moment.
She closed her eyes and started swaying. Her brain was spinning around and around to the cacophony of loud music. She could feel the dampness of the evening grass of childhood between her toes. They played their spinning game, falling down, laughing; last kid standing was the winner.
The droning voice suddenly made sense as she opened her eyes again. She looked at his mouth with its full lips and perfect white teeth; the mouth was moving fast, the tip of the velvety pink tongue licking the dryness from the lips, like a snake tasting the air.
“I have ten lacs, ten lacs for this beautiful, intelligent, mature woman. A sure prize—any more bids, gentlemen? Yes, we have eleven lacs, eleven lacs.
“Any more bids, gentlemen? Yes, we have eleven lacs, eleven lacs.”
Oh my God, I’m being sold . The dawning realization shook Carla out of her drugged haze.
The bidding was heating up between two men. One looked Middle Eastern; he wore a dark Western suit and had a slight build. The other was tall, wearing traditional Afghani clothes. He was standing in the shadows, casually raising his hand to counter bid on Carla.
Her heart was beating impossibly fast, yet she managed to stay focused, watching the bidding with morbid curiosity. A young boy was carrying a lamp past the Afghan, and as his face lit for a moment, Carla recognized the unusual light gray of his eyes. I know him from somewhere… With desperation she tried to recall where she knew him from, but the heroin impeded all lucid thought. Then, again, she sank into oblivion, deeper into the vortex of her incubus.
The auctioneer nodded as the bidding ended, and Carla was carried out to an adjoining room where she was dressed in a large black burqa that covered her body and most of her face. A pair of cheap imitation Dior sunglasses were placed over her eyes. Two men carried her to the waiting jeep and lay her down on the back seat.
Carla felt hot and thirsty as she regained consciousness, but her moaning went unheard as the jeep’s engine roared into life and, with a jolt, pulled away.
Lying on the back seat of the jeep, Carla listened intently to the sounds. Again she tried to gauge her whereabouts. A dull headache threatened her concentration, but she was determined, and to her surprise, she found herself reliving an unmistakable street scenario: the sound of vehicles; hooting; the loud cries of pedestrians; sidewalk traders. The jeep was moving slowly through the traffic. The men in the front seats were silent, except for the occasional expletive uttered in Hindi by the driver.
We must be leaving Old Delhi, Carla thought, as the jeep started traveling faster and the roads seemed less congested. What if we are heading for the airport? Oh God, what am I going to do? She began to panic. I must stay calm . Her only hope was to think and behave rationally.
The situation worsened with the jeep accelerating, making Carla nauseous, bitter gall welling up in the back of her throat.
Then, the jeep suddenly stopped. The driver and passenger got out, and as Carla tried to sit up, her door was opened and strong arms lifted her out of the car and bundled her into the back of another car. She tried to stay upright, but someone got in beside her and pushed her down on the seat. She had no strength in her body, and with a sigh she surrendered wearily. Closing her eyes, she drifted into a shadowy state of sleep and wakefulness. The sounds from outside mingled with her dreams. She was confused, unable to discern reality.
She laughed as Andrew insisted on carrying her over the threshold of their front door after their weeklong honeymoon on the idyllic islands of the Seychelles.
“You’ll break your back—I’m at least four kilos heavier from all those pina coladas on the beach!”
Andrew smiled as his face turned red with the effort of lifting Carla. “What are you talking about? You’re as light as a feather!”
He stumbled over the mail on the floor at the
She closed her eyes and started swaying. Her brain was spinning around and around to the cacophony of loud music. She could feel the dampness of the evening grass of childhood between her toes. They played their spinning game, falling down, laughing; last kid standing was the winner.
The droning voice suddenly made sense as she opened her eyes again. She looked at his mouth with its full lips and perfect white teeth; the mouth was moving fast, the tip of the velvety pink tongue licking the dryness from the lips, like a snake tasting the air.
“I have ten lacs, ten lacs for this beautiful, intelligent, mature woman. A sure prize—any more bids, gentlemen? Yes, we have eleven lacs, eleven lacs.
“Any more bids, gentlemen? Yes, we have eleven lacs, eleven lacs.”
Oh my God, I’m being sold . The dawning realization shook Carla out of her drugged haze.
The bidding was heating up between two men. One looked Middle Eastern; he wore a dark Western suit and had a slight build. The other was tall, wearing traditional Afghani clothes. He was standing in the shadows, casually raising his hand to counter bid on Carla.
Her heart was beating impossibly fast, yet she managed to stay focused, watching the bidding with morbid curiosity. A young boy was carrying a lamp past the Afghan, and as his face lit for a moment, Carla recognized the unusual light gray of his eyes. I know him from somewhere… With desperation she tried to recall where she knew him from, but the heroin impeded all lucid thought. Then, again, she sank into oblivion, deeper into the vortex of her incubus.
The auctioneer nodded as the bidding ended, and Carla was carried out to an adjoining room where she was dressed in a large black burqa that covered her body and most of her face. A pair of cheap imitation Dior sunglasses were placed over her eyes. Two men carried her to the waiting jeep and lay her down on the back seat.
Carla felt hot and thirsty as she regained consciousness, but her moaning went unheard as the jeep’s engine roared into life and, with a jolt, pulled away.
Lying on the back seat of the jeep, Carla listened intently to the sounds. Again she tried to gauge her whereabouts. A dull headache threatened her concentration, but she was determined, and to her surprise, she found herself reliving an unmistakable street scenario: the sound of vehicles; hooting; the loud cries of pedestrians; sidewalk traders. The jeep was moving slowly through the traffic. The men in the front seats were silent, except for the occasional expletive uttered in Hindi by the driver.
We must be leaving Old Delhi, Carla thought, as the jeep started traveling faster and the roads seemed less congested. What if we are heading for the airport? Oh God, what am I going to do? She began to panic. I must stay calm . Her only hope was to think and behave rationally.
The situation worsened with the jeep accelerating, making Carla nauseous, bitter gall welling up in the back of her throat.
Then, the jeep suddenly stopped. The driver and passenger got out, and as Carla tried to sit up, her door was opened and strong arms lifted her out of the car and bundled her into the back of another car. She tried to stay upright, but someone got in beside her and pushed her down on the seat. She had no strength in her body, and with a sigh she surrendered wearily. Closing her eyes, she drifted into a shadowy state of sleep and wakefulness. The sounds from outside mingled with her dreams. She was confused, unable to discern reality.
She laughed as Andrew insisted on carrying her over the threshold of their front door after their weeklong honeymoon on the idyllic islands of the Seychelles.
“You’ll break your back—I’m at least four kilos heavier from all those pina coladas on the beach!”
Andrew smiled as his face turned red with the effort of lifting Carla. “What are you talking about? You’re as light as a feather!”
He stumbled over the mail on the floor at the
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