Whores of Babylon, page 6
He had forgotten about the canal. Now he recollected how he and Deborah had crossed it by a minor bridge to arrive at the street where their lodgings were. That bridge was out of sight - probably to the north - one way or the other, but which? How to reach it, rather than another dead end? These back streets might run at right angles for the most part; they were still a maze.
Frustrated, he retraced his steps quickly back to Sin Street, then hastened southwards to the junction with Marduk Street, which bridged the canal. Soon he plunged into the quarter - or rather the triangle with a curved hypotenuse - defined by Marduk Street, the canal, and the Processional Way.
He calmed down and walked more slowly. What precisely was he intending to do? Watch, like a voyeur? Toss a coin of his own into her lap? No, that was against custom. He already knew Deborah (though not carnally). Gupta had pointed that out, damn his tricks.
Interfere? Dissuade?
Ridiculous!
Why should he do anything? Why shouldn’t he amuse himself instead by visiting the Greek Theatre or the Hanging Gardens? Or spend a whole day exploring the new city over the river? What business of his was it, anyway?
He continued walking on towards the Ishtar temple. A couple of times he sought to confirm his route by asking tradesmen. The first tradesman obliged, with a sly wink.
Later on, the second man he asked said frostily, ‘There are strip shows in the Greek Theatre quarter.
Macedonians throng them. The girls are obliging. Wait till evening.’ Obviously this particular pious citizen disapproved of the visitor’s seeming - or unseemly - haste to avail himself of a famous delight of Babylon.
‘I know there are!’ barked Alex. ‘Damn it, my inn’s right next to one.’
‘Perhaps you’re too mean to pay a proper price? Do you think, stranger, you can buy with a copper what is more precious than gold? You can; but it shall do your soul no good! Maybe you’re frightened of catching a disease which will make your urine burn and foam? Or is your urgency that of Priapus?’
Alex was on the point of protesting at these insults when it occurred to him that the man might want to goad him into an accusation, and a quarrel on the street - with who knew what results?
He simply said, ‘I arranged to meet a friend there.’
Reluctantly the fellow conceded some directions. These turned out to be lies; by the time Alex realized, more time had gone by.
In a spacious courtyard shaded by cedars of Lebanon many reed mats were arranged in rows upon the soil, separated by gangways of straw.
Some thirty women sat waiting here and there, cross-legged or with their knees drawn up, the laps of their plain gowns forming for each a begging bowl. None of their faces was painted but each wore a band of plaited gold cord round her head. The temple building was a hall of glazed brick with high clerestory windows, resembling the nave of an early church; cloisters sprouted to one side.
Deborah wasn’t among the waiting women. Alex could already see as much from the gateway, where two spearmen stood guard: one facing the courtyard, one with his back to it; both impassive. At this still early hour only a couple of men were treading the gangways, assessing the women who waited politely, patiently, never ogling or flashing smiles, neither dropping their gaze nor deploying it enticingly; so far as Alex could see from where he stood.
After a while one of the men shrugged, tossed down a coin, and said something. The woman before him rose. Together they headed for the temple hall, side by side. The other man completed his circuit - dubiously, by no means as eager as the sparrows which hopped anxiously about - and made his way towards the gate just as Alex finally strayed inside.
Encountering Alex, the man drawled in Greek, ‘A homely dumpling. A horse. A mouse. A slut. An urchin. A grandmother. Someone who looks just like my sister. Acne. A pox of freckles. And three whom I already know! Oh dear. I wish there was a temple with boys. Last night my friend told me he had seen a girl just like a boy arrive as they were closing for the night. He was lying, japing me! Or else he meant that urchin. Maybe he did mean her. Her nose is runny. I’m sure I’d catch a rheum.’
The fellow reeked of patchouli. His eyes looked drugged, the pupils dilated. His hair was dandified, oiled and waved. His nose was somewhat crooked, as though it had once been broken. He was as smoothly clean-shaven as a woman; which made Alex conscious of his own two-day growth.
