hair dyed a bizarre mix of blue and black. She 
was reading a book on a rock, and greeted us as we passed. 
Mezyana didn't really want to chat, but I was really curious 
to know something about her. I didn't know there were 
people in the world who dressed like that. You never find 
out about foreign fashions from the magazines or television 
programs. She had a peculiar accent, and we had great 
difficulty in understanding some of what she said. She was 
travelling in Alif and staying in a hostel near Quria. She said 
the hostel was really boring and she got fed up with how 
much people stared at her. At home, she said, nobody 
would look twice at someone dressed like her."

"Is that true?" speculated Ana, who had never really 
thought of how foreigners might dress.

"I can't believe that everyone wears such tight leather 
clothes as her, but she said there were people there who 
dressed a lot more outrageously. After all, there's no law to 
prevent them. As she didn't know anyone in Jebel, we got 
to know her a lot better. She had views about sex and so on 
that we found rather shocking. It was quite titillating as 
well, of course. She always had these stories about her 
boyfriends and her sexual activity which I'm afraid we 
found very exciting. But the nicest thing about knowing 
her, I think, was that we found someone to whom we could 
confess our relationship, and who accepted it as what it 
was. It was good to know that there were people who not 
only didn't disapprove of lesbianism, but almost actively 
endorsed it. It was good to feel accepted like that."

Binta frowned, and then, without warning, swam away 
towards the edge of the pool. Ana hovered for a moment in 
the centre, and then swam leisurely towards her. Binta's 
memories of Jebel must have upset her. Binta leaned on the 
pool-side bar watching her long legs cycle in the water, her 
hair spreading around. She continued as if there'd been no 
break in the conversation when Ana caught up with her.

"I feel guilty thinking about Azhnia. I suppose it was the 
excitement of her liberating conversation, but it wasn't long 
until I learnt that Azhnia wasn't just interested in boys and 
the two of us..." Binta paused as she struggled to express 
herself. "Well, we soon got to be a little too close. My one 
episode of infidelity to Mezyana. Or one of several episodes 
to be honest: all with Azhnia. Not that my love for 
Mezyana was any less. It just seemed such an exhilarating 
and emancipating thing: having a relationship with another 
girl. I never told Mezyana, and Azhnia would never tell her 
either. And even though I felt really rotten at the time, I still 
went back to her for more. Now that I'm parted from 
Mezyana in this horrid place, I feel even worse that the only 
person I've ever truly loved, the one for whose love I am 
suffering so much, and who is also suffering for it ... I feel 
so low and deceitful and really no better than the slut that 
I've become!"

Binta was weeping, tears lost in the dampness of her face. 
Embarrassed, Ana hovered by, not knowing what to say or 
do. Her new friend lowered her face under her cascading 
curtain of hair and softly sobbed. 

"I know Mezyana would forgive me if she were to find out. 
She's like that! So charitable and understanding. All that 
Christian business of only seeing the best in other people. 
That doesn't make it any easier: because I can never forgive 
myself. And I can't blame Azhnia. She was only doing what 
was natural to the mores of her own country. I am the only 
one to blame; and however enjoyable it seemed at the time, 
and however easily I got away with it, doesn't excuse me at 
all!"

Binta gazed into Ana's sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry to 
burden you with all this..."

"That's all right..." Ana tried to say with as much sincerity 
as she could. She was slightly disturbed by the content of 
Binta's confessions, but also flattered to be confided in so 
soon in their friendship. "I'm sure it's good for you to..."

"Thank you! Thank you!" Binta said with a brave smile. 
She briefly kissed Ana on the lips and, before Ana could 
respond, lifted herself out of the pool and stood high above 
her on the edge. "I must go now! I've been swimming for 
long enough. But perhaps we can come back for a swim 
another day?"

"Gladly!" Ana replied, looking up at Binta, her arms 
supporting herself on the poolside. The two girls chatted on 
fairly trivial matters for a few more minutes, while Binta 
dried herself with a long Brothel-issue towel. Soon she left, 
and Ana floated on her back for a long time, recounting her 
conversation and revelling in the satisfaction of making 
friends with someone so soon in the forbidding loneliness of 
the city. Ana imagined that Binta had only left so soon to 
return to work. She waved to Binta as she passed along the 
glass walkway overlooking the pool, suddenly wincing as 
she recollected what Binta's work actually entailed.


6

Ana was gradually becoming accustomed to her new 
life in the big city. It no longer seemed the overpoweringly 
threatening place as it did on her first arrival. The city of 
Blad was still a great mystery on the whole but she felt 
fairly confident of the geography of the Jadid Quarter where 
she had been provided with a flat, and she knew all she 
needed to get to work in the city centre. The bus stop was 
only yards from the main entrance to the block of flats and 
benefited from a shelter which, at this time of the year, 
served mostly to keep the sun off Ana and other commuters as 
they waited for the bus. Unfortunately, she didn't live near 
enough to the bus depot to avoid having to stand all the way 
on most of her journeys to work, but a little bit of 
discomfort like that was nothing compared to the gain of 
having a job.

Around her block of flats were many others almost 
identical, all the statutory maximum height of six storeys 
allowed before an escalator needed to be installed, and 
through the windows of which were flats of much the same 
design as Ana's own. She was in awe of the magnificent 
amount of space she had: more than the two floors of her 
parents' home. Her bedroom had an enormous double bed 
she could sleep in without hunching up her body. Her 
kitchen was ready supplied with a cooker, a microwave and 
a fridge-freezer. She even had a front-loading washing 
machine with which she had a disastrous time trying to get 
working properly. The most luxurious aspect was the fully-
furnished living room in which there was a table, some 
chairs and even a television. And so much space! So much 
unoccupied air. Ana felt incredibly privileged. And all 
provided free as part of her contract of work with the Blad 
State Brothel! She'd never have been able to afford a flat 
nearly as well-appointed otherwise.

She stood by the living room window over a small balcony 
just large enough for her to peg her clothes to dry after 
she'd mastered the washing-machine. Down below was a 
network of clean well-paved roads and a shop opposite 
which sold almost everything from light-bulbs and lentils to 
radios and radishes. A huddle of older women stood at the 
bus stop just by a policeman in a dark green uniform, 
smoking a cigarette. Radiating out for a few hundred yards 
were similar streets, the occasional small church and a small 
patch of grass where children could play. It seemed so 
comfortable and ordinary to Ana that she sometimes forgot 
she'd not always lived in a place like this.

One prominent feature of the living room was a long full-
length mirror in which she could examine her reflection. At 
first she worried that the mirror might be connected to a 
network of cameras and viewing screens, like the one in 
Binta's room at the Brothel, but she soon satisfied herself, 
after poking around its perimeter with a knife, that there 
was no real likelihood that it could be anything other than a 
normal mirror. Ana stood in front of it, wearing only a 
towel round her body which she had used to dry herself 
after a long relaxing rest in the bath. She smiled sadly at 
herself, relishing her reflection's corresponding smile.

She peered around through the window to confirm no one 
could see her and let her towel slip to her knees. She had 
never seen her naked body in its entirety before. Having 
seen so many naked or near naked bodies recently she was 
curious to see how she compared. She concluded that she 
had a nice face: not startlingly pretty, but still nice. A little 
thin perhaps, like the rest of her, but her eyes were large 
even if her lips weren't at all prominent. Her lank fair hair 
fell onto her shoulders, even more lank than usual as it was 
still damp from her bath. She was slim. Her breasts and hips 
had never really blossomed with adulthood quite as much 
as some girls at the Brothel: certainly not as much as 
Binta's. 

How would she compare with a Beta Plus like Binta? She 
was sure she could never be considered more attractive, 
although much of Binta's physical beauty (she blushed to 
find herself using such terms) came less from her body than 
how she carried it. She radiated greater self-confidence and 
bearing without clothes than Ana could fully dressed. She 
imagined Binta walking along the corridors of the Brothel 
with a confident unselfconscious stride; Binta swimming 
breast-stroke in the swimming pool, her buttocks clearly 
visible through the water; and Binta sitting opposite her at 
the canteen table,  her breasts just inches away from her 
fingers. Fingers which could easily stretch over and stroke 
her elegantly shaped nipples and feel the curve of her 
bosom. And, Ana couldn't help wondering, would Binta 
actually enjoy that?

Although Binta came from the countryside much as Ana 
did, Jebel sounded very different from her descriptions of 
its hills and mountains (and rather more exciting) than the 
broad agricultural plains of Rif, bounded by distant hills and 
mountains. Her village of Biyat was such an ordinary place, 
- serviced by a small shop, a few irregular buses and a 
church, - that could claim several uneventful centuries of 
history. Like all the others in the village, her parents' 
cottage had more space in the garden than inside, where 
most of the vegetables they ate were grown. Her father 
worked at a factory several miles away and left for work 
very early in the morning in a beaten-up van he jointly 
owned with several of his colleagues. He rarely got home 
much before seven in the evening. Her mother supplemented 
their living by forever knitting and stitching clothes. Ana 
was considered very much the bright star of the family for 
having attained a college qualification, and there was 
little shame attached to her inability to find work other 
than in the city of Blad. Most young people in Biyat were 
either unemployed or like Ana had little choice but to find 
work elsewhere.

Life in her village was very uneventful and was no less so at 
the small town where she had attended college. There was 
little for a young girl to do. There was the occasional 
village disco attended by too many adults and children for 
young people to be anything but careful in what they did or 
said. The affairs organised by the college were more 
exciting, but were compromised by her need to catch the 
last bus back home to Biyat. Ana would occasionally see a 
film in the tiny cinema with other students, but the selection 
of films was very uninspiring and was mostly mercilessly 
cut. However, Ana had never felt deprived, as she had nothing 
with which to compare her social life and hers was no 
different from that of other girls in her village.

Her family, Biyat and Rif were a long way from Blad and 
her new life. An immeasurable gulf separated her from her 
former life, and it was not just the physical distance 
between them. Ana sat on a chair with the towel on her lap, 
still facing the mirror, contemplating the upward tilt of her 
breasts in the slight chill of the evening. She'd never be able 
to tell her parents about the actual nature of the company 
employing her and the deceit made her feel uncomfortable. She'd 
never hidden the truth from them before. She'd never had the 
need. Now she was obliged to routinely mislead them whenever 
they asked questions about the big city employers who had 
provided her with such a grand flat. Would they guess that not 
many employers were prepared to pay a secretary so well, and 
to give her such a nice place to live in addition? 

Her employer still disgusted her. It was after all a Brothel. 
One owned by the State (and ultimately by President 
Marmeluke himself) and therefore with at least some of its 
approval. Ultimately, it was a concern which sold the 
bodies of mostly women to mostly men for the purpose of 
their sexual gratification. The thought discomfited her 
considerably. It particularly perturbed her now she could 
visualise the actual girls employed in the business of 
providing their bodies to the rather unattractive men she 
saw going into the Brothel. She could imagine Bezaffa, 
Ferhana and Zabba underneath these foul hairy bodies with 
their dirty unscrubbed fingers crawling over their soft skin. 
She could most particularly and painfully imagine Binta in 
this position: her pretty face being kissed by stubble-
chinned, pot-bellied men, their hands grasping at her firm 
breasts and, worse, the most intimate part of all being 
repeatedly violated for their vile pleasure.

However, as Ana reflected with some relief, it was not she 
who had to endure all this indignity and disgrace, but her 
new friends, not all of whom seeming nearly as distressed 
as Binta. Furthermore, life at the Brothel wouldn't be any 
different whether or not she worked there. Perhaps she was 
privileged to get such a close view of the workings of a 
Brothel without having to actively participate. She was 
grateful to have met so many new friends in a city where 
people were generally far too intent on their own business 
to spare any time or friendliness for an innocent country-
girl. She had met many new people and made new friends. 
She wasn't too sure who were really her friends, though she 
was convinced that Binta fitted that description. Perhaps 
also Ferhana and Ketaba. These were girls so very different 
from the people in Rif, and this fact compensated for some 
of the loneliness she felt living so far from her family and 
friends.

She was also very grateful for her salary and her flat. She'd 
enjoyed selecting it with Khedra, the Personnel and 
Training Manager, who'd presented her with a list of 
available flats and told her of the relative merits of each. 
She hardly believed the options she had, and so soon after 
arriving in the city just for an interview! Her parents 
expressed their delight in the letters they sent her which 
included her younger sister's drawings of the kittens and 
tales of all the things in the village that had so recently been 
of primary interest to her. They had been surprised that 
things had worked out so right so soon.

The work she was doing wasn't too bad either, Ana 
considered. It was all well within her capabilities, and she'd 
already earned praise from Mr Madir for the accuracy of 
her typing and how she organised the manual files. She was 
apparently so much better at it than Inta, and so much more 
attractive. 

The Director's praise made Ana feel extremely uncomfortable, 
though. It wasn't only because the office air was thick with 
smoke emerging from the cigarette smouldering in his holder 
or the sweet smell of it clinging to his clothes and hair. 
Although he treated the staff - prostitutes or not - in a 
flirting over-familiar manner, she couldn't help suspecting 
his motives. She decided that she didn't like him very much. 
Not only was he rather ugly and smelly, but for all his 
apparent kindness she couldn't somehow forgive him his rather 
active role in the running of the Brothel and ultimately in 
the enslavement and foul abuse of girls like Ferhana and, of 
course, Binta. Although Ana couldn't be said to be active in 
the more obviously sordid activities of the Brothel, wasn't 
she just as complicit as the Director himself simply by 
helping to run the administrative side of the concern?


	7

Ana didn't know how many times she heard the buzz of her 
flat's intercom before she managed to locate it in the 
hallway. Who could it be? she wondered, still wearing only 
a towel and mostly lost in the revelry of her thoughts. 

"It's me, Khedra," the tinny voice on the intercom 
announced. "Can I come up?"

The Personnel and Training Manager from the Brothel! 
What did she want? 

"Of course! Of course!" Ana replied in a panic about what 
to wear. She hurriedly dashed into her bedroom and slipped 
on a sleeveless floral dress and knickers less with regard 
to appearance than with the need to get dressed. She 
hadn't found her sandals when shd opened the flat door, her  
hair still slightly damp.

Khedra was a tall slim woman in her late thirties who 
dressed very smartly in a green suit with a silk scarf around 
her neck. If Ana didn't know, she would have assumed she 
worked for a bank or an insurance company. She was 
however very amiable and solicitous of Ana's welfare. It 
might only have been her prejudices that made Ana 
somewhat wary of her, but she certainly didn't feel 
overwhelmingly grateful for this unexpected visit.

"I see you've made the flat very homely," commented 
Khedra affably, looking at the posters of Rif that Ana had 
sellotaped to the wall to remind her of home. She wandered 
towards a vase of small flowers Ana had placed 
prominently on the living room table. She stooped over to 
examine it more carefully. "Very nice. Very nice. I hope 
you're settling in well in your new home?"

"Yes, very well, Miss Jismia," Ana said nervously, standing 
by the doorway and wondering why she'd chosen those 
particular flowers.

"Call me Khedra, Ana. Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Of course not," Ana replied as Khedra lowered herself into 
one of the two armchairs facing the television. She sat in 
the other armchair, after first turning it round to face 
Khedra across a small coffee table.

"I hope you don't mind me visiting you like this. But I 
happened to be in the area and part of my duties, as you 
know, is to ensure that all our employees are happy in their 
working life. And of course I have especial concern for all 
our new employees. I like to see that everyone is contented 
and that everything is well. I trust that the flat is 
satisfactory?"

"It's very nice. I'm very grateful."

"The Brothel has a reputation for supplying only the best 
accommodation to its valued employees. I hope also that 
you are satisfied with this district. You should be. The Jadid 
Quarter has a good reputation in this city. Good amenities, 
good schools, an excellent bus service and, of course, no 
shortage of churches if you should be of a religious bent. 
Are you a churchgoer?"

"Not really. Only occasionally."

"Many of our employees are very religious: surprisingly, 
amongst not our administrative staff, but the working girls. 
I hope you're getting to know Blad a bit better. It must be 
quite different to what you're used to." She nodded at the 
posters of the open wheat fields of Rif. "It's not too 
intimidating for you, I hope?"

"I'm beginning to get used to it."

"And it goes without saying that you are a lucky girl indeed 
to get such a nice flat in such a pleasant part of the city. My 
home is a little grander than this, but then I have worked 
hard to afford it. It's a detached house in the Honey district. 
Do you know the area at all?"

"I've heard about it."

"It's very nice. Wide avenues, large parks, big houses and 
shops selling the most gorgeous but fabulously expensive 
clothes. My house occupies nearly a quarter of an acre - 
that cost me a fair bit I can tell you! - with four bedrooms, 
two living rooms and two bathrooms. And there's only me 
living there!" Khedra chuckled whimsically. "I really don't 
need so much space, do I? But it's nice to be able to afford 
it, don't you think Ana?"

"Yes, very nice. I'm sure I'll never be able to afford 
anything like that. You must be very well paid."

Khedra frowned. "You know that it's not policy to discuss 
salaries, Ana. But between you and me, yes, I have done 
very well out of my many years of service for the Brothel. 
I've done very nicely indeed. But you are wrong, my dear, 
in supposing you could never afford something as nice 
yourself." 

She smiled broadly at Ana and then opened a magazine that 
Ana had bought. It was one of many women's magazines that 
could be bought in the shop opposite featuring romantic 
stories, knitting patterns and general articles. Khedra 
flicked through it, clearly bored by its contents and 
put it down without comment. 

"I suppose you might wonder how I've managed to afford so many 
expensive things. Look at these rings." She spread out her 
fingers to display the three or four plain gold rings she had 
on them. "Each of them is worth more than your television set. 
This suit cost more than three months of your salary, and I 
have several others. Part of this comes from my salary. The 
Brothel, as you know, is a believer in offering competitive 
salaries to its staff, and I can honestly say that my pay is 
in the top quartile for my grade. Which is quite senior. Some 
of it has come as a result of astute investment. I have quite 
a portfolio of share-holdings I can tell you. But most of it 
has come from working overtime in the services of the 
Brothel's less administrative business."

"Less administrative business?" wondered Ana, who was 
terribly conscious of the bareness of her feet in front of her 
well-paid colleague. What must she think?

"The Brothel as a company requires administrative and 
ancillary staff for its operations to be a success. There need 
to be receptionists, secretaries, cleaners, technicians and, of 
course, managers. The Brothel has a fairly open policy 
regarding the roles performed by each member of staff, 
particularly concerning the supply of the services for which 
it is most well known. In this capacity, we as managers 
have been very flexible in allocating work to those the 
Brothel employs. Some working girls put in hours at 
reception for attractive rates roughly equivalent to their 
Performance and Appearance Rating ..."

"Equivalent to what?" 

"The banding that each of the working girls receives," 
explained Khedra noting Ana's puzzled expression. "You 
know, some girls are Alphas, some Betas, and so on..."

"Oh yes. I see!"

"In addition to providing extra work for the working girls 
(and the working men if an opportunity occurs), we also 
offer opportunities to other staff to become more actively 
involved in the provision of services. The rates are very 
attractive: being higher per hour than the average working 
girl would receive for the same Performance and 
Appearance Rating, or PAR for short. The Brothel has a 
policy of explaining to its employees what the extra work 
opportunities are, how to apply for them and what the 
remuneration is. I would urge you to be aware that these 
are not merely opportunities we believe that our staff 
should be just aware of. They are also very desirable 
options which staff are actively encouraged to seriously 
consider."

Ana wasn't quite sure what Khedra was getting at. "Are 
you talking about part-time work as a prostitute?"

"Yes, of course. Didn't I make myself clear?"

Ana shook her head vehemently, studying her bare toes in 
the carpet pile. "I don't want to do that! Not ever! Not 
that!"

"I wouldn't have been doing my job as a PTM all these 
years, if I didn't understand the reluctance you may feel in 
doing additional work which not only erodes your free time, 
which a young lady like you must no doubt relish to the 
full, but has an unfortunate reputation which I only hope 
that greater familiarity and reflection will dispel."

"I would never. I could never. My parents..."

"You are not in any way expected to do anything you don't 
want to, Ana. All I'm doing is presenting to you the exciting 
and rewarding opportunities that are open to you while you 
are an employee in our concern. I wouldn't be doing my job 
if I weren't to do so." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure 
your parents and family would soon come round to 
respecting any career decision you made which brought you 
a better income and such exciting prospects. I have 
supplemented my normal salary for years with a degree of 
extra work - often conveniently overlapping with my 
normal hours as it does for all administrative and ancillary 
staff willing to exploit such opportunities, as I shall be more 
than willing to explain. This extra work is not only within 
the confines of the Brothel, where I have my own room for 
the purpose, quite separate from my normal office, as is 
only right. It would not do to confuse my role as a PTM 
with my other capacities. This work has often involved 
travel, meeting interesting and well-connected people, and 
visiting the most exotic restaurants and gentlemen's clubs. 
And it is an opportunity I would strongly urge you to 
consider sooner rather than later, as unusually among 
careers this is one heavily biased towards the younger and 
often less experienced."

Ana really didn't want to continue this embarrassing 
discussion. "Prostitution's just not something I want to do. I 
wouldn't enjoy it at all."

"I understand your attitude, Ana. Undoubtedly, it's not 
everyone's preferred career option. But were you to show 
interest, there would be great flexibility shown towards 
your general clerical and secretarial duties. I believe you've 
shown yourself quite adept at these - better, I don't mind 
telling you, than your predecessor. However, I think I ought 
to outline the benefits of taking advantage of these exciting 
opportunities. I've already hinted at the enhanced income 
you would enjoy - which at a preferential employee's bonus 
takes the earnings of a Gamma to the level of a Beta, and 
those of a Beta to the level of those of an Alpha Minus. The 
rates and conditions are not to be sniffed at. I'll leave you 
this employee brochure which outlines them in greater 
detail."

She placed a glossy brochure on the table that featured the 
photograph of a very ordinary young lady dressed in very 
ordinary working clothes (nothing like those of the 
prostitutes at the Brothel). She was smiling broadly while 
leaning against a similarly unexceptional dining table laid 
out for a small dinner. The front cover had the words 
Opportunities in Customer Satisfaction just above her 
forehead. Ana picked up the brochure and flicked through 
pages in attractive printface which showed the same woman 
in other equally unlikely settings such as restaurants and 
tourist sights. The only picture at all associated with the 
Brothel was the swimming pool, where the women were 
photographed so that it was impossible to tell what they 
were wearing.

"You'd like to earn more, wouldn't you Ana?"

"Well... yes..."

"And this is an opportunity to do so. But, as they say, 
money isn't everything, although our surveys have shown 
that for the overwhelming majority of working girls - 
78.9% in fact - money is the chief reason quoted for this 
choice of career. There are also the character-building 
aspects of the job. It would make you much more assertive 
and a great deal fitter. It is also excellent training for a 
married life. Do you have a boyfriend at the moment?"

Ana blushed. "No, not at the moment." Nor indeed had she 
ever one, - a fact that had sometimes troubled her when she 
saw the apparent happiness of her friends in Rif who were 
engaged to be married.

"Well, when you do, you'll find that the satisfaction and 
quality of service you'd be able to provide after the 
excellent experience that only a working girl can achieve 
will be something for which you will be forever grateful. 
Indeed, many of our employees are now happily married to 
former clients whom they met in the course of executing 
their duties. However, as you can possibly guess, it's not 
altruism alone that motivates the State Brothel to offer its 
employees such attractive opportunities. The Personnel 
department will be very grateful for the extra services. It is 
constantly on the lookout for suitable staff. It seems that 
however well we have succeeded in achieving, or better 
than achieving, our recruitment quotas, the demand for 
services continues to exceed the supply of provision. I for 
one would be extremely grateful were you to assent to so 
provide your services."

"It's just not what I want for a career..."

"Well, it's true that you have been taken on as a secretary, 
and there are very few employers who can extend to such 
staff the extra work that we are able to do. However, even 
if one were to ignore the many other benefits of this extra 
work, I am sure it would be advantageous for you to gain a 
greater insight into the Brothel's non-administrative work. 
This is also certain to enhance your career prospects.
We have always preferred to promote rather than recruit 
whenever more senior positions need to be filled, and 
preference is inevitably extended to those who are more 
actively involved in the running of the business."

Khedra skimmed through the pages of the brochure which 
Ana had returned to the coffee-table. "No doubt you have 
noticed that a great deal of the remuneration relies on your 
PAR. Naturally, I'm in no position to guarantee what your 
rating might be. I imagine you would be a Beta. Possibly a 
Beta Plus. But this of course depends on an initial full body 
assessment, subsequently supplemented by data collected 
from client satisfaction questionnaires which customers of 
your services would be requested to complete. However, 
assuming that you are a Beta, I think you'll agree that the 
terms of pay, conditions of service, sickness benefit, holiday 
entitlement and pension provision are really second to 
none."

Ana felt obliged to look at these details with more care. It 
was displayed in a table, and showing a sliding scale of pay 
and benefits which were really very good indeed for the 
Alpha Double Plus. Those for an Epsilon Minus, however, 
were rather worse than her own at the moment - and 
reflected that even the ratings of the highest ranked 
prostitutes dropped with time. How long would it take to 
sink from a Beta to the depths of an Epsilon Minus? While 
Ana was reading, Khedra pointed out additional attractions, 
such as travel allowances, a company share scheme, a 
clothing allowance and the quality of the accommodation 
provided. 

"For some of our more valuable staff, we pay a substantial 
contribution towards the maintenance and cost of their 
private premises on the understanding that it is used at 
least occasionally towards the provision of services for 
the wealthier and more fastidious client. There is no 
mystery, of course, in how we can afford to be so generous 
towards our staff. Our services are in very great demand 
and provide a sizeable contribution to the government's 
revenue."

"Are there any problems if I decide not to take advantage 
of these opportunities?" Ana wondered. She didn't like the 
way she felt Khedra was pressuring her.

"Problems? Whatever do you mean?"

"If I don't work as a part-time prostitute will there be any 
negative results?"

"The State Brothel does not, as an employer, discriminate 
in any way against any employee who refuses or simply 
does not wish to actively participate in its Customer 
Satisfaction Programme. You have my word that should 
you decide not to enrol on this scheme, no one will think 
the worse of you. But this is negative talk, Ana! You 
should rather consider the positive aspect. By taking 
advantage of what the Brothel offers you: you will be 
healthier, wealthier and it will greatly assist you in an 
administrative or clerical career. We take a very positive 
view of staff who have shown themselves willing - 
particularly those such as you with a potential PAR as high 
as a Beta! Think not of Negative Discrimination of which I 
hope we are never guilty. Think instead of the Positive 
Discrimination that would instead be extended towards you 
for the rest of your working life in the services of your 
employer."

	8

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 role 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 role 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." 



	9

After a few minutes, Ana and her ward stood up and 
strolled along the calm city streets in the direction Ferhana 
assured led back to the Brothel. More of the city was 
awaking, but it still had a very sleepy atmosphere. A few 
cafes had opened with tables outside sheltering customers 
under parasols from the harsh midday sun. Many seemed 
very young and several had newspapers on the table piled in 
front of them. As they passed by one cafe, Ferhana 
suddenly exclaimed: "Well, look who is here!"

"Who?" Ana wondered following the long purple arm 
pointing towards a table at the Cafe des Jeunes, where a 
teenage boy in a black leather jacket and jeans was sitting 
alone smoking a cigarette and idly watching people go by. 
At least, she thought it was a boy - perhaps an old 
boyfriend of Ferhana's from her earlier life - but she became 
aware that it was in fact Zabba, who had seemingly not yet 
bothered to start reading the newspaper in front of her.

"Why, hi there!" Zabba greeted them as they strode 
towards her. "Have you finished your sentence already?"

"Not at all," the black girl replied. "I've just been given 
leave to go to the cathedral, looked after by Ana here. We 
were on our route back to the Brothel."

"Well, I'm sure you don't have to hurry. Come on sit down. 
I'll buy you some coffee."

Before Ana had the opportunity to decide whether this was 
what she really wanted to do, Ferhana was sitting on a chair 
next to Zabba, so she joined them.

Zabba held up three fingers to the waiter, and shouted out 
"More cappuccino, Jason. You like cappuccino, don't you 
Ana?" She nodded, though she mostly only drank instant 
coffee or tea. Zabba smiled as the waiter hastened away. 
"Doing a bit of overtime? You are keen! I hope Ferhana's 
been behaving herself?"

"She's been very well behaved."

"Like a saint!" added Ferhana good-humouredly.

"Well, you would be if you've been to church. Me, I've got 
no time for religion, but I guess if I were a prisoner like 
Ferhana here I'd take any opportunity there was to get 
away from the Brothel. It must be awful being stuck there 
all day." She drew on her cigarette, saw that she was very 
nearly inhaling on the filter and stubbed it out. Ana noticed 
that the cigarette packet was for an expensive imported 
brand sporting a health warning which was never printed on 
Alif cigarette packets. "In fact, I'd hate to be like 
Ferhana or your friend, Binta. All that hard work and 
nothing to show for it! Mind you I'd never dream of doing 
it unless I got paid pretty damned well for it. Much better 
than you, Ana. I'm sometimes hard pushed to spend all of 
it."

"You do not have to make me feel bad," commented 
Ferhana.

"Well, it's not as if you'd not made a fair bit yourself when 
you were dealing in alcohol. I've met some of your old 
friends and they told me how well you were doing. It might 
not have been legit, but you didn't pay taxes and you were 
at least as well off then as I am now!"

"That was in the past, Zabba. When you were still at 
school, studying for exams and playing games in the school 
playground."

"Less of the studying and more of the playing games I'm 
afraid, Ferhana dear. I was a dreadful schoolgirl you know. 
If I'd been better at school maybe I'd never have been so 
keen on taking up this trade. But then lots of the other 
girls and boys who studied ever so hard, and might even 
be going onto university: they're never going to be 
earning nearly as much as me. So who's the mug?"

"Did you take up prostitution because you weren't a good 
student?" speculated Ana.

"Well...! That was one reason. But actually I didn't think 
about it until I was faced with the choice of staying on at 
school or being unemployed. Both options seemed rather 
awful. Some of my friends are unemployed and living with 
their parents, and all they ever do is argue with them all the 
time. And there's no money at all in unemployment. Then I 
saw the brochures for the Brothel in the school careers' 
library. They weren't exactly prominently displayed. No one 
could claim that my school encouraged me. Although it's 
perfectly legal, it's still treated like a dark secret. But of 
course everyone - especially the boys! - liked to read the 
Brothel literature. And I suppose the school was obliged to 
supply the stuff. I thought it was a real joke: all the business 
about PAR and pensions and opportunities for work 
abroad. Join a Brothel and feel a man, as the joke goes! But 
I didn't know what to do, so I went along to the 
recruitment office at the Brothel..."

"Recruitment office?"

"Of course! Haven't you seen it, Ana? It's not by the 
Brothel's entrance. That's for the clients. It's round the 
back. Sometimes Khedra's there, but usually there are just 
prostitutes doing a bit of overtime. When I went there, the 
woman who chatted to me was only a Gamma, and I bet 
she doesn't earn much! But she got really enthusiastic about 
working in the Brothel. Well, I suppose she had to be. She 
probably gets some kind of commission for the girls she 
recruits. She made it sound really good: swimming pool, 
garden, paid holidays, bonuses and good pay. I thought if 
a girl like her can get so much out of it: what would I 
get? But what really made me go into the profession was 
when she provisionally estimated that my rating would be at 
least a Beta Plus or an Alpha Minus. I saw what rates those 
grades got, and it just looked like an absolute fortune to 
me. And of course I've actually been rated as an Alpha. I 
asked her: how can a girl like me with no figure and no 
breasts get such a high rating? Was the Brothel that short 
of talent? Well, she told me, if I cut my hair and dressed 
right then the sky would be the limit! And as they say, the 
rest is history."

"It must be very strange to dress and look like a boy all the 
time. What can your customers be thinking?"

"Don't be so naive, Ana!" laughed Zabba, lighting another 
cigarette as the waiter returned with three milky coffees on 
a tray and placed them decorously on the table. "Thanks 
Jason! ... No. That's exactly what they want. The more like 
a boy I am the happier they are. Their biggest 
disappointment is that I'm not one for real, but why should 
I care what they think."

"But what about other people? Those who aren't 
customers?"

"It doesn't bother me what they think either! But actually, - 
and I'm sure I shouldn't be saying this, but I know you're 
great chums with Binta, - I actually rather like it. Girls often 
think I'm a boy and it makes it much easier for me to get on 
with them initially..."

Ana felt an uncomfortable bounce in her chest. Ferhana 
sipped on her coffee and made no comment, while Zabba 
drew on her cigarette. "You don't mind girls thinking that?" 

"Of course not! In fact, Ana, I have a lot more in common 
with your friend Binta than you seem to realise. The only 
difference is that she's been caught and I haven't."

"Do you mean that you're a ... you're someone who ... that 
you ...?"

Ferhana put down her coffee and smiled reassuringly at 
Ana. "It's not that uncommon you know, Ana," she 
remarked. "Zabba's just someone who's interested in 
women as well as men."

"Does that make you, like Binta, someone who is, as they 
say...?"

Zabba put a hand on Ana's wrist. "Don't say it out loud. 
Someone might hear you. But of course I am. I'm just not 
exclusive like Binta. There's nothing wrong with it, 
whatever President Marmeluke and his prudish government 
might say. It doesn't get you pregnant. It doesn't spread 
diseases. And I'm a lot more choosy with the women in my 
life than I can ever be with the men. Don't act so shocked. 
If Binta does it, why shouldn't I?"

Ana smiled weakly. She was being revealed to attitudes she 
couldn't comprehend. A world where women loved women 
and men preferred making love to boys. And how could 
someone as lovely as Binta really be remotely like the 
crude and disturbingly androgynous Zabba.

"So, Ana, are you enjoying life at the Brothel?" Zabba 
asked. "Is it the sort of place you always wanted to work 
at?"

Ana shook her head. "I thought I'd be working in a more 
conventional office."

"I bet you did! But it's definitely an eye-opener for you, I'm 
sure. Prostitutes, pimps and sex. You don't get that in most 
offices. It's more like a factory than an office block if you 
ask me. Girls like me are on a conveyer belt of sexual 
diversion. We're nothing more than live meat as far as the 
punters are concerned, with clothes to stimulate the 
punters' rather poor imaginations and holes to be filled. Or 
do you have a more positive image, Ana dear?"

Zabba's views were curiously disloyal for someone who had 
chosen prostitution as a career. 

"Don't you like working at the Brothel?"

Zabba laughed - slightly cruelly, Ana thought. "Of course I 
don't. Do you think I would ever voluntarily put myself 
through all that groping and mauling for fun? It's just a job 
for me! I take it you're not a great fan of prostitution 
yourself?"

"Not really. But I don't really have much to do with what 
happens in the Brothel."

"I suppose we're just so much data on your databases. Each 
of us with our individual serial numbers and a set of 
attributes like our PAR and years of service. We might as 
well be tins of baked beans or factory tools." Zabba 
laughed. "I can never forget my serial number. I have to 
key it in every time I enter or leave the building. I can see 
why I have to enter it when I leave. It's so that people like 
Ferhana here and your nudist friend don't just saunter out of 
the building. I don't really understand why I have to enter it 
when I go in. Who's going to try sneaking into the Brothel 
if they don't have to? Unless they're paying customers of 
course. And what about your boss?"

"You mean the Director?"

"The Pimple we call him. Fairly obvious of course - he is 
the Big Pimp in the Brothel and he looks like some kind of 
obnoxious pimple. Do you get on with him?"

"He seems all right," Ana commented unconvincingly.

"Me, I hate him! You don't like him either do you, 
Ferhana?"

Ferhana smiled softly. "I'd rather not say what I think about 
him."

"Too unladylike for you, I suppose! I think he's absolutely 
disgusting. He smells like a fag end, dresses like the big 
villain in an amateur pantomime and he keeps pawing my 
bum. I'm fortunate his tastes don't stray very far from the 
conventional. If there's anyone at the Brothel I'd like to see 
come to a sorry end, it's the Pimple, preferably by a 
particularly revolting species of venereal disease. Don't 
you think he's revolting, Ana?"

Ana didn't want to express a too negative opinion about 
someone she had to work with every day, but she did get 
very tired of his habit of touching her on the shoulders and 
around the bottom. His humour was rather tasteless and 
unsympathetic. 

"I wish his hands wouldn't wander so much. And he does 
smoke an awful lot!"

"Well, I can't be too sanctimonious about that!" admitted 
Zabba, stubbing out her cigarette. "I guess you don't like 
smoking very much! But there are a lot worse things about 
the Pimple than his taste in tobacco. I don't like the way he 
samples almost all the prostitutes in the place. There can't 
be very many who've not endured his disgusting intimacies..."

"Does that include Binta?" wondered Ana, blanching at the 
thought.

"You really are very concerned about your friend's welfare, 
aren't you? Well, I can't speak for Binta. You'll have to ask 
her yourself if you want to know if the Pimple's shoved his 
filthy warty body against hers. But most girls have got to 
find out about his little habits before they leave the Brothel. 
What do you think, Ferhana?"

"I do not wish to comment," Ferhana remarked, looking 
remarkably uncomfortable.

"The Pimple's attentions don't stop with a bit of rumpy 
pumpy. He's been known to upgrade girls by nearly an 
entire category as a reward for services freely and 
frequently offered. If you ever see a Beta who you think 
ought to be a Gamma or an Alpha who really doesn't have 
the physical appearance of her grade, you can be pretty sure 
it's because they're one of the Pimple's harem of willing 
helpers."

"I thought the criteria of assessment were really very 
stringent."

"And so they are, Ana, if you don't cooperate. Look at your 
friend Binta. Only a Beta. Not even a Beta Plus. There's 
enough subjectivity in the PAR system for a little bit of 
fiddling, and I don't think Khedra's that fastidious about 
keeping standards that rigid. After all, she didn't get where 
she is by merit alone."

"She does work very hard," Ferhana defended, annoyed at 
the turn of conversation.

"I'm sure she works very hard at everything she does! She's 
an ambitious woman. She's almost certainly got her eye on 
the Director's job for herself. All it takes is for the Pimple 
to overreach himself or to offend one of the President's 
representatives and it'll be Khedra who'll be running the 
show. She'd be a lot better than the Pimple. She wouldn't 
treat the weaker and more vulnerable girls so 
unscrupulously. She wouldn't practise the filthy things the 
Pimple gets up to. And when I say filthy, Ana, I mean 
filthy! The smell is apparently dreadful! And some of the 
girls he's entertained look like they've been in a fight rather 
than having offered their services voluntarily and for no extra 
pay. If a client treated them like the Pimple does, he'd never 
be allowed back in through the Brothel doors again. Or at 
least for a long time. Have you ever heard of the Client 
Black List and the compensation terms for loss of earnings 
that the Brothel operates? It's one thing for the punters and 
another thing for the Brothel's own Director!"

"I think you are making poor Ana think the Brothel is 
horrid place to work!" Ferhana stated a little abruptly. "She 
has to work with the Director. You do not even have to see 
him very much! She has to see him every day. Ana does not 
work in the Brothel as we do. She is a secretary. Her work 
is very much different."

"Like it was with Inta, I suppose!" sniffed Zabba.

"Inta is another girl. For Ana it is for her like it is to work 
in any office. She does not have to know about prostitution 
any more than a secretary in a travel agent has to know 
about travel. Or a secretary in a power plant has to be a 
scientist. The Brothel has very nice offices, a good view 
over the city, a swimming pool and a subsidised canteen. 
The Director may not be the most nice man in the world, 
but he is only bad with some of the prostitutes, not with all 
the staff."

"So, you're defending the Brothel now, Ferhana!" sneered 
Zabba. "You really are striving for time off for good 
behaviour. Next you'll be saying the Pimple's quite a good 
chap really and that the girls he treats so badly just deserve 
what they get."

"That is not true, Zabba! I am saying only that Ana does 
not have to work in the Brothel and be unhappy. I am 
saying that she does not have to think about what the 
Director does or what you and I do with the clients. What I 
think about the Director and my work as a prostitute is not 
the issue!"

"I guess you'd rather not discuss such things," mused 
Zabba. She pulled another cigarette out of the packet and 
thoughtfully lit it. "Well, perhaps you'd rather talk about 
your home, in Haj. Are there any brothels there?"

Ferhana smiled. "They're not like our Brothel at all. They 
are very small and they are privately owned. The 
government of Haj does not like prostitution, but it is not 
illegal. The government does not like very much things that 
are not illegal. There is much alcohol and homosexuality is 
allowed. But the government does not say that they are 
good. Or that they are bad. And we may be very poor in 
Haj but we can say what we like about the government. 
And the government does not like it very much when 
people say bad things about it. But they do not stop people. 
And they do not stop the newspapers saying bad things 
either. Not like in Alif, where what the President does not 
like, the people must not do. But people are poor. They 
want money and do not care for having freedom."

"Well, you can't have everything!" commented Zabba. She 
looked at her companions' empty cups. "Do you fancy 
another coffee? I'll pay of course!"

Ferhana looked at Ana who was conscious that she was to 
be paid only for the time she spent taking Ferhana to the 
Cathedral. She didn't want to shorten Ferhana's precious 
moments of freedom, although her ward was more 
considerate. 

"Although I like very much to talk with you, Zabba, Ana 
must take me back to the Brothel. Or they will think I 
have escaped."

"Well! Hurry back then!" sniffed Zabba, pointedly picking 
up her newspaper. Ferhana and Ana stood up, and bid her 
farewell. Zabba kissed Ferhana tenderly on the lips and Ana 
on the cheeks. "It's been nice speaking to you. Don't be a 
stranger."

"No," whispered Ana uncertainly. 

She and Ferhana continued along the main road, sheltering 
from the harsh sunlight in the shortening shadows. Ferhana 
was quite muted, leaving Ana to her own troubled thoughts. 
She felt on the edge of a great change in her life. Elements 
were fitting into place, but she couldn't quite see where 
they would fit, although somehow Binta was central.

They were soon back at the Brothel. Ana sat on a sofa in the 
foyer, keeping a good distance from the clients who gathered in 
somewhat larger numbers than earlier that day. An aggressive 
security guard, a machine gun slung rakishly over his shoulder, 
emptied Ferhana's handbag onto the counter and scrutinised the 
contents with considerable detail. As soon as Ferhana was 
through the staff entrance her body would be strip searched 
and probably no less roughly. Brothel policy was extremely 
strict on the possible import of any illegal substances that 
could be brought in by prostitutes on penal service. A policy 
which in no way inhibited the free movement of such illegal 
substances that might be in the possession of the majority of 
prostitutes. 

Ana wasn't sure what to do with the rest of the day. Perhaps 
she would visit Binta. She knew her friend wasn't scheduled to 
be working that afternoon.

	10

Ana was seeing a great deal of Binta these days. On those 
days when her friend was not working late, she rarely 
returned home directly after work. She would wander along 
to Binta's room and the two girls would chat together or 
go swimming in the Brothel pool. On some evenings, they 
would meet in the roof garden: high above the city and the 
only part of the Brothel open to the sky. Like many others, 
Binta had a small plot in the garden she could tend when she 
could. It was a very small plot that grew only a few flowers 
and herbs, but Binta had taken the option of working there, 
precisely for the freedom of an empty sky above her head. 
Ana enjoyed these visits which, because of Binta's chosen 
dress, were only possible on dry warm evenings. She enjoyed 
standing by as Binta knelt down on the ground: her trowel 
deep in the earth and mud on her knees.

Ana wasn't at all sure why she felt the need to see Binta so 
often. The most obvious reason, and the one she preferred 
to believe, was that Ana had very few friends in Blad and 
Binta was the closest of them. She could speak freely about 
all she missed from Rif and her life there. She could 
ramble on about her flat in Jadid and her neighbours: the 
couple who argued quite loudly; the young man on the 
floor below who tried engaging her in conversation when 
they passed on the stairs; the old woman who would open 
her door slightly and watch her as she passed by. Binta 
often prompted her to continue if she lost the thread of her 
thoughts. 

Ana felt empty on those evenings when Binta was working. 
Time seemed to drag and she was unable to concentrate. 
Weekends were even worse. She often had to think of excuses 
to come to the Brothel, as she had when she escorted Ferhana 
to the cathedral, for the occasion of spending time with 
Binta.

"I never enjoyed gardening in Jebel," admitted Binta. 
"Indeed, I never did any at all. I couldn't tell geraniums 
from hyacinths. I would have hated getting any of this 
muck on my fingers. Look at it all!" She splayed her fingers 
to display the earth that discoloured them. "But, now, I just 
couldn't imagine a day not spent tending this little garden. 
I've read all the books in the Brothel library on gardening 
and I know far more than I used to do. Some girls here 
have much better plots than me. That Delta with the 
jacaranda over there: I don't know how she does it! Her 
plot always looks immaculate. And she manages to make it 
look good all year round. Most of the time, there are either 
things waiting to sprout or flowers which have just died. 
There's a real art to it!"

Ana smiled appreciatively. She thought Binta's plot was 
quite delightful enough. She followed Binta's gesture to all 
the other plots that lined the narrow paths around the roof 
garden. Other girls were working at their plots, but they 
were mostly Deltas and Epsilons who were also serving 
time, and wore nearly as little as Binta as they didn't wish to 
dirty the satin, silk or leather of their working clothes. 
Prostitutes were not offered the sort of clothes that  
would normally be appropriate for working on a garden.

"What do you enjoy most about it?" Ana asked, standing 
against a small tree in the evening sun, her arms folded and 
a hand stroking her chin.

