LETTER 8
My dearest Charlie,
I hope you will not be vexed, my precious, at what I have done. Never before, upon my maiden honour, have I shown one of your sweet letters to another living soul. Nor would I have done so now had I not been so intrigued by the manner in which Jackie and Mandy were set to work as 'girl-ponies' at Greystones! Such a charming image was conjured up in my mind by your account that I could scarcely rid myself of it.
I know you will forgive me for showing that portion of your letter to our generous Pasha of Ramallah. As you shall hear, my action provoked the most amusing results.
To my surprise, he knew all about such games. Indeed, he said, the sultans and pashas of the East had long been accustomed to employ some of their favourite concubines between the shafts of their little garden carriages. He cited so many instances in history, from Sultan Ibrahim of the Sublime Porte to Mulay Ishmael himself, that I could scarcely hold any further doubts in the matter.
'Not twenty miles from here lives Pasha Ibrahim,' said he, 'a wealthy patriarch of sixty summers. His harem is extensive and, like myself, he is a great lover of English and European beauty. The use of harness, as he calls it, is indispensable to the management of his girls, especially if one of them should prove difficult.'
I listened agog, Charlie, for, though I could imagine that such things might happen behind harem walls, it was astonishing to be contorted so quickly with the proof of it.
'Then, sir,' I said, 'I suppose a great deal of privacy must surround these occasions. The good Pasha Ibrahim would guard such a secret closely.'
The Pasha of Ramallah laughed. 'Dear young lady! Why do you say so? All the world knows of the means he employs. In this country we think better of a man who is prepared to resort to such measures, provided he thinks them desirable. My brother Ibrahim opens his gardens on such an occasion to his intimate friends, just as he does on other days of hospitality.'
Now, Charlie, you may be sure that I questioned our friend so long and so ingeniously about Ibrahim's pony- girls that he soon saw my intention.
'I believe, dear young lady, that you would be ever grateful to me if I could contrive your presence at one of these afternoon outings. Am I not right?'
He was so amused at finding me out, as he thought, that I could only confirm his suspicion as demurely as I knew how. Pray, give me credit, Charlie. You will remember well how I can counterfeit the faint maiden blush, the modest lowering of the gaze, the cloistered innocence of virtue upon these occasions.
'Very well,' he said, 'nothing could be easier than for you to accompany me in a day or two on my visit to the happy fellow. I happen to know that he has lately acquired a most rebellious young lass of fifteen, who is more than due for a lesson in obedience.'
I need not say how I looked forward with the greatest curiosity to the day of that visit. It seemed best to say nothing of it to my dearest papa and mama, beyond telling them that I was to take tea with Ibrahim's ladies.
It was still morning when we arrived at Ibrahim's estate. Like our friend's, it is set in a green jewel of an oasis, remote from the city, its high surrounding walls well guarded to exclude intruders and immure the occupants. From the carriage window, as we passed along the drive, I was able to glimpse the ornamental pleasure gardens with their winding paths. A fine lake lay at the centre, quite half a mile long. Upon its shore stood replicas of small, pillared temples here and there, such as might have been built for Apollo or Jove, in the ancient world. Banks of mauve, silken-coloured flowers rose on either side, others rising flame-red or fierce blue in the brilliant sun. Elsewhere the trees provided deep, shady retreats where marble fountains played.
Of the house itself I will say only that I was a perfect Alhambra of Moorish courtyards and colonnades, with dazzling sun on the marble and water, restful darkness in the tapestried rooms.
The tyrant Ibrahim, as I had imagined him, was a jovial gentleman with a twinkle in his eye. When the formal courtesies were over, he escorted us to a grassy knoll overlooking his splendid grounds. Here an excellent lunch was served: the most succulent fruits, the crispest roast, and the most savoury dishes were moistened by fine vintages and champagne. Ibrahim's religion forbid him the use of wine, yet he is too generous a man ever to stint his guests.
It was here that I again saw Connie, the young woman of some twenty-five years, with her Asian or Chinese appearance. The black, silken sweep of her hair was once again held in place by a pair of silver slides so that it did not fall too far over her face. She was not entirely naked, though very nearly so: a pair of tiny cones, made of tight, black silk, covered her nipples, and were held in place by black silk cord over her two shoulders and 'round her back. Her other garment was a black silk cache-sex, a tiny triangle at her loins, held by black cord 'round her waist, its supports running down her belly to the silk adornment, and at the rear running back up to her waist between the cheeks of her bottom.
Several different girls acted as waitresses, Connie being given orders to minister to half a dozen of us. The rather snub features, slanted eyes, and pretty heart-shaped face she has are so very appealing! And what of her figure? No part of the world, I vow, can rival the Far East in that neat feminine charm; the slim, nimble forms, the tight rounds of buttocks, which never grow too fat even in a girl whose hips are broadened by her posture.
As she walked to and fro, the eyes of the men followed the light, graceful movements of her body. They contemplated her pale-yellow satiny skin, her tight little breasts, narrow thighs, and saffron bottom-cheeks. Even when she was on full view as a shop girl, I cannot believe she received as much admiration in six months as she now got in half an hour.
The meal ended. Now the men lit their cheroots and began to chaff one another. There was much daring of each fellow in turn to grasp a nettle from the hedgerow and find for himself if it had a sting. Wagers were laid and decided by the victim's silence or his sudden sharp intake of breath and muffled curse.
The English Milord was present, with a certain unsmiling coldness and he offered to prove the wagers another way. He beckoned Connie. The young Asian woman approached. I heard later that he had once encountered her before her life as a concubine began and that she had spurned his admiration. Perhaps that explained his conduct now.
'Put yourself over my knee, face down, Connie,' he said quietly.
There was a look of apprehension in Connie's almond eyes as she obeyed him, the black silken hair hanging downward, her trim saffron-satin seat-cheeks facing upward. Now it was Connie who must make the wager, guessing the effect of each plucked nettle in turn. If she won, her reward was to be fed from the whisky flask. If she lost, she must endure the return of the last nettle to cause a gasp.
First she guessed it would not sting. The young man held the frond to her buttocks with no effect. One of his companions told the girl to turn her pretty face upwards, whereupon he held the whisky flask to her mouth. We saw her swallow once or twice, then make as if to turn her head away. He restrained this.
'A little more yet, Connie. We must fortify you for your ordeal!'
The man across whose knees she lay circled her waist with his left arm to hold her firmly. In his right hand he took another nettle, which Connie also pronounced harmless. This time she was wrong. As son as he touched the spiked leaf to the demure saffron cheek of her bottom, the Asian girl cried out her mistake, her trim legs twisting to no avail. The young man continued to hold the leaf to the same place until the allotted time was up. A deep pinkness the size of a large coin appeared on Connie's left buttock, with two or three white sting points in it.
Then came the forfeit. Was it pure malice which made the young man touch the virulent sharpness to that same tender place, holding it there with lips so tight that the veins on his forehead stood out? That done, he looked down at the appealing innocence of Connie's charming Chinese bottom. With no hint of amusement, he chose another frond, identical to that just discarded. Connie made a submissive, imploring sound, for rebellion is not in her nature.
Just then we were invited to witness Ibrahim's garden outing. The young man who was engaged with Connie remained deaf to this invitation. We left him still holding the Asian girl over his knee, not guess-big what his eventual purpose might be. Looking back, I caught a glimpse of her face turning upward to him, its demure Oriental charm contorted into a devil mask of tears.
You will believe, Charlie, that all this was done merely to avenge himself in one way upon Connie. I assure you that you are wrong. The cunning secret, they tell me, is that such applications of nettles add much to one's
