The Captain

CHAPTER 22

“Are you pretty?” asked the fellow.

“You can see very little through the grille,” said another, irritably.

“Please feed me, Masters,” she said.

“Come closer to the grille,” said another, bending over the crate.

“Bring it out, farther, into the light,” said another.

Three of the mariners turned the crate about and slid it out, scraping on the plating, from the wall, more under a light, fixed in the ceiling of the hold.

“The virgin seal,” said one in disgust.

“Who would know?” asked another.

“They could tell, if the seal was broken,” said another.

“You could lose your certification,” said another.

“I am not crated, Masters!” called a feminine voice from across the hold. There was a sound of chain on the steel plating. “Content me! Feed me!”

“Be silent, if you want to keep your blanket,” said one of the mariners.

“Are you pretty, in there?” asked one of the mariners, tapping on the grille with a finger.

“Some men have seemed to find me pretty, Masters,” said a frightened voice, from within the locked, sealed box.

“What is your name?” asked one of the mariners.

“Whatever Masters please,” she said.

“You answer to ‘Flora’?” said one of the men, reading the label.

“I answer to whatever name is given me,” she said. “That was my house name, in the house where I was boarded.”

“I know that house,” said one of the mariners, with a laugh. “They train girls there, as well.”

“Are you trained?” asked one of the men.

“A little, Masters,” she said. “We are trained, as Masters please.”

“A trained girl,” said one of the men, approvingly.

“Only a little, Masters!” said the woman.

“I am trained!” called the voice from across the floor. “Content me! I will be good! Feed me!”

“Take her blanket,” said one of the men.

One of the fellows walked across the hold.

There was a tiny cry of misery.

In a moment, with a blanket, folded, he returned. He dropped the blanket to the side.

“Put the side of your face up, next to the grille,” said one of the men.

The girl in the box did so.

“I can see a little of her,” said a man.

“She looks interesting,” said another.

“We could break the seal and claim we knew nothing of it,” said one of the mariners.

“The key is here, taped to the top,” said another.

“The box was logged in, and the seal checked,” said one of the men. “Who has access to the hold? Do not be foolish.”

The girl inside the box cried out, as one of the men kicked the side of the box, angrily.

“There is the other one,” said one of the mariners.

The men turned about.

There was a sudden small sound of chain, as though a slave, perhaps finding herself regarded, had hastened to kneel, perhaps performing obeisance.

“Would you like your blanket back?” asked a man.

“If it should please Masters to return it to me,” said the voice.

“Lift your head,” said one of the men.

“I am hungry, Masters, please feed me,” said the girl in the box.

“Be silent,” said one of the men.

“Yes, Masters,” she said.

The men then went, taking the blanket with them, across the hold.

The girl in the box, peeking through the grille, watched them.

They were crouching down, about the other girl. She was fair-haired and well ankled. Her left ankle was chained to a ring, set back near the opposite wall of the hold.

“I am not a virgin,” she said to them.

“Bring her a little food,” said one of the mariners. “She will need her strength.”

Men laughed.

The girl in the box watched for a little, but then lay down, her knees drawn up, closely, in misery. She could not help but hear the cries from across the hold. She squirmed. She was helplessly heated, for she, too, was a slave. The cries were those of slave rapture, that rapture that she herself had never yet felt, that rapture mercilessly, even ruthlessly, inflicted upon one who has no choice but to submit.

Later a man came to her box and, with his boot, slid up the tiny panel at the foot of the door.

Two small pans, with the side of his foot, were slipped through the opening from the outside, one for food, which contained some broken pieces of pressed cakes of cereal, and one for water.

“Keep your box clean,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.