Abbalar Tales ~ 31

 Abbalar Tales ~ 31 Dreamers (Day 4)

By Len Morgan

Genna spent several months as house storyteller at the Pochette  Platzi.   Her popularity had grown steadily, in leaps and bounds, with both clients and her fellow workers.   Her natural leadership qualities and he organising skills caused other performers to warm towards her.   She was able to negotiate lucrative contracts on behalf of herself, and her fellows, mutually beneficial to performers and owners alike.   The owners were quick to recognise her potential.   So, when the Madame was summoned home to nurse her dying brother, Genna was promoted to take over her duties, to run the girls and administer the house finances.   She found herself increasingly involved in the day to day running of the house, and less with performing.   She dealt firmly but fairly with everyone and for six months they all prospered.   Then the Madame returned.   She was pleased to see the house had prospered in her absence, under Genna's management.   But, the owners, a consortium of local businessmen, were loath to give up a good thing.   Unbeknown to Genna, they purchased the old Madame's contract, but it was not an amicable settlement.   Angry words and ugly threats were exchanged.   As she left the premises, thinking Genna a party to her demise, she turned on her angrily.

"You had better not stray far from the protection of this house in the future," she said, "not if you value your life."

"I don't understand?"Genna looked at her in genuine surprise.

"There are people who would gladly take a contract on your life, carrying out any special requests, without blinking an eye.  You crafty scheming doxy!   You're as good as dead," she yelled contemptuously as she was dragged from the premises.

"I cannot understand why she is behaving so.   We were fast friends before she left to nurse her dying brother."   What have you done or told her that would make her hate me so?” she asked of the owners.   

.-…-. 

Three months Skaa worked the fields with his two elder brothers.   Picking the fruit, filling the barrels with new wine.   His estranged family had welcomed him back with open arms, rejoicing because he had found the courage to return to them.   Initially, he worked for food and shelter alone, asking for nothing more.   Then they offered him a share in the harvest, only a 1/50^th, but they hinted there might be more to come.

At the harvest home festival he drank and danced and flirted outrageously, he made a playful suggestion to his sister in law.  But, was not prepared for the immediate positive and ardent response he received.   He tried to rebuff her, gently but firmly, but she made a grab for him, she missed grabbing his belt instead, he tried to pull free - the belt buckle broke, and his trews fell down around his ankles.  At that very instant his eldest brother, her husband, turned in their direction.  

There was no reasoning with him, he saw what he saw, and Skaa had a history, of misbehaviour of this type, which was why he had been banished from the village in the first place.   In the eyes of his family, he was guilty before he opened his mouth and the woman refused to speak in his defence.   She flung her arms about his neck loudly professing her undying love for him.   Her husband wanted Skaa and his wife off the farm and as far away as possible he threw her unceremoniously out of their home with just the clothes she wore.

"As far as I'm concerned you can take the strumpet with you," he said, “however, the children stay with me.   You will be stoned to death on sight if either of you ever return."

Skaa took the unrepentant woman to her family in a neighbouring village, thinking they would show gratitude.   After short deliberation, they accused him of seducing her, in order to bring shame on their village.   They took him out and beat him unconscious, then chained him in the goat pens.   In the morning he was released into the hills and told that in two hours they would hunt him down with dogs and put him to death.   His only chance at survival would be if he escaped from the valley, they would not follow him beyond that point.

A two-hour start he thought looking around at the hard sullen faces of the villagers.   Then his eyes found hers, and he saw the look of hatred as they stared unwavering back at him, she smiled in triumph as recognition dawned in his eyes, how did he not see that it was Jazim face before him…

.-…-. 

Genna had been disturbed by the accusation that she might be responsible for the Madame's premature retirement.   But after a few weeks, everything settled into an established routine.   Life at the Pochette Platzi was business as usual.   The old Madame did not make any further contact with Genna, who assumed she had accepted her very generous payoff and left the city altogether to start a new life; mayhap even her own establishment.   

Then without warning, a fight broke out between two rival groups, five or six protagonists.   The Platzi prided itself on being able to clean up its own problems in-house, privately and discretely, without involving the militia.   So, six of her most trusted pacifiers hurried to the scene to bring the fracas swiftly under control.   At the height of the disturbance, a client behind her called for assistance, since all were otherwise engaged, she answered the call.   Before she realised what was happening a small fine-mesh flour sack was pulled over her head, a hand clamped over her mouth and her arms were pinned to her sides, by strong rope, and she was whisked off her feet and out of the building.   She was able to bite the silencing hand and yell for help, her reward was a sharp stinging blow to the head.   She regained consciousness in a dim dingy room smelling of tallow, animals, and herbs.

"Bring her here, I am going to teach her what it means to cross me, she will beg for my forgiveness before I am finished with her.   By then she will be begging to die.   Remove the blindfold," the voice commanded.

Genna had recognised the voice but, she was still groggy from the head blow.   She did not speak, reasoning that silence would encourage her captor to talk the more.   But, she recognised her captor immediately.   It was not the old Madame, but Jazim...

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan