Marriage (4 page)

“Please, Abul,” Kathy pleaded, “it’s two o’clock in the morning. I haven’t slept. I’m exhausted. Please, can’t we...”

Instead of answering her, Abul struck Kathy’s cheek so hard his hand left a red imprint. She cried out and fell against the chair. “You fuckin’ do what I say!”

Kathy glanced at Uzetta. He was calmly lighting another cigarette. “No sleep,” he said evenly. “We drink. We eat. We drink again. We fuck. I make you do things. We fuck again. Then, maybe sleep.”

Abul scowled, “What do you mean? She ain’t allowed to fuck. You’re saying that you’re going to make her do things? Who the hell are you to...”

Uzetta pulled from his pocket a long silver razor. When he pressed a button a thin blade sprung out. Reflected lamplight danced along its length. Kathy gasped. Abul backed away. The driver touched the button again. The blade snapped back into its sheath. He slipped it into his pocket. “Whiskey,” he said.

Suddenly Kathy realized that she was more vulnerable here in America, here in her own home than she had ever been in the training facility. She went into the kitchen. Someone had stocked it well. Quickly she made the drinks and, with trembling hands, served the two men who were seated in the leather chairs.

She put two potatoes in the microwave to bake and placed two steaks under the broiler. She was opening a box of frozen spinach when they called for more drinks. While they ate, she was made to stand next to Abul ready to bring more bread, additional butter, salt, pepper, and to keep their glasses full of ice cubes and bourbon. Abul shoveled food into his mouth like the gross, ignorant brute he was. He slid his rough hand up under her skirt and over the bare skin of her ass. They wiped their greasy mouths on her finest linen napkins. Abul threw his on the floor. Occasionally the two men spoke to one another in a language she couldn’t understand. Through most of the meal, Uzetta continued to stare at her. She was terrified of him and knew that Abul was too much of a coward to do anything for her.

When they finished, she refilled their glasses. After clearing the table, she loaded the dishwasher. On the counter was the knife rack, which held both a long bread knife and a heavy butcher knife. She felt she might be able to kill or at least wound one of them, but against both she would be helpless. She reminded herself that even the slightest disobedience would bring harm to Mary Margaret. To attack Abul or Uzetta would require Mr. Satomi to have her killed and probably Mary Margaret as well. There was no other course but to submit and take comfort in the fact that after two weeks she would finally be free of Abul. The thought that Mary Margaret would not become his possession also gave her some comfort.

“Woman!” Abul drunkenly shouted.

She went to the archway between the kitchen and living room. Abul lay stretched out on the couch, a half empty glass in his hand. “All day long I haven’t once heard you refer to me with affection,” he waved his hand at her motioning for her to come to him. She’d had nothing to eat but the scraps they’d given her. The long sleepless journey and the emotional exhaustion left her weak. Slowly she crossed to Abul. Uzetta watched through half closed eyes. A lit cigarette dangled from his thick lips. Abul scowled at Kathy and pointed to his shoes. “Take them off, American bitch,” he said. She knelt at his feet and unlaced the heavy black wingtips. “Socks, too,” he ordered. His socks were damp with sweat. The foul odor of his dirty feet made her almost vomit. His long, thick toenails were, as she knew they would be, black with grime. He sipped his drink and grinned across at the driver. Gesturing toward his feet, he said, “Now, Mrs. Ryan, after some words of affection, let our guest see how a well trained woman shows respect for her man.”

Looking up at him she said, “Dear Abul.” She bent over one foot and touched her mouth to it.

“No, Goddamn you!” he shouted. “Not good enough. Damn you, you arrogant bitch! Your sister-in-law’s ass will be raw from the whip!”

Quickly she cradled his right foot between her hands. “My dear, master,” she said desperately, “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so very tired. Please forgive me.”

“Your tongue, Mrs. Ryan. I want to feel it!” He shook his fist at her.

