The Priest Read online

  Mauricio sat on the floor thinking about the inane order. Prepare myself, again? How? He would have laughed, but a strong headache was looming. He simply bent his legs and rested his face on his lap, hoping that the pain he was feeling on his left temple would disappear.

  “Is the table ready?” A woman’s voice echoed in his room. “Are the instruments sterilized already?” the same voice asked, after another woman had affirmed the first question. They kept talking about other things, but their voices were lower now, almost an indistinct buzz.

  Mauricio looked around the room to see where their voices were coming from. After a few seconds, he found a ventilation grid and listened intently.

  “The Priestess is upset,” the first woman said loudly enough to be heard.

  “I can’t blame her," the second woman replied with a snort.

  “I understand she is President Layan’s daughter, but enough is enough. Why didn't the Priestess put the little brat in her place?”

  “It’s not that she had a choice.”

  “She’s the Holy Priestess. Of course she has a choice!”

  “In this case, she didn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you heard of…?”

  “Haven’t I heard of what?”

  “There are some rumors… no?”

  “No, what are you talking about?”

  “There are some allegations about her celibacy—”

  “Allegations about her Holiness’ celibacy? What heresy is that? How can you say such things?”

  “Well, I wasn’t the one divulging such rumors! It was the brat who menaced to talk. I just heard of them.”

  “I don’t believe it, not even for a second.” The second woman sounded rather nervous. “And, you should be more careful with what you say around here.” She paused for a long while, and then she added, “Anyway, not even the President’s daughter should be able to ask for a baby as if it was a new toy. It’s immoral that she wants to have a daughter without having married a nice woman first. If you ask me, she should be sent home with her tushy properly dusted.”

  “The Priestess thinks otherwise, obviously,” the other woman answered dryly. “Anyway, everything is ready here. Call for the brat.”

  A few minutes passed without even the slightest sound. Then Mauricio heard loud steps walking past his room and into the other.

  “Mistress, if you would, lie on this bed, please.” The first woman had changed the tone of her voice considerably. Now she was all sweetness.

  “Thank you, Ancilla Bettany,” a third voice said. It sounded gentle and young.

  “The Priestess will be here shortly. Now, I'm going to inject you with the sedative. You'll be asleep in a few minutes. Do you have any questions?” the second woman asked in the same sweet tone as the first.

  “No, you were very exhaustive when you explained the process to me. I am ready to conceive with the help of the Priestess. Thank you for your patience, Ancilla Martha,” the young woman said with a pleasant lilt in her voice.

  “At your service, Mistress,” both women said at the same time. Several steps echoed from the ventilation grid, along with metallic sounds, and finally, a door was closed with a gentle thump.

  Mauricio stood with his back to the wall, staring at nothing, waiting to be summoned by the guard. A few minutes later, his eyes turned back to the ventilation grid, wishing that it was a window opening to the other room. Then something happened. The young woman started singing. He had never heard a woman singing before. Slaves usually sang at night when the darkness was too much to bear, and they sang during the day when the guards weren’t paying much attention to them. But the singing he heard now was different. Apart from the obvious fact that a woman’s voice is different from a man’s, softer and sweeter, the girl was singing with joy and abandonment. She was happy to be alive. And she had a beautiful voice.

  Mauricio had the absurd thought of wanting to see her. He knew it was ridiculous the moment it came to mind, but the thought kept nagging at him the whole time she sang. Her voice soared through the ventilation grid and came down to embrace Mauricio. She held one last note longer than he thought possible, and then she abruptly stopped.

  “We're done with you,” a guard, different from the one who had escorted him there, announced while opening the door.

  Mauricio’s ears were offended by the intrusion of the guard’s scratchy voice. He couldn’t shake the memory of the melody he had just heard.

  “Move.” The guard poked him with a long stick.