"The open air more than anything else. It's so oppressive 
being indoors in the Brothel all day. A country girl like me 
just can't take so much neon and claustrophobia. There 
mightn't be a lot more space, but there's a lot of air. You 
can't see much more of the world up here. No more than I 
can see through the window in my room anyway. But it's 
nice to know that there's nothing but sky above my head. 
It's a kind of freedom. But it's more than that! I like getting 
my hands deep into the soft unresisting earth. I like to help 
things grow. I love watching the first leaves of a bulb 
sprout from the earth, and then bit by bit watch the flowers 
open. I like to take my secateurs to the roses and prune 
them. It's so restful. You just don't notice the hours go by. I 
can forget the misery of the Brothel and just concentrate 
my thoughts on what to do with this plant or that plant. 
Where to put what seed. What needs to be trimmed. I 
wouldn't mind growing vegetables here. Carrots or 
cabbages. But there's nowhere to cook them. And anyway 
the Brothel only supplies us with a limited variety of 
decorative garden plants. You can order other plants, but 
whatever you order just doesn't seem to be available this 
month or any other month for that matter. What do you 
think, Ana?"

"I don't know. I like looking at all these flowers and I love 
watching the way the garden changes, but I just don't know 
whether I'd be so keen even if I were in your position."

"But you seem to enjoy coming up here and watching me 
work."

"That's because you enjoy it," Ana remarked. She instantly 
felt embarrassed. What was she trying to say?

"What do you mean, Ana?" asked Binta standing up and 
turning her naked body towards her friend. "You only come 
here because I come here?"

"Well, no. I mean, yes. I mean, it's just because ... you 
know ... it's nice to watch you at work and enjoying 
yourself at work that ..."

"You like watching me enjoy myself?"

"Not so much watching you..." rambled Ana, her ears 
burning with embarrassment, not at all sure what she was 
trying to say. "It's just nice chatting to you while you're 
happy and not ... when you're sort of your own person and 
not being ... I just think it's nice that ..."

Binta leaned over and tenderly kissed Ana on the cheek. "I 
enjoy your company. I don't care why you want to spend 
time with me. It's just nice to be together."

"You think so?" 

Ana felt the heat from her ears spread across her cheeks 
and forehead. What was causing her so much embarrassment?

Binta looked at the earth-pasted hands with an amused 
smile. "How did they get this muck onto the roof? Anyway, 
I must wash it off." She picked up her trowel, fork and a 
small bucket. "Let's go to the taps."

These were lined against the wall by a series of shrub-like 
trees in wooden tubs and a small greenhouse where an 
indistinct figure was tending to some tomatoes. Binta 
carefully packed her tools in a small locker, its green metal 
rusted a red tinge, locked the door and hid the key in a 
small pot just above her locker. Ana stood back as she 
rubbed her hands under the sparkling water of the tap as it 
gushed out, splashed over her wrists and fingers, and then 
spiralled down the small grate at her feet which were also 
getting washed. 

"It's unbelievably cold!" she exclaimed, shaking the 
droplets off onto the wall's peeling paint. "My fingers are 
so numb! Feel them!"

She proffered them to Ana, who had to admit that they 
were very cold. She dropped them promptly while Binta 
agitatedly shook her hands. 

"So, what do you think about working here, Ana? Are you 
enjoying it any more?"

"It's a job. It has its good days and its bad days," Ana 
answered. She never really thought that much about it. She 
didn't enjoy the director's company, but fortunately he was 
more often than not busy elsewhere and she didn't have to 
suffer his facetious comments too often. "It's not as bad as 
your job. I'd hate to do what you have to do." 

The thought always filled Ana with disgust. It perturbed her 
more than she thought possible. The image of Binta being 
subjected to the physical attentions of her clients was one 
she preferred to blank out of her mind.

"Some of the clients today were particularly nasty," Binta 
mused. "One man wouldn't stop squeezing my wrist. I told him 
to stop and he just wouldn't. I think he liked causing me pain. 
Another one just wouldn't accept my refusal (which I'm wholly 
entitled to insist on) when I said I didn't want to do what he 
wanted me to do. I told him it was painful and, in any case, 
illegal. But that didn't stop him going on and on. And offering 
me quite a lot of money for it. Money I can't even spend at the 
Brothel anyway. I hate my job. And the worst of it is how it 
changes the way you regard lovemaking..."

"What do you mean?" wondered Ana, leaning against a 
table loaded with potted plants. "How has it done that?"

"It just doesn't seem to have anything to do with love any 
more. The other words you use for it - the old Anglo-
Saxon ones - they seem much more appropriate than words 
like 'making love'. It's got nothing about it that I would call 
'love'. Not the love I enjoyed with Mezyana. Not the 
passion and satisfaction I used to get. Now, it's just on your 
back, legs up in the air, a disgusting smell of body odour 
and a kind of distant far away sensation from where you're 
supposed to feel sensation the most acutely. It's just 
perverse and horrible!" Binta leaned against the table next 
to Ana, and absent-mindedly took Ana's hand in one of her 
own and looked down at it. "It's dehumanising! I'm nothing 
more than a sex toy. I have a vacant hole to be filled and 
the clients just want to fill it. That's all it is! That's all they 
do! I prefer it when I can satisfy their lust without them 
putting their repulsive thing inside me..."

Ana gazed into Binta's eyes. "How do you do that?" she 
asked with a slight choke.

"With my hands. With my mouth. With my breasts. With 
anything I can. And then they release their smelly viscous 
muck and I know I'm safe. The trick is to do it quickly, but 
not so quickly that they feel that they want to have a 
second go. And I look at them. Those bristly greasy faces. 
Those pale hairy chests. The flabby mass of stomach in 
folds at the front. The skinny legs with the angular knees 
and so much hair. Those piggy little eyes. And that 
loathsome look of lust that they all have when they come in 
my room and look at me. And the things they say. 'Just like 
my daughter, you are!' One said. 'And she's a slut too!' That 
was so horrid and unnecessary. So dreadful..." Binta 
sighed, and her eyes moistened with tears Ana had never seen 
before. She put an arm round her shoulders to comfort her 
friend, and Binta squeezed up towards her, face against her 
cheek and an arm trailing over Ana's knee.

"And some of the others! The violent way they force their 
fingers in places where I don't want them to touch me. The 
way they slobber and trails of saliva drip out of their 
mouths and leave damp patches on the sheets. The ugliest, 
unhealthiest, most diseased looking bodies you can imagine. 
It's not just the ignominy of being a sex machine: it's what 
you have to endure. It's repulsive! Obnoxious! Nothing I 
ever did with Mezyana resembles what I have to suffer from 
these men. God! I hate them! I hate them!" 

Ana squeezed Binta's shoulder comfortingly. "They're not 
here now! We're in the garden. Your clients are far away."

Binta turned round and with a sudden impulse wrapped her 
naked shoulders around Ana's. 

"You don't understand. While I'm in the Brothel, I can't escape 
them at all. The clients are here all the time. All the time 
I'm surrounded by prostitutes and the Brothel, I can't forget 
them. They're in the shadows of the corridors, behind the doors 
with red lights, in the creases of all the satin, silk and 
leather that's worn here. I hate it! I hate it so much!" 

Her chin rested on Ana's shoulder and her body pressed against 
her breast. Ana patted Binta's back with one arm while 
supporting her with the other. The note of Binta's breathing 
became a distinct sob.

"There there!" Ana said periodically and soothingly, but 
nonetheless feeling unsettled by the sensation of a naked 
woman pressed so close to her. She and Binta had never 
been so physically intimate before. She gazed into Binta's 
tear-soaked eyes. A sudden rush of emotion and pity 
overwhelmed her, and without any thought she leaned over 
and kissed Binta tenderly on the lips. It was meant to be a 
brief and comradely kiss, but she was taken totally 
unawares by the intensity of Binta's response. 

In a sudden wild rush of sensation, she was aware that Binta 
had manoeuvred her kiss to a longer and more passionate one 
in which there was the unfamiliar (and yet not unwelcome) 
sensation of another tongue in her mouth. Ana felt obliged 
to follow suit. Binta's mouth was a very liquid and very 
warm place which tasted of so many different things: sweet, 
salt and even bitter. She felt the hardness of Binta's teeth: 
the uneven row of incisors and the crowns of the molars 
where, yes! she identified the metallic taste of a filling. Her 
tongue ached as it revolved around Binta's own tongue, slid 
along the gums above and below the teeth, and deep 
breaths through her nostrils picked up the slight soapiness 
of Binta's well-scrubbed flesh.

All of a sudden, Binta eased off and steadily gazed at her, 
with a toothy bright smile. There was something very 
strange about her expression. The eyes sparkled in a way 
Ana had never seen in anyone before and her mouth 
expressed an unutterably beautiful foolishness. Ana just 
wanted her lips to return to Binta's and feel more closely 
her smooth warm flesh. Binta understood Ana's thoughts, 
despite reservations that had vanished in the heady mist of 
passion.

"I think we should go to my bedroom," Binta said 
breathlessly, raising her eyebrows with a reluctant frown. 
"We can be sure of our privacy there."

Ana panicked slightly. She glanced around her. Thankfully 
there was no one who could have seen her with Binta. She 
looked back at her good friend. She smiled in a sad but 
determined way. 

"Yes, let's go! But hurry!"


	11

Ana was totally disorientated when she opened her eyes in 
the morning. Where was she? What was that strange mirror 
doing in the corner of the room? Why did the sheets feel so 
relatively cool and silky? But she gradually remembered 
and glanced at Binta who was still sleeping beside her, 
naked like herself. A sudden spasm of alarm constricted her 
neck, but she relaxed and smiled to herself as she regarded 
Binta's head on the pillow and recalled the passion of the 
night before. 

It had happened so fast! And it had been so much more 
pleasant than she'd imagined. Her own previous gropings and 
fumblings with boys in Rif seemed so sordid and unpleasant 
in comparison. Part of her felt a pang of guilt and shame. 
She had after all committed a crime, the consequences of 
which she knew only too well from Binta's own example. Mostly, 
however, she felt relieved to have at last achieved the 
fulfilment she must have always wanted but had never known. 

She scrutinised Binta's naked body. So beautiful. The long 
hair. The slim waist. The full breasts she'd admired before 
without knowing how well she'd get to know them. She 
smiled at the slight heave and stir of Binta's body who was 
breathing steadily in apparent contentment. She hoped - so 
much! - that Binta's feelings towards her were as strong as 
those she at last admitted to have towards her friend. Not 
just a friend now. A lover. She relished the word and 
mouthed it silently to cherish its full flavour. Overcome by 
desire, she leaned over and kissed Binta tenderly on the 
shoulder.

Binta stirred and rolled over towards her. She opened her 
eyes wearily and smiled welcomingly. A rush of emotion 
pounded at Ana's chest and heated her cheeks. 

"Good morning," Binta mouthed. 

"Good morning," replied Ana. "Did you sleep well?"

"What little of the night I spent asleep, yes!" Binta 
remarked wickedly. "It was good wasn't it? Did you enjoy 
it? I did!"

"Yes, very much. Very much. Very much indeed."

"Oh, you're so sweet!" Binta cried pulling herself up, the 
silk sheets dropping into a heap on her lap. "You're so 
wonderful. Give me a kiss!"

Ana shyly proffered her lips to Binta's and kissed her 
tenderly. But Binta was not to be satisfied. She squeezed 
the back of Ana's neck, pulling her forward, and kissed her 
with the same passion and intensity Ana remembered so fondly 
and vividly from the night before. Ana locked her arms 
around Binta and pulled her close, her small breasts against 
Binta's larger, firmer ones.

Quite suddenly there was a knock on the door. Binta 
started with a look of panic, which Ana was slow to 
recognise. She quickly pulled herself off her lover and 
called out in a hoarse startled voice: "Hello! Who is it?"

"It's me silly!" replied a voice from outside which Ana 
recognised but couldn't immediately place. "Can I come 
in?"

"It's you, Zabba!" called Binta, clearly not pleased at the 
timing of this visit but feeling obliged to be polite. "Come in 
then."

The young girl pushed open the door, wearing a shirt, grey 
shorts, ankle-high socks and a thin tie. She looked exactly 
like a young schoolboy, an impression her slenderness and 
lack of breasts did nothing to dispel. 

"Oh ho!" she said with a mischievous grin, pushing the door 
close behind her. "I see Ana missed her last bus home. I hope 
you didn't mind slumming it here for the night, Ana sweetest?"

Ana blushed, unable to answer. What was Zabba thinking? 
She was horribly aware of her nakedness, and belatedly 
pulled the sheet up to hide her breasts. Zabba smiled but 
restrained herself from saying anything crude or unsubtle. 

"Well! This is one way you're different from Inta. But of 
course I guessed all along. You can't keep a secret from 
me!"

"It's not what you think..." gasped Ana.

"Don't lie, sweetheart. You can't pull the wool over my 
eyes. But don't worry about me. I won't tell a soul. You can 
do exactly what you like together. It's your lives, after all." 
She smiled at Binta. "So, Binta, I take it you're not working 
this morning."

"This morning? No. My shift doesn't start till this 
afternoon."

"Just as well, really. Me, I've just finished work! And a long 
night it has been too. Profitable, though! Very profitable. 
Quite painful, too. One of my regulars just can't get enough 
of me however much I remind him of the cost of his little 
sordid extras. I'm just off home now. I need a decent sleep 
in my own bed without the smell of clients on the sheets. 
Sleeping with clients! Pah! If only that were true, then I'd 
never need my own bed!"

Zabba stood in front of the mirror and admired her 
reflection. She turned her head one way and the other, 
pursing her lips in a loving kiss at herself. Ana could see 
Binta and her behind Zabba: much more of Binta who'd 
obscured very little of her body with the sheet Ana clasped 
to her neck. Zabba turned round and smiled, while running 
her hands down the front of her shirt. "I really must get 
changed! I wouldn't want any of my clients to recognise me in 
the street. I wouldn't be able to fight them off! But first 
of all I fancy a swim. That's why I came here: to see if 
you were interested in a splash. But I guess you're not."

Binta shook her head firmly. "No, not really."

"Ana's company's better than my own, I suppose," Zabba 
laughed. "Well! You just don't know what delights you're 
missing, Binta dear! And Ana. Not so far for to go to work 
this morning. At least you can lie in."

"Work!" gasped Ana. She frantically studied the small 
battery powered alarm clock by the bed. She wasn't late 
was she? She was relieved to see that she had nearly an 
hour till she was due in the office, but then worried 
about the logistics of the operation. She wouldn't be able to 
change her underwear and she would have to use the 
Brothel shower to remove the night's odour from her body. 
Would the Director notice? Could she hide the evidence? 
"I'd forgotten about work."

"You would, wouldn't you?" grinned Zabba indulgently. 
"You'll just have to be better prepared in future." She sat on 
the edge of the bed and supported her weight on a thin arm. 
"For some of us, the working day has just finished, for 
others it's only about to begin, and for lucky Binta she's got 
until this afternoon to think about it. But do you still enjoy 
your work? The Pimple's not been molesting you, I hope?"

Ana's mind flashed back to her earlier conversation with 
Zabba and Ferhana. She'd been much warier of her boss 
since then, but fortunately the Director had not behaved 
especially badly. He was usually busy elsewhere in the 
Brothel and only rarely stayed in his office for very long. 
Sometimes he dictated letters, which Ana took down in 
shorthand for typing later. These were usually fairly 
standard letters, addressed to suppliers of Brothel 
equipment, government departments and bodies like 
Careers Advisory services, newspapers, or customers who'd 
defaulted on sometimes rather substantial bills. She 
preferred the more standard letters. They kept her busy and 
required very little original thought, but some letters 
reminded her rather uncomfortably what organisation she 
worked for. She'd particularly disliked a letter she'd had to 
type to a girl who'd been forced to leave because of her 
pregnancy. The Director wasn't at all sympathetic to the 
girl's plight or her subsequent loss of earnings.

"I hate your boss!" exclaimed Binta bitterly. "I'm just glad 
he's given up pestering me. There was a time he just 
wouldn't keep his hands off me. And some of the things he 
said. He's so crude!"

"What'd he say then, Binta sweetest?" wondered Zabba.

"I'm just not saying. At least, not with Ana here. I don't 
want to distress you, Ana. But he's not a nice man, the 
Director. He thinks his staff are all fair game, and that we're 
obliged to do whatever unpalatable things he fancies. Even 
if I were attracted to men, I wouldn't be attracted to him. 
He's the most obscene and unpleasant man I've ever met!"

Ana hadn't known enough men to voice a well-rounded opinion, 
but his bawdy remarks were rather tasteless and his comments 
about her personal appearance were a little unsubtle. She 
had no intention of dressing like the prostitutes, although 
he often said that it was more or less expected of even the 
secretaries in the Brothel. And she didn't like his repeated 
assertion that she should display more of her chest or legs.

"The Pimple's a real bastard," agreed Zabba. "But what 
about his lieutenants? They're not much better are they, 
Ana?"

"At least they never touch my bottom or put their hands on 
mine." 

"Well, that's because you're not a prostitute," Binta said. 
"The Head of Catering is a real nuisance. And he's so fat 
and ugly as well. He looks like he bathes in lard: his skin is 
so greasy. And the Caretaker seems to have taken a liking 
to me. He's always slapping my bottom when I pass him. I 
really go out of my way to avoid him. If I see him walking 
towards me, I just turn round and walk the other way."

"The women aren't much better, are they? That Khedra's a 
real cow!"

"Do they molest you as well?" gasped Ana, strangely 
excited at the thought of much more widespread lesbianism 
in the Brothel.

"No, of course not," laughed Binta. "Zabba's just saying 
she doesn't like them. They don't behave like the men, 
but they can be very bitchy and unsympathetic. They think 
that even those of us who're not in the Brothel by choice 
should be grateful to work here."

"They just suck up to the Pimple. He can never do anything 
wrong. I think they'd probably wipe his bottom clean if he 
asked them to. And of course you can't be too sure that 
that's not exactly what he does ask them to..."

"Uugghh!" Ana exclaimed. "What a horrid idea! You can't 
be serious! Nobody would do things like that, surely?"

Zabba laughed. She appeared to contemplate elaborating on 
whatever it was she found so amusing, but was silenced by 
Binta's frown. She turned back to her reflection, ran her 
fingers through her short hair and scratched her crown. 

"So, you still enjoy working here, Ana? You're not put off 
by the Pimple? You don't mind having all these whores 
around you?"

"It's my first job. I've never worked anywhere before. I 
have to try and make the best of it."

"Of course, you do!" agreed Binta. "Stop trying to upset 
Ana, Zabba! She's not like us. She doesn't have anything to 
do with the sordid side of life here!"

"I'm sure you're right, Binta," Zabba responded 
unconvincingly. "I'm sure you're absolutely right!"

"What we do, Ana, is quite different from what you do," 
Binta continued. "You definitely don't have to be like your 
predecessor, Inta. You don't ever have to let men maul 
your body or do the gross things that they require..."

"If they've got the physical ability to perform that is..." 
Zabba remarked. "One good thing about our job is that we 
get paid the same however well our clients do their half of 
it!"

"Honestly, Zabba! You sometimes sound as if you liked the 
job! Why do you keep taunting poor Ana?"

"She's got to know about life. Haven't you, Ana 
sweetheart? You can't just work in a place like this and be 
totally ignorant of what goes on."

"I don't believe that at all," Binta countered. "Ana doesn't 
have to know anything about what we do. In fact the less 
she knows the better, don't you think Ana? You don't want 
to know what the punters do with Zabba. All the perverse 
unmentionable things they force her to do. Or me for that 
matter! I hate my clients. I don't care if they leave me 
complaining that I've not satisfied them as they'd like. 
However much Khedra and the others tell me off for the 
clients' grievances about my lack of enthusiasm or 
professionalism. However many times they tell me I might 
be downgraded if I'm not careful and how much worse the 
clients would be if they had to pay less for my services. I'm 
not here by choice, and I don't get anything however well I 
perform."

"Has Khedra been having a go at you, Binta dear?" 
wondered a fascinated Zabba. "She never has anything but 
praise for me. You really must have peeved her. She just 
doesn't understand why anyone wouldn't enjoy this job. 
Have your clients been complaining that much?"

"One or two, yes," Binta admitted. "But I'd rather not talk 
about it, Zabba, please. Ana doesn't want to hear about it, 
do you?"

Ana shook her head, although she was uneasily curious of 
Binta's contacts with the clients. How did they compare 
with her? What did they actually do to her? She could 
imagine, of course, but her mind deliberately blanked out 
the distasteful images and focused instead on the beauties 
of the body she'd enjoyed so much during the night. It hurt 
her to think that others had also had the pleasure of it. She 
looked at Binta sadly. Binta smiled at her compassionately, 
and, despite Zabba still sitting on the bed, she leaned over 
and tenderly kissed her on the cheek.

"Don't you worry, Ana! Don't worry! What I do with 
clients and what we do together are two different things."

Zabba observed thoughtfully and silently, 
uncharacteristically embarrassed by Binta's display of 
tenderness. She looked down at the rings on her hand, and 
then fumbled around in the top pocket of her shirt. She 
pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter and held them 
in front of her. "I'm dying for a smoke! It's a good way of 
taking the taste out of my mouth, you know!" She ran her 
tongue around her lips and looked longingly at her packet. 
"You don't like me smoking in your room, do you Binta?"

"Not at all!" she exclaimed sternly. "You go outside and 
smoke it. And, anyway, Ana's got to prepare to go to 
work."

Zabba nodded and stood up. "Well, maybe we can go for a 
swim another day, Binta." She strolled to the head of the 
bed and briefly kissed Binta on the cheek. She then left, 
pulling a cigarette out of the packet, and carefully shut the 
door behind her.

Binta smiled indulgently. "Zabba's all right, Ana. She's just 
quite young, really. But she means well. But before you get 
out of bed and go to work, where were we before we were 
interrupted?" 

She stroked Ana lovingly on the cheek. She then bent over, 
supporting the chin with her fingers, and passionately resumed 
her kiss.



	12

Ana was afflicted by an illness which distorted her senses, 
brought her to hot flushes and dominated her every waking 
moment, but an illness so pleasurable and delightful she 
mourned rather that she'd never been so afflicted before. 
She was in love. She was totally and passionately in love. 
For the first time she understood and relished every word 
of every love song. They were written for her. They 
expressed the feelings she had. She observed courting 
couples on the bus or in the park with a warmth and 
affection she'd never felt before. Her heart was truly light, 
she walked on a cushion of air and everything was 
wonderful. 

Even at work, those awkward moments when there was 
nothing to do and she was waiting for her next assignment 
became full with reflections on and images of her lover. 
Binta smiling. Binta laughing. The things she would say as 
they nuzzled together under the silk sheets. Everywhere 
was imprinted with her image. It was so vivid. As was the 
remembrance of her voice heard so clearly in her mind's ear, 
reassuring and comforting her. The memory of the image, 
touch and warmth of Binta's naked skin. She could almost 
feel her flesh against her fingers as she averted her gaze 
away from the calendar of semi-clad women on the office 
wall towards the clouds wisping through the deep blue sky. 
She smiled to herself again, as she did so often these days.

"You look pretty pleased with yourself!" remarked 
Khedra, popping by to leave an envelope in the Director's 
in-tray. "A good day's work?"

Ana nodded - her mind focusing on the evening ahead when 
again, like every evening when Binta wasn't working, hours 
of patient reflection were to be rewarded by a passionate 
and close embrace. When, again, she and Binta would idly 
slump on the sheets and spend long unhurried hours 
together, never bored with each other's company and never 
lost for anything to say. Indeed, she had come to dread the 
inevitable rude bell of Binta's alarm clock in the morning 
that told her to get dressed and return to the office.

Weekends were particularly pleasant, especially when Binta 
didn't have to work. No alarm clock and no reason to get 
up. A day together without interruption and free from 
anxiety. A day of relaxation and calm. 

It was during such a weekend she and Binta were lying beneath 
the sheets spent by their mutual exertions, a sweet smell 
adhering to Ana's fingers and a faint odour of shared sweat. 
Ana gazed at the ceiling, studying the faint spidery cracks 
in the plaster, her head resting on Binta's shoulder, smiling 
with sensual satisfaction.

"Hiya!" Ana suddenly heard. "I saw you weren't working so 
I ..." Whose voice was that? Who was it addressed to? She 
raised her head to see the naked figure of Ketaba framed by 
the door and looking rather startled. "Oh! ... I see you've 
got company, Binta. I didn't know! And goodness me! It's 
Ana! I'd never have guessed! Ana!"

"Hello Ketaba," greeted Binta reluctantly, disengaging 
herself from the weight of her lover's body. "Didn't anybody 
tell you to knock before coming in?"

Ketaba looked rather embarrassed. More embarrassed even 
than Ana who hastily pulled up the sheets to cover her 
breasts. "I didn't know! It's usually okay! I just didn't 
think... And with Ana, too! I thought she had more sense!"

"Don't start preaching, Ketaba," said Binta sternly. "If you 
want to stay here, fine! But don't upset poor Ana. And 
close the door!"

Ketaba nodded sheepishly and eased the door behind her. 
She sat by the mirror, lifted up her hair and dropped it 
down loosely behind the chair. Binta reluctantly pulled 
herself out from between the sheets and sat on the edge of 
the bed facing Ketaba.

"So how are you today, Ketaba? You're not working now, 
are you?"

"No, I don't start for a few hours. I'm between shifts. I 
volunteered for overtime. Towards the cost of a holiday, 
you know."

"Are you doing two shifts in one day?" exclaimed Binta. "I 
would have thought once was enough for anyone. Surely 
even you must be tired by now and looking forward to 
nothing better than a rest."

"The money helps, you know. I've never been one to turn 
down the opportunity of a bit of extra work..."

"And it keeps you fit as well?" Binta sneered. "I can't 
believe that you're ever short of money. With your 
dedication to the profession you must be one of the most 
highly paid prostitutes in the whole Brothel. And you 
probably make as much again from clients' gratuities. What 
do you want the money for?"

Ketaba seemed unbalanced by Binta's criticism as if she'd 
never really considered that question before. She glanced at 
Ana lying under the sheets, of whom only her shoulders and 
head were visible. The silk sheets did nothing to disguise 
the contours of Ana's body, but in the presence of two 
naked women what could that possibly matter? Ketaba's 
stare seemed to linger rather longer than necessary, and 
when she returned her gaze to Binta a flicker of guilt 
seemed to pass across her heavy-lidded eyes.

"There must be a reason, Ketaba, for you to want to work 
all these extra hours. Do you really relish your work so 
much that you can't bear to rest from it?"

"Unlike you, Binta, I enjoy the company of my clients. 
They may not be the most handsome or attractive people 
there are, but with few exceptions they are essentially 
decent people who are happy with the services I provide. 
And I am happy to satisfy them. There is an art, a skill, to 
prostitution and, if nothing else, I get considerable 
professional satisfaction from doing a worthwhile job well. 
I have many regulars, and when you become more familiar 
with the same clients you soon think of them as more than 
so much inadequate meat. And they soon come to respect 
you ever more. Your problem, Binta, is not just your 
dubious sexual preferences, but that you never show any 
sympathy or understanding towards the men who come to 
see you."

Ana found Ketaba's description slightly comforting. "You 
make it sound like you're more of a nurse or social worker 
than a prostitute," she remarked. The image allowed her to 
regard Binta's work with more equanimity.

"That's an interesting and fair comparison. Quite often the 
clients want from me not the services for which I am so 
expertly equipped and trained to provide, but just for a 
sympathetic ear. Many have no one else they can speak to. 
They may have no wife or lover and few friends. They may 
be locked in a loveless and unhappy marriage. They may 
have worries and concerns with business or health that they 
can't off-load on anyone else. And I tell you, Binta, that 
when you speak to your clients like that they soon become 
more human and you get quite fond of them. There is one 
client I have who spends more than two hours a week with 
me, and all he ever does is talk about how his estranged 
wife extracts ever more money from him..."

"...when you're not doing it yourself!" sniffed Binta. "Your 
services don't exactly come cheap, and with your ratings 
you must be bleeding your clients dry. Not that I care much 
for them if you did!"

"It's no wonder you have such a miserable time working 
here with attitudes like that! You really ought to try and get 
to know your clients better. Your gratuities will increase 
dramatically, your work won't seem nearly as arduous and 
you may even improve your PAR. Try it and see!"

"I appreciate your kind advice, Ketaba," Binta responded 
conciliatorily. "But if you don't like men at all to begin with, 
you're not going to be particular sincere about wanting to 
know them better. They really are irredeemably loathsome, 
and my daily ordeal only further reinforces that opinion!"

"It's your whole outlook on life that's poisoning you, Binta. 
And your disgusting perversions are just an aspect of the 
poison creeping through your soul. You need a much more 
positive, outward-going, life-inspiring attitude. You need to 
examine deep inside yourself, release your pent-up energies 
and confront your karma. Nurture the inner goodness that 
must reside in you, - otherwise you wouldn't adopt the life-
enhancing practice of naturism, - let it swell inside you and 
release a torrent of positive vibrations onto the world 
around you. If you feel good, you inspire good feelings. 
And good feelings make you feel good. A virtuous cycle 
which can do you no harm!"

"And how is that going to improve my life as a prostitute? I 
don't exactly have a great deal of opportunity to meditate 
or empathise with my clients. All they want and all the 
gratification they desire is released within seconds with no 
respect at all for the finer feelings of the women who 
collect our soiled laundry every day. I'm sure my goodness 
would flourish considerably better elsewhere."

Ketaba smiled. "You don't understand me at all, Binta. 
Your spiritual and mental health are, and should be, utterly 
distinct from the environment you're in. Sure, a good and 
healthy environment like Agdal, with the heat of the sun on 
naked flesh and plenty of healthy amenities, is far more 
conducive to a positive vibe than a life confined by the 
Brothel walls. But one can have an inner peace, an Agdal 
within, which can flourish in any place and withstand all 
trials and tribulations. One's soul can soar to the stars even 
when one's body is caged in rooms of satin, silk and 
polyester carpets."

"You're talking nonsense, Ketaba. You really have to be 
blinkered to get any kind of enlightenment here. Tell me 
then, for the sake of argument, what I have to do to achieve 
an inner peace? Perhaps Ana will be inspired even if I won't 
be."

"I can't imagine Ana being at all inspired in the atmosphere 
of your cynicism and doubt," Ketaba said ruefully, but 
smiling affectionately at Binta's lover. "But what you have 
to remember first of all is that a healthy mind comes with a 
healthy body. If one has good health coursing through your 
body, you look good, you feel good and it does you good. 
Plenty of exercise. That's the order of the day."

"We often go swimming," Ana remarked, aware that 
recently they had been rather less often than before, as the 
excuse for doing so had come to seem superfluous.

"Swimming is good. Very good!" Ketaba approved. "As is 
weight training, jogging, walking, squash and contact 
sports. However, nothing can beat the all-round value of 
making love in building up a healthy and efficient body. No 
other exercise is as good at exercising the abdominal 
muscles, the upper torso, providing fast and rapid breathing 
exercises and exerting the heart. It makes you feel good 
afterwards and the perspiration cleans the skin of really 
deep ingrained dirt."

"Maybe it does when you make love with your clients, 
Ketaba. The clients simply leave me unsightly bruises 
around my upper legs and a feeling of relief when they're 
finally through the door..."

"Again, Binta, it's your attitude that is at fault. If you had a 
more positive attitude then you wouldn't find the exercise 
so unpleasant. Besides I'm sure that not all your lovemaking is 
as you describe it." She glanced meaningfully at Ana lying 
stretched out under the sheets, who blushed at the implication. 
She shyly looked at Binta who had followed Ketaba's gaze and 
smiled into Ana's eyes. Ana smiled back, and a rush of emotion 
caught the back of her throat. She was so much in love!

Ketaba seemed embarrassed by the love expressed in Ana's 
smile, and hesitated before continuing to elaborate on her 
philosophy of life. "So, a healthy body is vital. And a 
prostitute's life assures this. Diet is also important. 
Remember, you are what you eat: so it is necessary not to 
pollute the body with the unclean flesh of dead animals that
have after all spent most of their lives consuming faeces-
covered grass and rotting silage. One must have a balance 
of vitamins, minerals and, most important of all, an exact 
balance of calorific input with the energy output for a 
balanced body weight and a healthy constitution. I always 
keep an accurate measure of exactly how many calories I 
consume and my estimated output, and adjust my diet 
accordingly."

"Are you a vegetarian merely because of what the animals 
you eat have eaten?"  Binta wondered.

"Of course not. A rounded person must have due respect 
for all living beings and eating them is disrespectful as well 
as unclean," Ketaba replied. "One should also take care of 
the mind and soul. Meditation is essential. Take time to sit 
in a relaxed position with the back straight and the legs 
crossed in the lotus position, clear the mind of thoughts 
positive and negative, and enter a void where the mind can 
take a vacation and the soul can soar unfettered from the 
trivial worries of the day. Sleep well, and adopt a regime of 
regular exercise, regular meditation and self-examination."

"Self-examination?" wondered Ana, thinking that maybe 
Ketaba was about to enthuse on an activity of which she 
had been quite ashamed until Binta had encouraged her in 
it.

"Yes. Self-examination. Study the deep, hidden crevices of 
the soul. Share the inner meanings and conflicts with 
others. I go to seminars each week where we confide our 
darkest worries and most intimate secrets; listen to each 
other with respect; applaud the courage of breaking free 
from the confines of embarrassment and self-consciousness; 
break down the barriers that divide people from people; and 
recognise our own deep loneliness."

"It really doesn't sound much like fun to me," Binta 
remarked. "What do you think, Ana?"

Ana hadn't really been paying very much attention. Her 
contemplations had mostly concentrated on her lover and 
her beauty. She gazed at Ketaba, sensing that Binta was 
taking psychological advantage of her relationship to put 
her colleague ill at ease. She smiled, not wanting to offend, 
sure that Ketaba's intention was only to give the best 
advice. 

"I'm sure there's something in what Ketaba's saying."

"And what is that?" Binta continued. "Health, vegetables, 
meditation and shouting sessions with a bunch of neurotics. 
I think I'd rather remain an unreconstructed failure. And I 
can't see it making me any happier with my role as a 
prostitute."

Ana felt rather embarrassed for Ketaba: she didn't deserve 
the scorn Binta showered on her . She crouched up in the 
bed, pulling the sheets into a bundle around her chest and 
over her legs. "I've not seen much of you recently, Ketaba. 
And I'm sure your tan is deeper. Have you been away 
somewhere?"

"Yes, I have! I've been in Agdal for a fortnight's holiday. 
It's been a wonderful break. Across the mountains and on 
the beaches. Two weeks totally unencumbered by clothes or 
petty prejudices. I thought you already knew?"

"I knew well enough, Ketaba, but Ana doesn't get to meet 
you as often as I do," Binta explained. "I gather that exit 
visas are very expensive. Perhaps that's why you have to 
work so hard?"

"Yes, they are. Yet again, I had to bribe someone at the 
passport office. And there were even more people to bribe 
at the border crossing. But you get used to that. Alif 
doesn't make it easy for its people to leave and it's not that 
welcoming coming back either. My luggage was thrown all 
over the place at customs. They said they were searching 
for alcohol, pornography and contraband, but the things 
they confiscated like a portable radio and a hair-drier (both 
of which I'd bought in Agdal) weren't on any list of 
prohibited goods I've ever seen!"

"It must have made you wonder why you ever came back!" 
remarked Binta, more sympathetically. "What did you do 
on holiday? You didn't do much meditation did you?"

"A little. But mostly I took advantage of the superb sports 
facilities at the hotels and lodges I stayed at. The swimming 
pools and gyms were excellent. All the latest equipment!" 
Ketaba pulled back her shoulders and flexed the lean 
muscles on her arms which Ana found genuinely 
impressive. She then tensed her waist and Ana admired the 
tautness of its muscles - quite unlike the slight looseness of 
her own slender waist. "And when I wasn't in the gym or 
pool, it was up in the mountains and valleys with sturdy 
boots and a rucksack on my back. I walked for miles over 
those crags. It's even hillier than Jebel, Binta, but you can't 
wander around Jebel in so few clothes. I was lazier on this 
holiday than on an earlier one where I'd been on a sort of 
group outing with others intent on enjoying the great 
outdoors..."

"Did you spend your time shouting and screaming at each 
other on that holiday?"

"Don't be facetious, Binta. It wasn't a self-awareness 
holiday. It was a trekking holiday. The idea was to spend 
time in a group far away from the hotels and lodges, 
sleeping under canvass and getting to know each other 
better. That was a wonderful time. We managed to go miles 
without meeting a single soul. And when you're that remote 
you need the company of other people. You can easily get 
lost. One hill looks pretty much the same as another when 
you're surrounded by them and there aren't any obvious 
landmarks."

"A good opportunity for you all to bare your souls to each 
other, I suppose?" Binta sneered. "You can all tell each 
other your most embarrassing secrets and feel sorry for 
each other."

"You make it sound as if that's something to be ashamed of, 
Binta. It'd do you a great deal of good if you tried doing 
that. Mind you, it can be quite an embarrassment in Agdal. 
Many people go there from countries like Alif not because 
they're confirmed naturists, but for quite different reasons. 
I have to admit that although there are plenty of naturists 
in Agdal, they're pretty much in a minority. Other people go 
for the alcohol and drugs. They spend much of their time 
sitting in bars where alcohol is sold openly over the 
counter, not even requiring a medical licence. The only 
restrictions on alcohol and other drugs relate to age 
rather than ethical or medical issues. Some go there 
because they're homosexual. You get to meet homosexual 
men and women, - dykes like you, Binta, and ..."

Ketaba stumbled in her flow. It was clear to Ana that she 
had intended to mention her name, but something prevented her 
from being so bold. Ana wasn't sure whether she should feel 
flattered by this or worried that it suggested that Ketaba 
didn't take her relationship seriously. Ketaba actually 
appeared to blush, and then she digressed slightly.

"Some people go to Agdal for spiritual awareness. All sorts 
of religions are practised in the country. Shrines are 
scattered all about the place for one faith or another. That's 
one big difference between Alif and Agdal. There's only one 
faith widely practised in Alif, but all possible faiths abound 
in Agdal. Maybe it's because of this diversity that the 
country is liberal in so many ways. Whatever it is, you often 
meet people who go to Agdal to consult gurus or to 
worship at particular temples. I find it interesting to discuss 
astrology or the tarot or the I Ching with the people 
there..."

"You're not into that sort of mystical mumbo-jumbo as well 
are you?"

"Why can't I have a healthy curiosity, Binta? Surely it's 
better than dismissing the occult and the mystical with no 
justification. Yes, I do believe that the precise moment of 
one's birth and its precise location has a great deal of 
importance. You ought to find out more about such things 
yourself before dismissing them..."

"I'm not sure I have the time to get involved in a load of 
self-indulgent nonsense. What do you think, Ana? Would 
you be interested in having your palm read, your stars 
interpreted and a throw of coins analysed?"

"I'm sure it would be very interesting," Ana answered 
diplomatically. She had no wish to upset Ketaba however 
much she might disapprove of homosexuality. "I don't 
know if there's anything in it, but there might be..."

"Well, if that's what you want to do, Ana..." Binta 
remarked without further comment. She smiled at Ketaba. 
"Did you take many photographs of your stay in Agdal?"

"Why yes, I did as a matter of fact. And unlike last time I 
was able to get my camera back into the country without 
having it confiscated or having the film torn out. I was 
sensible enough to take an Alif camera with me that had 
none of the extra value an imported camera might have. I 
took loads of pictures of the places I visited and the people 
I met. Do you want to see them?"

"Oh yes!" Ana said enthusiastically. 

She had always enjoyed looking at holiday photos when she 
was at home in Rif. Somehow they seemed more real and engaging 
than the glossy pictures in Geography text books. She also 
found the idea of visiting Agdal very attractive, particularly 
in the light of its liberal attitudes towards lesbianism. Her 
sketchy knowledge of its principal mountain ranges and 
agricultural exports didn't really give her a very clear idea 
of what the neighbouring country looked like, and she 
understood better now why she had heard so little about it 
before.

"Perhaps I can bring them in to the Brothel sometime and 
show you. Or perhaps..." Ketaba hesitated, as if she was 
about to be very bold, but with a slight impulsiveness she 
continued, "... perhaps I can show you them in a more 
conducive place than the Brothel. Perhaps at my flat?"

"Your flat?" Ana responded. That would be interesting. She 
lived in the Honey district, where all the better paid 
prostitutes chose to live. "Oh yes, I don't see why not."

"Well just say when. I can prepare a meal and make more 
of an evening of it if you like. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds a wonderful idea." Ana looked 
sympathetically at Binta who seemed strangely subdued by 
Ana's enthusiasm. "It's a shame you can't come as well, 
Binta. I'm sure Ketaba would invite you as well if she 
could. Wouldn't you, Ketaba?"

Ketaba nodded eagerly, and Binta appeared reassured by 
this, but not wholly so. When Ketaba left for work, 
Binta seemed rather thoughtful. She evaded all 
reference to Ketaba and Agdal, despite Ana's excited 
questions about either of them. Ana wondered whether 
Binta was jealous of Ketaba: but how could that be when 
she was so determinedly opposed to homosexual behaviour 
of any kind.


	13

Ketaba's flat was situated in a very plush block in the 
Honey district, adorned by spacious balconies, views across 
a large park and a concierge sitting in a cabin by the 
entrance who called Ketaba on the internal phone when 
Ana arrived. She waited in the foyer, her arms folded, awed 
by the magnificence of the marble walls and the beauty of 
the little fountain splashing at the foot of the marble steps. 

"You can go up," the concierge advised her. "It's the third 
floor. On the right as you leave the lift."

Ana trotted up the steps and into the wide-open lift door, 
which closed as she entered. She adjusted her hair in the 
reflection of the lift's mirrors. She felt slightly nervous 
visiting Ketaba at her own home. The only other home 
she'd ever visited in Blad was Binta's in the Brothel which 
was now as much home to her as her own flat. The Honey 
district impressed her. The avenues were wide and lined 
with palm trees and conifers. The houses were quite simply 
magnificent: larger than any she'd ever seen before, but 
protected by high walls, barbed wire and broken glass. She 
was dressed casually - a light floral dress and sandals - and 
felt poorly dressed in comparison to the ostentation of the 
women she passed. 

Ketaba was waiting for her in the corridor when Ana 
stepped out of the lift. She was totally naked as always, but 
still oblivious to any incongruity between her appearance 
and her environment. She grinned broadly. "I'm so glad you 
could come! I've been preparing a vegetarian meal for us! 
Come in! Come in!"

Ana was slightly overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of 
Ketaba's welcome, but she smiled and followed Ketaba into 
her flat. It was much larger than Ana's. Indeed it was larger 
than most houses. The several rooms were spacious and 
had more than a touch of expense lavished on them. 
Varnished floorboards were covered by densely woven and 
intricately patterned carpets. The furniture was plush and 
inviting, interspersed by expensive electronic equipment. 
Original paintings framed those stretches of wall not 
devoted to bookshelves which heaved under the weight of 
Ketaba's considerable library. 

Ketaba's interests were evident everywhere. In one room 
there was exercise equipment to keep her figure trim and 
muscular. Ana gingerly felt the weight of some bell-bars 
left on the floor and found them rather too heavy to lift. 
The paintings concentrated on spiritual or sensual 
matters. The books were on subjects like Astrology, Self-
Awareness and Physical Exercise, although Ana was 
interested to see that Ketaba's taste encompassed such 
unlikely subjects as Quantum Physics, Political Philosophy 
and Abstract Expressionism. The compact discs displayed 
covers of peculiarly photographed outdoor scenes 
suggestive of spiritual enlightenment and discovery. 

"You don't have to keep your clothes on, Ana," Ketaba said 
soothingly, pinching the strap on Ana's shoulder. "Most 
people take them off when they're at home with me."

"I'm sorry?" wondered Ana, slightly bemused. She became 
belatedly aware that Ketaba was asking her to undress. She 
had got so used to seeing Ketaba and Binta, she had 
actually forgotten that they were habitually naked. This 
didn't oblige her to do the same thing. "Er ... I'd rather not!"

"Suit yourself!" Ketaba replied, clearly disconcerted by 
Ana's rebuff.

"It's just I'm not a naturist. Whatever Binta is, it doesn't 
mean that I'm the same."

"No, it doesn't," Ketaba agreed, smiling again. "Well, let's 
sit down, clothes or no clothes, and wait for dinner to be 
ready."

Ana sat on a large luxurious armchair, while Ketaba 
hovered around her audio system. "What would you like to 
hear?" She asked. "Classical? Jazz? Ambient?"

"I don't mind. Something relaxing I suppose."

Ketaba knelt on the floor and sorted through her compact 
discs. She selected some haunting atmospheric piano music 
accompanied by orchestra. 

"Does this meet with your approval?"

"It sounds very nice."

Ketaba sheepishly rushed off into the kitchen without a 
word. After a moment, she returned with a bottle of clear 
liquid. There was a curious golden wrapping around the top 
and a crest on a label written in a foreign language. 

"Do you know what this is, Ana?"

Ana shook her head, although she had a very good 
suspicion. 

"It's a bottle of wine from Agdal. I didn't buy it in Agdal, of 
course. It would've been found at customs and I'd be in 
prison now. I bought it from a friend of Ferhana's. 
Normally, of course, I disapprove of alcohol. Making it 
illegal is one of President Marmeluke's better policies. 
Frequent use is undoubtedly very harmful, and I'd be the 
last to recommend anything bad for the body or soul. But 
there can't be any harm in sampling it occasionally. What do 
you think?"

"I don't know. I've never come across alcohol before. 
Doesn't it make you hallucinate and become violent?"

"I'm sure it does if you drink enough of it. You see plenty 
of evidence in Agdal of the dangers of over-indulgence. But 
I've been tempted to drink the odd glass when I've been on 
holiday there and although it does have quite a strange 
effect it has never made me hallucinate. And in Alif, it's so 
very expensive on the black market that it wouldn't be 
possible for someone to 'get drunk', as they call it, unless 
they were much richer than me. I won't even tell you how 
much this cost me! But wine goes down very well with a 
meal. Are you tempted to try?"

