Chapter 37: The Slave Girl
Nine year old Edita Ramirez felt the pain in her jaw. She had just been hit by her owner and master, Olaf. It was her fault, she thought to herself. She shouldn’t have poured more wine into his cup than he wanted. It was always her fault. She didn’t know why she made so many mistakes. If she didn’t make mistakes then Olaf would not have punished her so much.
“I like this one,” Mr Gaston, Olaf’s drinking companion responded.
“She’s not for sale,” Olaf responded. The slave owner always liked to play hardball in case Mr Gaston was interested in purchasing her at an acceptable price. Good wine did not come cheap after all.
“If her face wasn’t so black and blue from you hitting her she might actually be quite attractive,” Mr Gaston replied.
“As I said she’s not for sale.”
“Twenty-five Rupees,” the guest suggested in the hope of acquiring a bargain.
“Not even for five hundred,” the host replied without showing any change in his facial expression.
“Even I can’t spare five hundred Rupees. Be reasonable”
“As I said, she’s not for sale,” Olaf Martinez responded stubbornly.
“Pity,” Gaston responded knowing that he would be held to ransom if he really wanted to purchase any of Olaf’s slaves.
Edita wondered what it would be like to have Mr Gaston as a master. Perhaps he wouldn’t hit her so much. Would it be paradise she wondered. He seemed like such a nice man. Sometimes she wondered why he came to visit Olaf. To her, they seemed poles apart. Olaf was brutish and temperamental whereas Mr Gaston was calm and collected. Sometimes he even smiled.
At times Edita wanted a better life. She was constantly exhausted from her long working hours that were quite demanding. She didn’t want to fear her master every time she did something wrong. She wondered what it would be like to have time to herself or to have time to talk with her fellow slaves. Sometimes she even dreamed of having a day off. Perhaps Mr Gaston might offer that opportunity one day.
The night wore on, until such a time as Olaf fell asleep. Edita started to tidy the table, removing plates and cups and cleaning it.
“Don’t you want to be free?” Gaston asked. “I can help you escape,” he declared
“I belong here. It is not something that Mr Olaf would want. He would be very angry with me if I wanted to leave. He killed my older brother for leaving. He would do the same to me.”
“Trust me,” Gaston declared. “I can help you.”
“I can’t,” the young slave girl replied. “I must do as my master insists.”
“I do not understand why you would not want to be free,” the guest responded with a hint of frustration.
Edita continued to tidy the table and clean the dishes. By the early hours of the morning she retired to her cell at the back of Olaf’s mansion. She was very tired after her long day of work and fell asleep almost instantly.
The following morning when Edita awoke, she did not find herself in the same bed. She was in a cage, being pulled by a horse and cart. Two strong men were at the front of the cart and following her was Gaston on horseback.
Edita was afraid that Mr Olaf would be very angry with her because of this. If he were to find her, he might kill her now. It didn’t take much to annoy him at the best of times.
She turned her attention to Gaston on his horse. He seemed quite pleased with himself. He, like Olaf locked her in a cage. Her initial impression of the horserider was of a normal but decent human being. But that image was by now obliterated. She tested the bars of her cell but they were firm and unbreakable to her. Edita had a new master now but he was no better than the predecessor.
Edgar Ramires Gaston, removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled. Life was good he thought to himself. He planned to sell his new prize to the highest bidder in Martazina Square in the town of Curacon.
The weather was warm. Not too hot and not too cool. It hadn’t rained in almost a week. Even he, cold as he was, admired everything around him. He liked riding on horseback in order to take in the birds singing in the trees, the plants with all their leaves, the lizards and all the other amazing creatures who populated the forests.
Up ahead of him he saw three individuals, including a changeling and two humans. At least they appeared to be human. He could never be certain these days. Gaston detested alien creatures. When they got closer he took out his whip and slashed it against the changeling’s back. “Out of my way you scum,” he said.
Ackbar winced. The pain was quite acute and the slave trader did not hold back. He was tempted to grab the whip and pull it from him but he chose not to. Part of him told him not to but another part of him was frustrated with him for being too resilient and too soft.