  Mauricio focused his eyes on the woman and took a step toward the door. She looked like she was waiting for him to do something. He silently cursed the woman, but didn’t give her any reason to vent her frustration on him. Instead, he memorized the route to his cell. They had made two right turns when the guard’s pager started beeping loudly. She kept him at arm’s length with the stick and paused to check the pager.

  “Blast it.” She reached for her cell phone and dialed a number with increasing worry on her face.

  “Mariam reporting.” The guard’s voice was tightly controlled, but the hand holding the stick was moving around in wild circles. She muttered several sentences meant to sound obsequious and then listened for a few seconds while breathing heavily. She closed the cell phone with an angry look on her face.

  Mauricio stood there, trying to blend into the wall and avoiding the guard’s eyes. He had learned this trick when he was just a toddler. Normally it worked. He didn’t even flinch when the circling stick almost connected with his cheekbone.

  “Stay there.” The guard opened a room on her left, ordered him inside and slammed the door behind him hastily.

  Mauricio heard her stomping in the hallway, cursing out loud and complaining that she wasn’t a fathered woman to be used as a fetching maid, not even for the blasted Priestess. And then, nothing. He was alone again, the door left ajar. He stared at the door, his mind running wild. The temptation was too great. Such opportunities didn’t occur every day. On the other hand, the retribution for taking the opportunity would be high. If the guards caught him.

  Mauricio’s hand was on the door’s handle before his brain could add anything to his already mixed thoughts. He walked down the hallway and had turned left twice already when he felt the first pang of worries knocking on his consciousness. He put aside the feeling immediately. He walked past the door of the room he had been in and went straight to the next door. He tested the handle. The door was unlocked. No sound came from inside. He looked over his shoulders. Nobody was coming. He took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. He cautiously peeked inside and stopped breathing altogether. The room was white, like the majority of the rooms in the facility, but it was filled from floor to ceiling with an array of machinery. In the middle of the room, almost hidden by the machinery, was a young woman lying on a bed.

  Mauricio shouldn’t have been surprised by the girl’s presence. He knew a woman with a young voice had been singing in that room. If he took the time to consider what he was doing there, out of his designated room, he would have admitted that his curiosity to see the girl had won over his reasoning. Still, he was mesmerized by her. He had never looked twice at a woman before. His guards were interchangeable. Younger, older, fatter, slimmer, women all look the same to him: mean. The girl on the bed looked different. She was small with long, chestnut hair that trailed down the bed to the floor. Her face was minute with a little nose that turned slightly up at the end. Mauricio wondered what color her eyes were. Her skin was golden brown, while his was olive, and she was wearing the same green gown he was wearing. Somehow, she looked better in it than he did.

  Mauricio didn’t dare walk closer to the bed. He stood at a distance, looking at her from the door. She moved a finger of her outstretched hand and sighed while murmuring something incoherent. He unwillingly smiled at the singsong quality of her voice. Mauricio moved one timid step toward her. He raised his hand and, with a sudden decision, passed it
through the curtain of her falling hair. He smiled again; this time he was fully conscious of the happiness he was feeling. A strand of hair caught between his fingers and he looked at it under the artificial white light. The hair changed color as he moved it this way and that. Mauricio let the hair fall through his fingers and bent lower to be at the same level of the girl’s face. He could hear the breath coming in and out of her mouth. He moved closer to smell her skin. Mauricio inhaled her scent and smiled again. You smell of something clean… and sweet. He fought the urge to taste her.

  The distant sound of several hurried steps froze him in midair. Mauricio sprang upright and to the door in one single movement. He checked that the hallway was still clear and ran away in the opposite direction from the approaching steps. He flew back to the room he left and sat on the floor. For several minutes, he could only hear his heart beating loudly against his chest. Then he realized that he was shaking uncontrollably. Finally, he saw that he had left the door open. Mauricio stretched one trembling leg and gently pushed the door until he heard a distinct click. When his heart slowed, he heard voices outside in the hallway.