Ana was definitely tempted. Having broken one law in Alif, 
she could really see no reason why she couldn't break 
others. It wasn't just the illegality of alcohol that troubled 
her. "Won't it make me ill? I don't want to be poisoned."

"A little alcohol won't do that. Do you want to taste it and 
see what you think?"

"Why not!" smiled Ana mischievously. Perhaps she'd get to 
like it. Ketaba produced a very curious contraption that 
looked like a screw supported by a metal frame, which she 
inserted into the bottle's top after tearing off the thin gold 
metal covering. She screwed it in and pulled out a length of 
spongy wood. She then poured the contents into some 
straight glasses that were sitting on the dining table. She 
handed one to Ana who took a tentative sip.

"It's very cold. And it tastes very peculiar, a bit like fruit 
juice," Ana commented. She relished the cool sharpness in 
her mouth, wondering when she would experience its 
effects. The room hadn't started spinning yet and there were 
no hallucinations. Perhaps alcohol wasn't so bad after all.

"It's Chardonnay, I think it's called. Wines have all got 
strange names. Like Champagne, Beaujolais, Rose. Experts 
in wine are called connoisseurs. But I'm no expert. In Alif, 
if you want to buy alcohol you just have to make do with 
whatever happens to be available. And I wouldn't want to 
buy whisky, gin or rum. Drinks like that are much 
stronger."

"Does alcohol vary in strength then?"

"And in taste as well," Ketaba agreed. "In countries where 
alcohol is legal there is an extraordinary variety available. 
Do you like it?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Ana who nonetheless dutifully 
sipped her glass. Ketaba picked up her glass and took a 
long swig from it, before disappearing again into the 
kitchen. She was away quite a few minutes, while Ana 
contemplated the wine. It made her feel very daring. Were 
there many more laws in Alif left to break, she wondered. 
She began to notice a strange effect but wasn't sure 
whether she should attribute it to alcohol or just a general 
giddiness due to the excitement of travelling to Honey. She 
idly studied the books on Ketaba's bookshelf, occasionally 
taking small cautious sips from her glass.

"Here we are!" announced Ketaba, carrying a tray with 
two plates and several side-dishes. "Dinner is served!"

Ana replaced the book on mountain-climbing and took her 
seat at the dinner table. Ketaba placed the food down and 
busied herself in organising the atmosphere. She turned off 
all the lights except for two table-lamps and lit the tall 
candles on the table. She slightly lowered the volume of the 
audio system and lit a few joss-sticks. The two women 
tucked into the meal, which Ana found surprisingly tasty. 
She'd forgotten that the food was vegetarian and it was 
only later that she'd reflected that there hadn't been any 
meat involved in the preparation. The salad was particularly 
pleasant: so much crisper and tastier than the soggy affairs 
she'd eaten in the Brothel canteen. Ketaba was also right 
about the wine. The food tasted better for it, and the wine 
seemed somehow more appropriate with food.

"You seem to get on very well with Binta," Ketaba 
remarked chewing on a celery stalk.

Ana wasn't sure how to react to that remark. "What do you 
mean?" She blurted out. Was she being condemned for her 
love?

"I'm sorry, Ana. I don't mean to upset you. I was just 
saying that you and Binta are getting on very well. I know 
she's a lesbian, and I suppose it's inevitable that she would 
try to lead you into her bad ways. I've met several lesbians 
in Agdal, and although I still think it's a rather perverse 
activity, I have to admit that as people lesbians aren't 
necessarily any worse than anyone else. What do you 
think?"

"They're just ordinary people, I'm sure." 

"And you don't mind Binta being a dyke at all?"

Ana shook her head vehemently.

"I probably sound very naive but is it true what I thought 
when I saw you in bed with Binta the other day? You know 
that she and you are ... you know ... not just friends?"

"You could say that!" said Ana with a smile despite herself. 
She took a longer drink of wine. Somehow she seemed to 
need its extra fortification. She was sure now that the slight 
detachment from her environment and the light-headedness 
she was feeling was associated with the drug. It also made 
her less worried about whatever Ketaba might think about 
her relationship with Binta. "We're in love. It's very 
beautiful."

Ketaba visibly blushed, and required more alcohol which she 
poured from the bottle into both her and Ana's nearly empty 
glasses. "Love truly moves in mysterious ways. I still 
can't see how it can be possible to be in love with someone 
of the same sex as yourself. It's the most obvious 
perversion. Sex wasn't designed for that. If it were, 
nobody would ever have children."

"It's not that Binta's a woman that I love her..."

"Are you saying you'd love her if she were a man?" Ketaba 
wondered thoughtfully.

Ana considered that view. She viewed Binta in her mind's 
eye. The beautiful smooth skin. The roundness of her 
feminine contours. The beauty of her face. She tried 
substituting an image of a man for that of Binta, but 
somehow this didn't compensate at all. There was 
something specific about Binta as a woman as well as her 
being so beautiful in so many other ways that had attracted 
Ana to her in the first place. Ana hadn't really thought 
about this too much before, but perhaps not only was she 
involved in a lesbian relationship she was actually a lesbian 
herself. 

"I don't think Binta's gender's got anything to do with it," 
Ana lied.

 "You're just too easily led, Ana dear!" smiled Ketaba 
indulgently, holding her glass in front of her face and 
looking through it at her companion. "Binta is obviously 
congenitally unbalanced. Perhaps she inherited her 
homosexuality. Perhaps she had some unfortunate 
experiences when she was a child. I suppose we ought to be 
sympathetic to her plight, and hope that there may be some 
way in which she can be cured. What do you think?"

"There's nothing wrong with Binta at all! I don't think 
there's anything wrong with homosexuality! I don't see why 
people can't be in love with whoever they like without 
being told they shouldn't. I think love is an important and 
special thing. It should be treasured and valued, not 
condemned. The one who is wrong is the government who 
makes it illegal. It's not fair on people like Binta. It's not fair 
on me!"

Ketaba saw that the turn of conversation had become a 
little heated. She put her arm across the table and patted 
Ana on the back of her hand. 

"I didn't mean to upset you. I can see you're very much in 
love. Even if it is to a dyke like Binta!"

After the meal was finished, Ketaba cleared away the dishes 
and was very insistent that Ana shouldn't even contemplate 
washing them. 

"They can wait till tomorrow," she smiled. "Anyway, guests 
don't do the washing up!"

Ana and Ketaba returned to the sofas with the half full 
bottle of wine placed on the coffee table and a change of 
music. Ana was still not sure whether she liked the taste of 
wine, but she didn't object when Ketaba carefully refilled 
their glasses. 

"Shall we see your photographs of Agdal?" she asked.

"Photographs? Agdal?" wondered Ketaba, who had clearly 
forgotten the ostensible purpose of Ana's visit. "Oh yes! My 
holiday snaps!" 

She took a long sip and wandered over to an antique beech 
valise. She opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of 
ornate photograph albums. She carried them over to the coffee 
table and plonked them down. She sat on the sofa next to Ana, 
her naked skin brushing against Ana's bare arms. Ana felt 
too lazy to move very much out of the way. Ketaba selected 
an album and opened it. 

The photographs mostly featured Ketaba, taken by 
acquaintances she had made in Agdal. Generally, she was as 
naked as she was habitually at the Brothel and manifestly in 
her own home: though in some photographs she wore a 
tee-shirt or bikini. Ana was surprised her how very ordinary 
clothes made Ketaba look. Many other people were also 
naked, but even among her acquaintances they were not in 
the majority. There were photographs of Ketaba preparing 
to go on a hike wearing only heavy walking boots, a bright 
blue rucksack and a cloth hat to shade her eyes from the 
bright sun. 

The landscape behind Ketaba and her friends was 
undeniably beautiful. Long stretches of white sand, blue sky 
and the odd coconut palm tree. Hills and even craggy 
mountains stretching above and beyond, again framed by a 
deep blue sky. There were pictures of Agdal's shops, 
historical buildings, ancient ruins, great temples and large 
market squares. Ana's heart leapt as she looked at the 
pictures. She so wanted to be there! It was such a beautiful 
country. And one so enlightened! It was the perfect holiday 
destination. She so envied Ketaba for having been there.

Ketaba provided a commentary as Ana regarded the 
pictures, touched by the intensity with which Ana 
scrutinised each picture, lingering over some for several 
minutes. She gave accounts of the exercises she'd done in 
the gymnasia she photographed, the swims she'd taken in 
the blue expanse of sea (Ana had never seen a real sea 
herself) and the exact number of kilometres she and her 
friends had walked over the hills and the altitude to which 
they'd attained. "So high!" gasped Ana. There were no hills 
of any great height in Rif. Most of it was flat open farmland 
interspersed with the odd copse and lake.

She was also fascinated by Ketaba's account of Agdal 
nightlife. Ana hadn't really participated in any in Blad: 
Binta was scarcely in a position that she could accompany 
Ana to a night club or a restaurant, but even from her 
position of relative ignorance she knew that it offered none 
of the scope and variety of Agdal. Some, like the sex clubs 
and the casinos, she found sordid and unattractive, but the 
sheer range and liveliness of the night clubs and 'bars', as 
Ketaba called them, was attractive. Perhaps, she thought, 
relishing the strange taste of wine in her mouth, the 
availability of alcohol had something to do with it. 

Ana didn't really enjoy Ketaba's tendency to identify and 
describe the companions she had photographed almost 
entirely in terms of their sexual activity. "Those two were 
sleeping together one night, but on another night she was 
with this chap here and he was with this girl," she might say 
pointing at a group of smiling people with rucksacks 
underneath a sign celebrating some great historical battle. 
"Those two men seemed all right at first, but I was 
absolutely disgusted when I saw them kissing each other. It 
was just like men and women - tongues and everything - 
but two men! Can you imagine?"

The thought disgusted Ana as well, but it also gave her a 
frisson to recognise that homosexuality wasn't just a term 
to describe women who made love with other women. She 
was beginning to comprehend the capacity of love to 
embrace so many different preferences. However, her 
disgust was actually felt greater when Ketaba described in 
what she thought was rather too much detail which boys 
had made love to her and exactly what this had entailed. 
She pointed at them, indicating their genitals or other 
features (her lovers were all naturists like herself), and 
described what they had done together, where they had 
done it, how long it had lasted and how she rated the 
performance. "He was really not very good at all!" she said 
about one man with quite long hair and a slightly caved in 
stomach. "Looking at his penis, you'd think he'd be a real 
joy. It's nearly twice average size. But could he keep it 
going for more than three minutes? I found myself thinking 
about dinner rather than sex."

Ketaba leaned over to the bottle and poured the last few 
drops into her glass. She swallowed it with a bold gesture 
and smiled rather foolishly. Ana was belatedly aware that 
although she had drunk perhaps nearly two full glasses of 
wine over the evening so far, Ketaba had consumed all the 
rest of it. Perhaps she was 'drunk', although Ana's own 
senses were a little too befuddled to make an objective 
evaluation. She also noticed belatedly that her naked friend 
was now talking rather sadly about what she perceived as 
the failure of her love life.

"Making love to men is easy, but loving them isn't! It never 
seems to work out right for me, however hard I try. My 
lovers can't complain about the quality of my lovemaking. 
Perhaps it's because I'm a prostitute. Perhaps they can't 
understand my interests. I just don't know what it is! What 
do you think, Ana?" She looked directly into Ana's eyes 
steadying herself with a hand on Ana's hand. "What do you 
think?"

"I just don't know," Ana replied. "I'm not a man. I can't say 
what it is that makes a man love a woman."

"But you know what it is that makes a woman love a 
woman. You love Binta. You seem to love her in a way 
that nobody's ever loved me! Really loved me, I mean. 
Real, genuine, unconditional love! Have you really got no 
idea why I'm such a ... such a failure?"

Ana blushed. She really hadn't expected to serve the role of 
confessor for Ketaba. "I've got no idea at all!"

"Well, do you think I'm attractive? Physically attractive that 
is?"

"Yes, of course!" Ana answered automatically. What a 
question to ask? Ketaba had an Alpha rating. What more 
objective rating for beauty could there be?

"So do you ... well ... do you fancy me?"

Ana opened her eyes wide, and snapped her hand out of 
Ketaba's. 

"What are you asking?" she asked abruptly.

Ketaba looked clearly upset. She ran her fingers through 
her long tresses of hair and tangled one around and around 
her hand. She pointed at a naked young woman in one 
photograph sitting on a beach towel next to Ketaba with an 
expanse of sand and blue sea stretching out behind them. 
Both of them were wearing sunglasses and grinning at the 
camera. The woman was slim and short with black hair tied 
up in a tight bun by a large white bow. Like Ketaba she had 
no evidence of ever covering enough skin for any portion to 
become any paler than any other part of her.

"That's Rhumana. She fancied me! Or that's what she said. 
We were friends throughout the holiday. We met on the 
first day and I found that wherever I went she was the best 
company to be with. She was such good fun. She made me 
laugh, and she laughed at the things I said. Not like Binta. 
Or Zabba. She didn't make fun of me. She was always very 
sympathetic. She was from Agdal herself, and was on 
holiday in her own country. I so enjoyed her company. 
More than the boys I slept with: who were so boring when 
we weren't making love together. And some of them were 
pretty boring then as well! When you're not being paid to 
be understanding in your lovemaking, you tend to be more 
impatient you know! I didn't know she was homosexual. It 
never really crossed my mind. But then near the end of the 
holiday she told me she fancied me."

Ketaba's hand wandered over to hold Ana's again, and Ana 
let her do so respecting her friend's expression of distress. 
Ketaba's eyes were luminescent with tears that threatened 
to overspill her lower lids. 

"We'd drunk some wine. She was much better at drinking than 
me. She'd much more experience coming from a country where 
it's legal. We were laughing and chatting, and then I felt 
her holding me close and then she squeezed me against her. 
I didn't think much of it. In group sessions, we often hug 
each other and get close to each other. Then she kissed me 
on the face and told me she fancied me. She told me that 
she wanted to go to bed with me. She told me she wanted to 
sleep with me and make love to me...."

"And did you?"

Ketaba shook her head sadly. "No, I didn't! I was horrified. 
I told her I didn't ever want to see her again! I told her that 
I hated dykes and I thought they were thoroughly perverted 
and disgusting. I told her that in Alif homosexuality was 
illegal, and if there was one difference between Alif and 
Agdal where Alif had the moral upper ground it was 
regarding Alif's laws on homosexuality. And then I left her. 
And I never saw her again. And now ... and now ... I feel so 
bad!"

"Why's that?"

"I don't know! I did like Rhumana so much. We got on so 
very well. I did enjoy her company so much. I don't know if 
I've ever enjoyed anyone's company as much as hers. And 
now I'll never see her again. And sometimes I think ... you 
know ... sometimes, I think ..."

"What do you think?"

"I ... er ... I think ... Goodness! Is that the time?" Ketaba 
looked at her clock which indicated it was after half past 
twelve in the morning. "Time has passed! I suppose that 
means the last bus has left for your place?"

"Yes, it has," admitted Ana who had been so disorientated 
by the wine, she'd simply not noticed the hours pass by. "I'll 
have to catch a taxi."

"They're very expensive at this time of night. Stay in the 
guest room. I'll show you where it is." 

Ketaba led Ana to one of the rooms which was twice the size 
of the bedroom in her own flat containing a firm mattress on 
an enormous double bed. 

"What do you think?"

"It's very nice," agreed Ana. She didn't go to bed 
immediately. She and Ketaba continued to look at 
photographs for an hour or more longer with a few glasses 
of mineral water and some carob coated sweets. Ketaba 
made more references to Rhumana, but she did not 
elaborate, and restrained herself from touching Ana's hand 
for which she was grateful. Ana got more tired and had to 
announce that it was really time to go to bed.

"Of course, Ana," said Ketaba standing on her feet and 
wobbling uncertainly. Ana stood up as well and felt slightly 
giddy too, but she attributed it to sitting down for so long. 
She felt a rush to her head and felt the room stir. She 
pressed a hand against her forehead in the hope it would 
somehow contain her inappropriate sensation of vertigo. 
She felt Ketaba's hands around her shoulders to steady her.

"Thank you," she said in gratitude opening her eyes and 
staring directly into Ketaba's slightly foolish smile face, a 
tress of long hair falling loosely down over her nose and 
mouth. Ketaba held onto Ana and shook back her hair.

"Oh Ana!" she said in a strangely weak and slightly 
strangled voice. Suddenly Ketaba's lips were pressed 
against her own and Ketaba's muscular and wine-tasting 
mouth was inside hers. Ana was at first rather startled, and 
reciprocated automatically as she would if Binta were to 
kiss her, but just before her tongue wandered beyond 
Ketaba's teeth, she pushed herself off. Ketaba wasn't 
Binta! What would Binta think? What was Ketaba thinking 
of! Didn't she despise lesbianism?

"Don't!" Ana told Ketaba.

Ketaba let go of Ana's shoulders. "I thought ..."

"Just because Binta and I are in love doesn't mean ..."

"I don't know what came over me!" Ketaba said in humbled 
tones. "I'm really sorry! I'm really sorry! It must be the 
alcohol. That must be what it is! I'm just not used to it. I 
knew it was bad for you. I should have heeded my own 
advice. Never again! I'll never touch it ever again! I'm so 
sorry! I shouldn't have. Ever!" 

	14

"Breakfast!" greeted Ketaba cheerfully, announcing her 
presence in the bedroom where Ana was sleeping. Ana 
cautiously opened her eyes and looked at her naked friend 
towering above carrying a tray adorned with fruit juice, 
muesli and toast. "I thought you might appreciate some 
breakfast, Ana!"

Ana smiled shyly. Nobody had ever brought her breakfast 
in bed before, so she gratefully sat up and put the tray on 
her lap. She picked up the glass of fruit juice which tasted 
slightly sour to her sleep-encrusted taste buds, but 
appreciated the way it brought gradual clarity to her 
thoughts. She looked up at Ketaba who was hovering 
nervously over her and smelt distinctly of the freshness of 
soap and shampoo. She had her long hair tied back in a 
white towel. 

"Thanks very much," Ana said, putting down the fruit juice 
and picking up the spoon to tackle the muesli. "I had a very 
refreshing night's sleep."

"And you don't feel at all sick or unwell after the wine?"

Ana frowned, thinking back to the night before. Wasn't she 
supposed to experience something called a 'hangover' after 
drinking? She didn't feel at all bad, although she 
remembered a slight giddiness when she first went to bed. 
"No, I feel all right."

"I felt slightly ill when I woke up," sighed Ketaba. "I didn't 
sleep at all well. I was tossing and turning all night. I 
suppose it serves me right..."

"Oh yes," commented Ana, remembering more about the 
previous night. She caught a glance at Ketaba's eyes which 
looked slyly at Ana's chest. She glanced down idly and 
noticed for the first time that her breasts were on full 
display. She had become so accustomed to sleeping naked 
next to Binta, she at first thought nothing of it. Then she 
recalled Ketaba's late night kiss, and with embarrassment 
hoisted up the cotton sheet to cover her chest. 

Ketaba sighed, in recognition of Ana's discomfort. "I'm 
sorry about last night," she remarked sadly. "I'm very very 
sorry! I don't know what came over me! I've never behaved 
like that before with a woman. It must have been the wine. 
I must have drunk far more than I should."

Ana smiled reassuringly, but still rearranged herself so she 
could eat with no risk of the sheet falling down to her lap. 
"Don't worry, Ketaba. It must have been the wine. It's 
supposed to make people behave very strangely. You 
probably just weren't aware of what you were doing." 

Ana wasn't convinced however that Ketaba's behaviour wasn't 
symptomatic of deeper repressed feelings. She'd once been 
told that the really bad thing about alcohol was that it 
released people's inhibitions and let them behave in ways 
that were more honest but also more socially unacceptable.

"I'm not a lesbian, you know. I don't 'fancy' women at all. It 
was just me getting upset after all that alcohol," Ketaba 
continued, sitting nervously on the side of the bed. "But 
don't tell anyone about it, will you? Not even Binta or 
Zabba. I don't want them to think I'm a dyke like them. I 
don't want them to try seducing me. And I don't want 
people to think I'd ever behave illegally."

"I won't tell anyone," Ana said. She felt slightly offended at 
the suggestion that her lover would attempt to seduce 
Ketaba just because she might think she was a lesbian too. 
Binta was surely not the sort. She also realised that keeping 
news of the incident secret from Binta wasn't going to be that 
easy. Questions would be bound to be asked about her night at 
Ketaba's flat, and Binta might already suspect that her 
colleague had designs on her lover. She had after all been 
peculiarly unforthcoming about why she was so unenthusiastic 
about Ana's visit.

"I'd be so grateful if you don't, Ana. I'd be so very 
embarrassed if anyone knew. I'd feel humiliated. What 
would people think? I couldn't live for shame!"

"It was nothing, Ketaba. Nothing at all. Don't mention it, 
and I'll probably just forget it altogether anyway."

Ketaba smiled with an expression of relief. "Yes, you're 
right. It was nothing! After all, we didn't actually do 
anything, did we? There was no lovemaking or anything, 
was there? I'm probably just worrying about nothing at all! 
It's all in my mind, isn't it? Well, we won't say anything 
more about it!"

Ana finished her breakfast and waited until Ketaba had left 
the room with the empty tray before she ventured out of 
bed and into her clothes. She declined Ketaba's offer of a 
shower before venturing out and sat in the living room 
while Ketaba put some clothes on. Ketaba's choice of a 
track suit and trainers suggested more a woman who 
enjoyed sports than one who worked in a brothel. 

"Shall we go for a walk? You're not in a hurry to get 
anywhere are you? It is Saturday after all."

"No, I'd love to see more of Honey," Ana agreed, leading 
the way out of Ketaba's flat into the streets beyond. She 
was still impressed by the general affluence and splendour 
of the district. It made her own suburb seem very mundane.

"Do you enjoy working at the Brothel?" wondered Ketaba 
as they strode past the ornate railings of the impressive 
homes, large cars parked in their wide drives. "Or do you 
still have reservations about it?"

Ana mused for a moment. "It's not too bad as a job, and I'm 
getting used to the idea of working with all the prostitutes 
around," she admitted thinking particularly of how it had 
made it possible to meet Binta. "I don't like the Director, 
though. He's fairly objectionable even when he doesn't 
touch my bottom or make coarse comments about what 
boyfriends he thinks I've slept with. Everything he says has 
an obscene second meaning and he smokes an awful lot."

"That must be terrible. I'd hate to have to put up with all 
that smoke. I don't like the Director either, and I don't think 
he likes me. When I started working at the Brothel he was 
always trying to get me to sleep with him, but I just didn't 
fancy it. The smell of smoke on his clothes! Some of my 
clients smoke, but somehow it's different when it's a client. 
You can tell them not to smoke, which you can't do so 
easily with your boss."

"You enjoy working at the Brothel, don't you?"

"Enjoy isn't quite the right word. It's a job, like yours, and I 
hope I take a proper professional attitude towards it. I think 
though that it's rather devalued when people like Binta and 
Ferhana work there. It shouldn't be used as a prison. But 
the Brothel treats its staff pretty well: much better than it 
would do if it were not a government enterprise. Anyway, I 
wouldn't want to break the law and freelance, like some 
girls do. You're not so well protected, and there's no 
pension to look forward to. Although I'm sure I'd earn a lot 
more if I did. The government wouldn't take its percentage 
of my earnings!"

"Is that the only thing that's wrong about working 
freelance? You don't think it'd be better if it were as it used 
to be, where individual brothels competed against each 
other? Zabba always says she wished she could set up her 
own business."

"She would, wouldn't she?" sniffed Ketaba disparagingly, 
running her fingers idly against the wall of one of the 
houses. She pointed towards a track running through some 
grass between tall trees on the other side of the road. 
"That's where I often go jogging. I usually spend at least an 
hour each day running. It's an excellent way to stay fit. 
Though I wouldn't say it was as effective as working." She 
turned her head towards Ana, and resumed her subject. "If 
you remember, the reason why the government first 
institutionalised Brothels all those generations ago was to 
prevent the spread of venereal disease. It was decided that 
suppressing prostitution by making it illegal would only 
make the situation worse. Nowadays, sexually transmitted 
diseases are almost totally unknown in Alif. We're given 
regular checkups once a month and it's very rare that a girl 
has caught something. That's a lot better than many 
countries, where all visitors returning from holidays there 
have to be screened for anything they've caught."

"Is that true of Agdal?"

"Strangely, no. But the Agdal government has its own ways 
of discouraging the spread of disease. And the other thing 
that institutionalised prostitution has done is stop the 
exploitation of prostitutes by their pimps. Apparently, 
working girls hardly saw anything of their earnings when it 
was under private control. It all went to their pimps who 
went around covered in jewels and expensive clothes, while 
the prostitutes had nothing at all. Some of these pimps even 
beat up their girls if they thought they hadn't made enough 
money and would push them out to work even when they were 
feeling ill or had had more clients than they were happy 
with. It's much better at the Brothel. However bad the 
Director is, he's not nearly as bad as these pimps used to 
be. At least that's what the history books say."

"Zabba says that it's now President Marmeluke's 
government that's the pimp. She says that the government 
gets it both ways by getting an initial cut from a prostitute's 
clients and then by taxing her earnings."

"Well, it's undeniably a good way for the government to 
ensure that prostitutes pay taxes. In countries where it's 
illegal there must be an awful lot of revenue that never gets 
collected. It must be better for the country if prostitutes pay 
taxes just like other workers. It's unfair on those who work 
legally."

"I suppose that's true," remarked Ana. "But there must be 
some bad things about the government running Brothels. 
Isn't it inconsistent for the government to be organising and 
profiting from something it so often says it disapproves of?"

"I have no idea why they would disapprove of it. It's a 
perfectly natural and harmless activity. It's good for the 
clients who in many cases would never have sex with such 
beautiful or attractive girls providing professional services 
to those who can afford it. It must be good for prostitutes 
like me who want to provide those sorts of services. Though 
I suppose there are those who'd argue that it sets the prices 
artificially high. They say that if prostitution were 
privatised, there would be a lot more competition and 
prices would just drop. They also say that as prostitutes 
wouldn't have to lose such a large percentage of their 
earnings they'd also be better off. But I can't believe that. 
What guarantees are there that the brothel you'd work at 
would be one of the better paying ones? And I'm sure that if 
a group of privately run brothels teamed together they 
could fix the prices just as high as they are in the State 
Brothel. If not higher!"

"Perhaps there'd be less prostitution if the government 
weren't seen to be encouraging it?"

"Well, the government doesn't exactly advertise the 
Brothels. There are no commercials on television or the 
radio, are there? And anyway, I don't think there'd be any 
less if it were private. Though, I suppose there might be 
more variety. They wouldn't all look the same as they do 
now. Clients with different interests could go where they 
liked. But I think they probably do now. If they have 
particular tastes which the State Brothels don't provide, 
there are clandestine brothels which cater for them."

"Do you think so?" Ana asked, imagining an underworld of 
characters like Mr Madir and Zabba setting up business in 
semidetached houses in the outer suburbs of Blad.

"There are always cases mentioned in the newspapers about 
illegal vice rings being closed down - and I'm sure that 
some of these vice rings trade in sexual services as well as 
pornography, drugs and alcohol."

Ana admired a monument they passed that commemorated people 
who had died in a previous war. At the top of it was a 
statue of the man who had been president at that time, long 
before President Marmeluke but looking much the same, 
particularly with regard to the heroic pose in which he was 
sculpted. Around the monument were some railings and a 
faded brass plaque. Along the road from the monument were 
houses of quite modern construction and a dark figure 
walking towards them. The figure came closer and Ana could 
make out whom it was wearing the long black gown with a 
cross dangling over her chest.

"Good morning, Ana. Good morning, Ketaba," greeted 
Chadora drawing up to them. "How strange seeing you 
here. You live nearby, don't you Ketaba?"

"Yes," admitted Ketaba, amiably but looking slightly 
annoyed at losing her exclusive rights to conversation with 
Ana. "What are you doing here? You don't live in Honey, 
do you?"

"Noohh!" laughed Chadora. "I couldn't possibly afford to 
live here. Not unless I were in a sheltered church property. 
No, I've been visiting one of your colleagues. She felt in 
need of the succour and advice that only the church can 
provide." She smiled at Ana. "I believe I have an 
appointment with you later this week, isn't that right?"

"Appointment?" Ana couldn't recall any such. She'd been 
too ecstatically happy in her love affair to think of seeking 
guidance in religion.

"You asked to see Binta's lesbian lover, Mezyana, I believe. 
I've been detailed to accompany you. Surely you haven't 
forgotten?"

"No, not at all. I just didn't know I had to be accompanied 
by anyone."

"It's regulations, I'm afraid Ana dear. It isn't considered 
advisable for anyone to visit people in penal institutions 
without some official representation. And I'm delighted to 
say that I am the one who has that privilege. Don't worry. I 
won't be eavesdropping on your conversation and it will be 
exactly as private as you may wish. My role in the matter is 
finished as soon as I have escorted you to the unfortunate 
girl." Chadora smiled at Ketaba who appeared somewhat 
puzzled by the exchange. "Ana's put in an application to see 
Mezyana: Binta's partner who was convicted with her for 
criminal sexual conduct. Mezyana had proved to the court 
the sincerity of her religious conviction and was excused 
prison or the Brothel on condition she serve time at the 
Blad Convent."

Ketaba nodded. "It's lucky for her that she was religious. 
I'm not religious at all. I don't believe in anything. If I were 
to commit a crime I'd probably opt for the sentence that 
Binta has."

"You may not have the option," frowned Chadora. 
"However, I find it strange when you say that you don't 
believe in anything. It appears to me you believe in rather 
a few things: they're just not encompassed by the teachings 
and practices of the church."

"Are you saying that I ought to be religious?" challenged 
Ketaba.

"Not at all!" laughed Chadora. "Your faith in God is 
between you and your conscience. I am merely saying that 
you have beliefs."

"I most certainly don't believe in God. And I think those 
prostitutes who do, do so simply to absolve themselves of 
guilt and remorse. They are just unable to accept what they 
do for what it is, and see the virtues of it. I really don't see 
why they feel that way. What could possibly be wrong with 
making a living out of doing what one does best? And if 
that is the provision of sexual services, so be it!"

"Perhaps they feel that it debases conduct the church 
believes is best spent between husband and wife?"

Ketaba sniffed. "That rather makes it seem as if sex was 
purely and simply for procreation and not for recreation."

"Some may also feel that it is the most fulfilling expression 
of sincerely felt emotions," Chadora remarked.

"Hmmm! Anyway, many prostitutes who turn to the church 
are criminals like Ferhana or sexual perverts. You can't say 
that it is because they attach great importance to ethics or 
morality, can you?"

"You certainly like to argue, Ketaba!" Chadora exclaimed, 
smiling amiably at Ana. "I would respond to that by saying 
that the individual's relationship with God is a personal one, 
and that although one may seek guidance from the church, 
one can still dispute the ethical codes based on 
interpretation of the Gospels and the word of the Lord."

"They just want to be able to do whatever they like and be 
absolved of their sins. They don't have enough self-
confidence and belief in themselves, so the church becomes 
a useful crutch."

"It is not for me to criticise anyone's reasons for turning to 
the church, Ketaba. I think if you were only to look at it 
from a less sceptical perspective you would see all it has to 
offer and perhaps you could come to love God."

"You won't see me becoming a churchgoer!" Ketaba 
affirmed. She looked across the road at a small ornamental 
tower in which a clock was inlaid. "Is that the time? I don't 
have a watch. Too much ornamentation! I really didn't 
realise it was that late in the morning. I've got to go to 
work this afternoon. It's all work work work for a busy 
working girl." She turned to face Ana and looked at her 
with an abashed expression. "It was very nice having you to 
visit. I do hope you can come again." She almost guiltily 
and quite perfunctorily kissed Ana on the cheek and dashed 
off almost immediately.

Ana and Chadora watched Ketaba walk off in a stride that 
very soon broke into a jog and carried her off the main road 
and along a rough track by the edge of the woodland 
opposite. 

"I hope I didn't frighten Ketaba off," Chadora remarked 
apologetically. "I know she doesn't like religion and I 
probably remind her too much of it. Or was it that she 
just didn't want me to intervene in her chat to you."

"I'm sure that's not true," commented Ana, sure that that 
was much more likely to be so. Perhaps Ketaba would have 
liked to have spoken more about her failed love affairs, and 
found Chadora's attitudes too opposite her own to feel 
comfortable voicing her views.

Chadora watched Ketaba's statuesque figure disappear in 
the shadows of the trees. She glanced back momentarily, 
dodged past the small lap dogs an old woman was escorting 
and was gone. "Ketaba is a sad figure in many ways. She so 
much wants to believe in something, but she is also 
adamant that it must not be in religion or politics. She is 
always looking for something and I don't think she'll ever 
find it." Chadora returned her gaze to Ana and firmly took 
a hand in one of hers. "So, next week you'll be seeing 
Mezyana in the Convent. It is just a social call, isn't it?"

"Binta wants to know how Mezyana is, but of course she 
can't visit herself. I'm just visiting as Binta's proxy, if you 
like."

"And I daresay you'd like to see what Binta's former lover 
is like as well, I imagine. Isn't that right?"

Ana nodded shyly. Chadora squeezed Ana's hand 
affectionately, and then linked her arm inside Ana's and the 
two walked along the peaceful Honey boulevards towards the 
bus stop for the Brothel. She didn't ask why Ana should want 
to visit the Brothel on her day off, and her conversation 
became much more desultory. She talked about the private 
gardens of Honey, the large estates and the great wealth of 
many of the inhabitants. She chatted about Rif and Jebel, 
and listened with apparent interest to Ana's accounts of 
her home and its great wheat fields. She made no more 
comment at all about either Mezyana or Binta, but it 
seemed to Ana that there was an understanding between the 
two of them, and that Chadora was subtly expressing her 
approval of a relationship based on love.

	15

"It's good to see you arrive so early!" exclaimed Chadora 
when Ana arrived in the Brothel chapel in her smartest 
clothes, worn so rarely since her interview. She had 
combed her hair carefully, applied the lipstick with which 
she so rarely bothered and cut her fingernails with 
fastidious attention. She was very anxious about her visit to 
the Convent. She so wanted to make a good impression on 
Binta's former lover. At least she hoped it was her former 
lover, and the barely vocalised fear that this might not be 
wholly the case made her feel terribly insecure.

Chadora was dressed in her normal working dress and was 
fussing about the chapel. She had laid hymn books in front 
of every pew, and organised the selection of hymn sheets on 
the board. Ana watched Chadora unhurriedly straighten a few 
cushions and cross herself in front of the altar. She 
strolled towards Ana through the fragmented kaleidoscope of 
light from the stained glass windows above the altar and 
smiled warmly.

"It looks like a fine day for visiting the Convent, God 
Willing!" Chadora commented, taking Ana's arm in hers 
and escorting her out of the Brothel through an exit Ana 
hadn't been aware of before. It avoided the main reception 
area and led the two of them through the Brothel 
recruitment office where a slim girl with quite a long nose 
sat bored at the desk reading a newspaper. She stood up 
sharply as Chadora and Ana entered, but relaxed 
immediately.

"Good morning, sister!"

"Good morning, Qabiha. How has your day been?"

"Just two visitors today, sister. Neither very interested I 
thought. I shan't earn much commission at this rate."

"God willing there may be more," Chadora remarked, 
leading Ana out of the door and into the streets beyond. 
The Convent was in a distant suburb of the city, and it was 
necessary to travel there by bus. Chadora took Ana to the 
bus stop several blocks away and they sat on the waiting 
bus as it prepared to leave. Ana envied the respect Chadora 
received from passers by, and remarked on this.

"The way I dress does indeed make a difference," Chadora 
agreed. "I am a servant of God, and therefore I am 
accorded respect. That is a good thing and something for 
which I am very grateful. When I worked in the Brothel as 
a prostitute I wore very different clothes, was seen as a 
servant of men's lust and was treated with as much 
contempt as I am now treated with honour. I am essentially 
the same person but in my capacity as a whore I truly 
earned the disrespect that was shown towards me, for I was 
indeed nothing better than an expensive diversion for men 
who would be better focusing their attentions on higher 
spiritual values. But it is not for me to condemn. The Lord's 
will is that all should be loved equally: high or low, 
misguided or enlightened. After all, He has shown His great 
love and mercy by welcoming me into His bosom where I 
can now compensate for all that I did in my early days."

"Do you regret having worked as a prostitute?" Ana 
wondered as the bus moved off.

"Regret is the wrong word. No, my regret is that it took me 
so long to surrender myself to His ministry. There were so 
many wasted years, but the Lord be Praised I am now 
wholly dedicated to His service. But this is my decision. It 
may be that I would never have chosen such a vocation had 
my earlier one not been so very different. I have foresworn 
marriage to a man, and have opted instead for the more 
worthwhile and absolute marriage which is that to God and 
His Church. No other love is greater than His, and no love 
is more satisfying than that I feel towards Him. Unlike a 
man He will never abandon me. He cares for me when I err. 
He loves me when I am miserable. And His capacity for 
forgiveness is infinite. What man can possibly offer so 
much?"

Ana blushed. She had no real knowledge of the love a man could 
give, but felt that it must be very much secondary to the love 
that Binta offered her, or that she felt towards Binta. This 
was not a subject she wished to discuss with Chadora. 

The chaplain smiled at Ana. "We are now on our way to the 
Convent. Like the church, the chapel and the cathedral it is 
a house of God, and a place where, together with my 
sisters, I too spent a happy year of my life dedicating myself 
to the worship of the Lord. It is a place of great spiritual 
beauty. A place where my love for the Lord was 
encouraged and nurtured, and where I discovered I no 
longer needed the distraction offered by a man's temporal 
love. It is not an easy matter to abandon the affection of 
physical or sexual love. It is difficult and occasionally 
frustrating. Especially for one such as I who had made love 
to men maybe more than a dozen times every day. It was 
not because I dislike such activity. Indeed, like Ketaba, it 
occasionally gave me feelings of great usefulness to the 
poor men who felt the need to buy a prostitute's services 
and, I'm afraid, it was sometimes very pleasant. Unlike your 
friend Binta, men do not repulse me at all. I became a 
novice from a wish to worship and serve, and not to escape 
from another way of life."

"What's life like in the Convent?"

"Austere. Very austere. There are no distractions from the 
main purpose of worship. There is no television, no 
shopping, no parties and definitely no men. Indeed, had you 
been a male friend of Binta's, it would have been a much 
more difficult excursion to organise or even gain permission 
to do so. "

The Convent was no less austere in appearance than 
Chadora's description of its daily routine of prayer, bible 
readings and good deeds was in activity. At first, Ana was 
sure that the tall imposing walls surrounded a prison. It 
must have been just as effective in preventing Mezyana 
from escaping and seeking her liberty in the streets of Blad 
outside. However, the entrance was quite unlike that of a 
prison, although the large metal doors were just as 
functional for security purposes. Chadora explained that 
unlike a prison the gates were there to keep intruders out 
rather than to keep the nuns in.

"How does that relate to Mezyana's sentence?" Ana 
countered.

Chadora noticeably blushed. "I believe that the use of the 
Lord's house as a prison or as a punishment goes against its 
spirit. Just as your boss, the Director, forever complains 
about having to act as a prison governor as well as the head 
of a commercial enterprise, I would say that God also 
protests at the abuse of His house for such a base and 
unspiritual role. For Mezyana, this place is indeed a prison. 
Just as the Brothel is to her partner in crime. I don't know 
Mezyana, of course. She isn't one of my wards. But I would 
hope that her attitude is not that the Convent is only a 
prison, although I doubt she has any more freedom than 
your friend, Ferhana. I hope she benefits from serving the 
Lord and recognises His love in allowing her to do so at the 
behest of President Marmeluke's government."

Chadora rang the doorbell to the Convent's entrance, and 
entered into an exchange with a woman on the intercom. 
Ana studied the ancient doors of the Convent which came 
directly onto the street with no intervening garden or 
forecourt. The doors were opened, and Chadora and Ana 
were let in by an elderly nun who greeted the two of them 
with a broad smile and a humble bow. Chadora returned the 
compliment and indicated subtly to Ana that she should also 
bow her head. 

The interior of the Convent was as austere as its exterior. 
The lights were quite dim and there were no decorations or 
ornaments except for a large crucifix on the wall and a 
portrait of President Marmeluke. A series of corridors 
radiated in all directions, along which could be seen the 
occasional dark shadow of a nun. The nun ushered the two 
of them towards a room to one side, in which there were a 
few ageing chairs and a table on which a few religious 
magazines were laid.

"If you can wait here, I'll look for someone with the 
appropriate authority. It's to see Sister Mezyana, is it?"

Chadora repeated that it was, and that they were very 
grateful for her services. She waited until the nun had left, 
and then smiled at Ana who was sitting apprehensively, her 
legs crossed, studying the portrait on the wall of a former 
mother superior whose features were difficult to distinguish 
in the shadows. "They're not very used to having visitors in 
the Convent," Chadora remarked. "In most cases, the nuns 
are free to come and go as they please, so this kind of 
escorted visit is actually quite rare."

Ana nodded, and glanced through the open door down the 
corridor where the nun scurried along, carrying a loose-leaf 
folder under her arm. "Will she be long?"

"I can't say. But Convents are not places noted for their 
speed and haste, Ana dear. Anyway, there will be plenty of 
time to talk to Mezyana. So, tell me. Are you enjoying your 
career at the Brothel?"

"I quite like the work and I enjoy meeting the other people 
who work there," Ana answered diplomatically.

"Especially meeting Binta, of course. And Ketaba, as well," 
smiled Chadora. "But you'd probably have got to meet 
people in Blad, whatever job you were doing. Does it 
trouble you to work in a Brothel given the activities that go 
on there?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sure I don't have to elaborate, Ana. The Brothel is a 
place where young women sell their bodies and where 
clients indulge in sexual fantasy and sexual congress. Most 
people who are not prostitutes, and indeed many who are, 
find this rather unnatural and perverse. It must also be very 
strange for you: making friends with women who will have 
up to fifteen sexual partners a day. It doesn't take much of 
my imagination to see how all this could upset a girl fresh 
from the green fields of Rif."

"I don't like to think about it very much," admitted Ana. 
"It's not that I'm a prostitute myself. I like to think of 
people at the Brothel as I find them. I don't like thinking 
about what they do when they're with clients."

"Including Binta, I suppose. And has much pressure been 
put on you to persuade you into part-time prostitution like 
your predecessor, Inta? Have Khedra and the Director sold 
you the benefits of such work?"

"Khedra visited me at my flat once and told me all about 
the benefits. And often when I see her at work she makes 
comments about 'the door always being open', and 'if 
you're short of money you know what to do', and 'I really 
don't know how you manage on your salary'. The Director 
also makes comments, but they're horribly coarse. He says 
I have a very attractive pair of breasts and he'd love to 
see them. He says my legs are pretty on the eye, but would 
be nicer to touch. And he often touches me on the bottom 
at work. And, yes, he does sometimes say it would be good 
for me to work part-time as a prostitute, and that if I did 
he'd be privileged to be my first client. He's so horrible, 
though! I couldn't bear the idea."

"Well, don't worry about what he and Khedra say. 
Remember that you are absolutely and unreservedly in no 
way obliged to provide sexual services at the Brothel. Don't 
ever feel that it would advantage your career or that you 
actually need the extra money. You already earn quite good 
money for a secretary I imagine, and you wouldn't be that 
easy to replace were you to leave. Good secretaries rarely 
choose to work in Brothels."

"I didn't really choose to work in a Brothel," Ana protested. 
"It's just that there were so few jobs."

"Well now you've gained experience, I'm sure your choice 
has widened considerably. You don't have to continue 
working there. If you wanted, you could find somewhere 
else to work. The oppressive atmosphere of the Brothel 
need not be a permanent fixture in your life."

"I'm sure you're right," Ana remarked, staring at her hands 
and reflecting on the real reason why she was determined to 
stay at the Brothel for the foreseeable future. "But I've 
made so many friends there. And I don't know anyone else 
in Blad."

"As I say, you'll easily make other friends in other jobs. And 
if you still want to see people like Ketaba and Zabba, you 
can do so."

"But it's not just that..." Ana stumbled, struggling to find a 
way to phrase that so long as Binta remained working in 
the Brothel, then so too would she. She visualised Binta's 
beautiful face and bare shoulders. She would suffer any 
indignity to be able to see her regularly and to share a bed 
with her. 

Chadora took Ana's hand in her own and squeezed it 
affectionately. Ana turned her head round to look into 
Chadora's face. "You needn't be evasive with me, Ana. I 
have worked as a chaplain and as a prostitute at the Brothel 
for several years, and I have learnt a great deal about how it 
can be between two women who crave affection. I know 
that both you and Binta feel terribly lonely and isolated in 
the Brothel. I know, too, that your affection for Binta is 
rather stronger than that usually felt between two 
girlfriends. It is not at all uncommon among girls in the 
Brothel, but it is also something about which the law of the 
land has a very firm opinion."

"Are you saying that I should leave Binta?"

"My role is to give spiritual and pastoral advice, Ana. I 
would say that your career at the Brothel and your 
friendship with Binta, which may seem so wonderful now, 
could become cause for regret later. The Church is  
undecided about the morality of homosexuality, but 
generally believes that due obedience to the law of the 
land should take priority on issues of conduct which do not 
impinge too deeply on a good Christian's duties and ethical 
standards. Your future hinges on your attitude towards 
both the Brothel and Binta, and you must seriously ask 
yourself what is most important in your life and what 
sacrifices you feel you must make to gain what you really 
want. Remember that you do have a choice. You don't have 
to stay at the Brothel and you don't have to continue your 
illegal sexual conduct."

