The Females of Wadi Ya Noh. Ch. 02

It was cold, back home in the north-west of England, and the last of the March evening light was fading to night as I got out of the Airport Taxi outside my house.

I simply can't describe, just how immensely glad - acutely relieved - I was, to be out of Arabia. To be out of that terrible heat. Relieved, to be back home, and in familiar surroundings again. To hear English voices again, saying ordinary, every-day things, in normally modulated voices - and not just the belligerent babble of the black burka clad females of Wadi Ya Noh, speaking sternly and harshly and shrewishly to me in Arabic, as they so mercilessly chastised me, at their feet.

But, alas, I hadn't returned home from Arabia, without certain ... 'baggage'.

For, as I helped the taxi driver to retrieve luggage from the boot of the taxi, the other 2 passengers - both female, and dressed in their traditional, almost all-covering, black burkas - made a beeline for my front door.

The younger of the 2 black burka clad females, immediately upon exiting the taxi, had expectantly held out her hand to me and, in her exotically accented English, she had demanded that I hand over my front door key to her. And so I had complied, and I had obeyed her command without demur ... as I knew that I must.

As I paid and tipped the taxi driver, he regarded me with yet another of his odd looks. Though, once again, he refrained from actually saying anything. It was the same odd look, that he had been regarding me with ever since he had picked up his 3 passengers, about half an hour ago, at Manchester Airport - Terminal 2. The taxi driver nodded at me, by means of expressing his acknowledgement (if not gratitude) of my generous tip, then he got back into his taxi and swung the driver's door shut behind him.

And then a great, depressing wave of soul-destroying helplessness and hopelessness hit me, pulverising my spirit. It swept over me like a huge, irresistible tide of dejection. It was a sense of despair, that transcended even my acute sense of gross injustice.

It was like a grey, all-encompassing shroud of sheer, abject dismay that settled over me, as I stood and watched the 2 females simply let themselves into my house. As if it was their house ... which, in a sense, and to all intents and purposes, it now might as well have been.

New rulers were installing themselves in my home, and establishing their own, autocratic authority - their new Dominion.

For, the 2 black burka clad females who were letting themselves into my 3-bedroom, semi-detached suburban house, with such a proprietorial air, were none other than my new 'wife' Claudia, and my mother-in-law Meena.

Claudia and her mother Meena were members of a population of about 30 'Fallen' women who, for their 'sins' had been shunned by their unforgiving society, and duly condemned to a bleak exile in a remote - backward - region of the Arabian Interior. As their punishment, they were left to scratch a bare, wretched existence, living in huts made of mud in the desolate, sun-seared desert village of Wadi Ya Noh.

Fortunately - for Claudia and Meena - a way out of Wadi Ya Noh had fortuitously presented itself to them. And, not just a way out of Wadi Ya Noh, either, but a way into a whole new, undreamed of life ... in England. Living in my house. With me supporting them. And, not just supporting them, either, but ... serving them. I was to become their slave, in my own home. Their house slave, and their foot slave. This was an agreement, a legally binding Contract, that I had 'willingly' signed up to.

For, after having served the first 3 months of my 2-year - 'A Thousand Suns' - sentence, for the crime of 'Indecent Assault', served in Claudia's home village of Wadi Ya Noh (which was, under Arabian Law, a sentence of Claudia's own choosing, as victim), Claudia had suddenly and unexpectedly offered me a way out. Or rather, she had offered to 'suspend' the remaining 21 months of my wretched sentence. But, of course, there were strings attached. Lots of strings. Enough to tie me up in knots. And they were knots that I couldn't undo.

The fact that it was not me, who had committed the Indecent Assault - pinched Claudia's bottom (Claudia was a part-time Arabian Airways air hostesses on our flight), but my lecherous lesbian boss, Miss Susan Smith, who had played the saucy prank, and then craftily wangled it so that I took the blame - made my glowing flame of resentment burn all the hotter.

Miss Susan Smith, had not only got me into terrible trouble with the Arabian Authorities: landing me with an unspeakably wretched 2-year sentence; a criminal record to my name; and eventual deportation from Arabia, but she had also cost me my job, and - my God! worst of all - ultimately caused me to lose my darling fiancee, Sandra ... In fact, Miss Smith had actually stolen my Sandra from me and, they were now, according to a 'Dear John' letter that Sandra had sent to me via the British Consulate in Wadi Ya Meen, an 'item'.

Claudia had made a proposal. Which was, in effect, for me to make her a proposal ... of marriage.