Parting her lips she leaned over his sweaty toes and tasted them. Then she took his left foot in her hands and, as she had done at the facility, licked between the first and second toe. “That’s better,” Abul said. He looked across at Uzetta. “Once not long ago, I was her chauffer. Once, not long ago, she ordered me out of her house. Now, she is pleased to get down on her knees in her own house to kiss the feet of the man who murdered her husband. Is that not so, Mrs. Ryan?” She didn’t answer. “Speak up, damn you!” he shouted. “And not with a fucking ‘yes it is so’.”

Kathy turned to face Uzetta. “Here in my house where not long ago I ordered Abul to leave, I am now pleased to kneel at his feet.” Abruptly she stopped speaking.

Abul pushed his bare foot against her stomach and flexed his long toes. “Go on, damn you,” he hissed.

“Abul is the man who...who...murdered my husband. I...I...am honored that he has taken me as his woman. I am pleased to show my respect by....by kissing his...his feet.” She turned back and bowed her head.

The driver’s expression had not changed. “The poorest woman in my country would not do that. Would not do it even for much money,” he said.

“But she is aroused by the smell,” Abul grinned. He placed the sole of his foot against her cheek and turned her head to face the driver. “The rich American is also aroused by the taste,” he wiggled his black toes. “Show him!” he shouted. “Show him what the smell and taste of Abul does to you. Show him your nipples. Show him your cunt.”

The color rising to her cheeks, Kathy turned again toward the driver. Keeping her eyes lowered to avoid his, she unbuttoned her blouse. Her long nipples were hard. She lifted her skirt and, with one hand, spread her labial lips. Her secretions glistened along them and spread down to the space between her cunt and her anal opening.

“You see, Uzetta! You see what a real man like Abul does to the American bitch. She tongue kisses me and she groans with desire. She presses her lips to my feet and it makes her hot American cunt drip!” He dropped his glass on the rug closed his eyes. Both Kathy and Uzetta watched him for several minutes. His mouth hung open, and he began to snore. Kathy found herself wishing he were awake. The unblinking eyes of the black man bore into her. She turned away and began to move toward the bedroom. She remembered the door locked from the inside. She had taken only three steps when she heard the tiny click of his razor.

His voice, unlike Abul’s, was deadly calm. “Maybe you don’t hear good.” She froze in the middle of the living room but did not turn to face him. “I say we eat, we drink, I make you do things, and then we fuck. What we do so far?”

Kathy, her breath coming quickly, had trouble speaking. “I...I...served you dinner. You and...and Abul drank.”

“Das right. But I don make you do nottin' yet.” He paused waiting for her to respond. She turned toward him, her eyes lowered, afraid to meet his gaze. He let her stay that way and lit another cigarette. He leaned back and blew a thin stream of smoke at the video camera above him. “Come,” he said. He patted his knees. “Sit.”

Trembling with fear and exhaustion, Kathy crossed to stand before him. His cold, dry hand was like a vice as he pulled her down on his lap. In his other hand he still had the open razor. With a swift, deft motion he drew the blade down the front of her blouse slicing off the buttons.

She made an involuntary sound but was too terrified to move. “Please...please...” Kathy begged, “I...I’ll do anything you say. Please don’t.”

Uzetta snapped the blade back into its sheath. “In America black men are shit,” he spoke in a flat, even voice. “Small ugly black men like me, who don’t speak good are worse than shit. Cannot have white woman, not even ugly white woman.” His grip tightened around her waist. “But now maybe Uzetta got him a white woman, very pretty, very rich white woman? Maybe Uzetta got him white woman to fuck?” It sounded more like a request than a demand, but Kathy could not be sure.

“Yes,” Kathy said trying to keep the fear and loathing from her voice. “You have a...a...white woman. I...I...I’ll do what you say.”

“Good,” he said. “Dat man, Abul, is weak. I could easy kill him.” He held the razor out to her and flicked it open again. “You take. Go into room with bed. Cut wires on dem cameras dare. Then you fix up self. Wear nightgown, shoes...you know...make pretty. Call Uzetta when ready.” She took the razor and for a moment thought of quickly swiping it across his neck. Reading her mind, he shook his head. “Uzetta no fool. You lose.” Kathy crossed to the bedroom. “Leave door open,” he called after her.