Ana didn't appreciate being told how to lead her life, even 
by someone like Chadora, but she felt too embarrassed to 
object. She released her hand from Chadora's, using as an 
excuse the need to find a handkerchief in her handbag. 
While rummaging inside among the purse, comb and 
compact tucked inside the little pockets, she ruminated: "I 
don't know what I want to do in the future. But for the 
present what I most want and what gives me the most 
pleasure is Binta. I can't explain to you how very special 
she is to me and how much ... how very much ... It's just 
something that grips me. Holds me captive. I don't think I 
could leave her if I wanted to."

Chadora smiled. "I apologise for talking to you like this. 
But you need not fear that I shall ever speak to others 
about you and Binta. However, the time of waiting is over: 
I see that someone is coming to meet us."

A thin middle-aged nun with thick glasses and quite 
prominent teeth drifted into the room escorted by a very 
young nun, barely out of her teens, quite plump and 
incredibly bashful. 

"Good morning, Sister Chadora," the nun remarked. "So this 
is Ana. Come to visit Sister Mezyana. Are you related to 
the sister, Ana?"

Ana shook her head. "No, not at all."

"I thought not. Your surnames are quite different. And your 
dialects as well," the nun continued, looking at a sheet of 
paper she had attached to a clipboard. "A friend of the 
sister, I suppose? Do you work at the Brothel?"

Ana abruptly blushed at that comment, and noticed that the 
young nun was visibly shocked at the very notion. "Well, 
yes. I do," confessed Ana nervously. "But not as a ... not a 
... I work in the office. I'm a secretary."

"I see!" sniffed the nun. "Well, never mind. Sister 
Mezyana's friends must come from many walks of life, 
otherwise she wouldn't be here on penal servitude." She 
looked at Chadora. "Well thank you, sister. I don't believe 
we need detain you any longer. If you could kindly sign the 
visitor's book as you leave." 

She then whisked around and led Ana and the young nun, both 
feeling abashed, down a long corridor towards Mezyana's cell. 


	16

Ana was escorted to an austere room in which only a 
portrait of President Marmeluke and a crucifix decorated 
the bare walls. The only furniture was a wide table with a 
chair on either side. The nun  beckoned her to sit on one of 
the chairs and left her alone. Moments later, the door 
opened and Mezyana entered wearing a long dark gown 
and a hood over her head. She smiled at Ana, and sat 
wordlessly on the chair opposite her. She pulled back her 
hood and revealed a thin freckled face and a head that was 
totally shaved.

"Good morning, Ana," Mezyana said, looking at her 
inquisitively. "You're a friend of Binta's, I gather, come to 
see how I am. Is that right, or have I been misinformed?"

"No, that's quite right. Binta hasn't seen or heard from you, 
and she's interested in your welfare."

"So, my letters to her have been intercepted and she's not 
received them!" sighed Mezyana. "I thought it would have 
been considered sufficient punishment imprisoning us like 
this. Has she written to me?"

"I don't know," Ana admitted. "She hasn't told me."

"And you must work in the Brothel too, otherwise you 
wouldn't have got to know her. How is she? Is she well?"

"Very well. She doesn't enjoy working at the Brothel, 
though. She loathes it. She detests her clients. She despises 
the work she has to do. And she hates not being allowed to 
leave."

"I can't say that surprises me. What surprises me more is 
that she opted for it. She could have gone to prison. I had 
wondered whether it was because she liked sex so much 
and she thought she'd enjoy having more of it. Why did she 
choose the Brothel?"

"It was either that or prison. And she heard that prison was 
very unpleasant."

"So having sex with strange men every day is somehow 
better. I really don't understand Binta. She so often said 
she would never contemplate it. In fact, she told me many 
times that she would never dream of making love to anyone 
other than me. She's so fickle! She just couldn't wait till 
after her sentence, I suppose." Mezyana looked quite bitter. 
She glanced down at the crucifix dangling over the front of 
her gown, and then looked up at Ana. "I daresay that she's 
not quite forgotten me, if she's chosen to send her new 
girlfriend to see me. I take it you are her girlfriend? 
And by that I do mean girlfriend as the word might be used 
in a love affair."

"I am," admitted Ana, blushing and feeling guilty. "I'm 
very much in love with her."

Mezyana steadily examined Ana's thin face, and smiled 
reluctantly. "I suppose she could have found worse than 
you. So much for her undying and eternal love for me. At 
least in God I have found someone who will never be so 
fickle. Are you a prostitute like her?"

"No, not at all. I work as a secretary."

Mezyana frowned slightly disbelievingly. "A secretary? So, 
you're not a whore. That's something I suppose. I was very 
worried that she would have a love affair with someone 
stained by frequent loveless sex. As she must be herself. It 
pains me to think that she is being ... that strange men - and 
so many of them - are ... that her precious body is daily 
violated in such a gross and immoral way. A secretary you 
say? At the Brothel?"

"Yes, I work in the Director's office."

"And you're not a prostitute at all? Not even for some of 
the time?"

"No, never! Never! I wouldn't dream of ... I just couldn't ... 
It's such a horrid idea!"

"But you still make love to Binta, don't you? Like I did for 
so many years. Loving her. And she loving you, I suppose. 
I so hoped that she would stay faithful. I so wanted her to 
love me forever. To be there when I finish my sentence."

"She says she still loves you," Ana protested.

"So much so that she will also love you!" Mezyana sighed 
bitterly. She smiled bravely at Ana. "Well, it's not your 
fault. Binta isn't the sort of girl who'd be content to 
wait. She always wanted more from the here and now. 
She'll always opt for ephemeral distractions. Like Azhnia. 
But I must forgive her, I suppose, however much I still 
long for her, and however much faith I invested in her love 
for me. The Lord God teaches us to forgive all sinners. And 
I mustn't blame you. She is beautiful and it's inevitable that 
another person should fall in love with her. And seduce 
her."

"I didn't seduce her!" Ana protested.

Mezyana steadily explored Ana's face. The pale freckles 
round her nose wrinkled slightly as she screwed up her face 
in the pain of the implications of Ana's reply. "So, if you 
didn't seduce her, she must have seduced you.  Have you 
ever had a relationship with a woman before?"

"No, not at all. Nor with a man."

Mezyana nodded her head and bit her lower lip with her 
teeth. "You poor girl. It's you who are most wronged by 
this, not my beloved Binta. I should have realised, of 
course. I knew Binta so well. Or so I thought. She got to 
know you and eventually, when she'd established that you 
were a lesbian ... well, perhaps not a lesbian, but someone 
attracted to women like her - and like me, despite my 
service to the Lord, - ... she simply extended her friendship 
from the platonic to the physical. Is that so?"

Ana nodded unhappily. She and Mezyana stared at each 
other. Ana felt very uncomfortable. She hadn't known what 
to expect from meeting Binta's former lover, but she'd 
somehow hoped for some kind of support. She was in 
desperate need for some endorsement, or encouragement, 
or for someone to say that, yes, her love for Binta was 
good and wholesome. Someone to make her feel that her 
love wasn't a perversion and was as genuine and tender as 
she felt it to be. A small tear welled up in her eye and 
trickled slowly out of its corner. 

"I'm so in love with Binta! She's all I live for! She's 
all I want! She fills my every waking thought. I love her 
so much it hurts to be parted for just a moment."

Mezyana smiled sympathetically. "So perhaps you can 
understand how I feel, Ana. But I mustn't berate you. 
The Lord beseeches us to forgive and to understand. And 
that I must do. But please forgive me for resenting you for 
taking the only love for me - the only love of mine not 
dedicated to the Lord and my family - away from me, and 
leaving me here bereft of ... abandoned by Binta." She 
lowered her head, overcome by the intensity of her own 
love.

There was an uneasy silence between the two of them. 
Mezyana bent her head down to study the table and ran a 
hand over the grey stubble of her scalp. Ana felt that her 
meeting was a disaster: but what did she expect? While 
time had moved on for Binta, it had clearly frozen for 
Mezyana, who still thought in terms of the love she and 
Binta had shared before their arrest.

"What's it like living in the Convent?" Ana asked after a 
while, more to break the tension than from a genuine desire 
to find out.

"The Convent?" Mezyana repeated, frowning. "What is it 
like for me living here? Amongst all these holy women with 
shaven heads who think I am a sinner to be more pitied than 
loved, and to be avoided at all costs lest I should rape or 
molest them. In the shadow of these dark forbidding walls 
and no license to wander the streets of Blad like my sinless 
sisters. In the worship and adulation of the Lord God Our 
Father. It's incredibly boring, that's what it is!" 

"Do you hate living here like Binta hates working at the 
Brothel?"

"You misunderstand me. I don't hate living here at all - 
even if it is lonely and monotonous. I feel that it is duty to 
the Lord that I am serving by circumstance rather than 
choice. It is not the way I would like to have served the 
Lord, but I am happy to do so. It is undoubtedly preferable to 
prison. And service in the Brothel is just an option I would 
not contemplate."

Ana nodded in agreement with Mezyana's remarks. "Will 
you serve in the church when you have finished your 
sentence?"

Mezyana frowned. "Before I came here, I would have 
answered yes. By serving my sentence as a novice, I could 
eventually graduate and become a more active member in 
the service of the church. But I will never be able to clear 
myself of the stigma of my criminal conviction, and there 
will never be a long or prosperous career for me in Alif. 
What I do when I finish here, I really don't know, but at 
least in the world beyond, my sentence could be excused as 
a period of devotion. Perhaps, when I leave I'll become a 
secretary." She smiled wryly at Ana, who in the relief of the 
slight levity felt a great weight suddenly lift from her chest. 
"Who knows? Anyway, in many ways, it is not an 
unpleasant way of life, living here."

"How is that?"

"Well, it is certainly peaceful and restful. Nothing happens 
and nothing is ever likely to happen. It is strange to be 
relieved of the anxiety of wondering what to do or of ever 
making a significant decision. If I were here by choice and 
not known as a notorious sex criminal, I would no doubt have 
made many friends, like the other nuns."

"Would you like to return home to Jebel when you finish 
your sentence?"

"Oh, I'd like to! I'd love to return to those craggy hills and 
the beautiful valleys. But I won't. The villagers would treat 
me as a pariah. I would be shunned and regarded as a 
pervert. I'll probably take my chance on starting life again in 
Blad. Why do you ask? Have you ever been to Jebel?"

"No. But Binta's told me ever so much about it!"

"She has, has she? I suppose she would. Neither she nor I 
had ever been anywhere else in our lives before. And 
beyond the small glimpse I get through the window, I don't 
even know what the city is like. She probably has the same 
lack of freedom. Jebel is undoubtedly beautiful, though. 
Where do you come from? Are you a Blad girl?"

"No. I come from Rif."

"Rif? A country girl, like Binta and me. You'd recognise life 
in Jebel then. I can't imagine it's much different in Rif. Binta 
and I had a strange childhood. We were so obsessed with 
one other we hardly had any other friends at all. My only 
other friends at all were the children and teachers at the 
Sunday School. We missed so much of a normal childhood 
and adolescence I think. And now I wonder, what for? 
Where's Binta now? I loved her. And I thought she loved 
me. I always thought it was a mistake when our friendship 
became more physical - but Binta was so irrepressible. And 
when we'd started touching each other, Binta just couldn't 
stop. Wherever and whenever she could she would touch 
me and persuade me to touch her. I can't deny that I 
enjoyed it, and I loved the pleasure it gave her, but I knew 
it was bad and dangerous. But she was so persistent, and I 
couldn't help thinking that something that felt so good 
must therefore be good."

Mezyana paused, and Ana again felt uncomfortable. What 
could she say that could comfort Binta's former lover? And 
what could be said that would make her feel less desolate 
herself? Mezyana smiled bravely at Ana. 

"So, tell me. How is Binta? I imagine her dressed in thick 
makeup and parading around the Brothel in suggestive clothes. 
Is that so?"

"Binta doesn't wear any clothes at the Brothel. In fact, I've 
never seen her dressed at all."

"She doesn't wear clothes?"

"She doesn't have to. She's a certified naturist."

"Is that so? She never was in Jebel, at least not when she 
was with anyone other than me. But then she was always a 
bit of a show-off! Is it her kind of rebellion against the 
Brothel?"

"I think it must be. Most of the other girls wear blatant 
lipstick, mascara and eyeliner, and a lot of underwear. Binta 
doesn't dress like that at all."

Mezyana laughed, relatively gaily. "Binta the nudist! What 
a strange thought. Are you one as well?"

"No, not at all! I wouldn't want all those men looking at me 
in that horrid way they do. I'd hate that."

"So, you wouldn't contemplate prostitution at all?" Ana 
nodded shyly in assent. "Do you just hate men or do you 
just hate prostitution?"

"I don't hate men. Not really. But I don't like my boss, the 
Director. He's so crude and basic. Everything he says 
sounds like it's meant to make me feel like just so much 
meat! I think all he sees in me and all the other women are 
merely objects for his sexual desire."

"Isn't that just like all men!" sniffed Mezyana disdainfully. 
"And now you are Binta's lover? Not me. You! It's difficult 
for me to accept. I always believed I was the only one in 
Binta's life, and she was always so for me. And now it's all 
changed! Instead it's you! Did Binta send you to torture 
me?"

Ana sighed deeply. "Surely not. She says she wants to see 
how you are. She says she worries about you every day."

"Clearly not as much as I worry about her. But I should be 
less selfish. I'm sure God would wish that I were more 
generous and wished all joy and happiness to you and 
Binta. But it's not what I feel. I look at you. And I think of 
Binta's beautiful naked body. And I think of the two of you 
together. Cuddled together. Kissing each other. Making 
love together. And I think: it should be me there enjoying it. 
It should be me! Fate is so cruel!"

Ana stared unhappily and dejectedly at the table. This 
interview was so painful. She felt even more guilty for her 
love for Binta. Not only was she committing a criminal act, 
she was also the innocent party to her lover's infidelity. It 
made her love seem tarnished and vulgar. Tears welled up 
unprompted in her eyes and a small droplet eased itself 
from the corner and etched itself on her cheek. 

"I'm sorry I've caused you so much pain!"

Mezyana looked at Ana steadily and sympathetically. 
"Don't feel guilty. Don't feel so bad. It isn't your fault! If it 
hadn't been you, it would probably have been someone else. 
Binta's love for women is clearly not reserved for me alone. 
It's my pain that I'm expressing. It's not one that you should 
share. Perhaps I should thank God that Binta's new lover is 
not a prostitute and who shares my abhorrence for it.  
You are, at least, very pretty. And from what little I've 
seen, relatively virtuous and kind-hearted."

Ana could see that Mezyana herself was crying as she 
struggled to restrain her deep disappointment and feeling of 
loss. She bent her shaven head down and for several 
minutes cupped her face in the palms of her hands. Her 
shoulders shuddered, and she broke into a single agonised 
sob. She then abruptly stood up: her face a mess of misery 
and tears. She brushed the back of her hand over her eyes, 
and turned around.

"I better go now. You better leave too!" Mezyana sobbed, 
running to the door. "Tell Binta that I love her! Tell her 
that I'll always love her! Tell her that ... that ... I 
understand. Tell her she can consider herself released. Tell 
her I love her! I love her so much!" 

She pulled open the door to the cell and ran out leaving 
Ana alone, unhappy and disconsolate, in the emptiness of 
the room. She remained for several more minutes reflecting 
on her encounter and watching the drip drip of her tears fall 
onto the table in front of her.


	17

Ana left the Convent in some distress. She stood by the bus 
stop and waited as if in a dream, almost startled when a bus 
actually arrived to take her back to the city centre. As the 
bus drove along, she looked through the window at people 
going about their life, oblivious to all but her own musings 
on her love of Binta and her sympathy for Mezyana. 

She disembarked at the terminus and walked aimlessly 
around the city centre, not at all sure where to go. She 
ignored the bustle of shoppers as they dashed in and out of 
the city stores, conscious that despite herself her steps were 
taking her closer to the Brothel where she had made no 
plans to meet Binta today. Indeed, she knew that Binta 
would actually be working at the moment: a thought which 
caused additional distress in itself. That beautiful body. 
Those disgusting men! How could she live with such 
jealousy?

"Cooee!" Ana heard, but ignored. 

"Hey, Ana!" came the call again, to which this time she felt 
obliged to respond. The source of the cry was Zabba who 
was sitting in a cafe with another girl Ana had never seen 
before. Zabba was dressed in a leather jacket and looked 
much more like a boy than a girl. Her companion was a slim 
girl with a short bob, wearing a tee-shirt and a floral 
skirt. The two of them were smoking cigarettes and had cups 
of coffee in front of them. "How are you today?"

Ana strolled over to them. "Fine. Fine."

"I must say you don't look it! Come. Sit with Bida and me."

Ana nodded and sat sheepishly in the vacant chair, scarcely 
caring that she was downwind of the tobacco fumes she 
normally avoided. Bida smiled at her, and Ana noticed for 
the first time that she was discreetly holding Zabba's 
hand under the table.

"You don't know each other do you? This is my close 
friend, Bida. She's still at school. And this, Bida, is Ana, 
who is a secretary at the Brothel."

"They have secretaries there!" exclaimed Bida, in a young 
voice.

"Secretaries. Cleaners. Accountants. Everything. But, hey, 
what's the trouble, Ana? You and Binta haven't had a tiff, 
have you?"

"A tiff?"

"You know. A lover's tiff. It happens to the best of us, 
doesn't it Bida dear?"

Her friend nodded her head shyly. "You're never very 
honest with me, Zabba. All those other people ..."

"It comes with the job!" Zabba replied sharply. "Was it 
something like that?"

Ana shook her head and gazed at the ring of coffee stain 
left on Zabba's saucer while she sipped from the cup. "No, 
it wasn't. I've just been to the Convent. To see Mezyana."

"Mezyana? Oh, Binta's ex! That must have been quite weird 
for you," remarked Zabba sympathetically. "What was it 
like?"

"It was horrible! She's still very much in love with Binta."

Zabba nodded her head. "Loyal girl. And I thought these 
nuns were always making love to each other. She's not, I 
take it?"

Ana shook her head sadly, slightly alarmed by the 
suggestion. "I felt so bad. Taking Binta away from her!"

"Nonsense! It's Binta, not you, who should feel guilty, if 
anyone should. I'd be very surprised if it was you, rather 
than she who started it."

"But I could have said no. I could have resisted."

"I can't believe that's what you'd rather have done. What 
do you think, Bida? Do you think Ana should feel guilty 
that she's having a relationship with someone who's got a 
lover imprisoned in a Convent?"

"Is that what's happened?" mused Bida. "I don't know. I'd 
hate it if you did the same to me. I'd hate it if someone took 
you away from me."

Zabba looked distinctly uncomfortable and made no 
comment. She opened her packet of cigarettes and offered 
one to Bida before inserting one in her mouth. She lit 
them, and then addressed Ana, clearly intending to change 
the subject: "How do you like living in Blad? Better than 
the provinces, isn't it?"

"I'm still not used to all the people," Ana admitted. "I often 
long to be out in the country air again, and lead a more 
relaxed life."

"Just the two of you together, I suppose. Binta's a country 
girl too, isn't she? Is she pining for the great outdoors as 
well?"

Ana nodded. "We've often thought about returning to the 
country when she finishes her sentence."

"Not many jobs there, though, are there? What do you 
intend to do? Rear sheep? Grow crops? I'd have thought 
you'd both be better off staying in Blad. More opportunities 
for work for a start. And anyway how long do you think 
you could live together in the country before you both get 
found out again? Do you think you'd like to serve time in 
the Brothel like Binta? And do you think you'd be at all 
likely to be sharing the same Brothel? If I were you, I'd 
abandon the notion of living in the sticks. You're much 
better off in Blad. Nobody notices anything here. Nobody 
really has the time or inclination to get upset by a little bit 
of illicit sex. And it's not that bad in Blad. Really it isn't."

"I'd hate to live anywhere but here," Bida remarked. 
"What's there to do in the country? No cinemas. No night 
clubs. The shops are boring. Everything would be boring. 
It's much better here. And anyway Zabba lives here. I'd hate 
to live anywhere away from her. The pain would be 
intolerable."

"Ye-es," agreed Zabba embarrassedly, inhaling on her 
cigarette and blowing a ring of smoke into the air. "So you 
can see, Ana, it really isn't that bad here."

"It's still not home to me," Ana protested. "There must be 
somewhere else to live."

"Perhaps it's working at the Brothel that brings you down. 
Do you still not mind working for the Pimple?"

"The Pimple? Oh! The Director. I don't like working for 
him at all. He's a horrid man. Sometimes he says dreadful 
things about Binta. He knows we're good friends, and he 
says things like he hopes I'm better in bed than her. That I 
give better satisfaction to men than Binta does."

"And do you? Give better satisfaction?"

Ana looked down at her hands. What a disgusting question!  
But how could she answer it? "I don't know. I haven't 
tried."

Zabba sighed. "Are you saying you're a virgin?" 

Ana nodded. 

Bida smiled: "See! I'm not the only one Zabba! There are 
others."

"I don't see it's something to be especially proud of. And 
what else has the Pimple been saying? Has he tried to get 
you to sleep with him?"

"No!" gasped Ana vehemently. "At least I don't think so. 
I'm not sure. He says so many things. I just don't really take 
it all in. He does keep touching me. Especially on the bum. 
And once he grabbed me round the waist, but I slipped out 
pretty quickly. And he sometimes asks me questions about 
boys and sex and other things. I try to ignore it as much as I 
can."

"I must say the Pimple sounds remarkably restrained. I can't 
believe he's such a reformed character. Perhaps he's got 
more subtle plans for you. Mind you, he is a bit of a 
coward. He's probably frightened of being rejected. I gather 
he's never really pursued Ketaba who'd more than likely put 
him in his place. But I warn you, Ana, that man is poison. 
He's no better, and probably worse, than any of the clients 
who come to the Brothel. I remember how he used to 
pester me when I first started working there. It worries me 
that he knows you're friends with Binta. He doesn't know 
the whole story, does he?"

Ana was sufficient confused without having to contemplate 
the awful consequences of that prospect. "I'm sure he 
doesn't. At least I hope not! We try to be ever so careful."

"He's not a naive man. He could very easily work out why 
you spend so much time with Binta."

"We're careful, aren't we?" Bida remarked. "We keep it 
secret. Not even my mum knows about you and most of my 
friends think you're my boyfriend. I don't want to go to jail. 
That'd be horrible!"

Zabba squeezed her young lover's hand affectionately, but 
wasn't to be distracted. "Has the Pimple ever said anything 
to you that would make you think he suspects you and 
Binta of having more than just a normal friendship?"

Ana shook her head. "I don't think so. He's just very nasty 
about her. He calls her a 'frigid dyke'. Or a 'waste of her 
client's good money'. Or a 'disgrace to a noble profession'. 
He says she ought to buck her ideas up and dress more 
appropriately and not pretend to be Eve in the Garden of 
Eden. Innocence, he says, is not one of Binta's virtues. I 
always thought that was because she hasn't let him ... you 
know ... hasn't allowed him ..."

Zabba grinned. "I love a girl who can say no - as long as it's 
not to me!"

"Oh, Zabba!" gasped Bida, glaring at her lover. "How can 
you say that? Aren't I enough for you? Surely you don't 
need anyone else?"

"Of course not, Bida sweetheart," Zabba answered, 
squeezing her knee reassuringly under the table. "You're 
quite enough for me!"

	18

Ana's life had set into a pattern in which on the whole she 
was still blissfully happy. As long as she could meet Binta 
every day how could her life be otherwise? She hardly ever 
spent the night in her own flat: she normally stayed behind 
at the Brothel with Binta and relished their hours together 
spent on her bed, trying never to think about all the men 
that had also been there during the day and had forced 
themselves onto her lover. She loved everything about 
Binta. Every freckle, every dimple, every blemish. She 
loved Binta's body: so slim, so elegant, so perfect. She 
loved the sound of Binta's voice and its assertive tone. She 
loved the feel of Binta's long hair as it fell over her own 
naked buttocks, the warmth of her skin, the salty taste of 
her sweat, and the ivory hardness of her teeth nibbling her 
skin. Ana was so lucky to be in love with someone as truly 
perfect as Binta, and honoured that her love was so 
abundantly reciprocated.

Being in love made her days in the office so much more 
bearable. She hated it when Mr Madir made his usual 
coarse comments, a cigarette forever lit and inserted into 
his cigarette holder, and dark bristles outlined against his 
pale greasy skin. "That new girl," he might say. "She's got 
tits like melons even if her face is like a monkey. But when 
you're stoking the fire, as they say..." Or he might say: 
"You're no boiler, Ana sweetheart, not like these bloody 
Deltas we've just taken on. Pity the client who can't afford 
better. Let's hope they're blind, eh?" Or he might say when 
a prostitute had left his office after one of his mysterious 
interviews: "Wooahh! If they all had her talents, we'd be 
pricing ourselves right out of the market!"

These comments were bad enough, but even worse was his 
irrepressible tendency to touch her on the flimsiest of 
excuses. Her bottom might be pinched if he found her 
bending over to pick something up. His hand would brush 
uncomfortably against her breasts. He might place a hand 
firmly on her knee and she would be forced to go through 
the humiliation of asking him to remove it, against his 
assertions that there was something decidedly wrong with 
her or his accusations that she was just an intolerable prude. 
Sometimes he even greeted her as 'the tight-legged Ana' or 
'the convent girl secretary' or, most foully of all, 'cock 
teaser'. However, Ana learnt to ignore these remarks and 
put out of her mind his rather too frequent suggestions that 
she boost her income by taking on some part time 
prostitution.

"I just don't want to, Mr Madir," Ana replied firmly. "I'm 
quite happy with what I'm earning at the moment."

"Perhaps I should give you a pay cut," suggested the 
Director unkindly. "Then maybe you'd be less happy and 
more willing to take an active part in the work of this 
Brothel."

"I wouldn't do it if it were the only way to earn a living!"

"But it's not a bad living. Khedra's told you all about its 
benefits, hasn't she? I simply can't understand your 
reluctance. I'm sure you'd make the perfect working girl."

Ana shook her head vehemently. "Not now. Not ever. I'm 
paid to work as a secretary and that's all I want to do!"

"You're a tough nut to crack!" smiled Mr Madir with grim 
good humour. "And I thought Inta was bad enough. Are 
you sure I can't persuade you to regard the opportunities 
provided by the Brothel in a more constructive light?"

Ana was sure that he couldn't, but fortunately the Director 
was not in the reception area of the office for most of the 
day and she could get on with her duties without worrying 
about him too much. However, whenever he appeared, a 
spark of electricity would shoot up her spine and she could 
feel the colour vanish from her cheeks. Most of her time 
was occupied in the minutiae of organising correspondence 
and filling up the Director's diary with all the duties he was 
expected to perform. Some of the Director's tasks took him 
out of the Brothel for days on end and involved meeting 
illustrious members of the government or civil service. 
Often his work kept him in other parts of the building for 
what purposes Ana didn't know, didn't care and was simply 
relieved that he was absent. Sometimes the Director left the 
office in the afternoon with a bag of golf-clubs and hideous 
smelling cigars which he thankfully rarely smoked when 
Ana was around. On these and other occasions, Ana felt 
particularly happy and worked so much better, her stray 
thoughts focused entirely on her lover.

Often Ana and Binta would meet together in the canteen, 
particularly when Binta's working day finished late. Ana 
would leave the office, and make her way along the 
tortuous series of corridors that the Director had escorted 
her on her first day and were now so very familiar that she 
often paced her walk by counting off the rooms she passed. 
She had become so used to the array of green and red lights 
above the rooms and the sight of women tottering by on 
their punishing stilettos, that it surprised her when it 
crossed her mind as to what it all purported. She would be 
greeted cheerily by the canteen staff, who had a particular 
affection towards her, probably because she was one of the 
very few people who frequented there (especially after 
working hours) who was not a prostitute. They would often 
pass kindly words regarding the weather or whatever they 
had seen on television.

Ana would take her cup of coffee and sometimes a cake to 
nibble, and almost always sat in the same position against 
the wall where she could most easily spot Binta when she 
arrived. While waiting, she would sip her coffee slowly and 
watch the other girls in their red and black leather, lace and 
acrylic gather in larger groups, cackling in coarse bawdy 
humour and inevitably light up an array of cigarettes as 
soon as they sat down. They might notice Ana and stare at 
her, as well they might as no one else wore such obviously 
modest clothes as she. Some recognised her as the Director's 
secretary and were particularly friendly to her. Ana had 
come to realise that although at first the prostitutes might 
seem threatening or not altogether wholesome, once she 
had any dealing with them - perhaps in arranging travel 
expenses, holiday pay or sterilisation fees - they never 
seemed like mere prostitutes again. She felt excluded from 
the girls' lives, and evidently this was a gulf that was mostly 
respected and honoured.

It might be as much as two hours that Ana would wait for 
Binta: a wait that became increasingly agitated as she 
wondered what might be detaining her. She might read a 
newspaper to pass the time, although she often found the 
adulatory articles about President Marmeluke and the 
wisdom of his policies somewhat tedious. There was always 
a story about an alcohol bust, the shamefulness of the 
dealers and the wretched lives of alcohol takers. Most 
articles seemed perversely remote from the world that Ana 
knew, especially of the Brothel which was never once 
alluded to, although it always pleased her to read about 
her home district of Rif. Even there, the articles about new 
dams, educational schemes and agricultural initiatives 
appeared to have little or nothing to do with the Rif with 
which she was familiar.

After a torturously long time, Ana was delighted to see the 
naked form of Binta appear, followed by the still 
disapproving stares of more fully dressed girls, who would 
greet her from the distance with a smile. She wandered 
over to Ana, who noted how much her face was disguising 
a degree of frustration and agitation.

"I'm sorry I'm late but Kesira, my shift supervisor, kept 
me," Binta remarked, standing by Ana's table. "There'd 
been another complaint from a client about my 
performance. He'd said I was too quick and wouldn't do 
what he'd asked me to do. That might be true, but I'm not 
obliged to do everything they ask me to do. That'd be 
horrid! Kesira said that if I wasn't careful, I'd be 
downgraded to a Beta Minus or even a Gamma Plus, but 
why should I care? It's not as if I actually get paid 
according to my grade, or any other grade for that matter. 
And I long gave up believing I'd actually gain any remission 
for pretending to be more enthusiastic."

"Do you think you might be downgraded?" wondered Ana, 
who couldn't understand why her lover wasn't graded an 
Alpha or an Alpha Plus if beauty was the sole criterion.

"I don't know. I don't care. It's all theoretical. I don't think 
they would though. They earn more from me if they keep 
my grade up. Anyway, I'll get a cup of coffee. Do you want 
one, Ana sweetest?"

Ana nodded and watched as her lover wandered over to the 
counter, ordered herself a couple of cups and chatted idly 
with the girl behind the counter. As a prisoner she didn't 
pay for anything she ordered in the canteen, and when she 
ordered anything she ensured that Ana didn't pay either. 
She strolled back holding the two cups, placed them on the 
table and sat down opposite Ana, briefly stroking her legs 
under the table as a substitute to the kiss on the mouth that 
would be so unwise to publicly indulge in. Binta didn't want 
to add any substance to the suspicions she felt her 
friendship with Ana might have already engendered.

"I hate working here!" Binta declared again. "But there's 
not too many more months of my sentence left, and then I'll 
be free to lead my own life and not have to suffer all these 
disgusting men. And would you believe that at the same 
time as saying I'm no good at the job, they've already 
started sending me career advice to persuade me to stay 
working here when my sentence finishes?"

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" gasped Ana, who 
more than anything else wanted to end the nightmare of 
suppressing her worries of what her lover was enduring 
from her clients every day.

Binta squeezed Ana's knee affectionately under the table. 
"Of course not. Every single client is a hell I never want to 
repeat. I'm sure they do it automatically. In fact, didn't you 
say that they've even approached you?"

"Yes, but I couldn't! I wouldn't!"

"Of course, you wouldn't!" Binta agreed reassuringly. "And 
I wouldn't either. They always want more prostitutes to 
replace those who leave, like I will soon. And when I leave, 
we'll live together and forget this horrid place altogether."

Ana nodded. "Then I'll be able to leave too. I wouldn't have 
to work for that odious Mr Madir just to be able to see 
you. It'll be wonderful, won't it? The two of us together. 
We could lead an ordinary life and be a normal couple..."

"Well, almost a normal couple," remarked Binta with a 
sardonic smile. "We could walk the streets of the city. We 
could sit in cafes and see the world. And I'll be able to wear 
clothes again. I haven't worn a stitch for so long."

Binta glanced down at her naked body which had the even 
tan she cultivated in the Brothel sun beds. Ana wasn't at 
all sure she wanted even the smallest part of her lover's 
gorgeous body hidden from sight, but she recognised that it 
would be totally impractical to be a full-time naturist 
working and living anywhere else in Alif.

"And I'll be able to show you Rif," Ana remarked. "It'd be 
so nice to introduce you to my family and friends."

"And perhaps I could show you Jebel," Binta countered, 
"even though I'm not too sure I ever want to go there 
again. It's beautiful. It's the most beautiful place you can 
imagine. But after the way I was treated there, and the way 
people would treat me if I returned, I don't think I could 
face it. Although it would please me so much if you were to 
see my home. I think about it so often." Binta dropped her 
head sadly, and grasped Ana's hand for reassurance. "I may 
never see it again though."

"I'm sure you will," said Ana, without conviction.

"Perhaps Zabba is right. Perhaps we will have to make our 
life in Blad. What do you think of Blad? I see so little of it 
from inside here in the Brothel. I'd never visited it before I 
came here. Do you think we could make a life here?"

"Of course we could. We'd have to find a new flat 
together, because I wouldn't be able to stay in my present 
apartment if I left the Brothel. But it wouldn't matter what 
it was like or where it was, as long as we were together, 
and the Brothel was far behind us. Our life would be so 
much better. I could visit Jebel and you could visit Rif, and 
we would live in Blad during the week. We would go to 
bed together, and wake up in the morning and work in 
different places. We could cook together, see films 
together, sit in cafes together. We could spend every 
moment of our lives together when not at work."

Binta smiled broadly. "That would be so good. Life would 
be so fulfilling. No more Pimple. No more Khedra, Kesira 
or whoever. No more filthy minded, unhygienic clients. An 
ordinary life and someone to share it with. It seems such a 
modest, such a simple ambition. Surely, it isn't too much to 
ask for. Even if we do have to live in Blad!"

"Oh dear!" sighed Ana. "You're not really that keen on 
living in the city are you?"

Binta smiled sadly. "Not that keen. I'd much rather live in 
the country again. I am still a country girl, and I don't feel 
any enthusiasm for Blad's noise, hustle and bustle. I'd prefer 
the country air, the blue sky, and everything else I miss 
from Jebel. But Zabba is right, there's nowhere else in Alif 
we could live as a couple without being found out again by 
snooping neighbours, and then we'd both be incarcerated in 
a brothel or prison. And, anyway, how would I get a job in 
the country with my criminal record?"

Ana nodded her head. "But do we have to live in Alif? 
Couldn't we live in Agdal? Ketaba thinks it's a pretty good 
place and we wouldn't have to worry about breaking the 
law there. We could really lead ordinary lives."

Binta's face lit up. "I suppose you're right. It's obvious 
really. Just because Ketaba's so keen on it doesn't mean it 
wouldn't be any good for us. Nobody would hold my 
criminal record against me in Agdal, and we could be just 
like an ordinary couple. But I can't believe it can be that 
easy. I can't see the Alif government letting us leave. And 
why would the Agdal government welcome us? They've 
already got plenty of people much better qualified than 
either of us who can bring a lot more wealth with them. 
And if we had to bribe our way in, how could we afford to 
do it? I haven't got any money. Have you?"

"Well some. But not very much."

"Ketaba can afford to go to Agdal. She earns a lot of 
money. But even she says it's expensive. I don't think we 
could. We won't be able to get the papers together, we 
can't afford it and I don't know that they'd even want us 
anyway."

Ana sighed disconsolately. She picked up her cup and 
sipped at the coffee. "It would be nice, though, if we could. 
Ketaba's photographs were very nice. Agdal seemed such a 
lovely place. It'd be good just to have a holiday there. And 
there's an awful lot of countryside. There are mountains and 
hills, just like in Jebel."

"A lot more mountains than Jebel, I'd have thought. Jebel's 
not really that mountainous. And Agdal's by the sea as well. 
I'd love to see the sea. All that water! And sand as well! We 
could sit under palm trees on the beach and watch the sun 
come down. Oh! It would be so nice to live somewhere like 
that. And we could be open about our love for each other. 
We wouldn't have to be secretive. We could kiss in public. 
We wouldn't have to pretend to be just friends. And people 
wouldn't think we were perverts if they knew. They'd just 
accept it! Think how different my love affair with Mezyana 
would have been if we'd lived in Agdal rather than Alif."

Binta stroked Ana's knee, but seeing her longing gaze Ana 
did not feel at all reassured. She still felt unsure about her 
role in Binta's life after her meeting with Mezyana, and 
often felt the heavy weight of guilt whenever she reflected 
on the love that the novice still expressed towards her 
lover. It had been so difficult reporting her meeting, and not 
only because of the pain the encounter caused her. She felt 
anguish as she observed Binta's great interest and concern 
towards her former lover. Could she be so certain that she 
wasn't merely a temporary aside in Binta's great lifelong 
romance which would be revived once both of them had 
finished their sentences?

"If we had lived in Agdal," Binta mused, "we would never 
have been parted. We could have been like a married 
couple. We would never have had to hide our love from 
other people." She looked into Ana's eyes and must have 
noticed her discomfort. "Oh, Ana! Oh, sweetheart! Oh, 
dearest! Don't think that just because I love Mezyana ... 
loved Mezyana ... that my love for you is any less strong. 
She is in my past, and had we not been separated by the law 
who knows what might have been? Who knows? But that is 
only speculation. What matters is our love together. Don't 
be jealous of Mezyana. We're together. And that's what 
matters! Isn't it?"

Ana nodded. "That's what matters!" She stared at her cup 
sadly and then looked up imploringly. "Oh, Binta! Please 
stay with me. Please say you'll always love me. I couldn't 
bear to be without you. Your love for me is the most 
precious thing in my life. Everything else is unimportant. 
Please always love me. You are my whole life." She was 
conscious of tears welling inside her eyes, and of sniffles 
coagulating in her nostrils. "Please always be with me. I 
love you so much!"

"And I love you!" insisted Binta, looking rather sad and a 
little guilty. She squeezed Ana's hand under the table so 
tightly that their palms sweated together. "Don't ever 
think otherwise. I love you. And I want you more than you 
could possibly know. Just don't ever believe anything else."


	19

Ana and Binta stood by the bars enclosing the Brothel 
garden and watched the city streets below in the long 
evening shadows. Even now, long after the working day 
was over for most people, life was busy in Blad. Ana 
sometimes found it quite reassuring: but now she was 
somehow finding it irritating. Couldn't Blad ever sleep or 
rest like a normal place? Why did it have to be so 
permanently lively? She expressed her thoughts to Binta, 
whose arm was surreptitiously around Ana's waist, 
confident that the corner of the garden they were standing 
in was safe from prying eyes.

"After all these months, you're still very much the country 
girl!" laughed Binta. "You'd rather have the quiet of a rural 
evening. Crickets and cicadas in the evening sun. A 
perfectly black sky and none of the ceaseless roar of traffic. 
Perhaps that's why I love you! You're just like me!"

Ana sighed. "You're right! It still doesn't seem right to me. 
I'd love to live in the country again. Rif. Jebel. Khlib. It 
doesn't matter where. That's all I really want."

"And yet you want us both to settle in Blad!" objected 
Binta.

"It's not what I really want. It's just what we have to do. 
What is important is that we stay together! Everything else 
is irrelevant."

"And so it is!" agreed Binta with a smile, kissing Ana on 
the ear, snuggling her face into Ana's hair. "Just you and I! 
Nobody else. Just us!"

"It would be perfect. Away from the Brothel. Our own flat. 
We could cook dinner together. We could watch television 
together, stretched out on the sofa. We could share the 
evenings together in the parks and cafes..."

"And best of all we could make love all night together! 
With no fear of other people knowing what we do. And 
with no obligations to anyone else at all!" exclaimed Binta, 
taking Ana's ear in her mouth and running her tongue 
around its crevices. "Wouldn't that be perfect!"

Ana blushed. Binta was so right. That was very much what 
Ana looked forward to more than anything else with a 
yearning that ached in her bosom more than she dared 
admit to herself. However much she rationalised her love in 
terms of the more domestic and mundane, what really 
drove Ana's love was much more carnal and she was still 
not sure whether she should be so unashamed about it. Not 
only was she in love in a more physical way than she'd ever 
believed was truly right, it was for a woman. With a sudden 
spasm of guilt, she disengaged herself from Binta and 
walked towards a corner of the garden bars where she 
knew that they would be within sight of the young Delta 
who was bent over her flowers with a trowel and a small 
plastic bucket. She glanced at the girl who was looking up 
and, despite her PAR, seemed quite attractive in the late 
evening light. It was so unfair, Ana mused, that 
appearances which couldn't be helped had become such a 
currency in the Brothel. But, at the same time, she thought, 
as the girl lowered her head and the bright sparkling eyes 
and full cheeks were hidden and her clumsy awkward body 
became more the object of her attention, there must be a 
reward for those like Binta blessed with more than their fair 
share of beauty.

She turned to regard Binta, who was clearly rather put out 
by Ana's sudden dismissal of her. She was so beautiful! The 
eyes. The hair. That body. Every inch of her was beyond 
comparison. Ana must be the most fortunate girl in the 
world to be privileged with a lover as beautiful as Binta. 
She smiled broadly, and glanced again at the Delta. Binta's 
breasts, her hair, even such details as the slenderness of her 
ankles and the sinuousness of her legs made her so much 
the better in comparison. It may be unfair on the Delta to 
think such unflattering things, but beauty is so much better 
appreciated when contrasted with those that fall short of its 
high standards.

"What are you thinking about, Ana darling?" Binta asked in 
genuine concern.

Ana bowed her head, and in the process took in the sight of 
the whole of Binta's naked body. A pang of emotion and 
love stabbed her breast and very nearly caused her to burst 
into tears. "I was thinking about you," she admitted. 

"Nothing bad, I hope?" joked Binta.

Ana looked up with a sad smile. "I love you so much. And I 
love you more and more. How can there be so much love in 
me? Nothing I do. Nothing I ever say. Nothing. Is enough 
to express my feeling for you!" She approached Binta, who 
withdrew discreetly behind a small palm tree and out of 
sight from the Delta who was gazing rather vaguely in 
their direction. "I never knew love could be so strong!"

"Oh Ana! Oh Ana!" exclaimed Binta, pulling Ana towards 
her and kissing her long and forcefully on the lips and inside 
her mouth. Ana felt her entire body tremble in the closeness 
to Binta's naked body, ignoring the possibility of being 
seen, surrendered totally to the vagaries of her passion.

Ana's hands wandered down Binta's naked body and 
clutched her buttocks in her palms. As she did so she 
envisaged her body as she now knew it so well, spread out 
on the bed receiving her caresses with such gratitude and 
returned with so much passion. She felt her love swell as 
the image grew in her mind. She possessed Binta's body. 
But, and the thought sent another much less pleasant spasm 
through her, it was also a body she shared with so many 
others. She tried to banish the image, but it stayed in her 
mind, even while Binta's tongue explored inside her mouth. 
The hairy buttocks. The taut sinewy hands. The swelling 
gut. The harsh bristles on a man's chin. The thoughts 
became too much. She pushed herself off Binta and with no 
warning burst into tears. She covered her face with her 
hands, but the tears still came. Her face felt ugly with 
unhappiness but she couldn't stop.

"What's wrong now, Ana? Why are you crying? Has Mr 
Madir been particularly bad today?"

"No. It's not that!" Ana sobbed. "In fact, I've not seen him 
at all today. I wasn't thinking about him at all!"

"So what's troubling you, sweetest?"

Ana looked up. Could she voice her feelings? The very idea 
of what was troubling her sent a fresh spasm of emotion 
through her frame, and the tears resumed.

"Tell me! What's wrong?" demanded Binta, resting a hand 
on Ana's shoulder. "Why are you crying? What's upset 
you?"

"Nothing. It's nothing!"

"There must be something. You can tell me. You must tell 
me. If anyone should know it's me."

Ana looked steadily into Binta's concerned wide eyes. "It's 
you! It's what you do. All those men. Those horrid men! 
Every day. Hour upon hour. How can you?"

Binta nodded with reluctant understanding. "It doesn't 
mean anything, Ana. You must believe me. It's not choice. 
It's not what I want to do. It's what I have to do. It doesn't 
diminish my love for you. If anything, it makes my love for 
you that much the stronger. I don't enjoy it. You know that. 
I hate every second of it. It's horrid. It's disgusting. It's 
demeaning."

"But you still do it..."

"I'm not here by choice. The clients mean nothing. They're 
less than nothing. There's only you. Believe me!"

"But they do it to you. They do it every day. While I sit in 
the office, typing letters and taking notes and addressing 
envelopes, there are men, every day, while I think how 
wonderful you are and how much I love you!"

"My thoughts are with you when the clients do what they 
do, Ana. It becomes more bearable to think of you and how 
much better it is with someone I love. Someone who loves 
me. When they come into my room, take off their trousers - 
their bellies swelling loose and the smell of sweat - and then 
come on top of me, snorting and grunting like pigs... it's 
you my thoughts focus on."

"Are you saying that you think of me when your clients are 
making love to you? Am I just there to make it more 
bearable for you?"