  “The Priestess said that the last deposit was enough. You can take him back to his cell. The brat is being treated right now.” One guard was standing just outside the door.

  “I can’t wait to get rid of her. She's only causing problems. We had to double the surveillance. And on top of everything else, we are working two or three shifts per day, because of Her-Royal-Pain-in-the-Ass’ presence,” another guard commented.

  “Playtime is over,” one of the two guards announced. The key turned in the lock, closing the door instead of opening it. A second of hesitation and then the key turned the other way.

  “Damn…” The guard immediately looked inside the cell.

  “What is it?” the other asked with a suspicious tone.

  “Nothing,” the plump guard said after double-checking the slave was where she left him. She couldn’t help but exhale rather loudly.

  Thank the Heavens for small favors. Mauricio raised his eyes to the ceiling. If the guard who had forgotten to lock the door had been alone, he would now be at the receiving end of an unpleasant series of privileges that would guarantee him retaliation by the hand of the other less-fortunate slaves. As it was, the woman would never admit to the other guard of having done something so stupid. Forgetting to secure a slave meant losing their job. For some reason, the guards working around the Temple were particularly terrified of doing anything wrong. It was the subject of infinite speculation among the men.

  The guard looked at him with wary eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

  You can’t prove anything.

  “I’ll walk with you. I am headed to take another slave back, anyway,” the other guard said.

  “Great,” the plump guard commented.

  Later that night, in the privacy of his own cell, Mauricio’s lips turned up, but he refrained from laughing. The room had only three solid walls. The fourth was a grid of metal bars. Mauricio wanted to tell his adventure to everybody who would listen. He wanted to be the one, for once, whom every other man listened to, but guards were always skulking around. It wasn’t safe to push his luck, which he had just drained for the rest of the year. The stunt he pulled today was nowhere close to the other little acts of verbal rebellion he had tried on the guards. Instead of announcing to the world that he had defied orders and almost touched a woman, he kept smiling to himself. He had realized several years ago that he preferred to remain alive. A slave’s life wasn’t life at all, but Mauricio was attached to the little he had.

  Chapter 3

  For several nights after the encounter, he barely slept and constantly replayed the memories of the girl. He thought that if he kept thinking of her, her features would be etched forever in his mind and he would never forget how she looked or how she smelled. But memories are tricky companions and tend to betray one’s heart.

  Days and weeks passed. The guards had resumed their usual alertness. Cells were locked tightly and conversations were held away from the ventilation grids. He was asked to deposit his semen on a daily basis, and he complied as he always had over the years.

  Mauricio felt alone for the first time in his life. For twenty-two years he had longed for acceptance; he had dreamed impossible dreams, despising his position as a slave with privileges. He had learned how to dull the pain he felt after the worst beatings. He had learned to live like a pariah among the other slaves and had even come to terms with the fact that fathered women would probably hate him. Not any other slave, just him. He, as a semental, was the reason fathered women were considered lesser beings by the pure breeds. Because of him, he had been told, his mother didn’t have a soul.

  When he finally realized that he wasn’t going to see the girl again, his thoughts turned bleak, and he stopped caring about the flow of time. Not that, for a slave, the succession of days meant anything. Time for a man was a procession of similar activities constantly repeated over a lifetime. Mauricio, different from everybody else by choice, cared about the way he spent his existence. He knew the day would come when, after having helped with the creation of an army of fathered women and after having broken his back in the fields, he would end up in a retirement facility. No man had ever come back to tell what happened in the feared retirement facilities. It wasn’t so hard to imagine why.

  But, when that day came, Mauricio wanted to be sure that he had left a mark. Even if it was something small, it would be something nonetheless.