Or, to be more exact: a Civil Partnership. Or, to be even more exact - precise - a 'customised' Civil Partnership.

In short: a Contract, that would be composed almost entirely of Claudia's Terms and Conditions - or, as Claudia called them: 'stipulations' ... For instance: that our Civil Partnership need not be consummated, was just one of Claudia's many 'stipulations'.

Under Claudia's instructions, a legally binding Contract would be written up by the local British Consulate representative, Miss Withenshaw, and the Contract would be recognised under both Arabian and English law.

The Contract would contain all of Claudia's many Terms and Conditions: her wholly unreasonable, uncompromising stipulations, with regard to the conduct of our 'married' life. And I would have to abide by them all. Break any one of them, and Claudia had it in her power to have me arrested, and taken straight back to Arabia ... To be once again incarcerated in Humility Hole, in Claudia's home village of Wadi Ya Noh. To serve out the remaining 21 months of my 2-year - 'A Thousand Suns' - sentence, at the chastising feet of Claudia's village sisters ... While Claudia stayed at home, living in my house with her mother Meena. Living off my savings, until I returned home and started earning a living again.

But, so desperate was I to get the hell out of Wadi Ya Noh - out of Humility Hole! - I had eagerly grabbed Claudia's unexpected offer with both hands. And so Claudia and I had both signed the legally binding Contract, as had Miss Withenshaw, as official witness.

Miss Withenshaw, though, to give her her due credit, had tried to warn me, again and again, about the serious dangers of making an ill-considered decision - a knee-jerk reaction. She had tried to warn me about what would be the dire and irrevocable consequences for me, should I be so impulsive - so fool-headed - as to sign Claudia's diabolical Contract. Miss Withenshaw had done more than her level best, to try and talk some eleventh-hour - last-minute - sense into me, in an increasingly desperate effort to avert what she could plainly see was going to be a certain and unmitigated disaster for me. She had tried everything she could think of, to persuade me to reconsider my over-hasty decision; to make me see the error of my ways: To make me take 10 deep breaths; to stop and think; to put my thinking-cap on - to wake up, and smell the coffee.

In short: Miss Withenshaw had gone the extra mile, to try and stop me going the whole-nine-yards. To try to stop me from pushing my own self-destruct button ... my Doomsday button. Miss Withenshaw had tried to save me from myself - or, rather, to save me from Claudia. But I wouldn't listen.

And so, Miss Withenshaw had duly presided over the 'nuptials' for the 'happy couple'. I had promised to serve, honour, and obey Claudia. Those had been my 'wedding' vows - and my 'wife' Claudia would ensure that I kept them. Or else ...

And so it was to the tumultuous, ululating approval of the watching females of Wadi Ya Noh, that Miss Withenshaw had officially declared: "I now pronounce you, man and wife." Claudia and I, were 'married'. And so, here I was ...

As the taxi driver pulled away from the kerb, I picked up the luggage - there wasn't much of it - and I carried it to my front door.

My next door neighbours - Tony and Jan, a chirpy, fun-loving couple in their mid-20's, who had moved here about 2 years ago after getting married, and who Sandra and I were on very friendly terms with - bemusedly stared out of their front window at me.

After all, I was supposed to have been away in Arabia on a business trip with Miss Susan Smith, for 3 days - not 3 months. I could almost hear Tony and Jan thinking: What was that all about? And, as if that wasn't enough to arouse their curiosity, I had actually returned home with 2 black burka clad females ... What was THAT all about?

But, so completely crushed, so utterly despondent was I, at the spiritually debilitating thoughts of my wretched predicament, that I could barely rustle up the sad parody of a half-hearted wave, to my 2 friends and neighbours.

Tony and Jan continued to stare at me. And, as I put down the luggage, and as I knocked on my front door and meekly waited to be admitted into my own house, the expressions upon their faces became rather less curious, and rather more concerned.

I sighed inwardly ... I was going to have some explaining to do.

* * *

My new 'wife' Claudia opened the front door to me, and I entered my home with our luggage, putting it down in the hall. I could tell by the particular tone of insistent beeping, that my burglar alarm was going to sound at any moment. Claudia ordered me to tell her the code; explain to her how the alarm worked. She wanted to know how to operate, de-activate, and re-activate the alarm herself ... after all, she would need to know.

The house was cold, and I put the central heating on, turning it up high so as to get the house warmed up quickly. Satisfied, at hearing my boiler firing up as though it meant business, I then put the kettle on to make a pot of tea - mint tea.