"No, not at all. Well, yes, I mean. I don't know!" stuttered 
Binta. "Yes, I do think of you when I'm servicing my 
clients. But I don't mean that I think of you and them in 
anything like the same way. It's not the same at all. It might 
be in a sense. It's sex I suppose. And sex is sex, whether 
you enjoy it or not. But love makes all the difference 
between it being hell and heaven. With you, it's heavenly. 
I'm in paradise. That's because I love and respect you 
and I can't bear to be parted from you. But with them..." 

Binta paused. She turned round and looked out through 
the bars of the garden at the rooftops opposite. The dusk 
was setting in. Street lamps were coming on, and light 
emanated from behind the curtains of the residential blocks 
opposite. A car drove by and cries from a crowd of young 
men echoed across the streets. Ana walked up to Binta, and 
put an arm around her bare waist. There was a tiny shudder 
from Binta's buttocks as she did so. Binta wasn't crying, but 
her eyes had a drained look about them.

"I hate them so much, Ana! You must believe me. I hate 
the Brothel. I hate everything to do with it. Each day I 
count off: thinking only of the end of my sentence. I look 
forward to our meetings together. And those days when we 
don't meet... Those are the worst days! I feel lonely. 
Isolated. Surrounded by enemies. Okay, the other 
prostitutes - some of them - are all right. Zabba. Ketaba. 
Ferhana. They're company. They're people I can talk to, and 
who listen to my worries. But they're just friends. And 
often not really that. And the clients. They don't count. 
They just break up my days: and a good day is when I can 
forget them altogether. A good day is when we meet and 
spend the nights together. Please believe me. You are more 
important to me than you can imagine."

"But so many men! And you can't say that you don't enjoy 
it! You enjoy it with me. How can you not enjoy it with 
them?"

"It's different. It's not the same thing at all. I hate men. I 
despise and loathe them. I didn't before I worked here. I 
just didn't think about them very often. They were just 
there. I was, I suppose, just indifferent. So I had no strong 
feelings about them. In fact, I sometimes thought there was 
something wrong with me: not liking them in the way a 
woman is supposed to. I thought maybe that I would get to 
like them more if I got to know them better. But it's not 
been like that. At all! The more I've seen of them, the more 
clients I have, the more contempt, disgust and revulsion I 
feel towards them. I know that Ketaba and Zabba say I 
should make more allowances for them. Even Ferhana says 
that men are more to be pitied than despised: but if you 
knew men like I know them, then you would hate them too. 
If it weren't for men, this world would be a so much better 
and healthier place. And Alif is a true man's society where 
women can only be either whores or mothers, and never 
anything that they might otherwise choose to be."

Ana nodded. She so much wanted to believe Binta. 

Her lover frowned: "I've been thinking about what we were 
discussing the other day in the canteen about Agdal. Do 
you remember? I've been thinking that perhaps I should 
be more positive about emigrating there. I don't know how. 
And I don't know at what cost. But it must be possible! 
People do emigrate. They do somehow manage to do it. There 
must be a way. And it must be a prize worth having. Living 
there would be such a neat, such a perfect, solution to 
our dilemma."

"Our dilemma?" echoed Ana, staring deeply into Binta's 
wide green eyes.

"Yes. That we want to live together. That we both want to 
live in the country together. In Alif, we can do one or the 
other, but not both. And we may not even be able to find 
jobs outside Blad even if we did live in the country. And 
what sort of life would it be for us in this big city? In 
Agdal, all that would be past. We could live like ordinary 
lovers. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Ana smiled broadly. "Yes, it would! It would be paradise. 
Oh, I do hope it's possible! But what can we do to get 
there?"

"I don't know," admitted Binta. "I really have no idea. 
Agdal's only over the border, but it might as well be 
another planet. But I can ask. The other girls here might 
know. Ketaba might. She's been there enough times. She 
knows what's involved in going there as a tourist. Perhaps 
we could go as tourists ourselves and just not come back. 
We'd be illegal immigrants, and we'd have to get terrible 
jobs where nobody was bothered about our papers: but it'd 
be better than staying here. Maybe Ferhana might know. 
After all, she's an immigrant herself. She might know what's 
involved. Even if I find nothing at all, it's worth asking, isn't 
it?"

Ana felt hope rising inside her. This must be the solution, 
she thought. There would be no problem about language in 
Agdal, and it was known to be a wealthier country than 
Alif. All that tourist money and all those industries Agdal 
was famous for. With so much wealth, maybe there'd be 
some spare for Binta and her.

"Do you think I could get a job as a secretary there?" she 
wondered. "I've gained a lot of experience here. And I'm 
sure there'd be more jobs for secretaries in Agdal than Alif. 
They've got many more offices and businesses."

"Perhaps," nodded Binta. "Perhaps. If we got work permits, 
we could do anything. I don't know what I could do. 
Perhaps I could study at college - maybe part time - and 
get a qualification I can use. I might become a secretary 
too. Or perhaps something better paid than that: I wasn't at 
all bad at school, and if I worked hard I'm sure I'd get 
something." She smiled broadly, and hugged Ana tightly to 
her chest. "That must be the answer. I can barely wait. The 
idea is giving me hope. I'll finish my sentence here, and 
when I'm free we'll do whatever we have to do to get to 
Agdal. I don't care what it is, I'll do it. I'll even sell my body 
if necessary!"

Ana flushed with alarm: "You wouldn't do that, would 
you?"

"It's what I do now, and I get nothing for it!" Binta gazed 
into Ana's sad round eyes. "Don't take me seriously. I'm 
only joking! I'm just saying that I'll do anything - well, 
nearly anything for us to live happily together! Wouldn't 
that be simply wonderful?"

"Yes! It would be!" exclaimed Ana, feeling a wave of joy 
tingle through her body. "Agdal is where we'll go. You're 
right. It must be so. A country where we can live a normal 
life. Oh! I so hate Alif. It's such a cruel unforgiving country. 
But in Agdal we can be happy. Won't we, Binta?" 

Her lover nodded and pulled Ana so close to her that her 
head rested on her shoulder. Ana looked over it, through 
the bars of the garden, over the tall buildings of the city in 
the early evening dark towards the red aura of the last rays 
of sunset, where she fancied were the tall snow-capped 
mountains, the golden beaches and the friendly faces of 
Agdal. They'd be there soon, she reflected. Hand in hand 
along the beach, listening to the sea lapping against the 
shore, not a care in the world. It just had to be! 

	20

"Have some more, Ana. Go on!" urged Bezaffa, who with 
no real prompting from her guest poured some more 
whisky into the glass Ana had in front of her. "It's good 
stuff. The best! Cost me a great deal, I can tell you."

Ana focused uncertainly on the glass. This form of alcohol 
was much more potent than the wine she had when she'd 
visited Ketaba, and she'd been quite unprepared for how 
much more intoxicated it had already made her. But she 
was undeniably developing a taste for it, especially when it 
was diluted with this other strange substance called soda, 
which Bezaffa added to it to make up the volume. She took 
a small sip from her glass and studied her hostess, who was 
sitting opposite her in a white gauze dress that flowed 
over her voluptuous contours and did nothing to disguise 
the details of her body underneath. Ana smiled as she felt 
that curious slight burning sensation at the back of her 
mouth that the wine she'd shared earlier had never done.

"Aren't you glad now that you accepted my invitation?" 
Bezaffa said soothingly. "A pleasant meal and a pleasant 
drink. What could be more delightful?"

"Not many things," Ana slurred unevenly. "But why, if it's 
so good, does the government make it illegal?"

"President Marmeluke's government makes everything nice 
illegal," Bezaffa replied. "It doesn't stop them, or anyone 
with means, from partaking. They just don't want the 
ordinary person to have any part of it."

"Thass not fair, issit?" Ana slurred. "Why should there be 
one law for some and another for the others? Surely, 
everyone should be able to do the same things."

"That's very idealistic, Ana sweetheart. Money and power 
will always make accessible more pleasure to some than to 
others. I should know. I'm priced right out of the reach of 
most of the Brothel's clients' reach. And that's only right, 
you know. What joy for the privileged would there be in 
having access to certain things, if everyone could have 
them? Some things must be set aside in even the most 
perfect of societies."

Ana felt in no mood to argue. "I'm sure you're right."

She had at last succumbed to Bezaffa's repeatedly made 
invitation that she come and visit her. Now she was here, 
she wasn't at all sure why she'd resisted for so long. Bezaffa 
had indeed been the perfect hostess and her home was the 
most delightful place she'd ever seen. It was a sprawling 
building in the Honey suburbs, further out than Ketaba's flat 
and altogether more affluent again. Like all the homes in 
the avenue, Bezaffa's was surrounded by a high wall topped 
with a murderous fringe of broken glass, but once past the 
wall, the home was very splendid and clearly remarkably 
expensive. How could Bezaffa afford it? Even on her 
income as an Alpha Plus, the large car parked in the 
gravelled drive, the expanse of garden and the many 
bedroomed house must have been a strain to maintain. And 
once through the porched door, past the maid who was 
relieved of duty as soon as Ana arrived, the house was even 
more splendid. The rooms were massive, the fittings and 
furniture sumptuous, and the portraits on the wall chosen 
with a masterful eye for aesthetic quality. Ana stood in the 
hallway trembling with a sense of her own lowliness as she 
regarded the broad staircase leading up to the first floor and 
the sheer spaciousness of the house. She was intimidated by 
the ostentation, but also felt somewhat honoured to have 
been invited.

Ana leaned back in her chair and tried fixing her gaze  
on Bezaffa who wandered about somehow in her vision. 
She focused her eyes on Bezaffa's chubby round hand which 
rested on the table delicately holding her own glass by the 
stem. She examined the little dimples at the knuckles of 
each delicately tapered white finger rooted in the roundness 
of her hand. From the hand, her eyes followed the smooth 
contours of Bezaffa's marbled arm, dimpled again at the 
elbow and slightly indented by the pressure of the table 
beneath her forearm. She brought her eyes up further, and 
rested them on the fullness of Bezaffa's breasts swelling 
under her dress, the nipples of which were not in the 
smallest part obscured. They were breasts so very different 
from those of Binta's or Ketaba's - other than her own, the 
only breasts she'd observed for any length of time. Bezaffa's 
nipples were quite simply enormous, but perfectly 
proportioned on the curves of the bosom that boasted 
them.

Ana became uncomfortably conscious that her gaze had 
lingered perhaps too long on a very private feature of her 
hostess's body. What must Bezaffa think? She knew that 
ever since she had become aware of her feelings towards 
Binta she had viewed other women's bodies in a way she 
had never consciously done before. She was sure, or very 
nearly sure, that these ruminations didn't represent any 
lascivious intent. It was just that her curiosity about 
women's bodies had increased dramatically now that she 
had come to have such an intimate association with one. 
But she told herself vehemently that the one love in her life 
was Binta, and it was unthinkable, it was wrong, it was 
immoral, to even contemplate the love of another woman. 
It would wholly and unutterably break the trust cemented 
between her lover and her. She gazed into Bezaffa's face, 
above the round gracefulness of her ivory neck, and noticed 
with a start that her eyes were gazing at her with an 
expression of indulgent contemplation not at all unlike that 
which she'd associated with Binta as they lay together in 
bed.

Ana didn't know what to say. She looked unsteadily into 
Bezaffa's round blue eyes which continued to stare at her 
steadily but not unfriendlily, framed by long blonde hair 
that flowed over her shoulders and above the round orbs 
of cheeks dimpled like her knuckles by the broadness of a 
toothy grin. Bezaffa raised the back of her other hand to 
brush a likewise dimpled chin. She brought it to her mouth 
and licked off the trail of whisky that had dribbled down it 
unseen, staring at Ana as she did so.

"So, tell me, Ana sweetest, are you ever distressed by 
Binta's criminal character?"

"Criminal character?" repeated Ana.

Bezaffa smiled. "Come now, cherry, you know what I 
mean. Binta isn't working at the Brothel like you or me. 
She doesn't do what she does either for a living or as a 
vocation. Nor does she apparently relish what she does ... 
that much."

"No, she doesn't," agreed Ana, who even through the haze 
of the alcohol noticed Bezaffa's uncertain lingering on the 
last few words.

"She's in the Brothel because she's a criminal. She's broken 
the law, and as a criminal she has been sentenced for it. 
Doesn't that distress you?"

What was Bezaffa trying to ascertain? "Why should it 
distress me?"

Ana's hostess stood up slowly and wandered over to her hi-
fi cabinet where Ana was for the first time aware that the 
compact disc she'd been playing had just finished. Bezaffa 
had kicked off her high heels, but still walked in an elegant 
restrained way that emphasised the wiggle of her round 
buttocks, and Ana noticed with a shock, that under her 
dress she appeared to be wearing nothing even on her lower 
portions. Bezaffa leaned over and sorted through the 
various discs she had.

"I only ask, dearest Ana, because you and Binta are such 
close friends. I have always thought it excellent that the 
administrative staff and shop floor workers of our noble 
concern should be close associates of each other. That, after 
all, is why I am so very happy that you have agreed to visit 
me in my humble abode. It can only be a good thing for our 
two enterprises to be linked by mutual respect and 
understanding. And Binta is such a darling, don't you think? 
Such an absolute sweetie! I've always enjoyed my 
conversations with her, although I suspect she rather 
dislikes my more enthusiastic attitude towards my chosen 
career."

She selected a disc, carefully extracted it from its casing 
and gently placed it in her player. She stood back, pointing 
a remote at it, and watched as the disc slid into the machine 
and started playing the soothing and harmonious strings of 
classical music. She turned round and faced Ana who was 
relieved to see now that Bezaffa had, after all, covered her 
crotch with what was still undeniably a very flimsy cloth. 

"So, my darling Ana. Does Binta's criminal character ever 
trouble you? Do you mind associating so closely with 
criminals?"

Ana blushed. "But what Binta's done is in the past. It's 
behind her now. And anyway isn't what she's done no 
worse than what we're doing now? Drinking alcohol? That's 
illegal, isn't it?"

Bezaffa wandered back to the table, sat down again by her 
glass and the generous display of cakes in the huge cake 
stand. She daintily picked a chocolate eclair and put it 
slowly and lasciviously into her mouth. She took a huge 
bite out of it and chewed it speculatively. 

"Yes, drinking alcohol is a crime. Indulging in it, and, 
worse, trading in it, attracts a very severe penalty as 
dearest Ferhana has found to her cost. But alcohol 
trafficking is not the crime for which sweetest Binta 
has been convicted, is it?"

"But it's surely no worse than indulging in alcohol?" 
pleaded Binta uncertainly.

Bezaffa swallowed the last remnants of the eclair, and 
smiled indulgently. "Are you saying then that sexual 
depravity is no worse than the occasional indulgence in 
wine? Are you saying that an activity which automatically 
implicates more than one person is better than a vice which 
can be indulged in solitarily?"

Ana was puzzled. What answer was she supposed to give? 
What was a safe response? She had no clear idea what 
Bezaffa's attitude towards lesbianism was. Was it as 
censorious as Ketaba's, however inconsistently she 
maintained her professed views? Or was it as indulgent as 
Zabba's? How free with her opinions could Ana afford to 
be? After all, Bezaffa was known to be fairly friendly with 
the Director and Khedra. 

"I don't know. I don't know what to think. But it's not that 
Binta can help being what she is. She'll always be that way. 
Trafficking in alcohol is something that you choose to do. 
It's not something that you can't help doing."

Bezaffa frowned. "Are you saying that sexual deviant 
behaviour with others of the same sex as yourself is 
somehow justified because of a person's predilections? Isn't 
that a bit suspect? Should alcohol be legal just because 
people have a taste for it? Extending the argument, couldn't 
theft and murder be justified just because people have a 
tendency to indulge in it? I'm not sure I like the thrust of 
your opinions, sweetest."

"It's not that!" sniffled Ana, confused by the alcohol and 
her hostess's remarks. "It's not that at all. I just think that 
something to do with love and affection and understanding, and 
being kind to one another, and having only good thoughts about 
another person, and wanting to be with that other person all 
the time: that can't be wrong. It can't be a real crime, 
whatever the government says!"

Bezaffa reached out a hand and the warm softness of it 
enclosed Ana's free hand - the one not nursing the glass of 
whisky. "It's not the love that is condemned, Ana my love. 
It's the practise. Nobody really believes that Binta will be a 
reformed character when she leaves the Brothel and will 
never again lust after other women. What the government 
hopes is that she won't actually indulge her illegal lusts."

"I just don't think it's fair! It's wrong to condemn someone 
to what Binta's been condemned to for what she'd done. 
It's not right."

"I take it that you condone her actions then, cherry? Well, 
don't worry. I won't hold your opinions against you. 
Morality and criminality is a shifting scenario. What's illegal 
here is legal there and often almost expected. What may 
be legal today was illegal yesterday and may be again 
tomorrow. Ethics and the law has never been my field, 
Ana my love. The greatest crime Binta committed, I 
believe, is allowing herself to be caught. That in itself has 
caused misery to herself, her friends and her family. I have 
no opinion on Binta's character or her actions. Just as I 
have none on yours. But shall we sit on the sofa? It's a lot 
more comfortable you know!"

Ana was pleased to recline on a more comfortable seat, but 
almost immediately regretted it. The luxuriousness of 
Bezaffa's sofa somehow made the effect of the whisky more 
potent. The room appeared on the verge of a spin it never 
actually carried through. She placed the whisky glass on the 
glass coffee table, vowing not to take another drop of it. 
Bezaffa sat opposite her on the other sofa, the folds of her 
dress flowing about the cushions, and smiled at her steadily 
and silently. Ana felt a little overdressed. The alcohol made 
her feel a little hot and bothered, so she undid her cardigan 
and laid it beside her, revealing the new white cotton blouse 
she'd felt obliged to buy for a visit to Honey. She looked at 
Bezaffa whose eyes were now closed and relishing the sound of 
the string quartet emanating from her loudspeakers. Ana 
consciously noticed the music for the first time, and found 
it strangely melancholic and wistful. She leaned back in the 
sofa, her chin against her chest and her hands spreadeagled 
to support her, while focusing her thoughts on the various 
string instruments. Bezaffa opened her eyes and smiled at 
Ana in a sleepy reassuring way.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, Ana honey," Bezaffa 
said abruptly, "but have you quite definitely ruled out the 
idea of part time work as a working girl?"

Ana blinked her eyes in vague disbelief that her hostess 
should be asking such a question. 

"You mean as a prostitute?"

"Well, yes. As a prostitute. Like me. Like Ferhana, Zabba, 
Ketaba and the other girls of your acquaintance. Like, 
indeed, your beloved Binta. Have you seriously dismissed 
the option and opportunity of such extra work?"

"Yes I have. Very seriously. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just idle speculation. Such a pretty 
young girl as you. You'd do so well at it. And it's not 
such a bad job, you know. Plenty of girls work part-time at 
the Brothel. Not just enthusiasts like Khedra. Housewives. 
Undergraduates. Inta, your predecessor. Why not you?"

"I couldn't. I just couldn't. The idea of it ... It's horrid. I'd 
hate it!"

"You don't know for sure until you try. It's such a natural 
thing to do. It can be so much fun on occasion. What have 
you got against it? The hours? The pay? Those aren't at all 
bad. What is it that puts you off?"

Ana blanched. The whisky made her feel very unsure of 
herself. What was it she didn't like? "All those men. Those 
horrid hairy men. Their hands all over me. What they'd do. I 
just couldn't bear it!"

"It's not that bad you know, cherry. But I think that your 
reluctance might be to do with inexperience. Forgive me if 
I'm wrong, but I sense that you have had no real knowledge 
of lovemaking at all. Except with your beloved Binta. 
You're still a virgin, aren't you? You've still not enjoyed the 
full attention of a man's caresses."

Ana nodded her head. What was Bezaffa saying about 
Binta? Was it so very obvious that she and Binta ...? 

"Is it that you don't have any interest in men? Like Binta? 
Surely not."

"I'm not sure. I don't know what to think. I just look at 
men, especially those who come to the Brothel, and I just 
don't feel any ... you know ... I just don't think of men as 
being the sort of ... I just don't know what I think!"

"No. I can see that," purred Bezaffa reassuringly. "Many 
girls think like you before they gain any experience, 
sweetest. It doesn't mean that you wouldn't enjoy the 
attention of a man any less. It just takes time."

"I don't know. I just don't know," repeated Ana sadly. She 
sat up in the sofa, resting the weight of her elbows on her 
bare bronzed knees. "I used to think about men. Well, some 
men. But I never thought of them in a ... in a ... I always 
thought of them in a romantic way. Buying flowers. Being 
kind and protective. Being comforting. Not as what they 
are when they come into the Brothel."

Bezaffa stood up and wandered over to the sofa where Ana 
sat. She placed her heavy weight on the cushions beside her 
and placed a comforting bare arm around her shoulders. 
Ana felt the warmth and softness of her hostess's skin 
through the blouse's fabric. 

"It's quite natural to feel confused, Ana. One's sexual 
identity is never a simple thing. If anything, my years 
at the Brothel have taught me that. You mustn't let it 
trouble you unduly. I've had many moments of indecision 
and insecurity myself."

"You have?" asked Ana, hardly noticing Bezaffa's plump 
hand take one of hers in its grasp.

"Yes, I have. When you make a living as I do from selling 
your body for the carnal satisfaction of men, it can't help 
but make you think, can it? I've often sat alone at home 
surrounded by all the many things my successful career in 
prostitution has let me afford, wondering about it. But I 
am nonetheless certain that I have made the right career 
decision and one for which I have been amply rewarded. 
How can something be wrong if it brings such great 
satisfaction?"

Ana had heard that argument put forward before, but by 
Binta in justification of the love she and Ana shared. This 
recognition only added to the confusion she felt. She 
looked down at her small hand wholly swamped by the firm 
round fat of her hostess. She turned her gaze to look 
directly at Bezaffa, who was smiling at her in a curious 
way, her eyes betraying an interest that puzzled her. 

"I'm frightened of men," Ana confessed. "I just don't know 
what to think about them. And I'm even more frightened of 
the thought that, as a prostitute, I wouldn't know who I'd 
be making love to on any day. Men are so intimidating. I'm 
so afraid."

"Indeed, you must be!" smiled Bezaffa kindly. She eased 
her arm around to grasp Ana more firmly around her 
furthest shoulder and brought her round to rest in her 
voluptuous breasts. "You mustn't be so scared. Familiarity 
is all you need. They're not so bad, really. You must believe 
me, cherry. Men are not demons!"

Ana felt swamped by the massive wealth of Bezaffa's 
bosom, but found it at the same time so very comforting 
and reassuring. With little prompting, she put her arms 
around as much of Bezaffa's waist as she could and held on 
while her hostess gently stroked her hair. Ana felt one of 
Bezaffa's monstrous nipples press hard against her ear 
through the thinness of the dress and listened intently to the 
gentle heaving of Bezaffa's breath, which pressed her 
bosom against the contours of her face.

"You're such a sweet, ... such a pretty ... little dear, aren't 
you, cherry?" remarked Bezaffa in a strangely contorted 
voice. "So pretty. So vulnerable. So delightful." 

She lifted Ana's chin off her bosom and gazed into her eyes. 
Ana was charmed by their pale blueness, the softness of the 
cheeks and Bezaffa's tiny little nose, so dwarfed by the folds 
of her dimpled skin. She smiled deeply, feeling a warmth 
transmit itself through her skin and into the very depth of 
her soul. 

She didn't know how that smile did it, but it became the 
inevitable prelude to a passionate kiss with her hostess, full 
on the mouth, which unbalanced the two of them, causing 
them to roll over on to the length of the sofa, Bezaffa's 
tongue deep inside her mouth and her hands gradually 
shedding her clothes. Bezaffa's own dress came off with the 
barest of difficulties revealing a body of incredible 
whiteness and fullness. It somehow seemed so natural. So 
right. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was a deeper 
longing inside her. Ana, in a sense, didn't want to know. All 
she knew and all she cared was that she was enjoying 
another woman's body with just as much pleasure as, and 
just maybe more than, she enjoyed Binta's.



	21

The pain in Ana's head pulsed hard against her forehead and 
brought a flush of sweat to her cheeks and brow. She 
opened her eyes gradually, blinking in the additional pain 
inflicted on her sensitive constitution by a bright shaft of 
sunlight illuminating the bedroom and shining on the satin 
sheets that covered her legs and the mattress beneath her. 
Where was she? What was this strange bed?

Suddenly aghast, she remembered details of the night before 
and her lovemaking with Bezaffa. How could she? How 
could Binta ever forgive her? How had she allowed herself 
to be so led? It must have been the alcohol. She looked 
around the room. It was empty, but from a room further 
down the corridor she could hear the sound of a man 
talking on the radio and the relentless hum and roar of a 
washing machine. How much had she had to drink? This 
unpleasant nauseous feeling in her head and noxious sharp 
taste in her mouth must be what was known as a hangover. 

The nausea rose inside her chest, making her belch in a 
revolting way that brought small fragments of digested food 
to the back of her mouth. She placed a hand on her chest to 
restrain herself, but it got no better. Indeed, a sharp pain 
focused itself between her eyes, sweat burst out on her 
forehead and her stomach burst into an unpleasant life of its 
own. She realised with horror that this was a prelude to 
being sick. God! Where was the toilet? She must get there 
before she soiled the sheets. She jumped out of the bed, 
covering her mouth with her hand and dashed naked into 
the corridor. She looked up and down its length, and saw a 
door marked by a small floral plaque which she somehow 
remembered as Bezaffa's toilet. She ran in, knelt down in 
front of the latrine and spent several uncomfortable minutes 
relieving herself of surprisingly little vomit. She coughed 
and spluttered, the small foul-tasting solids she'd brought 
up refusing to be dislodged from her mouth.

She eventually felt able to leave the bathroom and gingerly 
eased the door open to see Bezaffa, in a voluminous silk 
dressing gown, standing by the kitchen where the sounds of 
the radio and washing machine came from. 

"Are you all right, love?" she asked with a tone of concern.

Ana nodded, covered as much of her breasts and crotch as 
she could with her hands and ran back into the bedroom to 
look for her clothes. They weren't there. Not on the floor. 
Not on the chair. Ah! They must still be in the living room, 
she thought, hurriedly dashing out of the bedroom to come 
straight up against Bezaffa who had wandered down the 
corridor towards her bedroom.

"My clothes..." she explained embarrassedly, vainly trying 
to disguise her immodesty.

"They're in the wash, dearest."

"The wash?"

Bezaffa smiled. "You probably don't remember, you poor 
little child. You were terribly sick last night. All over your 
clothes! So, I've put them in the washing machine..."

"But what do I wear? I can't stay like this!"

"Nonsense, Ana. There are no secrets between us anymore. 
You don't have to hide your pretty assets from me!"

Ana wasn't at all convinced. "I must put something on."

Bezaffa took Ana by the shoulders and pulled her close to 
her breasts. She gently kissed Ana on the cheeks and lips, 
while firmly pushing Ana's arms down. 

"Don't be such a silly! You can't put on your clothes until 
they're clean, can you? And anyway, how is your current 
nudity any different to that which I got to know so very 
intimately last night? Don't trouble your pretty head about 
them. Do you want some breakfast?"

Ana shook her head. "I don't think I could. I'm sure I'd just 
be sick again."

"You might be right," remarked Bezaffa thoughtfully. 
"How about some coffee and orange juice? That'll make 
you feel better. I'll get some paracetamol as well. Your 
head must be really splitting. You really aren't used to 
alcohol are you, cherry?"

Ana had no spirit to argue, so she allowed Bezaffa to lead 
her to the living room and sat naked in the sofa while her 
hostess disappeared into the kitchen again. Out of sight 
from her hostess, she was more able to relax and 
concentrated her miserable thoughts on how she had 
betrayed her trust to Binta. She must never know! It had 
been such a ghastly mistake. It was all the fault of the 
whisky. She would never have succumbed otherwise. All 
she wanted to do was collect her clothes and return home. 
She bent her head down to examine her sore and powdery 
crotch. She would run the bath water, and just lie in it until 
the water was cold and every last vestige of her 
transgression washed away.

Bezaffa returned to the living room carrying a tray with 
several glasses and cups on it. She placed it down on the 
coffee table, her dressing gown parting slightly to reveal her 
own nakedness underneath. Ana blushed at the thought of 
the close intimacy with it she had so recently enjoyed. 
She was no better than a slut, she reflected with self-hatred. 
Bezaffa handed Ana a glass of water and two powdery 
tablets, which were gratefully taken and swallowed with 
almost the whole of the glass of water in a series of very 
rapid gulps. She wasn't sure whether it was the water or the 
tablets which began to relieve her nausea and the dryness in 
her mouth.

She smiled gratefully at Bezaffa and picked up the glass of 
fruit juice, holding it in two hands, her body crouched 
forward. 

"Feeling better, dear?"

Ana nodded, and was about to reply, but was abruptly 
halted by the sound of the doorbell which rang through her 
weakened frame in agonising spasms of dread. Who could 
this be? Bezaffa silently got up and wandered into the 
hallway at the end of the corridor, while Ana relaxed 
slightly. It must be the postman or someone like that, she 
reasoned. She needn't feel so alarmed by just a doorbell.

However, her fears seemed well-justified when she 
overheard the sound of women's voices of which one was 
clearly Bezaffa's, and the other she wasn't at all sure. 
Perhaps just a friend of Bezaffa's. Surely she wouldn't let 
this woman into the living room. She became aware 
however that this was exactly what Bezaffa was going to 
do.

"She's a little worse for wear!" Bezaffa remarked with a 
chuckle. "And her clothes got into a frightful state. She just 
couldn't hold her drink at all!"

"And she's in here, is she?" the other woman replied. 

Ana's heart leaped violently into her throat. She grasped 
the largest cushion on the sofa she could find and huddled 
it against her chest in the hope that it would afford her 
some modesty. It was Khedra! What was she doing here?

Khedra strode into the room, wearing what must have been 
her casual clothes, but still very smart for that. A silk blouse 
and tight trousers which came short of her calves. Her hair 
was tied back in a green bow. 

"Hello, Ana dear. Bezaffa told me you might be here. And 
goodness me! Not a stitch on you! Indeed, just like your 
friend, Binta."

Ana nodded slightly, her cheeks red and a fresh flush of 
nausea rushing to the back of her eyes. "I'm terribly sorry. 
This must be very embarrassing!"

"Not at all!" replied Khedra with a broad grin. "I've often 
wondered what you might look like underneath your office 
uniform. And I must tell you, I'm not at all disappointed. 
You're a very pretty young girl. You may even be an Alpha 
Minus. Undeniably a Beta Plus."

"I'm neither of those things!" Ana retorted bitterly. "I'm a 
secretary. Those grades don't mean anything to me."

Khedra twisted her lips into a crooked smile and without a 
word lowered herself into the sofa opposite Ana. She had a 
briefcase and a robust plastic carrier bag overflowing with 
bulky items which she placed on the cushions beside her.

"An Alpha Minus for appearance definitely," remarked 
Bezaffa amiably to Khedra. "And if her performance is as 
good for more normal activity as it is for the more exotic 
variants, I'd say a Beta Plus there at least."

Ana's eyes opened wide. What was Bezaffa saying? Wasn't 
she confessing to Khedra what they'd been doing? Why was 
she doing that? She looked up at Bezaffa with alarm, who 
nonetheless smiled at her amiably. "Drink your coffee, dear. 
It'll make you feel much better. It'll certainly wake you up." 
She grinned conspiratorially at Khedra. "Ana really didn't 
get that much sleep last night, you know!"

"What an active girl!" Khedra remarked approvingly. 
"That's what we like in our girls. Stamina! Technique 
comes with practise, but stamina is rarely improved on. 
Have you got any coffee for me, Bezaffa sweetheart?"

"Why, of course," said Bezaffa, rushing off to the kitchen 
abandoning Ana to Khedra, who leaned back in the sofa, 
smiling contentedly and with amusement at Ana's obvious 
plight.

"You really mustn't think I'm bothered about your modesty, 
Ana. I see working girls every day in all states of undress 
and quite often in activities far more immodest than nudity 
in itself could ever be. If your clothes are in the washing 
machine, that's quite sufficient to me. I would never 
construe your nudity as an invitation of any kind." Khedra 
scratched the back of her head. "And anyway, I don't share 
your predilections, dearest. The law is quite wasted on me."

Ana looked down at her bare feet on the carpet. If only 
Khedra would leave. If only she could leave. She was so 
embarrassed. Perhaps if she looked away from Khedra long 
enough, this humiliation could end. 

"And you still won't consider part-time work in the Brothel, 
dear?" Khedra wondered, taking no notice of Ana's 
attempts to ignore her. "Or perhaps our delightful hostess 
has convinced you otherwise. Surely, she's told you of the 
very many advantages of it. Has she, Ana? Tell me. Don't 
pretend you can't hear me!" Ana raised her head and glared 
at Khedra. Go away! Her thoughts commanded. 
"Goodness! Such a mean stare! You don't like me talking 
to you about these things, do you? Did you like it more 
when Bezaffa spoke to you about it? Answer me. Did she 
speak to you?"

Ana nodded.

"And have you changed your mind?"

Ana shook her head.

"Well!" sighed Khedra. "You are a stubborn girl, aren't 
you? Quite willing to break the law when it suits you, but 
not willing to gain honest extra employment!"

The doorbell rang again. It echoed through Ana's numbed 
skull and jolted a spasm from her throat which again 
threatened to introduce undigested matter into her mouth. 
She swallowed hard, and looked anxiously towards the 
door. She was horrified to hear the sound of a man's voice 
when Bezaffa opened the front door. Her horror was 
further exacerbated when she recognised the voice as 
belonging to her boss, Mr Madir. What was he doing here? 

Bezaffa escorted him into the living room, carrying another 
tray holding three cups of coffee. Ana realised with another 
shock that both the Director and Khedra had been 
expected. Why was that? Had it anything to do with her 
being there?

"Well, m'dear!" remarked the Director, bareheaded but 
wearing a suit, carrying with him the sweet smell of 
cigarette smoke. "Fancy meeting you here! And so 
delightfully turned out, don't you think, Bezaffa? I told you 
I thought she'd have a good pair of tits on her. Not as truly 
magnificent as yours, but good all the same. If you like 
them small and pert that is!"

Ana hid her breasts as well as she could, and felt utterly 
humiliated. She was imprisoned behind the cushion she grasped 
to her chest, and quite incapable of standing up and leaving 
the room. 

"What are you doing here?" was the only response she could 
muster.

"Is that the best way in which you can greet me? I must say, 
Ana m'dear, you haven't learnt the respect that a man of 
such a position as I has come to expect. Perhaps your 
dykish tendencies have also perverted your sense of respect 
and good manners. And take that silly cushion off your lap. 
If you think, m'dear, that you've got something to hide I've 
never seen before you are most sorely mistaken."

"Don't be so hard on the girl," remarked Khedra amiably. 
"She's not used to meeting men in the buff..."

"Doesn't stop her hanging around with Binta or Ketaba, 
does it?" sneered the Director. He sat on the sofa next to 
Khedra and took a cup of coffee from the tray. He took 
three or four teaspoonfuls of sugar from a sugar bowl, and 
stirred them vigorously in his cup. "So, Ana m'dear, here 
we all are! Such a delightful gathering don't you think? And 
you so well turned out, if you don't mind me saying so. 
Couldn't find your knickers, then?"

"They're in the wash," Bezaffa explained. "She was very 
sick last night."

"Too much booze, eh? Honestly, m'dear, if you're going to 
break yet another law of this land, you really should ensure 
you've got the stomach for it." He stubbed his cigarette out 
in an ash tray that Bezaffa placed in front of him. "So, 
m'dear, I dare say you're wondering why we're here?"

Ana stared at her boss. What was the reason? She couldn't 
find enough of her voice to confirm his conjecture. She 
nodded her head.

"I like a challenge, m'dear. That's the truth of it. I don't like 
things to be too easy. It doesn't give me enough pleasure. 
It's better to climb a mountain than a hill, as they say. When 
I'm confronted with a challenge, I'll persevere. I won't give 
up. Inta, your predecessor, was a challenge at first, but in 
the end she succumbed all too easily. Much more easily 
than you, m'dear, I'll give you that." The Director took his 
silver cigarette case out of his waistcoat pocket and 
carefully inserted a cigarette into his cigarette holder. He lit 
it with his petrol lighter and asked Bezaffa, while puffing 
out a fresh cloud of grey smoke: "And was our little prude 
a challenge for you last night?"

"Not at all!" Bezaffa chuckled, glancing at Ana with a smile 
lacking the friendliness she'd previously associated with her 
hostess. "A couple of drinks. That's all it took!"

"A real dyke slut!" sniffed the Director contemptuously. 
"Keeps her legs crossed for the men, but opens them wide 
to a pretty woman! Well, Bezaffa m'dear, you certainly won 
that wager, eh? No flies on you, eh? And what do you 
reckon of our little piece of dyke fluff. Good performance 
rating?"

"Not bad!" Bezaffa confirmed. "Not bad at all! Good 
appearance, too!"

"I can see that! Well, almost see it. How long are you going 
to keep that cushion on your lap, m'dear? Do you really 
think it makes the blindest bit of difference to me whether I 
see your furry mound or little titties? I'd abandon it if I 
were you."

The cushion was the only friend Ana had in the room and 
she was loath to lose what little protection it afforded her. 
She shook her head vehemently.

"Anyway, m'dear, I like a challenge. I'd like to see you 
participate more fully in the work of the Brothel. And now 
that you have demonstrated to darling Bezaffa that you 
aren't at all the tight-arsed virgin you pretend to be, I really 
don't see now why you shouldn't do so. Khedra has quite 
kindly brought along with her literature and other material 
that might persuade you to do your bit and work part-time 
in more active service in the Brothel's interest. Isn't that so, 
Khedra m'dear?"

"Indeed it is!" announced Khedra, placing the briefcase 
onto her lap and decisively snapping open its locks. The 
briefcase opened to reveal glossy brochures and booklets. 
"I have here the training manuals and information we supply 
to all our recruits, with particular emphasis on what the 
Brothel offers to part-timers and what in return the Brothel 
expects from them. I think you'll agree it's a very 
attractive offer. One that you really would be a fool not to 
accept."

She pulled out the literature and laid it carefully on the 
table. Ana looked at the remarkably coy covers. They 
showed photographs of prostitutes, some of whom she 
recognised, in their work clothes, greeting clients and 
chatting amiably among themselves. Khedra picked one up 
and handed it to Ana who took it in her hands and resting 
the cushion against her tummy flicked through the pages. 
This one was rather more informative than any literature 
she'd seen before on the subject, showing women with 
rather more of their bodies on display than she'd ever before 
in her life seen in print. The chapters had headings like: 
Greeting the Client, Anticipating a Client's Wishes and 
Personal Health and Hygiene. She flicked through the pages 
feeling alternate flushes of heat and shivers as she imagined 
herself in such positions.

"I couldn't possibly!" she remarked. "Never. Never."

"Come on, m'dear," continued the Director. "It's not as bad 
as you seem to think. If it were, then nobody would ever do 
it. It's just a job. Wouldn't you agree, Bezaffa?"

"It is. And a good one at that! You really ought to think 
more seriously about it, Ana. It'd do you no harm at all. 
And the money's very good."

"Have you seen the rates, Ana?" asked the Director.

Ana nodded. 

Khedra elaborated: "I've been through all that with her. 
She knows how attractive it is."

"And she knows that in addition she can easily more than 
double her income with gratuities from grateful clients. You 
could be rich, m'dear. You could very soon be able to 
afford a house nearly as nice as Bezaffa's. You're young. 
You're pretty. A bit of hard work and you'll soon see the 
benefits. You could have foreign holidays, buy a car, go to 
the opera - you'll have more money than you'll know how 
to spend. What do you think, m'dear? Would you like to 
take the opportunity that's laid out in front of you?"

Ana bowed her head down and pinched her forehead which 
had started aching again. The painkillers' effect seemed to 
have totally evaporated. All she wanted was to get away. "I 
don't want to. I just won't."

"You get excellent backup service," Khedra recommended. 
"Frequent checkups. Sick leave. Maternity leave. A creche 
if you wanted it..."

"She won't need that!" snorted Mr Madir. "Dykes don't 
have babies. They're frigid. It's scientific fact."

"Maybe," responded Khedra sceptically. "Anyway, Ana, 
sweetheart, there is really nothing to worry about. Frequent 
counselling. Training to improve your performance rating. 
Advice to maximise the quality of your appearance. And 
these in turn will maximise your earning potential. And for 
someone like you that could be quite significant." She 
turned to face Bezaffa. "Would you say she's technically 
intact?"

Bezaffa nodded. "Pure as the driven snow. Technically."

"We can of course confirm that in the standard medical. 
That in itself is an asset of quite inestimable value, Ana 
m'dear. Your first takings could set you up very nicely. 
There is a large demand, wholly impossible to fully satisfy, 
for the right species of inexperience, Ana. You have done 
well if you have indeed maintained your internal intactness, 
for which there is a considerable bonus and, no doubt, quite 
a sizeable gratuity from any client who enjoys your 
premiere performance."

"And the gratuities are tax free, m'dear. The Brothel has an 
unofficial policy of passing a blind eye on any such extra 
income. It is believed that it adds extra stimulus to the 
quality of service provided and improves staff morale..."

"...And much of it gets returned in the form of purchases 
from the staff shop," added Khedra. "The goods on offer 
being very much in demand in the service of the client."

"So, Ana m'dear, what do you say?"

"No. No. Absolutely not!" Ana spluttered, a fresh rush of 
nausea rushing to her head. She pushed back her head in 
the hope that it would subside, but instead her stomach 
began to heave with a mind of its own. Her eyes flooded 
with tears as she reflected on her humiliation and 
helplessness. A salty trail trickled down her cheeks.

"I think the poor girl's going to be sick," remarked Bezaffa. 
"I'll take her to the bathroom." She leaned over and put a 
comforting soft arm around Ana's shoulders. "Come along, 
Ana dear. It's alright. Don't you worry!"

Ana gazed up at Bezaffa with pitiful gratitude. She leaned 
against her hostess's large soft body as she raised herself, 
the cushion clutched tightly to her breasts, and allowed 
herself to be led to the bathroom, averting her eyes from 
Mr Madir's leering lecherous gaze. As soon as she was in 
the bathroom, she threw aside the cushion and flung herself 
onto the floor in front of the toilet bowl, leaned her elbows 
on the edge and coughed frantically to relieve herself of the 
vomit she felt must be waiting to emerge. She was quite 
disappointed to find none appear. Her sickness was more 
psychological than physical. 

As she knelt there, Bezaffa tenderly stroked her bare back. 
"There there!" She said reassuringly. "It's nothing, see. 
Nothing at all. It's just a hangover. People have them all the 
time in countries where alcohol is legal. Perhaps you can 
see now why President Marmeluke's government has 
proscribed such poisonous substances in Alif."

Ana stood up, certain now that there was nothing to be 
gained from her endeavours. "Why? Why?" she pleaded. 

"Why what, sweetest?"

"Why am I being treated like this? What have I done? Why 
are Khedra and the Director tormenting me?"  She wrapped 
her arms around Bezaffa, feeling again the warmth and 
softness of the body which had tempted her so fatefully the 
night before. A fresh gush of tears, partly stimulated by her 
efforts over the toilet bowl, released themselves onto her 
cheeks. She sniffed miserably.

"Oh, Ana. You're getting it all wrong! Mr Madir and 
Khedra are not tormenting you. The idea of it! They're 
simply explaining to you the advantages of part-time extra 
work in the Brothel. It's really not that big a deal! And 
surely you must admit that there are plenty of good reasons 
why you should take the offer. It could truly make you 
quite rich."

"Why can't they understand I'm just not going to? I just 
couldn't. Why don't they leave me alone?"

"Well, there's quite a premium commission for recruiting an 
attractive girl like you. Particularly one who's still intact. I 
daresay the Director and Khedra wouldn't mind sharing it 
between them..."

"And you too!" accused Ana bitterly. "Is it just for money 
then?"

"Well no, it isn't! And you are most unfair to suggest that I 
comforted you last night simply to share the commission. I 
really find that most offensive. Although I make love with 
men every day, it really is not often that I am tempted by 
the attractions of my own sex."

"Is that so?" sniffed Ana. Perhaps she hadn't just been used. 
Perhaps there was still some love and tenderness left in her 
world. 

Bezaffa smiled indulgently. "Of course, Ana. You are a 
truly attractive young lady. I almost envy Binta. She's 
succeeded in winning your love where many men have 
presumably tried and failed."

"What do you know about Binta and me?" Ana sharply 
demanded.

Bezaffa looked a little put out by Ana's direct accusation. 
"Nothing. Nothing. It's just what I surmised, cherry. 
Nothing more. Come here, sweetest! You're amongst 
friends." She pulled Ana's naked body to her chest and her 
pale blue eyes explored her face. Ana melted under 
Bezaffa's gaze, as she smiled broadly and allowed her to 
take her mouth in hers and to once again sink her tongue 
inside. Bezaffa's chubby dimpled hands caressed Ana's 
smooth slim naked back and gently squeezed her buttocks. 
A warmness crept inside Ana's chest, thoughts of fidelity to 
Binta forgotten in contemplation of the humiliation still 
waiting for her in the living room.

"Come come," said Bezaffa softly. "We can't possibly 
indulge here. Not with our bosses waiting for us in the 
living room!"

"I don't want to go back in there!" Ana announced. "I don't 
ever want to go back. Can't I just leave now! Go home 
without facing them again!"

"Really, cherry! With no clothes! You'll be arrested within 
minutes. Indecent exposure is a crime you know. You'll just 
have to wait until your clothes are washed and dried."

"Couldn't I borrow some of your clothes?" pleaded Ana. 
"Then I'd be decent and I'd be able to escape." That was all 
she wanted to do. Flee and return to her Jadid flat. She 
wanted her life to simply return to what it was. Her 
infidelity forgotten and she back snuggled in Binta's arms. 