  Then, the short-lived adrenaline rush had consumed him inside out and left him bereft of something he’d never had. He had tasted something he couldn’t define and he had liked it. Mauricio collapsed under the wall of reality. What was left now was a hopeless life. He reached the peak of sadness when the guards came one morning and moved him to another wing of the facility. His new cell was smaller, colder, and most of all, it was far away from the field-workers’ cells, closer to the laboratories where he went to make his deposits every day. Nobody had talked to him before, but at least he had enjoyed the men’s voices at night. Now he only heard mechanical buzzing and metallic chirping.

  One morning, after his usual monthly physical check, Mauricio was escorted deeper into the laboratory wing. He was used to the mercurial moods of the women and changes of plans were frequent. There could be several reasons for the unexpected stroll. Maybe the whole wing was being sterilized; the cleaning was long overdue. Mauricio hoped for a longer walk. He had woken up, with muscles stiffer than usual, and was feeling particularly blue. Any change in his routine was welcome. After a few minutes of brisk walking, not as long as he had wished for, he was shown inside a deposit room and told to stay put. Almost immediately, he had a sense of déjà vu. Voices were coming from the ventilation grid.

  “How many viable female embryos do we have?” an older woman asked.

  “We have at least three. One is particularly strong,” another woman, maybe the doctor, answered after a few seconds.

  “Excellent. Do you think we can start the procedure today?” the older woman asked with a satisfied tone.

  “I don’t see why not. I’m ready to implant the embryo as soon as the girl is here.”

  “I’ll call Her-Royal-Pain immediately. The sooner we are done with her, the better.”

  Mauricio’s mind filled in all the blanks in the conversation. Keep talking, he thought with renewed hope. I need to know if you are talking about that girl I can’t stop thinking about. The only sounds that came through the vent were those of a leaking faucet. “Come back, please,” he murmured to the ceiling, waiting for something to happen. Would it kill you to please me, just once? When it was clear that the women had left the adjacent room, he sat down and occupied his time tracing doodles on the dusty floor with his fingers; he found drawing relaxing. Some days he spent hours covering the window of his cell with intricate laces made from fingertips on moist glass. One warm breath on the windowpane and there was a whole new worl
d of filigree designs; one brush with an open hand, and the canvas was ready for another masterpiece. Mauricio was good at finding ways to entertain himself.

  In this room, all he had was the dust on the floor and his fingers. It was more than enough, but he couldn’t concentrate on the task. Instead of drawing, Mauricio started playing with the frayed hem of his pants. He circled his finger around a loose thread and absentmindedly pulled at it one way and the other. Finally, a thin strip of fabric gave away. Meanwhile he kept analyzing the words he had heard. With restless hands, he played some more with the strip of fabric and then went back to the drawing activity. When he took a distracted look at the design on the floor, Mauricio saw a half-finished, delicate profile. The sound of steps came from outside his room. He hastily stood up and erased the drawing with his foot. The steps didn’t pause at his door.

  “At what time do I have to prep the room, Doctor?” a woman asked.

  “The President’s daughter’s procedure is scheduled at noon. Have everything ready by eleven,” a second woman answered.

  “It will be done by eleven, then.” A clicking sound accompanied the words.

  “Thanks, Ancilla.” The doctor’s voice was barely audible. Then nothing else.

  Almost at the same time, the door in Mauricio’s room opened and the plump guard, who had become some sort of personal escort lately, made a gesture to him, indicating that it was time to go back to his cell. Mauricio wanted to know why he had been forgotten there, but he knew better than to ask. He followed the guard outside silently. Out of boredom, he decided to memorize the route they were taking. Two turns left, three turns right. Two different hallways. One hundred and thirty-two steps from the room that was being prepared for the President’s daughter to his cell. Give or take.

  Meanwhile, Mauricio noticed the commotion disturbing the quiet of the laboratories wing. There were more guards than usual scurrying about. Doors opened and closed, revealing the activities inside. Mauricio saw other sementals waiting for their turns to be brought back to their cells. So, the hypothesis that their wing was being sanitized was probably correct. It had been sheer luck that he had ended up in that deposit room twice.