The soldier who faced inward began to pay attention. ‘Here, you,’ he said, or something equivalent in Babylonian.
Alex hastened to put a couple more paces between himself and the presumed pederast.
The man continued speaking Greek: ‘What is it, my bold bullyboy?’ He minced nearer to the soldier till finally he reached out a finger and softly tapped the spear point; then he ran his fingertip down the blade.
The soldier rapped out a string of Babylonian.
In mock alarm the fellow darted back, and clutched Alex’s arm. ‘My dear, he tells me I can’t leave until I’ve chosen! Or else he’ll tickle my ribs with that sharp tool of his.’
Alex shook himself free. He felt oppressed - not naively disgusted so much as threatened. On the other hand, here was someone who seemed able to play the system and get away with it.
Unless, in addition to all else, the fellow was an exhibitionist and a masochist; albeit a cautious masochist, perhaps, who came early to the temple when male visitors of more straightforward tastes were less likely to gang up on him.
Suddenly inspired, Alex said, ‘You’d like to be sitting on one of those mats, wouldn’t you?’
Whether this was accurate or not, the dandy growled quite venomously, ‘Oh, my dear!’ He swiftly recovered his composure. ‘Heigh-ho, it’ll have to be the urchin, then. I’m sure I’ll sneeze in a rag for a fortnight.’
Back he went, to cast a coin and say something. The skinny figure who arose at his bidding hardly came up to his chest.
It occurred to Alex that presumably he also couldn’t leave the courtyard till he had made a choice. So he walked around the gangways slowly, though his heart beat fast. What if Deborah emerged from the temple hall? What if she only just now arrived at the gateway? He felt nakedly exposed, which was ridiculous, considering his role and the women’s - wasn’t it?
Most of the women had put their hair up in tight buns, fastened by hairpins of silver or copper or plain bone - depending upon their social status, no doubt, otherwise it might have been hard to tell a high lady from an alewife, since they all wore simple gowns and no cosmetics. A few women had straw tangled in their hair, so these must have stayed overnight sleeping in the courtyard or the cloisters; or maybe these were women who had stayed for many nights and tired of performing a thoroughly scrupulous toilet.
Actually, the pederast’s description had been quite slanderous.
Quite; not entirely. Here was the spotty dumpling. Here was the horse, angular and bony. However, the freckled redhead was a comely girl. And here was a young tanned bosomy blonde, though she was plump and greasy. And here, a handsome strong-looking Negress with skin of polished ebony over rippling muscles; she could probably bend iron bars, clutching them in her ivory teeth.
No, the pederast wouldn’t have liked a strong woman. Or a bosomy one.
Surely this was a disgusting way to assess people? But did he not, at the same time, assess himself? Did he not assess the criteria by which he chose to judge - and thus discover those private criteria which under ordinary circumstances would never have such free rein to express themselves?
No, the pederast wouldn’t have liked this one . . . Thus Alex shifted the blame, away from himself.
If the fellow was a boy-lover, why did he come to a woman’s temple? Homosexuality couldn’t be illegal in Babylon. Alexander the Great had loved men as well as women. ‘Greek love’ and all that. . .
Probably the pederast could have satisfied himself elsewhere, except that his tastes ran to the boyish rather than to actual young men. Perhaps he disliked the physical inconveniences involved (as Alex imagined them).
Alex felt increasingly confused, and tried to concentrate. Should he choose the ‘obvious’ tanned blonde? Or the horsy woman who was definitely ugly; though why should her body be ugly too? Lying with her might prove an alien, disconcerting experience for both of them. There was a certain deft familiarity about the joining of bodies accustomed to such manoeuvres; and Alex, while not particularly accustomed, was nevertheless not wholly unaccustomed. The ugly woman might be unused to lovemaking. Contrariwise, she might be far more sensual; whereas beauty might be frigid. She might be wiser in the ways of Babylon, if not in the arts of love. Ought he to seek the familiar? No.
He was glad Deborah wasn’t here; though several more women were turning up now, and in their wake more men.