"That really isn't possible!" Bezaffa exclaimed with a 
dismissive chuckle. "My clothes are far too large for you. 
They would just drop off. You're just a flimsy skinny rake 
in comparison to me." She stood back, her arms 
outstretched and her hands still gripping Ana's shoulders. 
"Look at me, sweetheart! Nobody could ever accuse me of 
being thin. I'm definitely not the delicate slender reed that 
you are! The idea of it!"

She pulled herself back onto Ana and caressed her face 
again with her tongue and lips. "But I'm naked!" Ana 
exclaimed.

"As I said, you're amongst friends here. And anyway, 
cherry, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Your body is so 
beautiful and desirable. I could just eat you up!"

"I want to go home. I don't like being seen like this!"

"Nonsense, dearest. Absolute nonsense. And anyway 
shouldn't you at least listen to what Khedra has to say. 
After all she's gone to an awful lot of trouble to come here 
and explain to you the advantages of part-time 
employment. Surely it's only courtesy to listen."

"I don't want to. I've already made my mind up. And I've 
said so many many times before. Never never never!"

"You are a stubborn thing, aren't you?" chuckled Bezaffa. 
"I can't help but think that you've really just 
misrepresented things. There's no plot to humiliate you or 
force you to do things you don't want to do. You're 
perfectly within your rights just to listen and continue in 
your obstinacy. No harm will come to you, I'm certain. You 
surely can't blame Mr Madir and Khedra for trying to 
persuade you to do something which is so indubitably to 
your advantage."

"But I don't like them to see me naked!" Ana persisted.

"Oh well! Is that all!" sighed Bezaffa. She picked up the 
large white towel that hung from the electric towel rack and 
had been pleasantly warmed by it. "Do you want to cover 
yourself with this, then?"

Ana nodded. That would be better than nothing. Ana 
gratefully wrapped the towel around her breasts and held it 
in place with a large knot. It was not clothing, and Ana still 
felt very vulnerable, but it was so much better than nothing 
at all.

Bezaffa smiled amiably: her pale blue eyes shining 
seductively. "So now, cherry, you have no excuse for not 
coming into the living room and listening to what Khedra 
has to say."

	22

"Well well! No longer the naturist, m'dear!" jeered the 
Director, as Ana was sheepishly escorted back into the 
room by Bezaffa whose arm was firmly round her waist.

"Don't mind Mr Madir," said Khedra soothingly, frowning 
at her colleague. "We're both very grateful that you have 
agreed to come back. This won't take long. I've just been 
setting up a video for you to watch, so make yourself 
comfortable in the sofa next to Bezaffa and we can watch 
it."

"Video?" wondered Ana, obediently sitting down and 
thankful for Bezaffa's continued support and reassurance. 
She glanced at the video disc player underneath the 
television where an open plastic case lay by the carrier bag 
Khedra had brought along with her. The television showed 
a blue screen, blank except for a little number in the bottom 
right-hand corner.

"A training video," Khedra explained. "We show it to all 
our new recruits. It's part of the training routine and not 
normally shown to the public..."

"Although export sales are very healthy!" the Director 
remarked with a grin.

"Export sales?"

"Yes, Ana," Khedra continued. "The Brothel is proud to be 
able to sell its products abroad. We are happy for 
institutions like ours to benefit from our high quality of 
training product..."

"And not just brothels," interjected the Director. "The 
private market is very healthy."

"And indeed it is," agreed Khedra, "but Ana isn't here to 
learn about the Brothel's export initiatives. This video, and 
others like it, should reassure you that the services the 
Brothel provide are of a professional nature and we take a 
professional's pride in proper training, employee care and 
customer satisfaction. This video is called A New Life and 
it will show you what the life of a working girl, whether full 
or part time, can be like."

She picked up a remote control and pointed it at the video 
player. The disc began to whirl and the screen crackled into 
a chaos of interference. After a few seconds, the screen 
reorganised itself into an image of a smiling woman in her 
early thirties wearing an elegant jacket and skirt, carrying a 
briefcase and with the title of the film appearing over her 
head. 

"A New Life," she echoed. "And that is the exciting 
challenge you have chosen. A life of great rewards - both 
material and social - but one which needs to approached in 
the right way. And that is what this film will help you do, 
by outlining how to get the best out of your new career 
and at the same time provide your clients with the 
satisfaction they crave."

The video continued in this vein, as the woman, Muhathila 
Idrus, explained such important aspects of a prostitute's 
work as Courtesy to the Client, Being Prepared and Proper 
Hygiene. In all of this there was little to hint as to the actual 
nature of the service the prostitute provided. The only 
suggestions were the dress the prostitutes wore and the fact 
that all their clients seemed to be men: ones, in fact, 
astonishingly courteous, well-dressed and surprisingly 
good-looking. Ana had rarely seen clients such as these in 
the foyer of the Brothel when she came to work in the 
morning or when she went home. Most clients she saw 
were unprepossessing: badly dressed, often overweight, 
frequently balding and most often middle-aged. They were 
usually far less courteous or thoughtful than those in the 
video who would unfailingly shake hands with the 
prostitute and smile in a welcoming way that made it seem 
as if it was the client who was providing the service rather 
than the prostitute. 

The advice provided gave no insight into the concerns 
Binta expressed. Indeed it seemed more like common sense than 
anything else. The novice prostitute was advised to shower 
herself after every client's visit, tidy herself up and 
remove any off-putting odours that might trouble the next 
clients. 

"After all," said Muhathila, standing by a shower with a girl 
wearing a towel quite as large as the one Ana was wearing, 
"your next client doesn't like to think that he isn't the 
first to have made your acquaintance that day. It's only 
courtesy. And as we have said before, courtesy is critical 
for success in your new career."

The video finished after nearly half an hour, with Muhathila 
once again repeating the film's key points. The Director 
looked extremely bored, preferring to thumb through the 
promotional literature rather than view the film itself. 
Khedra had a fixed expression on her face. She'd obviously 
seen the video many times herself, but kept a watchful eye 
on Ana.

"So what do you think?" she asked as synthesised 
incidental music twiddled over the credits. "You can see 
that the profession is really not so bad at all."

Ana sighed. "I know what it's like. I've spoken to people. I 
know people who work as prostitutes. It's nothing like 
what the video says it is."

"Of course, it is, Ana dear," Khedra insisted. "All the points 
made in the video are absolutely valid. As a prostitute you'd 
be a fool not to follow them."

"But I'm not a prostitute. And I never will be!" Ana 
insisted. 

The Director sniffed. "She's right, you know," he said to 
Khedra. "It's not all like that. Show her some of the harder 
stuff."

Khedra glared at Mr Madir. "Not yet." She turned back to 
address Ana. "Life as a prostitute isn't all work, you know. 
There are plenty of fringe benefits." She walked over to the 
video player, removed the video disc and replaced it in its 
case. "And you will be making a lot of money." She 
selected another video disc from her bag and slipped it in 
the video machine. "This will tell you about the career 
prospects and advantages of the profession."

"But I already know about them..." Ana protested.

"No harm in hearing about them again," smiled Bezaffa, 
squeezing Ana's arm affectionately. Ana nodded, but still 
believed she would feel happier when this ordeal was over 
and she could go home. 

Khedra sat back on the sofa next to the Director, pointed 
the remote at the video disc and let it play. This one was 
called In The Money and featured another smartly dressed 
woman, this time in her early forties and with a habit of 
pulling documents out of an attache case she carried around 
with her. Amongst other things, this video featured 
information on the classification system used in the Brothel, 
and how prostitutes could progress up to higher grades and 
better pay by paying sufficient attention to their appearance 
and performance.

A very pretty girl was featured in the Brothel gym 
practising on the equipment and then turning obediently to 
Mrs Zhunia, the presenter, to explain how through exercise, 
skin care and Brothel-sponsored surgery she had enhanced 
her rating from a Gamma Plus to an Alpha Minus, and how 
much difference it had made not only to her income, but 
to her self-esteem. Ana had never seen this girl in the 
Brothel and didn't believe she was an actual employee, 
but even so she doubted whether it was humanly possible 
to make such a leap in one's PAR. The general pattern 
was more often downwards through the grades, rather than 
upwards. Part of her function as a secretary was to 
forward complaints from prostitutes bitter at dropping a 
grade or so, and demanding reappraisal.

Other advantages of working as a prostitute were the 
facilities at the Brothel ("Free to employees but so 
expensive elsewhere!"), the pension scheme, staff discounts 
and favourable mortgage loans. Each one of these 
advantages appeared to give Mrs Zhunia a frisson of 
delight: "I really can't understand," she remarked at one 
stage in the video, "why I hadn't chosen this career myself!"

Ana was pretty sure, or felt she was sure, that she knew 
why she'd never opt for the career. The video made no 
reference at all to the kind of work the prostitutes did to 
deserve such good remuneration, and those featured were 
dressed in ways that were more appropriate for working in 
an office or walking in the park. The nearest suggestion 
was Mrs Zhunia's occasional reference to "working hard" 
or "not giving up", which implied that there was indeed 
some effort involved in attaining these lovingly specified 
luxuries.

"Well, did you learn anything from that?" asked Khedra 
hopefully as the video disc slid out on its drawer.

"Not really," admitted Ana, hoping that this was the last of 
her ordeal. 

"What do you expect?" scoffed the Director. "She knows 
all that stuff. Show her the real thing, for goodness sake!"

Khedra sighed, but selected a video entitled A Loving 
Profession. "The Training Services Division of the 
Brothel tries to do the best for its trainees and part of this is 
to provide practical training for its recruits. We don't 
believe in just sending out our working girls with no 
practical knowledge of what is expected from them. Much 
of this training is necessarily theoretical, particularly for 
those who are intact as you are, Ana dear. Videos are an 
invaluable tool for this, though of course we also provide 
demonstrations and some class work. This video is one of 
those we use to demonstrate techniques of customer care 
and is, I warn you, rather explicit."

At first, Ana wasn't too sure what Khedra meant by this last 
remark. The video began very much like the last two except 
that the woman presenter was an anonymous figure who 
wasn't seen at all, but had a gruffness that suggested that 
she was neither young nor inexperienced. This time the 
prostitutes were featured in the kinds of work clothes Ana 
was more familiar with: a bizarre collection of underwear, 
stockings and lace. The clients were again untypically 
young and handsome, and when they bared their torsos, 
which they did fairly early on, revealed a musculature which 
few actual clients could ever lay claim to. It came as a 
shock though when the video proceeded towards its actual 
subject matter, as the clients removed all their clothes and 
the prostitutes removed their knickers and opened their 
legs. 

Ana became aware that she was watching film of actual 
sexual intercourse. She had never seen videos which even 
featured nudity: the Alif government had made 
pornography illegal and possession of it was a serious 
offence. The display of genitalia or breasts was explicitly 
banned and even the hint of nudity would be excised from 
any film that dared to include it before it reached the 
cinema. Now Ana was seeing not just nudity but sexual acts 
which were explicit and graphic, filmed from angles that 
left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Curiously enough 
the prostitutes themselves could hardly be described as 
naked. Throughout the filming they retained their stockings, 
even their shoes, and it was rarely that their breasts were 
revealed. But the breasts were not the main object of the 
camera's attention, as groins were pushed together in 
repetitive, even monotonous, thrusts.

There was a soundtrack over the top of this activity as the 
anonymous presenter explained exactly what was going on, 
how the prostitute was achieving certain effects and the 
results this provided for client satisfaction. Ana hardly 
heard it at all. Her eyes were transfixed at the horror at 
what she was seeing. At least it was horror when she first 
saw these images. So, that was what men and women did 
together. She was even more determined never to 
participate herself. However, after a while, she became 
inured to the sight of such physical sex. It was tedious, 
predictable and not at all erotic. 

Bezaffa squeezed her arm tenderly. "See, cherry, there's 
nothing to it!"

Despite Ana's original disgust, she found she was 
beginning to agree with Bezaffa. There really didn't seem 
very much to it. She could even envisage herself, lying 
back, with her eyes closed, gritting her teeth and thinking 
about other things (just as Binta sometimes described it), 
while from a remote distance a man whom she might not 
even have to look at would do his humping backwards and 
forwards, until he lost his ability to continue and then 
leave. Perhaps, she thought with contempt, her fears were 
rather exaggerated. It was probably nowhere near as painful 
as she'd imagined, although the video didn't suggest to her 
that she'd ever actually enjoy it however much the women in 
the video seemed to be, by the evidence of their loud cries 
and simpering grins.

The Director watched the video with a disgusting leer 
across his face, clearly enjoying specific moments such as 
when a woman was first penetrated or took the client's 
organ into her mouth. Khedra wasn't even watching the 
video, being more interested in reviewing a list of video 
titles she had on her lap. Ana looked round at Bezaffa, who 
grinned conspiratorially at Ana.

"It's great fun, isn't it? Don't you think?" she said, hugging 
Ana affectionately across the shoulders and looking more at 
Ana than the current scene of oral sex filling every part of 
the video screen.

"Tempted now, m'dear?" asked the Director with a leer 
when the video finished, lighting the cigarette in his holder 
with his lighter.

Ana looked at Mr Madir contemptuously and shook her 
head adamantly. "Not at all!"

"But there's nothing to it!" Khedra remarked. "There really 
isn't! Just think how much you'll be earning for really no 
effort at all."

"It's just not something I ever want to do! It's horrible! 
Can't I go now? I've seen more than enough. I just don't 
want to do it!" She faced Bezaffa. "My clothes must be 
washed now. Can't I just put them on and leave?"

"They're still wet, cherry. You wouldn't want to catch 
pneumonia. And anyway I'm sure that Khedra has more that 
she wants to show you."

"I don't want to see it. I haven't changed my mind at all. All 
I want to do is go home and forget all these horrible things 
I've seen."

The Director sighed loudly. He drew on his cigarette holder 
and emitted a large cloud of slightly bluish smoke. "I told 
you, Khedra m'dear, that soft sell wouldn't work on our 
little virgin. We'll have to switch to harder sell. A stick may 
work where a carrot fails." 

Khedra nodded, and knelt in front of her carrier bag where she 
pulled out a video tape. She turned on Bezaffa's videotape 
player and slid the tape in. With a series of clunks and whirls 
it adjusted itself and the screen reorganised itself into the 
view of a prostitute's room, very similar to the one Binta lived 
in. There were no introductions or synthesised music. There was 
just a view of a woman whom Ana vaguely recognised with a client 
who in terms of age and physical attractiveness much more 
closely resembled those who actually came through the 
Brothel doors. 

The Director leered and puffed out more smoke from his 
nostrils. "As you know, Ana m'dear, the Brothel provides 
each prostitute with a two-way mirror which enables 
potential clients to view those who are available at any 
time. This mirror is connected to the Brothel's intercom 
system and enables us to record the girls at work. This is 
invaluable in the appraisal of the girls in their work, and is a 
requirement by the government should there be any dispute 
in the award of grades. As a bonus this provides the Brothel 
with an additional source of export income in selling the 
film abroad to a market that likes to see actual, authentic 
footage. This video shows Jadida at work. She seems to be 
enjoying herself, don't you think, m'dear?"

A cold tremor passed through Ana's body. What did this 
portend for Binta and her? The film was very static, 
featuring none of the camera angles and close-ups which 
typified the previous videotape. Bezaffa grasped her more 
tightly, as if to prevent her leaving the room. 

"Jadida's a pretty girl isn't she? Much your age, probably 
much the same grade as you'd gain, and a good example to 
us all. Now, Khedra, show our little friend tape of someone 
more familiar to her."

Khedra nodded. She ejected the video tape from the 
machine, which had only a handwritten sticker to identify it. 
She then slipped in another tape, which when it began 
showed a much larger white body, with legs high in the air 
being penetrated by another unprepossessing client whose 
trousers were down to his knees and still wearing a shirt. 
Ana stared at horror at the client's hairy bottom, the 
prostitute's folds of fat and a face that repeatedly 
ejaculated cries clearly meant to express great joy and 
abandon. She then frowned at Bezaffa who smiled at her in 
a curiously conspiratorial way.

"Yes, m'dear," the Director affirmed. "Your latest belle, 
Bezaffa, at play. Or should I say, at work. Watch and 
learn."

Ana watched in horror, blood draining from her face as she 
contemplated the repeated thrusts and then the horror and 
disgust as Bezaffa, still apparently enjoying all that was 
happened lowered her head to a lower part of the client's 
body and proceeded to exercise her mouth in a way that 
was explicit and frightening.

"How could you?" Ana accused.

"Easy!" laughed Bezaffa good-humouredly. "You ought to 
try it. It's good fun! There can't be many jobs where you get 
paid so well for doing something you enjoy!"

"I just couldn't enjoy doing that!" Ana insisted. "It's 
obscene! Vulgar! Disgusting!" She stood up abruptly. 
"Turn it off! Just turn it off! I don't want to see any more. 
I've seen enough. That's enough!"

"Surely not, m'dear!" the Director laughed, lighting another 
cigarette. "There's so much more to see! You can't leave us 
now." He smiled cruelly, letting a cloud of cigarette smoke 
rise slowly from his nostrils and followed it up with a gaze. 
He then looked directly into Ana's eyes causing her to blink 
with fear and trepidation. "Jadida and Bezaffa aren't the 
only two girls we've filmed at work. No way! We have film 
of Zabba, Ketaba, even darling Khedra here. It's totally 
routine you know. Every working girl is filmed at work. In 
fact, there's so much recorded on video that of course we 
never get the opportunity to see more than the smallest 
fraction of it. Just what we might be interested in. 
Compiling export tapes is quite a tiring job I can tell you - 
and I'm glad it's a duty that has never fallen to me." The 
Director sucked in on his cigarette holder, the embers 
sparking at his inhalation. "As I say, every working girl's 
every working moment is recorded and stored, even if it 
may never get seen. Khedra and I, we usually only get to 
see them when an export tape has been compiled or if we 
have particular reasons to review the performance of any 
individual girl. Khedra m'dear, show a video which will 
especially interest Ana. One that features a girl whose 
performance has recently caused us considerable concern as 
a result of some rather less than complimentary comments 
from her clients."

Ana drew her breath in. She had a very good idea who this 
girl might be, but she hoped - so much! - that it wasn't. But 
as the video was inserted and began, she could see that her 
fears were confirmed. The girl receiving the frequent and 
rhythmic pelvic thrusts of the paunchy middle-aged man 
with a large bald spot in his hair and responding with 
occasional gasps and cries, was immediately distinguishable 
from all the other prostitutes she'd seen on video in that she 
wore no clothes at all. Her long hair, the dark green eyes 
and the face, occasionally obscured by the body of the man 
lying on top of her, could only belong to Binta. At first Ana 
tried convincing herself that it was someone else: another 
person in the Brothel who looked like her, but Ana knew 
Binta too well. She knew every small detail of her lover's 
body. And this was clearly, indubitably and horrifyingly, 
Binta.

"So, m'dear," sneered the Director, "this is your dyke 
friend. Or is she a dyke? She doesn't seem to mind it so 
much, does she? I'd say she was actually enjoying it, 
wouldn't you? And look! She's giving the client just what he 
wants with her mouth. Look at that tongue! Look at those 
active fingers! Just what were those clients complaining 
about, I wonder. Binta's not a girl who shies from her duty, 
eh? And listen to those cries. They certainly suggest to me 
someone who's having a good time. Maybe she's not such a 
dyke after all!"

Ana stared in wordless and silent horror. It was Binta! It 
really was! And maybe she was enjoying it. Maybe she was 
pretending to, just to persuade the man to finish as soon as 
possible. But it appeared that she was enjoying it. That 
horrid, disgusting man and his filthy misshapen appendage! 
Could it be that Binta really did enjoy her work?

The video switched to a scene of another man, quite skinny 
and gaunt, enjoying her in much the same way as the first, 
with Binta lying on top of him, her mouth hidden as her 
fingers worked at his trouser top but her head bobbing up 
and down, suggesting attention the thought of which left a 
very unpleasant taste in Ana's mouth. She turned her gaze 
away and looked into Bezaffa's eyes which were fixed on 
her.

"Is Binta really enjoying it?" she whispered.

Bezaffa grinned broadly. "It's impossible to say, cherry. 
She's a professional. She's got to look like she enjoys it. But 
I'd say, yes. She does seem to be enjoying it. Those are 
pretty genuine little cries of passion, don't you think?"

Ana turned her head back to the screen. Binta did seem to 
be making rather a lot of noise. And it did seem to come bit 
by bit to a climax, the sound of which was so familiar, so 
achingly familiar, and one which until now she had 
unreservedly believed her own property and the fruit of her 
own endeavour. And all that strange viscous liquid that 
engorged itself all over Binta's face and breasts. If Binta 
enjoyed it, perhaps Ana could do so too. What meaning 
was there to her fidelity to Binta, if her lover felt free to 
express her passion so freely and promiscuously? Ana's 
eyes swelled with tears and her cheeks smarted as they 
seeped soundlessly onto her face.

"Crying are we, m'dear?" laughed the Director. "Find the 
truth a little difficult to accept, do you? Don't worry, we 
have more to show. Much more. You see, the camera 
doesn't merely record when Binta is working. Oh no! 
There's no such discretion in the Brothel, - though of 
course generally there's precious little of the remotest 
interest to see most of the time when a girl is off-duty. 
Washing her hair; reading books; chatting to friends; 
sleeping: none of these are activities which could interest us 
nor, it need be said, any of our potential export market. 
And anyway with a fixed mirror, so much is out of frame. 
Everything that is, except what goes on in the bed." Mr 
Madir smirked. "Show Ana one of our unofficial 
recordings, Khedra m'dear."

Khedra nodded. "If you think it's for the best..."

"It is! It is!" Ana's boss assented. 

Khedra ejected the video tape while Ana wrapped herself 
around Bezaffa, the most comforting object in the room. 
How could Binta enjoy all those horrid men? Was she 
enjoying what they were doing to her? And what she was 
doing to them? Bezaffa gently stroked Ana's back, as her 
tears soaked into her dressing gown and dampened her ear 
as it pressed hard against the breast. Khedra pushed in 
another video tape and Ana watched out of the corner of 
her eye as it jerked into action. It was then that she got 
another very horrid shock. There was Binta again: quite 
clearly enjoying the sexual attention of another person. But 
that other person, seen from such a strange angle, and quite 
as active in lovemaking as Binta herself: it was someone 
very familiar, but curiously not familiar at all.

Ana had never seen a film of herself before, except in the 
video screens of security cameras in the malls of Blad. And 
in those cases, she'd been fully clothed and really doing 
nothing more than walking past, looking to one side of the 
camera, as the screen would be in a quite different location 
to the lens. Here though was that same curious sensation of 
self-recognition, but this time in positions and poses she'd 
only briefly viewed in the same mirror which had recorded 
her in her sexual play. She breathed in deeply, her eyes 
swelling with shock and fear.

"I need not tell you, m'dear, how the law of this land views 
such sexual transgressions as this. It's a serious offence, 
punishable as you know by imprisonment or, if you are very 
lucky, penal servitude in the same august institution where 
you currently earn a living. As you can see, Khedra and I 
have here rather undeniable evidence of your criminal 
activity. That is you, isn't it, enjoying yourself in such a 
disgusting if rather titillating way. And dear me! There 
really doesn't appear to be any evidence of reluctance on 
your part, m'dear. You really do seem to be a willing party 
to all this behaviour. My goodness! Just look at that! Don'
t the two of you seem to be having such a good time! What 
have you got to say, m'dear? It is you there, isn't it?"

The naked Ana on the video tape chose this moment to 
look directly into the mirror, her head emerging from 
between Binta's legs with a strange wild expression that the 
Ana in Bezaffa's living room had never seen on herself 
before. Seen like this there really seemed no difference 
between this Ana and the women she'd seen making love to 
men on the other video tapes. Ana nodded, looking 
towards the video, squeezing Bezaffa's chubby white hand 
so tightly that blue marks rose on the soft white skin.

"What are you going to do?" she asked through a voice 
that emerged from deep inside a hollow breast. Her heart 
pounded hard inside her chest and her stomach fluttered 
with a fear that promised to erupt into a fresh outpouring of 
vomit from her raw punished throat. "Are you going to 
have me arrested?"

The Director smiled grimly and triumphantly. "In a court of 
law this would be pretty well conclusive evidence - 
wouldn't you say? - of misdemeanours which attract quite 
harsh penalties. Not just for you, of course, although I 
daresay your main concern is quite understandably yourself. 
What would an unsympathetic judge and jury think of 
someone indulging in such filthy behaviour with a known 
lesbian? But it is also of concern, of course, to your dyke 
friend, Binta. She would not be let off easily. A second 
offence committed while serving a sentence for the first. 
She may never again emerge a free woman. Dearie me! 
That would be sad, wouldn't it, m'dear?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'd have thought that was fairly obvious from all the hard 
work that dear Khedra has been putting in on your behalf. 
The administration of the Brothel - Khedra and I - is quite 
willing to turn a blind eye on your criminal transgressions, 
if you are ready to show yourself willing to compromise on 
our behalf. And Khedra has already spelt out the great 
advantages of working part-time in such a capacity. You 
really have nothing to lose by taking up our generous 
offer. And I really do not need to spell out the penalty 
of non-cooperation."

"You mean I have to work as a prostitute? A whore? Have 
strange men see me every day?"

The Director smirked. He pulled a cigarette out of his 
cigarette case and tapped it a few times on the silver 
exterior. "Describe it how you like, m'dear. But essentially, 
yes. A little bit of effort on your behalf and we'll never 
mention your criminal acts to anyone."

Ana leaned forward, tears gushing from her eyes and her 
mouth forming such ugly shapes as she confronted her 
helplessness. "What shall I do? What can I do? Can't 
anybody help me?"

Bezaffa stroked Ana comfortingly on the back, and then 
bent her head down and nuzzled it against Ana's own. "You 
know the answers, sweetest. You really do not have any 
choice. Not really! And it's not such a bad choice. Not a 
bad choice at all! Either imprisonment and stigma for you 
(and worse for sweet little Binta!) on the one hand; and 
riches and rewards for such little pain on the other. You 
really have no choice. Just say yes! Sign the forms darling 
Khedra has provided and you need worry no more."

Ana looked closely into Bezaffa's face which was so close 
to her: the pretty blue eyes, the smooth round face, the 
sympathetic smile. A sudden rush of hatred and loathing 
shook her slender frame, flushing her forehead with an 
exhilarating heat of passion. 

"You betrayed me!" she exclaimed with a sudden appalled 
insight. "Betrayed me!"

She pushed herself off Bezaffa, throwing herself down on 
the length of the sofa, hardly caring as the towel fell off her 
breasts and revealed herself nearly as naked as the cheerful 
and ecstatic image of herself on the television engaged so 
passionately with Binta. Ana didn't care. Her humiliation 
was nearly as complete as it possibly be. What difference 
did a little more make? Bezaffa sounded hurt by the 
accusation.

"I didn't betray you, cherry. I didn't. What we have done 
together..."

"I hate you! I hate you! You betrayed me! You used and 
abused me! You took advantage of me!"

"Bezaffa hasn't betrayed you, Ana darling," Khedra 
remarked, kneeling amongst the video tapes and with a 
touch of sympathetic emotion in her voice. "If anything, she 
has compromised herself. She didn't know about these 
videos any more than you. If anyone betrayed you, it was 
you. With your naivete and blatancy. Don't think we didn't 
notice you and Binta: always together, and you staying 
overnight in the Brothel. You really could have been a lot 
more discrete, you know. It was just a matter of time. You 
know that!"

"It's not right! It can't be right! I've done nothing wrong! 
Nothing! It's love! That's all! Love! We're in love, Binta 
and I. Why must it be condemned? It can't be right, when 
something so true and good and pure and wonderful 
between us ... Waaahhh!" Ana cried in helpless agony, 
resting her tear-strewn face on her palms, elbows supported 
on her knees, and the raw red wound of her face and 
emotions spilling drops of despair onto her breasts and the 
towel over her thighs. "I've been betrayed! Betrayed!"

The Director placed his unlit cigarette into the holder and 
with a grandiloquent gesture lit it with his lighter. He 
puffed out a large cloud which ascended into the already 
smoke-filled air and gradually descended in a grey-blue mist 
over Ana's bare shoulders. 

"Talking of betrayal, m'dear," he commented in slow even 
terms, "there is more that we can show you. Your dyke lover 
is really no saint - not that anyone has ever accused her 
of being so. You really should have chosen your friends 
much more carefully you know."

Ana raised her head and glared at the Director. "What are 
you saying about Binta?"

"Show her Khedra!" commanded Mr Madir, leaning back 
with a contented and malevolent grin on his face. "Show 
what a little angel Binta can be."

Khedra sighed reluctantly, but obediently ejected the video 
tape of Binta and Ana, and slipped in another. Ana looked 
at the screen with sore red eyes, a trail of clear salty snot 
emerging from her left nostril and sneaking into her mouth. 
She huddled up out of reach from Bezaffa who sat in 
discomfort at the other end of the sofa. The video whirred 
and clanked into motion and then the screen flickered into 
focus.

It was Binta again. That Ana was sure. She'd now seen 
enough of Binta on video tape to be certain that it was her 
lover. And, again, she was with someone. And this time it 
wasn't Ana. But she was making love, with the same visible 
passion that she'd just witnessed in the last video. And she 
wasn't making love with a client. No client looked like that. 
Not so slender, young ... or feminine.

Or black!

There was only one black person in the Brothel. There had, 
in fact, only been one black person that Ana had seen in her 
entire time in Blad. Black people were not native to Alif 
and very few indeed had ever ventured in at any time in its 
long turbulent history. The woman who was with Binta. 
And enjoying her caresses. And whose caresses were being 
enjoyed. This woman was undoubtedly Ferhana.

Ana stared and stared. It couldn't be. It must be an illusion. 
It can't be true. But the black woman's face rose from the 
garden of Binta's beauty, as Ana's had in the earlier video, 
and stared directly into the mirror. It was Ferhana. Ana's 
eyes ached in disbelief and humiliation. Binta. With 
Ferhana!

"Now will you do the right thing, m'dear?" asked the 
Director kindly.

Ana stared back at the video as Ferhana and Binta stretched 
out on the long length of that familiar bed, their arms 
around each other and Ferhana's fingers where Ana 
believed no other woman should ever intrude. She 
squeezed shut her eyes. Go away! she whispered to herself. 
Don't be true! She opened her eyes, and focused through 
the salty film that had attached to her retina. It was still 
Ferhana and Binta. Together!

"What are you going to do, sweetest?" Khedra asked. "Will 
you volunteer to a bit of part-time work? It really won't do 
you any harm."

Ana vigorously nodded her head. Her humiliation was 
complete. She didn't care that her breasts were uncovered 
or that her face was an ugly contorted tear-stained mess of 
misery. 

"Yes!" she announced emphatically and despairingly. "Yes! 
Yes! I will! I'll do everything you say. Everything!"


	23

Ferhana was as puzzled as anyone by Ana's abrupt change 
of character and appearance. She no longer dressed in the 
smart modest clothes that made her stand out against the 
general style of the Brothel. Instead, she had taken to 
wearing a very short skirt, black stockings, torturously high 
heels and blouses that barely covered her navel and 
accentuated the lift of her supported breasts. Her hair was 
tied back and frizzled loose, and her face had become 
almost unrecognisable under a mass of rouge and mascara. 
She no longer stayed late in the Brothel, seeking out her 
friend Binta, and was very rarely seen even in the canteen 
where Ferhana had often met her together with Binta. 
When she was seen in the canteen, or even in the corridor, 
she was always escorted by either Khedra or the Pimple, 
and very occasionally more favoured prostitutes like 
Bezaffa.

She had seen a similar change in Ana's predecessor, Inta, 
but Ana's transformation was all the more shocking for its 
abruptness and how much it contradicted all that Ana 
represented before. It was rumoured that Ana had started 
seeing clients, just as Inta had done, something she had 
sworn so many times and so vehemently that she would 
never do. Binta never saw Ana anymore. Quite suddenly 
and with no warning, Ana just never sought her out and 
even went out of her way to avoid seeing her or as much as 
catch her eye. Ferhana knew that this unexplained schism 
in their relationship had troubled Binta immensely: she 
had withdrawn from sight, spending more and more time by 
herself or with her plot in the Brothel garden.

She was initially just rather annoyed, if resignedly, when the 
Pimple requested her - really, commanded her - to come to 
his office for what he termed a bit of extramural 
entertaining, but she reasoned that these services she 
supplied on an occasional basis would bit by bit gain her the 
remission she sought. As she reasoned to herself, a little 
extra humiliation at this stage should result in a shorter 
overall sentence, and therefore bring much nearer the end 
of all her suffering. Whatever lies she had barefacedly 
expressed to Khedra or the Pimple, she had no intention 
whatsoever of prolonging her stay at the Brothel beyond 
the absolute minimum required. Ferhana was rather more 
shocked than irritated when she came into the office to find 
the Pimple with a frightened Ana, who was sitting 
uncomfortably on his knee while he crudely molested her 
breasts. 

"Good afternoon, m'dear," the Pimple said, with that cruel 
smile of his that Ferhana had seen so many times before and 
had learnt to fear. "You know Ana, don't you? You've met 
her before, I believe."

Ferhana nodded. What a stupid question to ask, although 
there might be a touch of truth in his sarcasm. Ferhana 
didn't know Ana as she was now, in her long stockinged 
legs and the Pimple's hands fondling the nipples beneath  
her blouse. 

"Poor little Ana's been doing a sterling job recently," the 
Director continued, "entertaining clients and me, and 
assisting more materially in alleviating our constant 
employment problem of suitably attractive young ladies. 
But the poor girl's not happy. Are you, m'dear?"

Ana silently and sullenly nodded, showing absolutely no 
evidence of enjoying her situation on her boss's knee.

"And why do you think that is, Ferhana m'dear? Well, my 
opinion is that the poor child has had little opportunity 
to enjoy what she likes most. And do you know what that 
is, m'dear? You probably can as I know you are no stranger 
to its pleasures yourself."

What the Pimple wanted was for Ana and Ferhana to 
indulge in what he called 'Sapphic play' in his presence and 
quite clearly for his own perverse pleasure and enjoyment 
rather than from respect for Ana's needs or desires. 
Ferhana had no choice in the matter, although it troubled 
her that the Pimple seemed to know about a feature of her 
own personality she thought she had kept fairly well hidden. 
As she and Ferhana enacted the scenario suggested by the 
Director, it became even more apparent to her that despite 
Ana's show of pleasure - clearly learnt from the same 
induction course that she and every other prostitute had to 
endure - she was hating every single moment of it. There 
was a falseness and insincerity about her caresses that was 
so blatant to her, she wondered whether the Pimple would 
comment.

She looked at the Director, who had kept his trousers and 
underpants on for a change and puffed indulgently on a 
cigarette. It was then she realised that the pleasure their 
pretend lovemaking afforded him was far less to do with 
satisfying any sexual craving on his part, and more just an 
opportunity to see Ana humiliated. The very fact that Ana 
was getting so little pleasure out of the activity, appearing 
to loathe every part of it, was itself the greatest source of 
his enjoyment.

Ferhana orchestrated the activity to a premature climax, 
and with a few gestures and sympathetic smiles persuaded 
Ana to pretend to be similarly satisfied. The Pimple was 
clearly not convinced, but forbore any comment and 
allowed the two girls to get dressed. 

"Well thanks very much, Ferhana m'dear!" the Pimple said, 
lighting another cigarette. "Who said niggers couldn't do it 
just as well as anyone else? I daresay the two of you will 
want to rest now. Why not have an extended lunch, Ana, 
m'dear? The letters I wanted you to take down can be done 
some other time."

Ferhana and Ana left the Director's office, and closed the 
door behind them. Ana gave vent to a sigh to express her 
relief of an ordeal survived, and almost immediately darted 
away from Ferhana, trotting on her high heels along the 
corridor. 

"Wait!" cried Ferhana. "Wait for me!"

Ana turned her head round and glared at Ferhana with an 
expression of pure hatred that alarmed her. She had never 
believed the secretary was capable of such unadulterated 
loathing. Where had it come from? She hesitated a moment, 
but then thought better of her own feelings of insecurity 
and chased after Ana, taking off her impossibly 
uncomfortable shoes to catch up with her. She grabbed Ana 
by the arm.

"What is wrong? What is troubled you?" she asked.

"Take. Your Hand. Off. Me!" said Ana with a flash of 
unfeigned anger.

Ferhana withdrew her hand as if it had just been burnt on a 
hotplate. "Why are you so angry with me? I did not want to 
have ... It was not what I have wanted ... The Director, he 
..."

"Leave me alone!" snapped Ana. "I don't want to talk to 
you. And I never want to talk to you!"

"What have I done? It was not what I wanted ... I had no 
choice ... Please believe me!" 

Ana paused in the corridor by a door with a red light 
shining above it, ignoring the masculine panting emanating 
from within. 

"It's not just what you did just now! Although that was bad 
enough."

"What is it? Tell me, what I have done? Why are you so 
angry with me?" Ferhana was genuinely upset by Ana's 
outburst. "And why have you changed so very much? Why 
do you dress like a prostitute? Why do you not see Binta 
anymore? What is wrong?"

"You should know!" exclaimed Ana angrily.

"Why should I know?" asked Ferhana, genuinely 
perplexed.

"Don't pretend you don't know! I know about you and 
Binta. I know how the both of you deceived me. I know all 
about it."

"About what?" Ferhana asked, gradually realising what it 
was that might be upsetting her. She and Binta had been so 
careful. They didn't want to hurt Ana. It was the last thing 
they wanted to do.

"I was shown a video of you and Binta. On the bed. I know 
what you did together. I've seen it! I was shown it by 
Khedra."

"Video? What video?"

"The video tape of you and Binta together. Making love. 
Filmed through the mirror in Binta's bedroom."

"The mirror? You are saying they tape what we do through 
the mirror?"

"Everything! And I've seen the videotape. I know how you 
and Binta have deceived me. Lied to me. Made a fool of 
me." Ana glared straight into Ferhana's eyes as she at last 
vocalised what Ferhana had suspected: "I hate you! I hate 
you and Binta! I hate you!"

Ferhana let her shoes drop to the floor with a clunk. She 
bowed her head down and cupped her face in her long 
black fingers, the red-tipped nails tangling in her short curly 
hair. 

"The mirror! Through the mirror! They filmed us! They would 
not ... go so low! And you have seen us! Is that why...? Is 
that the reason for you to ...?"

As she raised her head, Ana saw tears on Ferhana's face, 
although she wasn't sure whether they were from remorse 
or from being found out. "I must explain to you. It is not 
what you think. I am not Binta's lover. She is my friend. My 
best friend at the Brothel. My closest friend. Perhaps my 
only true friend. But she is not my lover. She is your lover. 
It is you she loves..."

"Don't lie! What were you doing together if it isn't what 
lovers do?"

"I must explain. I must tell you. She loves you. Not me. I 
would be happy if it was me she loves. But it is you! You 
must believe..."

At that moment, the door opened behind them and a short 
balding man in jeans and tee-shirt emerged with the 
prostitute he had been seeing. Ana took the opportunity to 
walk off again, with a long stride that she hoped would 
shake Ferhana off, but the black girl showed no signs of 
allowing that to happen. She picked up her shoes and 
rushed after Ana on her stockinged feet.

"We must talk!" she urged. "We must! It is all a horrible ... 
It is something you do not understand too well. You must 
listen to me. Is it really because of what Binta and me have 
done that you ...?"

"Yes!" said Ana, not wholly truthfully, but in the malicious 
hope of branding Ferhana with the shame of her actions.

"But that is not right! Please, we must talk. Somewhere. 
Anywhere."

They were passing by the viewing gallery of the 
gymnasium, so Ana with unpremeditated cooperation 
pushed open its door. Inside there was the steady rhythm of 
a squash ball ricocheting against a wall. 

"We'll talk here, shall we?"

Ferhana nodded as they entered, and they sat together in 
the seats above an empty squash court. She laid her shoes 
on the seat beside her, and gazed directly into Ana's eyes. 

"You must listen to me."

"Well, then!" said Ana, folding her bare arms and facing 
Ferhana defiantly. "Explain!"

Ferhana was abashed by this command, but smiled sadly. "It 
is you that Binta loves. She loves you so much. And she is 
so very ... sad. She is unhappy. She cries all the time. She 
talks about you. Why do you not talk to her anymore? Why 
do you not see her anymore? She eats so little now. All she 
wants is to be with you again. It's not me she wants..."

"But she still makes love to you?"

"No. No. Not anymore. And not often did we ... It was my 
fault. I was so lonely. I am so lonely. I hate it here. I hate it 
nearly as well as Binta hates it. Because I am black and the 
only black person here, I am treated very bad by the ... 
They treat me like I am a monkey. Or an animal. And so 
many want to see me. More than most girls because I am ... 
because all the other girls are not ... And I am so unhappy. I 
only have God to help me. But God is not always with me. 
And sometimes I want other ... I want so bad ... And Binta. 
She is so beautiful. She is so kind. We talk together. And I 
have always liked ... just like you and Binta and Zabba ... It 
is women that ... And Binta is also my best friend here ... 
and ..."

"Binta was my lover!" Ana angrily exclaimed. "She was my 
first and only lover. And then you came and you took her 
away from me. You made love to her!"

Ferhana gazed into Ana's eyes, a tear running down the side 
of her cheek, agitatedly wringing her hands together. She 
disentangled one to stretch towards Ana's own hands 
resting on her lap, but thought better of touching her as 
Ana glared antipathetically at her.

"You must understand, Ana, that Binta and I, we work in a 
Brothel. Every day we have to make love with men. 
Horrible men. Ugly men. Disgusting men. Perhaps you 
know now yourself...?"

Ana nodded. In the last few months she had learnt all too 
well what men were like, at least those who were clients in 
the Brothel, and she knew how repulsive most of them 
were. Any notion she might once have had of them in a 
more positive light, or even seriously entertaining the 
notion of romantic love with one, was now impossible to 
conceive.

"It is not normal. It is ... weird! It is not natural. It seems 
only right that ... When you have sex all day and you feel 
unhappy, it seems natural to ... Making love is not to Binta 
and I what it was like before... And sometimes it just seems 
right to comfort ourselves, not with words, not with a joke 
or a ... It just seems so ... It just happens and we may not 
like ourselves for it ... But it's not ..." 

Ferhana bravely reached out a hand to Ana, tears dripping 
from her chin, and gazed at her with such sorrow that Ana 
reluctantly accepted her touch, but without warmth. 

"Please, Ana. You must understand. You must believe. 
Binta loves you. She does not love me. I love Binta, but not 
like you love Binta. We did what we did, not because Binta 
loved me, but because ..." She squeezed Ana's hand firmly. 
"Because I wanted to. Because I want love in my life. 
Because Binta is the only person who ... the only person at 
all who ... I could love! And I'm sorry! Sorry! I didn't wish 
to harm you. Or hurt you. Or Binta. Or ..."

She removed her hand from Ana's and buried her face in her 
hands, tears seeping between her fingers, releasing short 
uncontrollable sobs and whines. Ana looked at the girl she 
thought she hated, and recognised that she really didn't hate 
her at all. The hatred she felt was really against the Brothel, 
the Director, President Marmeluke, the Republic of Alif, 
and everything else that had perverted and destroyed her 
love for Binta, and now systematically humiliated her in her 
role as part-time prostitute. What she wanted more than 
anything was for her current nightmare to end.

Ferhana raised her head and gazed at Ana, rubbing some of 
the tears onto the back of her hand. "And you, Ana! You've 
changed so much! Was it really because of me? Was it 
really because of my ... Because of Binta and ..."

"They blackmailed me!" said Ana with a firmness that 
surprised her. It seemed quite a relief to talk to someone 
sympathetic after all these months. Nobody else in that time 
could be relied to listen to her with any understanding or 
concern, although Bezaffa had been kind and relatively 
indulgent. She reflected with regret on the times she 
allowed the woman to repeat her seduction of her, - a 
respite from the joyless sex she'd become more accustomed 
to, but one forever tainted. It wasn't totally true, she had to 
admit, that she had no understanding of how Binta and 
Ferhana should have done much the same together. Shared 
misery is better than solitary despair. "They told me that I 
was to either do what they said or I could be a prostitute 
like you and Binta. I had no choice. None at all. They had 
filmed Binta and me together. They had known all along 
anyway..."

"And they know about me!" wailed Ferhana. "I am hoping 
that they never ... They couldn't ... Could they?"

"They sent me on a two week training course," Ana 
continued, staring ahead of her at the bare unfriendly 
squash court wall. "It was horrible. But I hoped it would 
never end. Because I knew what would happen afterwards. 
Khedra was a tutor on the course. But she wasn't the only 
one. And some of the tutors were men. They showed us 
videos, they gave us seminars, they made it all sound really 
very normal. Almost respectable. I was the only Beta on the 
course. All the other girls were Gammas or Deltas. Except 
one girl who was an Epsilon. She hated the course as much 
as I did, but she hated herself even more. In the second 
week, the course became more practical. We had to ... We 
were made to do ... And all watched and assessed and ..."

"I know," said Ferhana sadly. "I have done the ... attended 
the course too. Binta has. Everyone has. Some girls seem 
to like it. They look like they enjoy it. I didn't, but I 
pretended to. They call it 'making love', but there is no love 
at all!"

"When the course finished, I was made to dress differently. 
I was taught how to apply makeup, how to walk in these 
horrid shoes, how to, as they called it, 'look sexy'. 'Inviting'. 
It was a week or more afterwards before I had my first 
client. My first ever. He was rich. I know that. The price of 
it was very very high. The Director told me that, but I've 
seen the accounts and I know exactly how much it cost. 
And he gave me a lot more money as well. It felt so dirty 
when I took it from him, although the notes were very crisp 
and new. It had hurt so much. There was blood 
everywhere. He sniffed at it. He licked it. He seemed to 
enjoy it. I felt like he had just murdered me, but that I had 
somehow survived..."