On our way home from the airport, Claudia had asked the taxi driver to stop outside a corner shop, and she had told me to quickly run into the shop to buy a box of mint tea-bags, plus a few other bits and bobs of food for our evening meal. "You had better get used to mint tea, David," Claudia had advised me, once I was back inside the taxi. "It is all you will be drinking from now on," she had decreed. "Coffee is sinful, and I forbid you to drink it," she said. "And, it goes without saying, that I also forbid you to drink alcohol," Claudia said anyway.

No wonder, that the taxi driver was giving me odd looks.

As it happens, I hardly ever drank tea - let alone mint tea. I am a coffee person. But now ... if Claudia caught me sneaking so much as a sip of the 'evil brew' - breaking one of her Civil Partnership Contract stipulations - with a click of her fingers she could have me back in Wadi Ya Noh, and back in Humility Hole before I could say 'cafe au lait'.

And the same could be said for the occasional glass of red wine that I so enjoyed - Claudia had firmly put a stopper on that, too. My God! But it was just one thing after another.

When I brought the tray of tea things into the living room, I saw that Claudia and Meena were sitting comfortably together on my large sofa. Then I thought to myself: Oh! Just make yourselves right at home, why don't you? upon seeing that Claudia had put the Al Jazeera channel on my large (50-inch), high definition plasma flat-screen TV. And I had no sooner served Claudia and Meena their cups of mint tea, when Meena pointed to the carpeted floor, at her feet, and she harshly yelled at me one of the few words of English that she knew: "Slave!"

My own cup of mint tea had still been on its way to my lips. But now, I was a fraction too slow in returning my cup of mint tea to the tea tray, untasted. "David! You heard my mother! You will obey Meena! And you will obey Immediately!" commanded Claudia angrily. And I obeyed Claudia - and Meena ... as I knew that I must.

I listened to the occasional, gentle chinks of Claudia and Meena's china tea cups against their saucers. I listened to the sound of their voices, as they engaged in companionable conversation in their own, Arabic tongue. In short: I listened to the sounds, of Claudia and Meena's inestimable contentment.

I listened to their quiet discourse, as Meena rested the leathery soles of her bare feet upon my face, repeatedly cupping her toes over my nostrils; and as Claudia slowly, absentmindedly, played her own smooth bare soles over my chest and stomach.

A short time later, Claudia said, "David. Serve Meena and I more mint tea. And then return to your place, at our feet."

"Yes, Claudia," I replied obediently ... as I knew that I must.

After topping up Claudia and Meena's tea cups with more mint tea, I returned to my "place." Once again, Claudia and Meena's bare, brown feet rested and roamed on and over my face and body, as if I was some sort of soft, luxurious foot furniture for them to relax upon.

Then, and with a sudden shock, it occurred to me: 'The Big Match' was on TV tonight! And it was a big match, too - Liverpool v Manchester United. Their replay, in the Quarter Final of the FA Cup ... And here I was, in my 'place'. Lying on the floor of my own living room, at Claudia and Meena's feet, and being used as their footrest as they gabbed and drank mint tea and watched the Al Jazeera channel.

And I gloomily realised, that my chances of watching the football - any football, from now on - were precisely nil. Zilch. Zero. Nada. My God! But it was just one thing after another.

A short time later, Claudia spoke to me again, and at some considerable length. "David. I want you to trade your car in, and part-exchange it for a people-carrier - one that is capable of carrying up to seven passengers. A new one. A good one, too - not some cheap rubbish. Start looking for one tomorrow," ordered Claudia.

What? I thought, dismayed. Trade in my precious car! I'd been saving up for ages to buy it.

Claudia went on, and I could only listen to her, my mouth getting ever more slack, in shock. "You will be picking up five of my village sisters from Manchester Airport, next Sunday afternoon, when the Arabian Airways flight arrives from Wadi Ya Meen. Their visa's will be valid for one month. Meena and I will be going along with you in our new people-carrier, to greet them. You will be buying their air tickets. Buy them tomorrow. I'll write down their names and any other relevant details for you to take to the travel agent." Claudia then paused briefly, to take a dainty sip of her mint tea.

Thus refreshed, Claudia continued. "When our five visitors are due to return home to Wadi Ya Noh, at the end of their month-long stay with us, they will stay overnight at an airport hotel on the Sunday preceding their flight home, early on the following Monday morning. You will drive them to their hotel, and you will book and pay for their hotel accommodation, including evening meal and breakfast. And leave nothing to chance, David. Make sure you book well in advance - in fact, book some rooms tomorrow," instructed Claudia.