She knew that Mr. Satomi would be furious if his video cameras were disabled, but she had no choice. The blade sliced through the cables easily. There were eight cameras. She had to stand on a chair to reach those near the ceiling. The bed that she and Jeff had shared looked so inviting. She wanted to crawl under the covers and wake up in the morning with Jeff next to her and this horrible nightmare over.

She heard some muffled sounds from the living room as if Abul had awakened. She was tempted to go to the door, which was halfway open, but she was terrified of Uzetta. Instead, she looked through her closets, which had been supplied with some new clothes selected, no doubt, by Madam Khe. But the closets also contained the clothes she’d left behind, the things she had worn in the past. Each dress, sweater, skirt, evening gown, and nighty brought back painful memories.

Her dressing table, she noticed, had been stocked with several shades of lipstick, glosses, mascara, oils, perfumes, eye shadow, and nail polish. Wearily, she removed her blouse, skirt and shoes. She applied make-up choosing bright red for her lips and light blue eye shadow. From the closet she took one of the new nightgowns, a shear pale yellow nylon. He’d said she was to wear shoes. She wasn’t surprised to see, that in addition to her loafers and sneakers and the dress shoes that had been hers, two new shoe racks were filled with a variety of styles, all, of course with four and five inch heels. She selected a pair, which consisted of little more than a thin vinyl strap across the base of her toes and another over her instep.

Although Uzetta couldn’t see into the bedroom, he sensed that she was ready. “You want Mr. Uzetta?” he said loud enough for her to hear.

She glanced around the room and stared at the bed where she and Jeff had first made love, remembering the many nights of playfulness and tenderness, the happy laughter and soft caresses. Now she was inviting this assassin, this ugly murderer of helpless women and children to her bed. She couldn’t do it. There was a point beyond which she could not go. Even the thought of Mary Margaret was not enough to make her submit to the murderer in the next room. She tightened her grip on the open razor in her hand.

“Yes, Mr. Uzetta,” she called softly, “I want you.” She stood at the foot of the bed, facing the door. He appeared, in the opening, unsmiling, his eyes burning into her. He took a step inside and held out his hand. Kathy hesitated, then nodded and placed the razor in it. She noticed his hands were small but powerful. On the index finger of his left hand was a beautiful sapphire ring.

Uzetta noted the cut wires hanging from the video cameras. The sound of Abul’s snoring came from the living room. Uzetta left the bedroom door open behind him. He crossed to Kathy and stood appraising her. Under his hard gaze, her cheeks flushed. She could feel her nipples stiffen and the tingling in her stomach. “Do Uzetta have himself a hot white woman?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Uzetta.”

“How long?”

“All night....for as long as you wish.”

“I make you do things.” He was shorter than she and the most ugly man she had ever seen.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I know you will make me do things. I...I...will do whatever you ask.”

Uzetta reached into his other pocket and took out the remote that controlled her clitoral cap. He pushed the release button. She felt the cap loosen then it dropped to the floor between her legs. She knew her clitoris was swollen like a bright red berry. She stepped back and gestured toward the clitoral cap. “Thank you,” she said. “I am most...most grateful.” When he didn’t answer she said, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Chapter Three
– Uzetta

Uzetta motioned toward the bed. When she was seated on the edge of it, facing him, he gestured toward the living room, “Abul lies,” he said. “I kill many men. All soldiers. Never kill woman or child. Only bastards like Abul do dem things. He is coward. Is bad for you.” Kathy smiled at that and was about to agree when he held up his hand. “I say I make you do things but not like Abul.” He took a step toward her. “I am ugly black African, is not true?”

Kathy looked up into his somber face and saw that he expected a truthful answer. “No, honestly, Mr. Uzetta...you’re different...and...and that difference doesn’t matter. At least to me it doesn’t.”

He nodded seeming to understand she was not flattering him. “I want white woman, pretty white woman. I want to fuck you.”

It sounded like more of a request than an order. Kathy felt the heat flow to her vagina and wetness. It had been months since her clitoris had been free of the hated cap. She knew it was swollen and sensitive. “Yes,” she said softly, “but Mr. Satomi’s orders are that I’m not permitted to...”

“Mr. Satomi not here. Wires to cameras cut. You can say I rape you...hold razor to neck.”