Why was he glad? Was he happy that her tryst had arranged itself quickly? Relieved that she hadn’t seen him? Glad for whose sake?
He realized that this temple could teach people of themselves: of their mixed emotions, false chivalries, sanctimonious shams, egotisms, lusts and illusions - so that they could at last learn love, affection, joy? Ishtar’s temple could expose and disorder your emotional routines as a way station to a future which must be grasped emotionally, before all else.
When he made his choice it was by accident. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Deborah emerging from the hall accompanied by a tall, robed, black-bearded man, wearing a beehive of a turban, who inclined his head and then walked off, swinging a walking stick.
Alex was at the end of a row of mats, standing before someone who might have been the pederast’s ‘mouse’. A little mouse with shortish brown hair and small, ordinary features; neither beautiful nor otherwise. She looked to be in her late teens.
Burrowing, he found the first coin to hand. Without inspecting it, he dropped it in her lap. ‘You,’ he said.
With a faint smile, she said, ‘You must say, “In the name of the goddess”.’
‘In the name of the goddess.’
She rose smoothly, holding his coin, which proved to be silver.
Perhaps this was how a choice should be made at the temple of Ishtar, ideally. At random. Literally by the toss of a coin. With the value of the coin determined likewise.
Let Deborah - who was heading away across the courtyard - make what she would of his choice. If she noticed. She seemed preoccupied; perhaps she was taking pains not to stare at him.
As the mouse stepped ahead of Alex he noticed in her hair, short though it was, a golden pin.
Inside the temple, light filtered softly from the high clerestory windows. Private chambers resembling a row of confessionals occupied one side of the nave. Richly brocaded curtains were drawn across the few which were occupied - one, doubtless, by the pederast and his urchin. No noises penetrated the heavy curtains. In each of the open chambers he saw a couch, a ewer of water, a bowl, a towel. Wine and fruit; and a little oil lamp burning.
Alex’s mouse led him down towards the altar. An old woman was sweeping the floor and whistling. Another old woman was replenishing with clean linen and fresh water the chamber which Deborah and her lover must just have used. Perhaps every woman who entered the temple became a priestess for a while; for at the unattended altar the mouse herself deposited the silver coin in a great golden bowl half full of other coins. A cauldron of sandalwood chips and incense smouldered beside it. She knelt and prayed briefly, whispering in Babylonian. What did she pray for? Gentleness on his part? Or that she would not become pregnant?
She led him to an open booth flanked by other open booths. They entered; Alex closed the curtains. Facing each other in the faint lamplight, they undressed. For a moment he imagined her at a high-school function; or in church, in Smalltown, USA. Instead, she was the whore of Babylon.
Her breasts were small but pointy. Her hips were narrow; her pubes were shaved, making her seem more naked and much younger. Her armpits were hairy, though.
Then he forgot about high schools and churches as their bodies met.
The meeting was fairly satisfactory. He entered her without much difficulty and came quickly inside her, then held her tight while his penis remained fiercely sensitive and moved only slightly, which she in turn seemed to find exciting. Gradually he built a rhythm again. He did not ejaculate a second time but she definitely reached a climax of her own, sighing instead of crying out.
Afterwards he stroked her hair and the golden pin. ‘What did you pray for at the altar?’ he asked.
‘For you, Greek,’ she replied. ‘I prayed for you.’
Should he ask more questions? No . . . they had already exchanged, in a different way, sufficient information about one another. Soon she began to move in a manner suggesting that she wished to disentangle and leave. He rose. ‘Some wine?’
She shook her head slightly. Shifting off the couch, she plunged her hand in the ewer several times, dabbed water on her sex and thighs and patted dry with the towel. She began to dress.
Alex, too. He took up his loincloth, quite forgetting how carefully he had taken it off and folded it so as to conceal the package within. The package flew out on to the floor at her feet. To his horror she swooped, picked it up, felt it.
‘What’s this, Greek? An amulet to protect your loins?’
‘No, no.’
Her fingers danced slightly - hardly at all - and the cloth flopped open, exposing the plastic case.