Ackbar and his companions duly stood out of the way and Gaston sneered at them as he passed by. The Kylot’s heart sank when he noticed the caged slave in the back of the cart. She was so young and timid looking. More than anything he wanted to help her, but how could he?
Gaston eventually reached the town of Curacon. It probably had about four thousand inhabitants. Most of the dwellings were white concrete buildings with a few slave huts sprinkled around. The main square itself was a hive of activity. There were many traders located there, displaying their stalls to a throng of customers.
Gaston dismounted from his horse and was greeted by an overweight man in his fifties with a bald head and grey beard.
“Nice to see you again my friend,” the old man said warmly with a firm handshake. “You will earn me a nice commission today. She is a fine specimen.” Ferrer was better dressed than most of the other occupants of the town and there was a smell of alcohol from his breath. The slave trade had been good to him. It was a pity to him, that some politicians were thinking of putting an end to it.
“She should fetch a fine price alright, Ferrer. She is a fine worker. She will make an excellent servant. It pains me to give her up.”
“Indeed,” Ferrer responded before walking away, “indeed.”
“My Master will kill you for this,” Edita said aloud.
“That would be difficult,” Gaston responded in a whisper. “He is already dead.”
The slave trader made his way up to his office with one of his employees. He carried with him a sack containing money. The office was a building made of wood and it was located on the second floor. Gaston placed the sack on the table. “Guard this with your life,” he said sternly, before removing some of the money and placing it in his pocket.
Gaston made his way downstairs to the local Inn. He ordered a whiskey and started to sip from it. No conversation passed between him and the barman. Everyone in the Inn knew he was a man not to be trifled with.
Almost fifteen minutes later, Gaston finished drinking and left the tavern. He was just in time to witness the auction in the main square.
The man named Ferrer stood up on a platform with a crowd of about forty people in front of him. Beside him was the girl.
“Which of you shall open the bidding on this fine young girl?” he asked as he placed one hand on her left shoulder and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Twenty Rupees,” a young man shouted out.
“Come now, she is worth more than ten times that,” Ferrer replied in disgust. The commission would not be enough for a glass of whiskey. He looked around the crowd for any sign of interest. Perhaps this was a poor lot, he thought to himself. Gaston would not be impressed.
“Three hundred Rupees,” an old man with a walking stick shouted out. He looked old and doddery. The woman by his side appeared to be his wife.
That’s more like it, Ferrer thought to himself. “Do I hear three hundred and fifty Rupees?” he asked as he surveyed the crowd once more.
The old man put up his stick. What a clown, Ferrer thought. He was so doddery that he was betting against himself.
“Do I hear four hundred?”
Again the old man raised his stick. “I will pay five hundred Rupees for this young girl,” the old man declared. “It’s all I have.”
All Ferrer could think of, was his fat commission. “Sold,” he shouted out, “for Five Hundred Rupees”.
The old man slowly approached the stage. Ferrer was afraid that he would fall apart before he got there.
“Do you have the money?” Ferrer asked.
“Well,” the old man said, “I have a hundred rupees in my pocket.”
“And the rest?”
“Clara’s purse has a hundred rupees.”
“Yes?”
“There are two hundred rupees in my sandals,” the old man said as he removed the money from under his feet.
“And the remaining hundred rupees?”
“In my hood,” the old man declared.
Once the money was handed over the slave was released into his care. Edita wondered what use the old man and the old woman would have for her. She also wondered how long it would be before Gaston murdered them and took her back into his ownership.
Gaston and Ferrer returned to the Inn for another whiskey.
“That old man was a fool. Imagine bidding against yourself.” Ferrer declared.
“Well you should know that I had no intention of accepting an offer of less than four hundred and fifty Rupees.”
“I know… but I’ve never come across that level of stupidity before. He blew his life savings on a single slave. A girl. If it was a large brute with strong arms and an able body then I would understand. What a waste.”
Gaston and Ferrer had four more whiskey’s before Gaston returned to his office. Both of his servants were there guarding his bag of money. He opened his satchel and put the remaining Rupees inside. Something was wrong, he thought to himself. Some of the money was missing. His first instinct was to blame his servants but then he realised exactly how much money was missing. “Five Hundred Rupees,” he said to himself. The damned changeling!