My God! She was on a frenzied, relentless roll, of pitilessly piling on my misery.

"Another five of my village sisters will then come and visit us for a month," Claudia then informed me, dropping yet another of her bombshells. "And this will happen on a regular basis - in relays, as it were - every month. They will all be staying here, of course, as guests in our house. With three bedrooms, there is enough room to comfortably accommodate all of us. Buy any extra beds, pillows, sheets and blankets, as are necessary. Buy them the day after tomorrow - you will be too busy tomorrow, David. See that all of their beds are properly made up, and be sure to put fresh, clean sheets on them. Make their beds every day, and give their bedrooms a good vacuum cleaning after you have done so. And I want you to change all sheets, every Sunday ... You needn't concern yourself about your own sleeping arrangements, David. From now on, you will sleep with Meena and I, in your own double-bed. And, just as you did so, in Wadi Ya Noh, you will lie across the foot of the bed, at our feet ... In your place."

What, the ...? My mind was in a topsy-turvey, panicky whirl, at trying to process Claudia's seemingly endless stream of words and instructions; at trying to absorb, all of that terrible, horrible, hideously stressful information.

The funny thing was, though, that it wasn't the terrible thought of the vast, insupportable cost of meeting Claudia's incredible demands, that had made the biggest impression upon me. It wasn't even the dreaded prospect of having to sleep at the foot of the bed, at Claudia and Meena's feet - I had already been doing that, back in Wadi Ya Noh ... No. It was Claudia's very particular stipulation, that I must "be sure to put fresh, clean sheets" on the beds, and, that the beds are "properly made up" ... the females of Wadi Ya Noh were accustomed to sleeping on a hard-baked mud floor, in huts that were made from mud. And their bedding consisted of straw mats, and thin, scratchy, holey blankets.

Funny, how I should think of that ... Maybe it was some sort of defence mechanism: My mind, trying to divert my attention away from more traumatic thoughts; trying to deflect me towards safer musings, that were less likely to result in a nervous breakdown.

Claudia spoke beautiful, melodic, easy-on-the-ear, exotically accented English, and she was certainly an intelligent woman. But, when it came to money matters: finances, expenses, in comings and outgoings, staying in the black - balancing the books - Claudia seemed to have absolutely no grasp, at all, of such economical concepts. As far as my new 'wife' was concerned, it was simple: I earned money. She spent it. Simple as that.

Apart from the 25-year mortgage on my house, I was debt free. I didn't believe in using credit cards. I said: Never! to the 'Never-Never'. I believed in saving up the money that I needed, to buy the things I wanted. I believed in saving up for a rainy day, too, and I had been prudently feathering my nest, whilst earning a decent enough wage working for Jordan's Climate Control. I did not want to get myself into any debt. Just the very idea, was unthinkable - it was anathema to me.

"Claudia," I began tentatively, and with the utmost respect, that I had - in accordance with the Terms and Conditions of our Civil Partnership Contract - promised to accord her at all times, "I am very sorry, but - but I'm afraid that much of that will not be at all possible. You see---"

"David. Do you wish to return to Wadi Ya Noh ... to Humility Hole? To serve out the remaining twenty-one months of your suspended sentence?"

"No! Not that! Please, Claudia ... It's just - it's just that you simply don't understand. I am not made of money, Claudia - forgive me, Claudia, I didn't mean that, the way that it sounded. It's just that ... My finances, at the moment ... I'm not even working, haven't worked for three months, and---"

"You start your new job, David, next Monday. I have arranged everything," Claudia stated matter-of-factly.

"Job? What job? I don't understa---"

"I have been in touch with your former boss, Miss Susan Smith ... or rather, she contacted me. She kindly offered to let you return to work at Jordan's Climate Control - under certain conditions, that is. She said she is not willing to let you return to your old job, or to pay you your old wage, but that she would instead like to create a brand-new post, just for you. As her office boy. Miss Smith said that you would earn a lot less, in your new position, and she also mentioned something about a ... "proviso," I think she said, if I remember rightly. Still, I think it is very good of her to have you back at all - everything considered. She wants you to report to her office next Monday - nine a.m. sharp. And I told her that you would be there, David. And David, be warned: I have told Miss Smith to inform me immediately, if you are anything less than one hundred per cent satisfactory to her, in your duties."