Her eyes widened. ‘Holy Ishtar!’
‘Give me that! Don’t look at it!’
‘Don’t look? One glance is enough.’ She didn’t hand it back. ‘What a funny little wound-up scroll inside. Well, well.’
‘A scroll. That’s right. Of ribbon. It is a sort of amulet.’
Her nails tapped the plastic. ‘Oh no it isn’t. You know what it is, and I know what it is. There’s nothing right about it, that’s for sure.’ She didn’t shrink away or seem scared. ‘How did you come by it?’
‘I found it.’
‘Where?’
‘It fell off a donkey.’
She laughed with delight. ‘Oh yes, it fell off a passing donkey - right into your private parts!’
‘Something like that. I didn’t know what to do with it. I was going to hide it somewhere. It must be important, to be here in Babylon. Who is it important to? And why?’
‘Look, Greek . . . What is your name, anyway?’
‘Alex.’
‘How imperial. Mine's Thessany.’ She stuck out a hand, though not the hand holding the tape. ‘Hullo.’ How odd to shake hands shortly after copulating nakedly, bodies hand in glove.
‘I don’t suppose people often swop names here, Thessany?’
‘I don’t imagine they do. But everything has suddenly altered for us, hasn’t it?’
‘It needn’t.’
‘Oh, it must. And it has. You see, Alex, I’m by way of being a high-born lady.’ She looked wryly amused, as though remembering other times, other places. ‘That gives me certain expectations and ambitions. Lots of restless yearnings! I think I’ll take a glass of wine, after all.’
Alex poured, into two goblets of dark-blue glass inlaid with white festoons. The wine tasted superior.
‘I take it that your ladyship isn’t married?’
‘Not quite yet.’
‘You will be?’
She nodded. ‘I suppose I must. A married woman has more opportunities for intrigue.’
‘But aren’t there punishments?’
‘For intrigue? Failure is the punishment.’
‘No, I mean for having affairs.’
‘Only if you poison your husband for love of another man, or chop him up. Otherwise, that’s up to your husband. He can thrash you if he cares to; or dares to. Alternatively you can conduct an affair under Ishtar’s roof and protection. Mentioning no names, but it has happened. That can prove costly. These old bags who do the tidying are real mnemonists. Try to pull the wool over Ishtar’s eyes and you’ll soon find that the goddess isn’t satisfied with a single coin. It’ll be five; and of gold.’
‘That’s a bit corrupt!’
‘No it isn’t, it’s religious. Religions always gather money. Religions sell goods: salvation, forgiveness, blessings, victory. But who mentioned affairs? Not I, my dear Alex! I spoke of intrigue, which is often far more interesting. So it seems, to my comparatively unenlightened young flesh.’
Was that a reproach? Had he failed to satisfy? Maybe the satisfactions she sought were something else entirely.
I thought of her as Mouse, mused Alex. How wrong can one he?
‘You’ll soon be married,’ he said, ‘and so you came here first.’ Yet she hadn’t been a virgin; not as he understood virgins.
He didn’t need to voice his query. She grinned. ‘I had a kind of affair with a fellow when I was thirteen; I looked younger. The man in question was here today.’
‘He took that urchin girl!’
‘Probably he’s still busy taking her. Yes, I had a precocious affair. Then other interests intervened. I came here to remind myself of past sensations, soon to be my lot again.’
‘How was the reminder?’
‘Okay. Quite acceptable.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘Frankly, it’s better on my own; then my brain really schemes. But this way I can scheme other sorts of things.’
Alex forbore to comment on her assessment of him as lover. ‘Didn’t your other, um, lover run risks seducing a high-bred girl of thirteen?’ he asked.
How ridiculous to call that perverted dandy a lover! Thessany’s experiences with the pervert had undoubtedly been something quite other than a love affair.
‘Risks? Risks are delicious.’
Thirteen . . . When Thessany was thirteen Babylon had only just opened its gates; or not long previously.
Presumably her parents had brought her here, to become instantly high-bred.
‘Do you know who it is you’ll marry?’