"Was it your first time ever with a man?" asked Ferhana 
with some horror. "Just as it had been for Binta. You had 
never...?"

"Never! And, I thought, never again. But, unfortunately, it 
was not at all long until the next client. It didn't hurt so 
much then. I was sore. But it was a different pain. And then 
more clients and I gradually remembered more of my 
training and I did what they said to finish the ordeal sooner. 
And then the Director ..."

"The Pimple has a go at everyone," Ferhana remarked. 
"Not Binta. Not Ketaba. But everyone else. He had me ... 
he has had me many ... He says he likes 'niggers'. He is 
liking that I am different and he says that variety is the ... is 
the ... I can't remember."

Ana wasn't to be distracted in her flow. "The Director said 
that he wanted me. And because I was his secretary, he 
could have me whenever he liked. Every day he had me, 
even when there were clients to see. He is so cruel. He's 
done to me such things ... things that should never be done 
... things that are illegal. He likes it when I fall on the floor 
crying and weeping. He laughs at me. He always pays, 
though. He stands over me, as I lie crying on the floor, 
humiliated, abused, damaged, dropping notes onto my 
body. He likes me to suffer. It is what he likes most: to 
make people suffer. He enjoys it."

Ana looked into Ferhana's eyes with intensity and 
bewilderment. "How can anyone, ever, enjoy doing what 
they know will most upset someone else? What is it that 
makes some men so cruel? Is it because they are men? 
What possible pleasure can there be in making others 
suffer?"

Ferhana scrunched up her face, pulled her nose between her 
fingers and sighed. "I don't know. Some people do. Not 
just men. It's just there. Something that I do not 
understand. Perhaps it is because it is making a man feel 
more powerful and stronger. Many clients who see me, they 
treat me badly. They like it when I complain. The more I 
say no, the more they say yes. They like it when I am 
hurting."

"Physical pain is one thing. It hurts, but it goes. What the 
Director likes is fear, disgust, revulsion. He asked you to 
see me because he knows that it would upset me. He knows 
that one reason why I was so hurt and upset when they ... 
He knows that the very thought of making love to the one 
who has deceived my love with Binta, sullied that small part 
of her which I thought was pure and undividedly mine, 
would cause me hurt. He just wants to humiliate me. He 
only cares for me in the sense of wanting to find ways of 
hurting me further. He's not content with blackmailing me 
into a life of prostitution, he wants to pull me apart 
altogether!"

Ana paused. She stared ahead of her at the squash court 
wall and felt once again the familiar lachrymal welling she'd 
become so accustomed to. Almost every night, when she 
returned home, her crotch bruised, another vestige of pride 
damaged, another humiliation to reflect on, the tears would 
burst through, providing her with the only comfort she 
could be sure wasn't tainted by malice or perverse intent. 
She sobbed deeply, and her face cracked open in a raw 
smouldering wound of self-pity and anguish.

"And now I've lost everything. My pride. My virtue. My 
virginity. My honour. And, worst of all, Binta!"

She collapsed on Ferhana's lap, her arms around her waist 
and her face buried in what few folds could possibly form 
on her very short skirt. She was faintly aware of Ferhana's 
fingers stroking through her hair and the distant sound of 
her comforting voice, interspersed with the curious vowel 
sounds and consonant clusters of her own tongue. 

"I've lost everything!" sobbed Ana. "I've been stripped to a 
degree of nakedness that I didn't believe existed. A 
nakedness that goes beyond being unclothed!"

Ferhana and Ana sat together, their arms around each 
other, sobbing gently. 

After a while, Ana pulled herself up and looked directly 
into Ferhana's eyes. "Do you think I've lost Binta forever?"

"No, not at all. Not at all. She wants you still. She wants 
you very well. She is wanting you all the time. All you have 
to do is see her. She will be so pleased."

"But then they will think that Binta and I are ... That we are 
... It could make it very difficult for both of us ..."

Ferhana nodded slightly. She took her hand away from 
behind Ana's shoulders and cupped it in her other hand. 
"There is a way you can help Binta. A very good way. A 
way that nobody else can do. She has a friend. A friend of 
mine, too. She is my friend from when I lived free in Blad 
and could do whatever I wanted to. She is also a friend of 
Binta, by chance. It is a ... coincidence that she knows 
Binta. They met in Jebel. She is not from Alif. She is 
coming from Gharab. She is visiting Blad and wanting to 
meet Binta. And she also is wanting to meet me. I write to 
her, and she is writing to me. She is not writing to Binta 
because all Binta's letters are opened and the ... authorities 
might think she is a ... a lesbian, like Binta. And she is 
wanting to visit Binta. But nobody can visit anyone in the 
Brothel unless they are a relative. Or they have special 
permission..."

"Special permission?" asked Ana, guessing what Ferhana 
was trying to say. "Who is this friend?"

"She is named Azhnia. She is a very nice girl."

"Yes, I've heard of her. And how can I help?"

"If we asked the Director if she could come into the 
Brothel, he probably would not allow her. He would 
probably think she were a ... He would think that there may 
be other reasons why she would want to see her. Or if he 
did, it would be difficult for them to speak together without 
... without worry. But if she were a friend of yours ... If you 
let her in yourself ... Then Binta and she could speak 
together. There would be no suspicion that ..."

"Weren't Azhnia and Binta once lovers?"

Ferhana raised her eyebrows in what appeared to be 
genuine surprise to Ana. "That can't be so! Azhnia never 
once said. Neither has Binta. Were they ...?"

Ana regretted her remark. "You want me to invite Azhnia 
into the Brothel as if she were my friend, and not Binta's? 
Or yours?"

"Yes. If you could? Binta would be very happy. They have 
not seen each other for many years. Azhnia is very unhappy 
for Binta. She did not know the government of Alif could 
be so cruel. She is very much wanting to comfort Binta."

"And I could invite her in as my friend?"

"Please. It would be very well for Azhnia. And for Binta..."

"Was she a friend of yours when you used to sell 
contraband alcohol?"

Ferhana looked at Ana with concern. "Yes. She was. But in 
her country, alcohol is not illegal. As in my country, it can 
be bought anywhere. Nobody is stopping you if you want 
to buy alcohol. She found out I sold alcohol. That is how 
she got to knowing me. Do you mind? If you do, I am 
sorry. I should not have spoke to you. It is not ..."

"I'll help," said Ana with firm conviction. "It wouldn't be at 
all difficult for me. We can meet in the foyer and I can let 
her in. I'm sure there'd be no problem. No one needs to 
know she's a friend of Binta's."

"You can? That would be very well. Binta would be very 
happy."

"It's no problem to me. Just tell me when and I'll meet her. 
After normal office hours when the Director isn't here."

"That is very well. I am so happy. Binta will feel so much 
happier too!"

Ana nodded sadly. She opened the small handbag she had 
over her shoulder and pulled out a small makeup mirror. 
She studied her reflection. The mascara and lipstick were so 
smudged! She'd have to reapply it before leaving the squash 
court. She looked at Ferhana's face. Her makeup was 
equally much a mess, but the difference was less 
immediately obvious on her face. Ana pulled out a small 
tissue and holding the mirror up, daubed at the streaks 
running from her eyes and over her cheeks. 

"I must be going now," said Ferhana, briefly kissing Ana on 
the cheek. "I must tidy myself too. I am having more work 
to do soon. Thank you again for your help. I write to 
Azhnia and we will be arranging a time when she can 
come."

"Yes. Do that," said Ana distantly. "I'll do what I can." 

Ferhana stood up and left the viewing gallery, Ana 
watching her leave from the makeup mirror as she carefully 
patted her cheek. A warmth gradually spread over Ana. She 
felt the deadness and despair that had shadowed her for so 
long begin to disperse. It was as if her conversation with 
Ferhana had opened a brief gap in a cloud through which 
the sun could at last peek through and herald hope and 
change. Perhaps there was a promise of better things to come. 
She tucked away her tissue, and pulled out a stick of 
eyeliner which she carefully applied to the upper eyelid. 
She hated her new appearance. As soon as she got home from 
work she would clean every vestige of it from her body along 
with every last smell of her clients and especially any 
scent of the Director. At work however, she had come to feel 
naked without it. Somehow, the uniform of a prostitute 
distanced it from herself not dressed or made up in that way. 
It made her a different person: one who was able to do the 
horrible and painful things she had to do every working day 
(and some weekends). 

She glanced towards the door where Ferhana had left, 
thinking about their conversation. She still hadn't forgiven 
Ferhana and Binta. A surge of hatred swept through her as 
she reflected on the video she had seen, every detail of it 
rehearsed so often in her memory. But she was sure that 
what Ferhana and Binta had been then, and what she had 
become now, were really so alike that moral approbation 
was no longer really appropriate. And whatever else she 
felt, she couldn't afford to lose that sensation of hope that 
so overwhelmed her. 

	24

Ana opened the door to the foyer and looked around her. 
Amongst the usual selection of middle-aged men hovering 
around was a single young lady, dressed in leather jacket 
and trousers, with short blue hair and hoop-like earrings 
dangling down each side of her round-cheeked face. It 
could only be Azhnia, but Ana needed to go through the 
motions. She approached the prostitute at the reception 
desk, thanked her for her call and waved to Azhnia who 
raised her eyebrow with some surprise, but nonetheless 
waved back with an expression of recognition that was 
totally feigned. Ana reflected with regret that to Azhnia, 
she must have looked just the same as all the other 
prostitutes in her tight revealing clothes and thick pasting of 
makeup.

Ana strolled up to Azhnia, and greeted her with a  
theatrical show of familiar amiability. She could see 
Azhnia's eyes examine her from eyeliner to high heels:  
clearly disturbed by the blatancy of her appearance. Ana 
had never seen a woman dressed like Azhnia before: the 
nearest to her in appearance was Zabba when not at work, 
but Zabba's appearance was still within the parameters of 
dress acceptable in the City of Blad. Azhnia's appearance 
was no more confrontational than Zabba's but it suggested 
a self-confidence rare in Alif women.

Ana sat next to Azhnia, who stared at her. When she spoke, 
her voice was somehow more languid and relaxed than 
normal for Alif; and the vowels appeared contorted and 
tortured to her ears. Nobody could ever mistake Azhnia as 
a native to Alif however fluently she spoke the same 
language. "Well, Ana, isn't it? How're you hanging? 'Sreal 
neat to see ya. 'N' this's where you work? 'Sreal weird! 
Quite freaky, in fact. You guys're in the weirdest setup I 
could ever imagine!"

"Don't you have brothels in Gharab?"

"Yeh! Sure we do. Not like this though. Not that I've ever 
been inside one, y'know. Our brothels are all private. The 
state's got nothing to do with them. But in Alif near 
everything's nationalised, so I s'pose there's nothing so 
weird about brothels being nationalised 'n'all! I just never 
thought it'd be like this somehow. It's sort of almost like a 
hotel foyer here, isn't it? You kind of expect bellboys and 
bureaux de changes, don't you?"

Ana wasn't sure she really understood everything Azhnia 
was saying, but she nodded her head in assent. "Are you 
living in Blad?"

"Yeh. Sure I do. I got a job working in a cafe. Not a 
waitress, though. They said it wouldn't be right for the 
customers to see me. They'd be put off their coffees! 
Behind the counter. It doesn't pay very well, but it means I 
don't have to spend all my savings in one go. And they give 
me a room above the cafe. It's real tiny, but it's better than 
nothing I s'pose! You live here do you?"

"In the brothel?"

"Yeh. Like Binta and Ferhana. You live here?"

Ana raised her eyebrows. "No, thank goodness. I live in 
Jadid."

"Jadid? That's a real nice quarter, that is. But Ferhana said 
you, like, had your own room in the Brothel where we'd be 
going and meet Binta."

"Yes, that's so. But it's not my home. It's just where I work. 
Shall we go there?"

"Oh yeh. Sure! Yeh. Let's go then."

Ana escorted Azhnia past the reception desk to the door 
she'd come through, tottering on her heels while Azhnia 
followed behind in considerably more comfort in her 
rubber-soled boots. She led the way along corridors and up 
staircases to her room which was in one of the smarter 
wings of the Brothel reserved for Alphas and prostitutes 
like her who were accorded higher status for their other 
services to the Brothel. Azhnia looked around her with 
wonderment at the rows of doors and the lights above each 
one of them. A prostitute passed by, escorting a small 
balding man in an ill-fitting suit, and Azhnia's eyes followed 
them. She was clearly fascinated by all that she saw, but 
made no comment. They soon reached Ana's room, the 
sight of whose door sent a shiver of anxiety down Ana's 
spine. She hated it, however well-decorated it might be and 
however comfortable the bed. It was a room she only ever 
normally visited when she was about to see a client, and the 
association with all those hateful, loathsome encounters 
always left a very uncomfortable feeling in the back of her 
throat.

"This is it!" announced Ana, pushing open the door and 
revealing the bed, armchair and washbasin. "This is where I 
work."

"Where's Binta?"

"She'll be along soon," Ana said. She indicated the bed. "Sit 
there. I'll sit on the chair, if you don't mind." She hated the 
memories connected with the bed. It was with some 
reluctance that she'd agreed to return to the room after her 
working day. It was normally somewhere she was happy to 
leave and the bed for all its apparent luxury was more like 
a soft-matressed torture rack than somewhere to sleep.

"This is a real neat room!" said Azhnia approvingly. "It's 
real big. Bigger than my bedsit, I can tell you! Can't say 
much for the choice of decor: these reds and pinks. It's like 
a real boudoir. It's not your taste, is it?"

"All the rooms are decorated much like this. We don't have 
much say in how it's done. It's what the clients want and 
expect."

"Is this where you, like, have sex with them, is it?"

Ana ignored the question. She had no wish to discuss that 
aspect of her working life with anyone. Azhnia was more 
persistent. 

"Ferhana says it's, like, real awful what she has to do. 
She really hates it. It's something you don't like, neither, 
isn't it?"

Ana nodded. She tried to change the subject. "Mostly, I 
work as a secretary..."

"Yeh, Ferhana said in her letters. She said it was real weird, 
y'know, you working in this kind of joint. I thought it was 
real weird that anyone like works in a Brothel at other 
things than being a like prostitute. You sort of think that 
that's all that ever happens here, but I reckon there's gotta 
be some admin and all, hasn't there? And you got to know 
Ferhana and Binta as a secretary, didn't you?"

"That's right," sniffed Ana. 

She studied Azhnia. She was clearly nervous, despite her 
show of self-assurance. Was it because she was anticipating 
meeting Binta or was it because she was in a place like the 
Brothel? She glanced at the mirror. She hoped that nothing 
would be recorded of their conversation, but she reflected 
that with the enormous volume of recorded material being 
collected that as long as what was seen was of no visual 
significance then everything said would probably never be 
scrutinised. She looked back at Azhnia. 

"Do you like living in Alif?"

"What a question! Yeh, it's all right. I've made some real 
good friends here. It's got some real neat countryside. I 
s'pose I must like it. I've been to plenty of other countries 
too, and a lot of them are pretty neat too. But I keep 
coming back here. I don't really know why, but I s'pose the 
friends I've made here must be one good reason. Friends 
like Binta and Ferhana. And friends are real important, 
y'know. Don't you think?"

"Yes, very important," agreed Ana.

There was a knock at the door. Ana jumped back with 
alarm, her face whitening as she contemplated the fact that 
it must mean that Binta had arrived. She had rehearsed and 
re-rehearsed this moment for so long: what she would say, 
the bitterness that she felt, the betrayal of her love that 
Binta had been party to, the worries and anxieties that had 
haunted her in the last few months. As the door opened and 
Binta entered, seeming so much smaller and more humble 
than she'd remembered, all the rehearsed lines were 
discarded. She broke into a sad but broad grin. She hadn't 
realised how much she had been longing to see Binta again.

"Hiya, sweetie!" greeted Azhnia. "How're you hanging? 
The bastards not getting you down, are they?"

Binta hovered by the door and nodded in reply. Like Ana 
she seemed to have lost her voice. She leaned an arm 
against the door, gripping its edge with her fingers, and 
stared straight into Ana's eyes. Then she returned the grin 
and ran straight to Ana, leaning down on the floor by her 
stockinged feet, grasping her arms in her hands and staring 
up at Ana with a look of pleading and shame.

"Oh! Ana! I've missed you! I've missed you so much! I've 
been so worried that you wouldn't talk to me ever again. So 
worried now that you ... that you ... I thought I'd lost you 
forever! I haven't, have I? Tell me that I haven't! Tell me 
that all will be the same again!"

Ana looked down at her lover, smiling broadly and crying 
at the same time. "I still love you, Binta! I will always love 
you! All I want is for us to be together again. Please believe 
me!"

"Ferhana told me about the videos. How you found out 
about me and her. How can you ever forgive me? What can 
I do to convince you that it is you? Only you that I love! 
Please please forgive me! And how you must have suffered 
these last months! Those horrid clothes you wear. The 
suffering you must have been through!"

In Ana's rehearsed script this was to be the occasion in 
which she would now spell out exactly the full gruesome 
and unpalatable details of her life as a prostitute - part-time, 
maybe, but a prostitute all the same. She was to tell Binta 
about the recurrent humiliations met upon her by the 
Director and his never-ceasing reminders of the illegal 
activity with Binta which had entrapped her in this way. In 
her mind's eye, this script was now crumpled up and thrown 
away into the waste bin at the corner generally intended to 
receive paper tissues. 

"Oh, Binta!" she said with a deep sigh. "None of that matters. 
Nothing matters! All that is at all important is that we be 
together again!"

Binta smiled sadly, and buried her head on the thin strip of 
black skirt that intervened between the nylon of her 
stockings and the bare flesh of her midriff. Her arms 
wrapped themselves around Ana's waist and her breasts 
nuzzled against her knees and thighs. 

"Oh, Ana! I love you. I love you. I haven't been able to eat. 
I haven't been able to sleep. My life is a misery, punctuated 
by the nightmare of the clients and the few pleasures that my 
garden affords me. Oh please, Ana! You do forgive me, don't 
you? It will be like it was before again, won't it!"

Ana stroked Binta's long hair as it spread out over her 
shoulders and onto Ana's thighs and outward over the pile 
of the carpet. She let a finger roam around her ear and onto 
Binta's cheek. If only it could be like it was before, she 
thought, but now that she was under the almost constant 
supervision of Khedra and the Director it could never again 
be as free or natural. She would always fear reprisals which 
could affect both herself and Binta.

"We-ell!" exclaimed Azhnia, in a long drawn-out whine. "I 
didn't expect this, Binta sweetie. I really thought it was me 
who'd come to see you. I didn't know that it was gonna be 
like some lovers' reunion!"

Binta turned around to face Azhnia, leaning an arm on 
Ana's thigh with a trail of tears running down her cheek. 
"Oh, Azhnia! I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking. It was just that 
..."

"You don't have to spell things out to me, sweetie. Ferhana 
hinted there might be something between you two. I just 
didn't think I'd be some kinda, like, frigging gooseberry, 
y'know. I'm real happy for you two. Really I am!"

"I know. I know," blubbered Binta. She took one of Ana's 
hands in her own and squeezed it tight. "How are you, 
Azhnia? How's life treating you?"

"Fine! Fine. Same's always! But it's you I'm worried about. 
How're you? How're you coping with living and working 
here?"

"It's horrible! Horrible! I hate every minute of it. It just gets 
more and more unbearable!"

"You've not, like, got used to it?"

Binta shook her head. "All I ever think of is: when is it 
going to end? When will I be free again?"

"And when will that be, sweetest?"

Binta sighed. "Another couple of months or so!"

"Well! That's not so bad after all the time you've been 
here!"

"But I don't know what to do next. I haven't got anywhere 
to go to. I can't go back to Jebel. I don't know anyone in 
Blad. I don't have any skills that'll get me a job. And 
wherever I go people will find out that I've got a criminal 
record and that I've worked in the Brothel."

"Can't you just go and live in Jadid with Ana here?"

Binta looked up at Ana with longing. "I'd like that. I'd like 
that so much. But now they know about Ana and me, it 
won't be safe. They might want to arrest us again. And then 
it'll be worse."

"Well! There's only one thing you two can do, and that's, 
like, bail out! Just leave Alif. Go someplace where girls like 
you won't be hassled and you can, like, lead your own lives. 
Most countries don't care a hoot about lesbians. They 
wouldn't hold it against you!"

"But it's not as easy as that!" Ana said sadly. "It's very 
difficult getting passports in Alif. It's very expensive and 
they probably wouldn't give one to Binta because of her 
criminal record. And for me, they'd ask my boss for 
references and he would never give me one."

"You sure about that?"

Ana reflected on the Director. It would be just the sort of 
humiliation he would dearly love to inflict on her: tearing 
up her passport application and throwing the shreds over 
her body. It would only be as bad as some of the other 
unspeakably disgusting humiliations that he'd contrived for 
her benefit. "I could never be more sure about it!"

Azhnia mused on this. "Well, say you could leave the 
country, where'd you both wanna go? Have you got any 
kinda idea, like?"

Ana gazed down at Binta who was nuzzling her cheek 
against the silky artificial fibre of her skirt. "Agdal. That's 
where we'd like to go. Agdal."

"Hey, that's only, like, next door, isn't it? Yeh, I been there. 
Real neat, it is. You'd love it there. They got nothing 
against lesbians there. And they like nudists and all. Ferhana 
told me you'd become a nudist, Binta. I really didn't believe 
her: it seems such a real weird thing to do. Like getting into 
astrology, mysticism, incense and therapy. Not like you at 
all. But here you are: naked as the day you were born. So, 
Agdal is it? Well, I think you've chosen the right one there!"

"You think we'd be happy there, Azhnia?" asked Binta 
longingly.

"Well, yeh. I'm real sure you would. But when I say you've 
chosen the right one, I don't just mean there. I'm sure you'd 
be real happy in Gharab as well if you'd wanted to go there. 
'Fact you'd probably be happy in almost any frigging 
country 'slong as it wasn't Alif. No! What I mean is that 
Agdal's a much better bet than most because it's got this 
Amnesty from Oppression policy. Haven't you heard about 
it? It's been going on for years. Ever since they became, 
like, the most liberal country in probably the whole frigging 
world."

"'Amnesty from Oppression'?" wondered Ana. "What's that 
mean? And what's it got to do with us?"

"You're not kidding me? You've never heard of it! Well, 
that's real weird. I thought everyone knew about that. I 
'spect you guys never get told anything, do you? Your 
government's real tight on information. But I thought here 
in Blad and in the Brothel and all, it'd be like common 
knowledge."

"Tell us, Azhnia. What is this policy? What should we 
know that we don't know about now?" asked Binta with a 
certain impatience in her voice.

"Well! All around the world there are countries like Alif 
which are like real intolerant and repressive. Countries 
where people who disagree with the government are locked 
up or shot. Countries like here where the only elections are 
like real shams, where you've only got the government's 
appointees standing for positions in your parliament, 
congress or senate, or whatever they call it here. Countries 
where the president, like your own President Marmalade - 
sorry, Marmeluke - supposedly win 99.9% of the popular 
vote. Ever since Agdal went so liberal it's had this Amnesty 
from Oppression policy. I s'pose it's like a guilt trip the 
country's got. It used to be real repressive itself. Worse 
than Alif! And not that long ago, really. It just got fed up 
with fighting all these stupid wars (though it's not gone as 
far as give all its territories back!) and had some kinda 
revolution. And now it like gives asylum to political 
prisoners and people like that all over the world. That's 
what their Amnesty from Oppression's all about. It's to sort 
of like make amends for all those people it shot, imprisoned 
and tortured when it wasn't the liberal big shot it is now!"

"Are you saying we could get political asylum?" asked Ana 
incredulously. "But neither of us has done anything 
political. We've never done anything like that at all!"

"Oh, I wouldn't be sure about that. You're both lesbians. 
Binta's a naturist. You've both been pretty much punished 
for your views and practices, working as prostitutes in this 
place. I think they'd look on you pretty sympathetically. 
Naturism and homosexuality are pretty much commonplace 
in Agdal. They're bigger deals there than they are in 
Gharab, which wouldn't be nearly so happy to see people 
roaming around in the nude all day. Yeh! I reckon you've 
got a real big chance with Agdal. All ya gotta do is apply 
for asylum through this programme of theirs. I mean, you 
don't know your chances until you try, y'know't I mean!"

"I can't believe it," said Binta sceptically, but with a face 
which betrayed her eagerness to believe every word. "It 
sounds just a little too good to be true."

"That doesn't mean it's not true. You go have a stab at it. 
It could work out for you. Agdal's got a real big embassy 
in the Honey district. Just ask a few questions. You don't 
know how far you might get."

Ana looked down at Binta with a smile. "Azhnia's right! 
That might be exactly the right thing to do. We can but 
try."

"I don't see why any government would want to be that 
generous. What have we done to deserve such preferential 
treatment? But on the other hand, I've come to despair so 
much while I've been here, I've probably got too cynical for 
my own good. I just can't believe there can be so much 
good in the world."

"Oh, Binta, there's always gotta be something to balance 
the bad. It'd be a real bad world if it were all as bad as Alif 
wouldn't it?"

"But if you think Alif's so bad why do you keep visiting 
here?" Binta wondered.

"I don't come from here. I can leave whenever I like. A 
Gharab passport's real good for getting anywhere. And as a 
foreigner I can probably get to see more of the good side of 
Alif than either of you. I can just travel around, look at all 
the different parts of your country, meet people like you 
and Ferhana, and then when I get fed up I can just head to 
the border and go somewhere like Agdal or whatever. So, 
Alif's not as bad for me as it is for you. And you got real 
neat countryside here. Better, in fact, than Gharab which is 
a lot colder and a lot more industrial than Alif. If you had a 
better government, people'd probably flood into your 
country from everywhere. But it's you we're talking about. 
You're the ones that want to get out."

Binta nodded. "Yes. I do. Desperately! I've lost everything 
I ever had in Alif. My family have disowned me. Mezyana's 
in a convent, and she'll be there for much longer than I'll 
have been in the Brothel. I know nobody at all outside the 
Brothel walls. And I'm going to be stigmatised for the rest 
of my life. But what about you, Ana?" She turned her head 
around to gaze into Ana's face. "Do you want to leave Alif 
as much as I do? Won't you miss your family?"

"I already do!" sighed Ana. "I haven't seen them since I 
arrived here for the interview. But they would disown me 
too if they knew what I was doing now. I shall probably 
never be able to walk through Rif again if they knew what I 
did for a living. They would despise me for it. But more 
than that, I could never live my life without you, Binta. 
You're all that really matters to me!"

Azhnia smiled indulgently. "How very touching! I'd never 
have guessed. You've done real well, Binta. Two good 
loves in your life. Y'know, I've had more than my fair share 
of lovers and boyfriends, but none of them seem to've been 
as good or passionate as yours have been."

Ana knew that this was a reference to Mezyana, but she 
also knew about Azhnia's own relationship with Binta. A 
flash of anger spread through her, as she reflected on how 
Binta had not only been unfaithful to her with Ferhana, but 
had earlier committed the same indiscretion with Azhnia. 
Could she really trust Binta that much? When would she do 
the same again? She glared at Binta, who flinched slightly.

"Oh, Ana. Don't look at me like that! Trust me! It's you I 
love. Only you. In the last few months, I've thought only of 
you. Yours is the only true love in my life!"

Azhnia scratched her nose, and smiled to herself. "You 
mustn't let the past get in the way of your future together, 
y'know. Mezyana is in the past. By the look of it, you are 
her future."

"Mezyana isn't the only person in Binta's past I am 
concerned about!"

Azhnia blushed. "Well ... er ... anyway ... It's the future 
you've got to think about. It's not that long till Binta's 
sentence finishes, y'know! You've both gotta think what 
you're gonna do next. And if Blad or Alif or Jebel or 
whatever's not what you want then you're gonna have to 
look elsewhere aren't you. And if it's Binta you love then 
you're just gonna have to accept that she's not perfect, 
y'know. There's always gonna be a past behind her. And it's 
not just gonna go away, y'know!" She looked around Ana's 
room, at the red and pink wallpaper, the silk cream sheets 
and then finally at Ana herself, who was uncomfortably 
aware of the thick mask of makeup pasted on her face and 
the artificially enhanced cleavage below her chin. "And 
don't forget, Ana. You've got some past of your own that's 
not gonna go away that easy either!"

	25

Ana hovered outside the gates to the Agdal Embassy, 
dressed in her smartest interview outfit, her makeup 
scrubbed off and her stilettos replaced by a pair of 
comfortable soft shoes. Now she had actually arrived in 
Honey, having disembarked off the bus and finally identified 
which of the palatial buildings was the Embassy, her nerves 
were deserting her. The fear of disappointment was greater 
than that she'd ever felt for a job interview. Not only her 
happiness but that of Binta's rested on the outcome of her 
endeavour. What would they do, as Ana dreaded and 
almost expected, if they were not eligible for political 
asylum? However, there was no turning back. She was 
trapped by her need to report back on the outcome of her 
visit. She rang the brass doorbell, and stood back, her heart 
thumping as it chimed. How long would she have to wait?

Not long at all, as it happened, as a uniformed guard 
approached the gate. He scrutinised Ana. "Have you got an 
appointment?" he enquired, looking at a list he had 
attached to a clipboard. Breathlessly Ana nodded. Azhnia 
had warned her that Agdal non-nationals like her were 
unlikely to be readily admitted otherwise. 

"Name?" the guard asked. Ana gave her full name and 
watched as the guard studied his list. The telephone call she 
had made to the Embassy had seemed so inconclusive. She 
couldn't believe that the brusque secretary who answered had 
actually taken down her details, but all was fine. Her name 
was on the list. The guard ticked it off with a pen and 
opened the gate to let Ana through. 

"Amnesty from Oppression, isn't it? We get a lot of you 
political asylum people here. Right bunch of weirdos. 
You're not one, are you?" Ana shook her head. If there 
were so many others, how much chance did she and Binta 
stand? "Anyway, we've got someone to see you. I'll take 
you to reception to wait for her. You're very early, you 
know."

Ana was fully aware of this. In fact she was early by more 
than an hour. But after taking a whole day off work, she 
really had nothing else to do all morning. Her pacing 
backwards and forwards across the flat, endlessly rehearsing 
her case, had worn her out. The only thing she could do to 
break out of this was to pack her handbag and rush down the 
stairs to the bus. 

She was led into a waiting room just past the main reception 
desk where a small number of people were sitting in 
comfortable leather armchairs, while efficient-looking 
receptionists sat in front of monitors with small headphones 
in their ears. She was sure those waiting were Agdal 
nationals, although there was nothing in their appearance 
that distinguished them from anyone else, unless it was 
their self-confident demeanour. They were not obviously 
naturists or homosexuals, although there was no way of 
knowing what they might look like at other times.

In the waiting room, unfamiliar magazines were stacked on 
a small wooden table surrounded by beige leather 
armchairs. A portrait on the wall of the woman president of 
Agdal peered down between two identical flags. She looked 
refreshingly informal and relaxed in comparison to the 
countless portraits of President Marmeluke in his 
military finery prominent in all the cafes and shops of 
Alif. She would normally have found the magazines 
fascinating with their unedited pictures and articles 
about life not only in Agdal, but also in Alif and many 
other countries she knew nothing about. There was a 
freshness and openness about them, not least in the 
ubiquitous presence of naked flesh, and the unashamedness 
in which people of the same sex were portrayed as couples. 
Her eyes darted agitatedly about. Every footfall in the 
corridor silenced her breath, as she waited the door to 
open. 

She wasn't alone. There was an elderly gentleman reading 
beneath a No Smoking sign, and a mother and young child 
sitting together with some toys which the child kept poking 
into her mother's face. They did not stay for very long, 
however. They were escorted out by one or other of the 
efficient receptionists, and soon Ana was alone, pretending 
to read an article about a famine in a remote corner of 
Alif of which she had previously been totally unaware.

Eventually, just after the appointed hour, her turn came. 
A tall receptionist entered in a very smart suit and with 
very short hair. Perhaps appreciating Ana's nervousness, 
she smiled quite warmly. 

"The Amnesty Facilitator will see you now."

Ana looked at her blankly. 

"The Amnesty Facilitator. The political asylum officer, if 
you like. Come on! She hasn't all day."

Ana nodded shyly, stood up and followed the receptionist 
down a series of carpeted corridors to an office hidden 
deep inside the Embassy's labyrinth. She was ushered in and 
introduced to a woman in her early thirties, dressed in an 
open-necked blouse, seated behind a large desk and under 
another portrait of the Agdal president. The receptionist 
disappeared, leaving Ana standing awkwardly by the door, 
her handbag clasped to her front. 

The Amnesty Facilitator also had very short hair, with long 
earrings dangling from her ears and a small stud in her nose. 
She smiled broadly. "Hello, Ana. My name's Wahata." She 
proffered her hand across the desk. Ana strode forward and 
shook it. "You can sit. How can I help you?"

"I'm ... er ... we'd ... We would like ..."

Wahata smiled sympathetically, and glanced at a sheet of 
paper in front of her. "You want to apply for assistance on 
our Amnesty from Oppression Programme, I gather. What 
are your reasons? I note that you work for the State 
Brothel. Is that the reason?"

"Well, yes. Er ... no. It's for me and my lover. We're both at 
the Brothel ..."

"And you're both prostitutes are you? Is your lover male or 
female?"

Ana had never been asked such a question so baldly before. 
It shocked her momentarily, but she reasoned that there 
was no reason for pretence here. "Female. She's a 
prostitute. I'm not. Well, not really. But I am, as well. And 
we wondered if ... we wondered ..."

"You're both prostitutes. You have a gay relationship."

"Gay?"

"Yes. It's an Agdal term for homosexuality. I don't believe 
it's current in Alif. Is your lover voluntarily a prostitute?"

"No, not at all."

"Is she a prisoner, then?"

"Yes. For ... for ... sex crime."

"What category of sex crime? Practising homosexuality?"

Ana nodded. Wahata wrote down a few notes on a sheet of 
paper. "Gay couple. One imprisoned in a Brothel for 
lesbianism. And you? Are you voluntarily a prostitute?"

Ana shook her head. "No, not really. I didn't want to. I 
work there mostly as a secretary. But my boss ... the 
Director ... he ..."

"Would you say you've been coerced into it as a result of 
your sexual preferences?"

Ana nodded. "Yes. Coerced. I'm sure that's the word."

Wahata scribbled a little bit more. "All too common in your 
country, I'm afraid. Particularly for women. And are there 
any other practices or activities that you and your lover 
participate in which would make you eligible for assistance 
under our programme?"

Ana frowned. What could she say? "What kind of practices 
or activities?"

"Political ones, for instance. Have you ever been arrested at 
political demonstrations? Have you ever circulated illegal 
literature? Has either of you practised any activity which is 
perfectly legal and acceptable in Agdal, but not at all in 
Alif?"

Ana blanched. "I can't think of anything that..." She 
remembered Ketaba's own peculiar enthusiasms for Agdal. 
"Binta's a naturist, though. That's acceptable in Agdal and 
not in Alif."

"It is indeed. There aren't many staff here at the Embassy 
who consider themselves naturists and those who do are male. 
I'm not one myself, but for those who practise it, it's 
almost a religion. Are you a naturist yourself?"

Ana felt obliged to strengthen her case as much as possible. 
"Er ... yes. Yes, I am."

Wahata scribbled another note. "It doesn't make much 
difference in your case whether you are or not. I think your 
case already sounds quite strong. However, every little 
extra helps. There may be some among those evaluating 
your case who might be further swung on that basis. So, if 
I can summarise. You are two lesbian lovers coerced into 
prostitution by the Republic of Alif for your sexual 
preferences, who are also naturists as much as it is 
possible to be in your country. Would you agree with that 
summary?"

Ana nodded without a great deal of satisfaction. It wasn't 
exactly how she would have liked the complexities of her life 
described. 

"Yes. I'm sure that's exactly right. Do we really have a 
strong case?" 

Wahata smiled. "I wouldn't say you have the strongest I've 
come across. Those who are more public in their political 
activities always get the highest ratings. If you had been 
tortured, imprisoned without trial or about to be expelled, 
then you could probably expect priority treatment. I take it 
that you are not politically active in any way?"

Ana shook her head. "I don't really know anything about 
politics."

"It's a wonder anyone does in Alif. President Marmeluke's 
government doesn't believe in keeping its citizens 
particularly well informed. However, your case is far 
stronger than most who come here hoping to be eligible for 
patriation. Some like you for their sexual proclivities, 
others because they, well, feel that life would simply be 
better for them in a more liberal country, and others I 
suspect who are simply attracted to the free access to 
alcohol and other such soft drugs. Most such applicants are 
unsuccessful, however. And the tendency in recent years 
has been for rather fewer cases to succeed. Agdal has mostly 
resolved its labour shortage problems and there have been 
expressions of discontent from a sizeable minority of Agdal 
nationals at the perceived influx of foreigners - especially 
those who are most culturally distinct and don't speak the 
same language. Especially, I'm afraid, those from countries 
like Haj. Not that this would present a problem to people 
from Alif like you and your lover. Now, if I may take some 
more particulars which can be used by our Amnesty 
Investigators in pursuit of your application ..."

Wahata then proceeded to ask a number of formal questions about 
Ana and Binta, such as where they came from, what relatives 
they might have in Agdal, formal qualifications, their history 
of oppression, and their political and religious views. Some of 
the questions relating to their sexual activities and past 
partners were particularly embarrassing and awkward for Ana to 
answer, though she tried to answer as fully as she could. No, 
she hadn't contracted any sexually transmitted diseases. No, 
she wasn't a drug addict. Yes, she was prepared to accept that 
none of her family could emigrate to stay with her, unless they 
could be proven to be her own children. No, she had no 
children. Yes, she was willing to abide by all the laws of the 
Republic of Agdal, and would accept immediate repatriation in 
the event of any such transgression. Wahata wrote down Ana's 
replies with efficiency and haste on a glossy printed form she 
had in front of her. 

At last, Wahata was finished. She folded over the final page 
of the form, and replaced the top of her pen. 

"I think that should be sufficient. Now, I can, of course, 
give you no assurance at all about how favourably your 
application will be received, and it is fair to say that it 
is not an immediate process. Our investigators will have to 
do some work to be sure that what you have told me is honest 
and truthful, and that your continued stay in Alif would be 
intolerable to an Agdal national. My opinion, for what it is 
worth, is that your case will be assessed favourably, but I 
cannot say when a decision will be arrived at."

"How long might we have to wait till we know?" asked 
Ana breathlessly. The suspense would be terrible, and the 
longer the wait that much greater the possible 
disappointment.

Wahata glanced back at her form. "Your lover, Binta, is 
due to be released in, let's see, just two months. It's not 
likely that she will have any remission for good behaviour, 
is it?"

Ana shook her head. From her capacity as secretary to the 
Director she was privy to the fact that Ana had not been 
deemed to have earned a single day's remission from her 
sentence, unlike Ferhana whose term had been dramatically 
shortened for her cooperativeness and the quality of the 
services she had supplied for the Brothel. But then 
Ferhana's original sentence had originally been considerably 
longer than Binta's. 

Wahata scratched her chin. "I think we will probably know 
the result, one way or another, well within two months. 
Rather sooner, I'm afraid, if your case is unsuccessful. 
Now, I needn't have to remind you that we expect total 
discretion from you regarding your application while we 
process it. The Alif government has a very unsympathetic 
attitude towards its nationals whom it suspects are applying 
for assistance under our programme. They have frequently 
made complaints, often at the highest level, about what they 
perceive as an open door to criminals and the antisocial 
element. They say that it undermines the effectiveness of 
the justice system if criminals can just walk out of the 
country for a new life. They also find it embarrassing 
that other countries, such as Agdal, should express such 
a low opinion of their legal system to the extent of 
extending sympathy towards offenders. Should word get out 
that you have applied to us in this way, it would be 
extremely prejudicial to your case."

"How would that be?"

"Well, we would probably have to withdraw any offer of 
asylum that we may give or have already given. You and 
your lover would probably be arrested for interrogation by 
your less than sympathetic police department, who would 
probably find grounds for imprisoning you. They don't need 
an actual reason for doing so, but they would do all they 
consider necessary to ensure you were not in a position to 
leave the country. I have personally known some very 
distressing incidents regarding applicants whose current 
whereabouts it is now impossible to ascertain. I suspect 
they may even have been consigned to labour camps in the 
rather more inhospitable corners of Alif."

"How were they found out?"

"I can't say. Even were I to know, which I don't in most 
instances, I am bound by the confidentiality of my position 
to say nothing which could even indirectly identify anyone 
who has applied for Amnesty. What I would say is that as 
soon as you even telephoned the Embassy you had 
committed an offence in the eyes of your government which 
they would not treat lightly. I'm afraid your decision to 
come has already set you down a difficult path with regards 
to the Alif government which the success or otherwise of 
your application will not effect. It is for that reason that I 
will issue you with a wealth of information on tourist 
interest rates, five star hotels and visa requirements. If 
anyone ever mentions anything to you regarding Agdal or 
this Embassy you will say that you came here to inquire about 
holidaying in some of our resorts. Not, as it happens, at all 
unlikely, because you are unlikely to be able to gain any 
information about tourism in Agdal from any other source. 
Alif's travel agencies are notoriously unhelpful, I'm afraid. 
Most visits to the Embassy from Alif nationals relate precisely 
to that. You will, of course, tell Binta to be equally as 
circumspect."

Ana nodded her head. It hadn't occurred to her that she had 
already put herself at so much risk. "I'm sure Binta won't 
say a word."

"I'm sure she won't. Nor you, of course. Gay people in Alif 
are accustomed to hiding information about themselves from 
other people, and this will be just an extra secret for you 
to keep."

Ana examined the woman to whom she had so soon 
surrendered her entire future. What was she like when she 
wasn't working? Was she someone who in a different 
capacity she could perhaps have got to know as a friend? 
Ana knew she liked her. Even found her quite attractive. 
But these considerations were totally irrelevant. Her main 
hope was that Wahata should use whatever weight she 
might have in the processing of her case for it to result in 
her favour.

"Now, for security purposes - yours as well as ours, I'm 
afraid - you must never return to the Embassy again. You 
must not contact us either. We're sure that many of our 
calls are intercepted, and I hope you didn't contact us from 
your work telephone number."

Ana shook her head, although the reason she'd not done so 
was less from security considerations and more from the 
fact she could never know when someone would come into 
the office while she was on the telephone.

"We will contact you. Don't contact us, however much you 
feel like doing so. When you hear from us, this will 
probably be an anonymous phone call, and whoever it is, 
male or female, will use a woman's name. In your case, it 
will be, let's see ..." Wahata rummaged through some 
papers she had on the desk. "It will be ... Kerhala. It will be 
in the discretion of whoever calls you how that word will 
be used. The contact will inform you where to go and at 
what time. Ensure that you can make it. If you can't, for 
whatever reason, say so immediately and an alternative will 
be promptly suggested. Do not prolong the telephone call 
and do not suggest that you don't know the person who is 
calling. Is that understood?"

Ana nodded. These elaborate arrangements were not ones 
she'd expected. "Kerhala," she repeated.

"Yes, Kerhala. A common enough name, you must agree. 
Now, Ana, our formal interview is over. I think I've 
gathered all I need to know, unless you have some other 
piece of information you think is relevant. Is there 
anything?"

Ana frowned. Was there? She reviewed her situation as 
best as she could in the whirl of thoughts jumbling about in 
her head. She shook her head. "I'm sure there's nothing."

"Sure?" prompted Wahata. "Okay! In that case, perhaps I 
can tell you a few things about Agdal. What do you know 
about our country?"

"Not very much. A friend of mine from the Brothel goes on 
holiday there quite frequently and I met someone from 
Gharab who's travelled through it. I've seen photographs of 
the beaches and mountains. They look splendid!"

"Yes. Agdal is blessed with beautiful scenery and a very 
pleasant warm climate. Slightly less arid than Alif, 
particularly on the coast, and some mountains are 
permanently covered in snow. Agdal's tourism industry is 
very profitable - quite the envy of Alif, which has never 
really fully exploited its tourist potential. It's also a much 
more built up country than Alif, which you probably won't 
know from talking to tourists nor indeed from reading the 
tourist literature I'll give you. Alif has only one city of any 
size: Blad. Most of your other cities are rather tiny by 
comparison to those in Agdal. The likelihood is that if you 
were successful in your application, you'd be living in a 
town. Possibly one as large as Blad or even larger. I see 
you are a country girl. Rif, you said you came from. Does 
the prospect of living in a town like Blad again trouble 
you?"

"I don't know. Both Binta and I would prefer to live in the 
country again. But, if there were no choice, we would be 
happy to live in a city in Agdal. After all, in Alif, there's 
probably nowhere other than Blad we could live."

"Indeed not," agreed Wahata. "Even in Alif, cities are 
generally more tolerant towards people who do not 
conform in one way or another. I warn you though that 
Agdal's cities are much more congested and busy than Blad. 
That might be a little difficult to cope with. In comparison, 
Blad is a dozy quiet place. I certainly think so, anyway. My 
home in Agdal is in the capital city and I often miss the 
buzz of Agdal urban life. However, where there are more 
people there are more jobs, and I think you'll find that the 
opportunities for employment are somewhat better than they 
are in Alif, particularly for a secretary with your 
qualifications. You got quite good grades in your exams, I 
remember you saying."

"Yes. But there weren't many jobs, though."

"No. It doesn't surprise me you had to work at the Brothel. 
I'm sure prostitution and its allied industries wouldn't be 
nearly as prevalent in your country if Alif women had more 
career opportunities. As you probably know, Agdal is a 
relatively wealthy country. The change in government that 
took place in the revolution when I was a child might 
have initially caused a great deal of chaos, especially 
when your government so ineptly intervened under President 
Marmeluke's deposed predecessor, but Agdal now boasts a 
very comfortable GDP, a widely envied balance of payments 
and a stable and prosperous economy. Your own government 
will never forgive us for how much we have profited from 
our liberal and open political system. That is why you 
will never be told very much about Agdal and why your 
government is so concerned about our Amnesty programme. 
A mass exodus of your brightest and best would not do your 
country's benighted economy any good whatsoever."

"Doesn't having alcohol legal in Agdal cause any 
problems?"

Wahata laughed. "Of course it does. When you allow a degree 
of freedom there are bound to be problems. Yes, we have 
alcoholics. We have a problem with other activities legal 
in Agdal and illegal in Alif. Sexually transmitted diseases 
among the promiscuous, particularly in male homosexual 
communities. Drug addiction. Pornography. Pollution. Car 
accidents. Agdal's not paradise. Don't believe that for one 
minute. Prosperity and liberalism bring their own problems, 
and there are plenty in Agdal who argue for a return to a 
more conservative regime such Alif's. My own opinions are 
fairly irrelevant on these issues, but I wouldn't say that 
people in Alif are that much happier for being prevented 
from doing things than people in Agdal are for having the 
choice. And anyway, I don't think making something illegal 
actually stops it happening. Alcohol is still drunk in Alif. 
Homosexuality is still practised. And although pornography 
is illegal, Alif is actually one of the world's biggest 
exporters of the stuff as a sideline to its profitable 
State Brothels."

"Do you have brothels in Agdal?"

"Oh yes. We have them in Agdal. There may actually be 
more prostitutes in Agdal than in Alif - but then there are 
rather more people. However, prostitution is not 
nationalised as it is in Alif, and statistically very few people 
pursue it as a career for more than a few months. It is 
scarcely the job for life that it appears to be here."

Wahata glanced at her watch. "Well, I'm terribly sorry, but I 
have another appointment in a few minutes, so I'll have to 
close the interview." She opened a drawer to the desk and 
pulled out a plastic folder full of brochures and leaflets. 
"This is the tourist information I told you about. Go to the 
reception desk, and you will be shown out through a back 
exit which will rather lessen the likelihood of you having 
been seen visiting the Embassy. Remember, don't contact 
us. We will definitely be contacting you. One way or 
another." She stood up, prompting Ana to do the same. 
"Well, goodbye. And give my best regards to your partner."

	26

Ana had never seen Binta in clothes before, and it made 
quite a pronounced difference.  Dressed in the kind of 
clothes she had worn when she had been arrested, she 
looked like just an ordinary girl from the provinces. She 
was sitting on the sofa in Ana's Jadid flat, her legs crossed, 
thumbing through a newspaper. It was Ana who looked 
most like a prostitute in the work clothes she hadn't 
bothered to change after a day in the office mostly spent in 
anxious anticipation of this very moment. She had earlier 
lent Binta a spare key to her flat, who, after being released 
from the Brothel, made her way there across the city, 
while Ana was pretending that this day was really no 
different from any other, even though it was the day for 
which she'd been most longing for the last two months.

The day had been meticulously planned ever since she 
received a phone call during work from a man she'd never 
spoken to before who greeted her with considerable 
familiarity and asked if he could see her after having met 
her at Kerhala's party. Ana hadn't been to any parties 
recently, or indeed at all in her time at Blad, but she knew 
from the coded reference that this could only be the long 
awaited contact from the Agdal Embassy. The man 
arranged to meet Ana at a cafe in the Honey district, and 
elaborated no further. Ana was impatient to know at last 
the outcome of her application, but prudently asked no 
compromising questions.

When she arrived at the cafe at the due time there was no 
man waiting for her and no man arrived. Instead, a tall 
woman with black curly shoulder-length hair and a 
summer dress approached her, asked her name and 
introduced herself as Kerhala. Ana was then guided to a 
table hidden behind a post inside the cafe, and sat opposite 
the woman, facing the kitchen and hidden from the street. 
The woman then informed her that she was an employee of 
the Agdal Embassy, as Ana had already surmised, that her 
real name was not really Kerhala and that Ana's application 
had been successful. What was now required of her were 
passport photographs of herself and Binta to be sent to the 
Agdal Embassy as anonymously as possible. The two girls 
would be issued with Agdal passports which they would 
need to exit the country. These would be presented to them 
just before their departure. To receive them, Ana and Binta 
would be met at a certain cafe not far from the border with 
Agdal on the day after Binta's release from the Brothel. 
Kerhala then went on to explain to Ana exactly what was 
required of the two conspirators to secure their elopement. 

The cost of this troubled Ana as she looked around her flat, 
at the posters on the wall and the television she had spent 
so many hours watching. All this was to be abandoned. All 
that would be salvaged was only what she and Binta could get 
into her suitcases, and most of that was clothing. She had 
cashed as much as she could from the bank, and everything 
else she'd acquired was to be lost forever. Nobody was 
warned of their departure - not even their closest friends, 
and certainly not Mr Madir. Ana was not to give notice that 
she would leave and nobody was to know that Binta would 
ever see Ana on leaving the Brothel. She had attended work 
on this, her last day, as on every other day, accepting 
every humiliation the Director visited on her with exactly 
the same resignation as on any other day, and the following 
day not bother to call in sick until quite late. Nobody's 
suspicions should be prematurely aroused.

She had also been required to keep her contact with Binta 
to the bare minimum, and they were instructed never to use 
any intermediaries, however apparently trustworthy. This 
was to protect their friends in the inevitable 
interrogations which would follow when it was discovered 
that Ana had absconded. Those few contacts Ana had with 
Binta were kept as brief as possible, and their main 
purpose was to arrange where they should meet, which was why 
Ana had presented her with a key to her flat. The only other 
thing required from Binta was a passport photograph, which 
fortunately Ana was able to obtain from a copy of the standard 
advertising literature for prospective clients of Binta's 
services. She was also advised to give no impression that she 
and Binta were at all likely to meet on the day of Binta's 
release.

Ana put down her handbag and raced over to Binta who 
looked up at her with a broad smile. "You're free!" she 
exclaimed. "Free!"

Binta grinned, opening her arms to embrace Ana. "Yes I 
am! At last! After all these years. I'll never have to make 
love to a man ever again." 

The two lovers kissed passionately, happy in the knowledge 
that there was no one to interrupt them, and indeed for the 
first time since before Ana's fateful evening at Bezaffa's 
home. Their arms locked around one another and Ana felt 
the familiar warmth of Binta's body through the plain cotton 
blouse and skirt she wore over her hidden flesh.

"You have a very nice flat, Ana," remarked Binta. "I didn't 
know people ever lived with so much space. So much of it! 
And all yours."

"Not for much longer," mused Ana sadly, looking around 
her. "I'll miss it! I'll have to leave behind almost everything. 
I'll never see it again. I'll never see the bedroom, the 
shower, the television, the kitchen, ever again. But it'll be 
all I'll regret leaving. And you? You found the flat alright?"

"It wasn't easy. I didn't realise how big a city could be. All 
I'd ever seen of Blad was what I saw from the Brothel. I 
didn't know how far it spread out. There's so much of it! 
I was really disorientated. I could walk any way I wanted, 
but I just didn't know where to go."

"Did you catch a bus?"

"A bus? No, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where 
any of the buses went. I just walked. It was miles! And the 
pavements are so hard. My feet are just a mess of blisters! 
But after being in the Brothel for so long and not being able 
to walk any distance, walking was really enjoyable, I can 
tell you."

"How did you find Jadid?"

"I just asked people. And looked at street maps. I didn't 
know it was so far from the Brothel. And the streets all 
look the same! I had your map, the one you drew me. That 
helped a bit when I actually arrived in Jadid. When I found 
the post office you told me about, and saw places with 
names like The Jadid Video Arcade and The Jadid 
Community Centre, I knew I was in the right place. It 
wasn't difficult then to find your block of flats. It was a 
horrid climb up all those steps!"

"Did anyone see you come in?"

"I remembered what you said. There was that concierge at 
the door. I told him I was a friend of Zuja's. That was the 
name you said, wasn't it?"

Ana nodded. Zuja was a girl on the top floor who had a 
large number of friends, and another visitor for her wouldn't 
attract any attention to the fact that Ana, for one of the few 
times she'd been in the city, was entertaining a visitor. 
Anything, however small, which might alert anyone to something 
unusual in Ana's routine could sabotage the whole endeavour.

"Oh! It's wonderful to see you here!" Binta gushed. "I've 
been looking forward to this moment for so long. I've been 
counting off the days, counting off the clients, one by one, 
just waiting for the moment when I could be sitting here 
waiting for you!"

Ana gripped Binta as tightly as she could. "Me, too! Every 
day! Every hour! It's been unbearable! And not daring to 
speak to you: that's been the worst! I was dreading that I 
might get back here, and you weren't here. That you were 
somewhere else..."

Binta looked into Ana's eyes with a troubled expression. 
"You still doubted me?" she said betraying hurt in her 
voice.

Ana nodded gravely. "Or I thought some other disaster 
might happen. I don't know. Any disaster. That the police 
had found out that we were planning to leave. That the 
Director had found out. That Khedra had chosen this day to 
pay me a surprise visit. But you're here! That's all that 
matters! Oh! I'm so happy! We're together at last! And we'll 
never have to go back to that hateful Brothel ever again! 
How do you feel about not having to go back?"

"It's a hideous nightmare that I've finally woken up from. 
Did I really have sex with all those disgusting men? And I 
was kept busy right to the end. It was horrible! They kept 
threatening to lower my grade if I performed badly, and, as 
you know, the lower the grade the more disgusting the 
client. And Khedra kept trying to persuade me to stay on as 
a prostitute when I finish. She told me that life as an 
employed prostitute was fundamentally better than that of a 
prisoner in the same place. Once I earned money, I'd 
appreciate it more. You didn't find that, did you?" 

Ana shook her head, although it was true that her income 
had increased quite dramatically since she started working 
part-time in that capacity. "I'll never have to see the 
Director again! Those horrid cigars he smoked. The taste of 
them was foul. All those vile things he got me to do. He 
was particularly taunting today. He told me such lies! 
That you had agreed to work in another brothel and that 
you were likely to share a flat with Ferhana when she 
leaves."

"Did you have to ...?"

Ana nodded her head. "Let's not talk about the Brothel. I 
never want to see it again. One thing that most upsets me 
about it is that I shall never get paid for the last month I 
worked. All that suffering for nothing!"

"I'll miss the other girls," sighed Binta.

"Like Ferhana?" snarled Ana.

"Oh, Ana! Please forget Ferhana. But, yes, I will miss 
Ferhana. She was a good friend. And Zabba, Ketaba and all 
the others. I'll probably never meet them again. Ever."

"In a way I hope I never do. They'll only remind me of the 
Brothel. I want to forget every detail of it. I want to start 
afresh with you. Every aspect of that chapter in my life to 
be erased forever from my memory. That's what I want. 
The only thing I want left of my time there is you. Nothing 
else. Just you!"

Binta kissed Ana passionately. "And I, you! That little room 
in which I was confined for so many hours, with the stains 
and smells of the clients. Those long corridors. That horrid 
mirror. The light above the door. Never again. I don't even 
care what happens to my little garden. Slugs and greenflies 
can eat every morsel of it. I don't care if I never work in a 
garden ever again!"

"I'll miss never seeing Rif again. I wonder if I'll ever see any 
of my family again. They don't know I'm leaving. The first 
they'll ever know is when I write them a letter from Agdal. 
They don't even know that I work in a Brothel - and 
certainly nothing about my non-secretarial work. They'd be 
horrified if they knew!"

"Where have you said you've been working?"

"An insurance company. I thought of making up a name, 
but they might suspect something, so I told them it was 
Floose & Co. I've been dreading that they'd visit me and 
find out that I'd been lying. And of course I haven't told 
them anything about you, except that you're a friend of 
mine. I don't know whether I'll ever have the courage to tell 
them the whole truth. They would be so ashamed."

"My parents don't know about you either, Ana. I've written 
to them, but I've always had to be careful about what to 
say. My father's never written to me. My mother's letters 
are always so evasive. She doesn't admit even in her letters 
exactly where I've been sentenced and the reasons why. I 
might as well be abroad in Agdal already as far as she's 
concerned. She doesn't seem to expect me to come home 
again either. It may even be a relief to her if I'm abroad and 
they have no reason to feel ashamed for never seeing me 
again. I'll never see Jebel again any more than you'll ever 
see Rif. I look forward to seeing the countryside in Agdal. 
Do you think we'll be living in the countryside? I do hope 
so. I didn't enjoy walking through Blad at all."

Ana smiled compassionately. "I hope we do, but I wouldn't 
rely on it. When I asked Wahata where it was likely that we 
would be living, she simply said it was most likely to be 
where the jobs are. And most jobs are in big cities, aren't 
they?"

Binta nodded sadly. "However much I'm looking forward 
to leaving Alif, I still have apprehensions about Agdal. I do 
hope we enjoy living there. But it must be better than living 
in Alif. Surely!"

"We'll be able to live together. We'll be able to be open 
about our love together. I don't care where we live really. If 
we don't have to worry about being arrested then I'm sure 
we'll be happy."

"Yes, you're right!" sighed Binta. "Agdal must be better 
than Alif. But I can't believe it's going to happen. It seems 
so unreal. I've only just got out of the Brothel! It's the first 
time I've been free to wander anywhere other than Jebel. Blad 
seems foreign enough to me. The tall buildings. All the people. 
The busy traffic. And tomorrow at this time I won't even be in 
Alif at all!"

"But at least we'll have each other!"

"Yes, we will!" said Binta with a broad grin. "We'll be 
together. Free and together! Forever!" She squeezed Ana 
tightly to her and peppered her face with kisses. "I've been 
aching for this moment for so long. I've been so wanting you. 
Just to be close to you. Just to feel you. Oh, Ana! I love 
you so much!"

	

		27

"Well, hello!" said Wahata. "I'm glad you made it. And so 
promptly." She beckoned Ana and Binta sit in the chairs 
opposite her in the small rundown cafe at which their 
rendezvous had been arranged. "You must have left Blad 
very early this morning!"

Ana yawned. Yes, it had been, but after a restless night in 
which neither she nor Binta got any sleep at all. This 
sleeplessness was partly to do with their forebodings for the 
day ahead, but more to do with the exertions of the two 
lovers' reconciliation. They had got up extremely early, just 
as the first few rays of dawn sunshine streamed through the 
gaps between Blad's tall office blocks, and humped their 
heavy suitcases down the steps to the ground floor, 
dreading that they should disturb anyone. Then into the city 
streets, heading across town towards the nearest railway 
station. As suggested, they bought tickets to a destination 
beyond that of the small border town of Bab, and sat 
separately in the train as it pulled off. Kerhala had warned 
them that secret police were much more widespread in Alif 
than Ana might imagine. Any unusual activity could attract 
very unwelcome attention - a category into which their 
early morning departure easily fell. The two women didn't 
dare sit near each other until the train was well on its way 
and more people had embarked. 

The journey took several hours, through barren plains 
bordered by mountains, past fields of peasants driving their 
donkeys and cattle, through small dusty towns and for 
nearly an hour along the length of a broad river on which 
boats were sailing in the bright light of the morning sun. 
The two girls were captivated by the vista, Binta especially. 
As she so often reminded Ana, not only had she never 
travelled such a long distance by train before, she had never 
seen any part of the world that was neither Jebel nor Blad. 

"It's so beautiful!" she sighed. "And I'll probably never see 
these places ever again."

Bab was one of the least prepossessing railway stations at 
which they'd stopped. Nobody else got off the train when 
they did, dragging their heavy baggage down the great drop 
onto the platform and across the railway lines to the main 
platform. A guard blew a whistle and the diesel locomotive 
thundered off carrying its relative security away from them. 
The station was dusty and badly maintained. The metal signs 
were rusting and broken. A few goats were grazing by the side 
of the tracks, and stared warily at the two fugitives as they 
struggled out of the station and onto the dusty dirt track 
outside. This was certainly no tourist destination.

The Safari Cafe was probably the only cafe in the whole 
village, and scarcely a very busy one. Two old men sat 
outside smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, and the 
waiter barely seemed to notice them as they struggled in 
with their luggage past the gas bottles and freezer cabinet 
by the doorway, but Ana knew for sure that they had come 
to the right place when they saw Wahata sitting inside in 
the shade by a wooden bench wearing culottes and a striped 
tee-shirt nursing a half empty glass of black coffee.

"This is a pretty godforsaken village I'm sure you'll agree," 
said Wahata when the waiter had served Binta and Ana 
with two welcome but unpleasant tasting glasses of coffee. 
"Not really what anyone would choose as their last sight of 
Alif, but it suits our purposes. It's less than ten miles from 
the Agdal-Alif border, and we can trust the villagers to be 
sympathetic. A few generations ago, Bab was a village in 
Agdal which along with the rest of the Safari district was 
conquered by Alif in one of those frequent wars which used 
to bedevil our two countries. People even now resent Alif 
occupation and the way they have been forced to drop their 
traditional customs for those of the invaders. I can talk to 
you quite freely here, and tell you all the things you need to 
know before I drop you off at the border. You're probably 
asking yourselves though why we've arranged for you to 
leave the country at this particular point."

"Well, yes," admitted Ana whose conversation with Binta 
had been about little else when they realised how very 
desolate the village of Bab was. "And it's still quite a long 
way from the border."

"There's a bus which comes to the border once a day. We 
shall time our arrival at the border to coincide with it to 
minimise suspicion. It would be too dangerous however for 
you to actually travel by it. It's regularly searched by police 
and, at the very least, questions would be asked as to why 
you should be going to Agdal. The questioning is rarely 
subtle and it would be very disconcerting for you - 
particularly for Binta who has only just come out of the 
Brothel. It's possible that the cost of them allowing you to 
continue on your way would be to provide sexual services 
for the police, and there's no guarantee that they would be 
true to their word. You would certainly be expected to pay 
quite a substantial sum of money as a bribe. That would be 
the least you could expect without an Agdal passport. 
Agdal citizens do not expect or get that kind of treatment, 
though it's almost routine for Alif nationals, particularly 
those without passports of any kind."

Wahata paused, and leaned over to rummage in a large 
handbag she had by her side. She pulled out two green 
plastic booklets which she passed over to Binta and Ana. 
"With these, however, you should be a lot more secure, 
although we still have the odd complaint from our own 
citizens of very uncivilised behaviour from your minor 
officials."

Ana looked at the booklet. It was her first sight of a 
passport, and it came as rather a surprise that such a very 
important document should look so ordinary. She was 
disconcerted to find that it was already creased and worn, 
with several visas already stamped inside, but there, on the 
opening page, was her photograph and the name Aghba 
Mustafubal printed underneath. Binta's passport was in a 
similar state and the name inside was Harama Asine. Ana 
flicked through the pages, feeling a little disappointed. 
"Why are they both in such a bad state?"

"Common sense, I'm afraid. Passports in pristine condition 
would attract attention. Someone would be bound to 
suspect that they were forgeries. It's not unknown, you  
see. We have deliberately distressed them and given them 
expiry dates which are really not far into the future. We 
have also faked an entry visa into the country, because that 
will be the first thing that the border guards will search for. 
Fortunately, Alif visas are not very sophisticated and  
extremely easy to forge. The names you've been given have 
been randomly selected but are more common in Agdal 
than they are in Alif. Your real names would also attract 
attention. We have to do everything possible to reduce the 
possibility of your being found out."

"We're very grateful," said Binta. "You've gone to a lot of 
trouble on our behalf."

"It's not entirely for you alone. It is in our interest and that 
of the future success of the Amnesty from Oppression 
programme that you are not discovered. Agdal's relations 
with Alif are always very fraught and President 
Marmeluke's government isn't at all averse to making high 
level complaints for every incidence of granting asylum to 
Alif nationals. The fewer such incidents known to your 
government the better for us. If they don't find out now or 
in the future, the better it is for everyone, including any 
future petitioners. That's one reason for moving so 
promptly on Binta's release. The longer you tarried the 
more likelihood that someone somewhere might suspect 
something. What we hope is that people in your 
government will believe that you two have just disappeared: 
not an unknown phenomenon for people like you who have 
little to gain from being known as convicted lesbians. Our 
people are already laying tracks which will suggest just 
such an action." Wahata turned to face Ana. "Have you 
phoned work yet to say that you aren't coming in today?"

Ana shook her head. "No. I haven't been near a telephone 
since we left Blad."

"Well, you'd better call in now!" Wahata pulled a portable 
telephone out of her handbag and extended its aerial. "What 
we want you to say is that you have contracted 'flu and that 
your doctor has advised that you take a week off work. We 
will send your office a forged doctor's note which should 
allay suspicion. This will hopefully buy you a little time."

"Why do you want to do that if we're going to be in Agdal 
by this evening?" wondered Binta.

"It's not for you we want to buy time, but for your friends 
and colleagues. They will be as mystified as anyone when 
you don't turn up for work again, and with the benefit of 
extra time it is likely that when it is known that you have 
absconded from work plenty of other alternative theories 
and hypotheses will have propagated which will muddy the 
waters a little bit and lessen the chances of the correct 
solution being arrived at. I can't emphasise too much how 
much risk your friends may already be in if the slightest 
suspicion reaches the appropriate authorities."

With her heart thumping painfully and a glaucous mass 
lodged in her throat, Ana carefully punched in the digits of 
her work telephone number. She started with surprise when 
the bleeps of the automatic dialling resolved themselves 
into a piercing whistle, but then she realised she'd not 
prefixed it with the dialling code for Blad. She reset the 
receiver, punched in the longer code and waited with 
trepidation as the phone at the other end rang and rang. It 
was not at all welcome to her when the voice that barked 
angrily down to her was unmistakably the Director's.

"Hello. Who is it?"

"It's me, Ana."

"You! What are you ringing in for? Why aren't you here, 
you bitch? Why didn't you ring in earlier? How do you 
expect the office to run without you?"

"I'm ill. I've got 'flu."

"'Flu, my foot, you slut! You should be here. Come in this 
minute."

"I've got a doctor's note. He says I've got to stay off work 
for at least a week..."

"A week? You lazy bitch! You better send that note in, 
m'dear. Bit of a coincidence, isn't it, you getting 'flu on the 
day after your dyke girlfriend leaves the Brothel. You're not 
with her, are you? Dyking about together?"

"I don't know where Binta is. I ... er ... I didn't even know 
she was due out."

"Lying dyke!" snorted the Director. "That means I'll have 
to hire a temp. Didn't give me much warning, did you bitch? 
You seemed all right yesterday."

"It came on very suddenly. I feel very ill."

"Huh! Well, I suppose you just haven't got the stamina, 
have you m'dear? I'll have to cancel the clients I  
arranged for you this week. They're going to be damned 
disappointed. Get well soon, and I won't have any 
sympathy for you if you're off one day longer than the 
doctor's note says. Stupid bitch dyke!"

With that there was a sudden click as the Director put his 
receiver down. Ana gently lowered the portable phone, and 
stared at Binta and Wahata with a face drained of all 
colour.

"Your former boss doesn't sound like a very pleasant man," 
commented Wahata mildly.

"He's really horrible!" Binta exclaimed. "He's always 
seducing the girls at the Brothel and treats them really 
badly. You wouldn't believe some of the obscene things he's 
had poor Ana submit to!"

"I've been in this business just long enough to believe 
anything, I'm afraid. Alif is not a country famous for the 
kindness that its men treat its women." Wahata stretched a 
hand over to grasp Ana's which was still gripping the phone 
and staring at it blankly. "You handled that very well, Ana. 
Your boss clearly suspects that there is a connection 
between your absence and Binta's release. We shall have to 
watch your flat carefully to see whether he sends anyone to 
investigate. It's likely that what he'll be expecting is that 
Binta and you will be there together, so not finding either 
of you there may rather shock him. As long as no 
connection is made between your disappearance and the 
Republic of Agdal then no unfortunate conclusions may be 
drawn." Wahata turned to face Binta. "Although you are 
free from the Brothel, are there any appointments which 
you are due to make with anyone? Perhaps on the Brothel's 
post-employment rehabilitation programme?"

Binta shook her head. "No. Not at all. It's just a way they 
have of trying to persuade people like me to continue 
working for the Brothel after we've been released. There 
are no jobs in Alif, except in places like the State Brothel, 
and I want nothing at all to do with it in future."

Wahata nodded. "Your uncooperative behaviour over the 
last few years will have made such reasoning totally 
plausible. So, the authorities presumably have no way of 
tracing you. That's all for the good. Unless something very 
untoward happens in the next few hours, you have both 
seen and heard the very last of the Brothel, and I dare say 
you must be delighted if that's the case."

Ana's phone call to the Director still shook her. She eased 
her grip on the phone and handed it back to Wahata who 
carefully dropped it into her handbag. "He's such a horrible 
man!"

Wahata nodded sympathetically. "Many men in Alif are like 
him. A country like yours seems to encourage male 
chauvinism. Not just in Brothels, of course. In every walk 
of life. In hotels, offices, factories, everywhere where 
women work. Women are very much second class citizens 
here, derided when they are successful, despised when 
they're not. It's not the worst country in the world in that 
respect, but it's clearly not the best. You'll be much happier 
in Agdal, I'm sure, where there are laws to protect women 
from the worst excesses of male behaviour, though I'd be 
lying if I said there weren't far too many instances of male 
harassment and chauvinism in Agdal too. Alif is not a 
country which seems likely to improve the lot of its women 
in the near future and while men like your Brothel Director 
remain in positions of power and influence it's unlikely to 
happen very soon at all."

"Are there other ways in which Agdal is better than Alif?" 
wondered Binta.

"It's more difficult to think of many ways in which Alif is at 
all better than Agdal. But President Marmeluke's 
government would not be in power at all if it didn't govern 
with the consensus of at least a sizeable minority of its 
citizens. I'm not saying that it is legitimate in the sense that 
it actually does win those fabulous majorities in your 
national elections that it so consistently claims. No party in 
Agdal has ever gained the massive electoral support your 
government boasts. What I'm saying is that there are 
enough people in your country who genuinely believe in the 
policies of your President Marmeluke to keep him in power 
until another would-be dictator comes along and by 
treachery or deceit manages to oust him from power and 
become president himself. It's unlikely though that any 
change of government in this way would make much 
difference to the policies your government pursues, 
whoever the actual individuals composing it are."

"But you managed to change your government in Agdal," 
objected Binta. "Surely the same could happen in Alif."

"Perhaps. Perhaps. But at great cost, I can tell you! It took 
at least a decade of chaos, civil war and invasion until 
Agdal evolved into the nation it is now. Many thousands of 
people died in the process and it didn't always seem 
inevitable that a liberal or enlightened regime would take 
power. I'm not sure I would gladly wish that kind of penalty 
on the people of Alif in their desire to attain better rights 
and economic prosperity."

Wahata signalled to the waiter who had been standing out 
of earshot in the entrance to the cafe. He wandered towards 
them, as Wahata stood up and paid for the coffees. "Right!" 
she announced to Binta and Ana. "We'd better get going."

The three of them strode into the dusty unmetalled road 
running through Bab, lined by sandy coloured buildings, on 
whose flat roofs were washing lines and the occasional 
television aerial. Wahata led them down the road to an area 
of dusty ground where a car waited amongst the odd blown 
page of newspaper and a sleeping dog. Ana was surprised 
to see that the car was really not the grand Embassy 
limousine she'd expected, but, while Wahata was turning 
her key in the car door to release all the door locks, she 
reasoned that this too was not to attract unwelcome 
attention. It was quite modest, not at all new and the 
number plates were familiar as belonging to Blad. The three 
of them entered the car, Binta sitting in the front next to 
Wahata.

"We'll be arriving at the border rather early," Wahata 
announced. "The bus isn't due to arrive for at least an hour, 
but I think it's rather better to be early than late." She 
turned the key in the ignition and steered the car onto the 
road, bumping uncomfortably over the uneven ground. 
Wahata drove carefully and slowly, avoiding the potholes 
and hens scattered about the road.

"You may wonder why we've selected this particularly 
border post for you to leave," Wahata said. "There are after 
all many such border posts, and most are a great deal more 
salubrious. For instance, one could have left the country by 
'plane, bus or train. All much more convenient than this. 
But our objective is to minimise risk as much as possible. 
The passport control and customs here are much more lax 
than most others in Alif. They would be less likely to pick 
up on the fact that you don't have Agdal dialects and are 
dressing rather more conservatively than Agdal women 
would. They would also be less likely to be amongst the 
first border posts notified if your descriptions were 
circulated should anyone suspect you were trying to leave."

"Surely, no one knows that we're here," Ana remarked 
from behind Wahata's head.

"Nobody knows, but they may have their suspicions. Who 
knows whether one of your colleagues at the Brothel has 
discovered about your escape, by whatever means I 
couldn't say, and has broadcast it to the authorities. Your 
boss has made the connection between Ana's day off sick 
and Binta's release. Although that connection may be useful 
later on in explaining your abrupt departure from the 
Brothel, it may be that his suspicions may be further 
aroused. Events like these have been known to happen, and 
in cases under my care as well."

"What happened in those cases?" Binta asked. "How did 
they find out? What did they do?"

"I don't know the answer to your questions at all, but I 
remember clearly one case I was supervising. Through a 
different crossing point to this. In fact, it was by sea. We do 
try to vary our selection as much as possible within the slim 
choice of relatively lax crossings. Like today, I escorted the 
man and his wife, who were being persecuted for their 
political activities, to the crossing point, as far as I could go 
- the actual crossing has to be done without any assistance 
from me I'm afraid. I watched them walk to the border 
patrol, and spent several anxious moments from a vantage 
point in the harbour waiting for them to pass through and 
embark on the boat. I waited and I waited, and still there 
was no sign of them. Eventually, I abandoned the wait and 
drove back to the Embassy. The first I knew about them for 
sure was that neither of them ever arrived in Agdal. The 
next I heard was in a report in one of your national 
newspapers. They were one of many in a list of people 
arrested for alleged alcohol smuggling and corruption of 
minors. What happened to them after that I don't know, but 
I can only fear the worst."

Wahata continued driving along the uneven roads, past 
derelict farm houses and fields in which women 
farmworkers wearing scarves over their hair were bent 
double over the crops they were working on. In the middle 
distance, some splendid mountains towered above, which 
Wahata identified as being on the Agdal side of the border. 
The only other traffic they passed were carts pulled by oxen 
or mules, and a small open-topped van in which several 
women were sitting, watching the fields as they went by. 
Among them was a thin teenage girl with most of her front 
teeth missing who smiled broadly at them as they passed. 
Both Binta and Ana were captivated by the view, while 
Wahata drove doggedly on, occasionally cursing the state 
of the roads. "I don't think they've been maintained since 
this was Agdal territory!" she remarked bitterly at one 
stage.

Eventually, Wahata stopped the car by a derelict 
farmhouse, and parked it out of sight of the road. She 
pointed at a single bus shelter just by the road which had 
none of its windows and very little of its roof left intact. A 
few people were gathered there disconsolately between 
their bags and suitcases. "That's where I suggest you wait 
until the bus arrives. Those other people have come 
through the border from the Agdal side, and are no doubt 
waiting for the bus to take them deeper into Alif. There are 
very few buses which can travel through the border, and the 
bus which comes here does a round trip. This is where it 
drops off those heading for Agdal, and picks up those 
who've just arrived. For the moment you will be 
masquerading as people heading into Alif. Avoid talking to 
anyone and if you have to, be as noncommittal as possible 
about where you come from and what you've been doing on 
your supposed holiday in Agdal. It's quite likely that the 
only people who'd be interested in you are not people with 
your best interests at heart. It's possible that there may be a 
secret policeman surveying the border for contraband and  
very likely to be scouting for his own slice of the pre-sale 
proceeds of alcohol or drug smuggling. It may be that you'll 
be approached by smugglers who would try to tempt you 
into a profitable sideline. Guard your bags well. If it's 
thought that you're going into Alif, someone may slip some 
contraband into them to protect themselves from being 
caught on the bus by the police. Don't even look at people. 
Do you understand? It's very important that you do."

Ana and Binta nodded. "Every stage of this journey seems 
fraught," Binta remarked bitterly.

"It is, I'm afraid. You can't actually see the border patrol 
from here, and you won't be able to see it from the bus 
stop. It's about a hundred metres further on, just over the 
slight ridge. But you can see the border." Wahata indicated 
a long barbed wire fence occasionally topped by tall watch 
towers. The dead body of a goat was lying by one point. 
Beyond the barbed wire was desolate countryside much like 
that on the Alif side of the border, and then a second row of 
barbed wire a twenty or so metres beyond. There was no 
other feature in the whole landscape.

"Be prepared to hand over all the money you have. It's 
actually illegal to export money from the country, but I 
don't believe there's any harm in having some Alif money on 
you. The patrols are accustomed to the idea of Agdal 
visitors not spending all their money, and they'll be quite 
happy to relieve you of it. It'll actually make the crossing 
easier for you if they get something out of you, and it is 
more typical of Agdal carelessness with money than Alif 
parsimony. However, you'll need these."

Wahata handed over a few worn change receipts from Alif 
banks. Ana examined them. There was an awful lot of 
money that had been changed. How could anyone ever 
have spent so much money?

"And here's some Agdal currency."

These notes were similarly worn and unlike Alif notes did 
not feature a portrait of the head of state. Instead there 
were pictures of historical figures Ana had never heard of 
and strange mythical beasts which were the emblems of 
Agdal. 

"You've been on holiday in Alif for two weeks. If anyone 
asks you at the border, you found everything in Alif very 
cheap, but the hotels were dreadful. Complain about how 
you've been perpetually harassed by men during your stay, 
but say nothing which could be interpreted as criticism of 
the government, and especially not of President 
Marmeluke." 

Wahata opened the car door, and Binta and Ana followed 
Wahata as she got out of the car, pulling their bags out of 
the boot. 

"Now, make your way to the bus stop. Keep as much out 
of sight of the road as you can. Wait till the bus arrives and 
join the other people as they head towards the border. On 
no account be among the first to arrive, and try not to be 
the very last. Somewhere in the last five or six would be 
best. Answer all questions briefly and with no ambiguity. 
Surrender some if not all of your Alif money if asked, but 
bear in mind that there is no consistency to the questions 
that will be asked or the demands that will be made. Accept 
that your luggage will be searched, ostensibly for alcohol 
and drugs (though why anyone would wish to smuggle 
them out of Alif I really don't know!), and that items will 
almost certainly be confiscated. Don't appear too resigned 
to their loss, but don't make too much fuss about it. 
Remember your new names and particularly your homes. 
Remember that the last hotel you stayed in was the Hotel 
Marmeluke in Blad."

"What do we do when we get to Agdal?" Binta asked.

"I was just about to get to that. Go to the nearby town of 
Alan and book a room at the Hotel Liberty. You will soon 
be met by officials from Agdal who will guide you through 
your first few days in the country. They'll organise a flat for 
you to stay - probably in one of the cities - and help you 
find a job. There are plenty of jobs in Agdal's cities if you 
don't mind working in a fairly menial capacity at first." 
	

Wahata scratched her face in the hot midday sun. "Well, I 
think that's everything. Remember everything I've told you, 
and don't even speak to each other until you get through 
the border. Anything you say even to each other could 
arouse suspicion. I hope it all goes well, and that if I ever 
see you again it'll be on the Agdal side of the border. Best 
of luck!"

With that, Wahata turned to each of them, and gently 
hugged and kissed them in turn on the cheek. She 
smiled bravely, and then turned round to her car. She got 
inside, and pointedly turned her face away from them. The 
last words she said before the two lovers wandered along 
to the bus shelter weighed down by the heat of the sun and 
the bulk of their bags were: "Don't wave to me when you 
leave. It might attract unwelcome attention. Good luck 
again!"

	



	28

Ana and Binta shuffled together along in the queue of 
anxious people waiting to leave Alif. The barbed wire 
marking Alif territory was just metres behind them, with the 
striped barrier pole raised by an officer carrying a fearsome 
submachine gun. Ahead of them and temptingly near was 
the barbed wire border of Agdal. Between them and the 
border, however, were very officious looking customs 
officers and armed guards who were meticulously 
discomfiting all those ahead of them in the queue. Already, 
a couple had been rudely pushed to one side, and stood 
helplessly by in the midday sun attended by an armed guard. 
Their baggage was separated from them, perhaps forever, 
and the young woman was sobbing while her boyfriend 
comforted her with an arm around her shoulders.

The border officials examined every passport with 
incredible care, slowly turning each page and examining the 
visa stamps. Beyond were customs officials, in front of 
which had already developed a queue, who were being 
equally thorough with the contents of their luggage. Alif 
passports were particularly scrutinised, and their possessors 
were asked a frighteningly extensive list of questions. Did 
they have relatives in Agdal? Had they visited Agdal before, 
and if so, for how long? Had they ever drunk alcohol? 
Were they likely to do so on their visit? Had they ever been 
imprisoned or cautioned for any civil or criminal offences? 
Were they now, or had they ever been, employed by the 
government of Alif? One young man with a male friend was 
bluntly asked if he were homosexual. Ana shivered as she 
listened to this exchange in which the man indignantly 
declared otherwise only to be asked further blunt and 
humilating personal questions. The two men were then 
taken to one side. Ana feared what might happen to them, 
but less than ten minutes later, after Ana and Binta had 
shuffled a couple of metres nearer to passport control, they 
were walking, clearly shaken, towards the customs post.

"You've been to an awful lot of countries, young lady," 
remarked the passport official when it came to Ana's turn at 
the counter. "Gharab, Aras, and ... what's this? ... Dafathy?"

Ana had studied her passport well enough to remember the 
real name on the visa. "Thafady," she corrected.

"Thafady. Did you go mountain-climbing there, young 
lady?"

Ana was quick-witted enough to answer: "No. There are no 
mountains in Thafady."

"Hmm! No, maybe there aren't. Though Dafathy's well 
equipped with them. And what is your home town like?"

"Akin. It's very nice."

"Better than anything in Alif?"

"No, about the same."

"And did you enjoy your stay in Alif?"

"It was very pleasant."

"And what was the purpose of your visit? Do you have any 
relatives in Alif?"

"Not that I know of."

Eventually, the official seemed satisfied and at last picked 
up his visa stamp, flicked through the pages and pressed it 
down on the ink pad before transferring it to the passport. 
He then squiggled a mark over it in biro and handed it back 
to Ana, before proceeding to do the same thing for Binta.

Ana and Binta had pretended for almost an hour now not to 
know each other, had only exchanged smiles at each other, 
and Ana trembled as she strode on to the next queue while 
Binta was being interrogated in much the same nature as 
herself. She felt a  certain degree of elation as she strode 
on, nearly but not quite free of Alif. As she settled at the 
end of the queue, she spent several anxious moments 
watching Binta from a distance who like her was asked a 
series of questions. It seemed like an eternity, but it couldn't 
have been more than five minutes, until a smiling Binta 
strode towards her, separated by an elderly couple from 
Agdal who had been processed by the other official. 

The next ordeal was to have their bags searched, and 
questions asked on how much they had spent in Alif and 
where it had been spent. In the process, as Wahata had 
predicted, they were made to surrender their Alif money 
(some of which Ana had cautiously secreted into a pocket, 
more for reasons of sentiment than practicality). The 
customs official seemed quite satisfied by the amount which 
he meticulously counted separating one or two notes from 
the others which he carefully placed in an official box. Ana's 
bags were not so much unpacked, as tipped upside down, 
the contents of underwear, shoes and clothes scattered over 
the bench and onto the floor. Ana was instructed to pick up 
these items and to replace them on the table.

"You seem to have an awful lot of clothes," sniffed the 
customs official, hardly disguising his disappointment. 
"More changes of clothing than you had days in Alif I 
think."

"I like to be well prepared."

"Many of these clothes have Alif labels. Did you buy them 
while on your holiday?"

Ana could see the clothes were mostly too worn for that to 
be plausible. "They must have been imported into Agdal 
where I bought them."

"It's good to see that Alif exports something!" grunted the 
official cynically. "Let's look in your other bag. You may 
pack the first bag again." He opened the bag and produced 
a camera and a radio which were hidden among more 
clothes, towels and personal belongings of mostly 
sentimental value. "I see these are Alif goods. Have you got 
an export license for them?"

Ana shook her head mournfully, knowing that this was the 
last time she'd see either of them again.

"I'd best confiscate them, young lady. You presumably 
haven't been informed of our government's very strict 
policies regarding exportation."

As the official scrutinised the few books, ornaments and the 
travelling iron she had in the bag, she was very grateful that 
she had decided after all not to take with her the letters 
written to her by her parents and which she'd been so 
reluctant to throw away. The official would have probably 
opened them and read them, particularly on noting the fact 
that the stamps and postmarks on them were unmistakably 
of Alif origin, featuring the ubiquitous features of President 
Marmeluke. Several pens, two novels and a nail clipper did 
not rejoin the other items she was eventually allowed to 
stuff back into her bag, although no mention was made of 
any export regulations regarding them.

And then Ana was free at last. She strode along the 
desolate path to the Agdal border. A single guard stood 
there with his hands in his pocket. Ana showed him her 
passport, and he merely flicked through it with a bored 
expression. He handed it back to her with a smile. "Have a 
nice day," he said before returning to the stool in the shade 
of the small hut where he was based and waited for the next 
person.

It was an agonising ten minutes Ana waited by the roadside 
as other people passed her through the border, her bags at 
her feet and sweat streaming down her forehead. At last, 
Binta wandered along, still trying to secure her case, and 
just managing to retrieve her passport to show to the guard.

"Welcome home to Agdal," he said smiling, letting Binta 
through.

As Binta approached it was as if the cares and worries of 
the last few days and the trials of the last few months 
disintegrated like vestiges of cobweb from Ana's mind. 
Binta was grinning broadly, scarcely capable of restraining 
her delight and relief. "Free!" she exclaimed. "Free! Really 
and truly free!"

"Oh, Binta! Binta!" Ana replied, rushing up to her lover and 
hugging her tightly against her. "We've done it! We did it! 
We're here in Agdal. Where we can be ourselves. Where we 
can be a normal couple. Where we can say what we like. 
Where we won't be put in gaol or sent back to the Brothel. 
Where," she added slyly, "we can take our clothes off in 
public like Ketaba does when she's in Agdal."

Binta smiled, glancing slightly to one side at the shoulder 
strap of her skirt which was slipping down her shoulder. "I 
don't think I'll be taking my clothes off. At least, not for a 
good while. It's more liberating for me to be able to wear 
them again after all these years. The first thing I'll do when 
we've started earning, is build up a wardrobe of clothes I'll 
be happy to wear."

"Of course. Of course you must!" breathed Ana. "What's 
important is that we've got the choice. No more Brothel. 
No more Director. No more ..."

"No more filthy, abusive, dirty-minded men. Ever again. I'll 
never ever have anything to do with them again. Ever! 
From now on, it's just you and I. Nobody else." 

She eased herself out of Ana's grip, and allowed her bags to 
drop to her feet. She turned around, holding Ana's hand in 
hers, and scanned the horizon. Ahead of them were the 
mountains they had seen from the deserted farmhouse, led 
to by a metalled road in good condition and dotted by 
houses in much better condition than those neighbouring 
the border on the Alif side. A few kilometres ahead, a 
tractor was slowly ploughing across a field followed by a 
flock of seagulls. Cattle were grazing in fields nearby. A 
bus was standing by a bus stop just thirty metres away in 
which the others who had come through the border were 
already sitting. Several green taxis stood by a taxi rank 
where men and women were sitting around, smoking 
cigarettes and chatting. Trees dotted the plain with wire 
protecting their bark from any unwanted grazing. 

"Those border guards!" Binta remarked turning her head 
back to face the barbed wire defending the Alif border, 
which now seemed so much more distant than the few 
metres between them would suggest. There were still 
people being processed by the Alif officials, while the sole 
Agdal border guard was sitting on his stool reading a 
paperback with headphones over his ears. "They asked so 
many questions. They said my clothes were in a pretty poor 
state for someone from Agdal. I told them I didn't wear 
them very often, which is true, but it was not really the 
right answer. They asked me what sort of a whore I was. 
Did I practice my loose morals in Alif? Had I imported any 
alcohol? All sorts of horrid questions. They searched me 
and found some Alif money I'd hidden in the handbag you 
gave me, and accused me of trying to smuggle it out. Of 
course, they took it from me. Such an awful amount! All 
the savings I'd ever had before I'd been sent to the Brothel. 
I thought they were going to turn me back. It was awful!"

"But they didn't, did they? You weren't turned back. You 
were let through."

"I don't think they'd really suspected me of being an Alif 
citizen. Safari's such a long way from Jebel that I might as 
well have come from a foreign country. They just didn't like 
me because they thought I came from Agdal. They think all 
women from Agdal are whores. Ironic, really. They just 
wanted to humiliate me. Alif's last word, I suppose. They 
took the ivory doll Ferhana gave me. They took the bracelet 
Zabba gave me. It was horrible. I had to crawl on the floor 
to pick up all the underwear they'd dropped down there. But 
believing me to be from Agdal, they probably thought they 
couldn't do anything to stop me passing through."

"But we're free now!" pointed out Ana.

"Yes. Free!" Binta turned to Ana, her arms outstretched 
and a tear running out of the corner of her left eye and over 
her cheek. "Oh, Ana! I'm so happy! So happy! This is the 
happiest moment of my entire life! We are here, together! 
You and I. No other moment could ever be so perfect. Oh, 
Ana! None of this could have been possible if it wasn't for 
you! Never would I have seen a day like this if it wasn't for 
all the selflessness you've shown towards me. All the 
suffering you've been through because of me! All that 
you've done for me, despite everything. Ana! Ana! I love 
you so much!"






