Read Online Beneath a Marble Sky by John Shors - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Shors
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collapsed atop me. I inhaled his stench as he lay unmoving. Silence reigned now. Though my world still spun, I thanked Allah for the alcohol, because I sensed that without it, my suffering would have been even more horrific.
Soon Khondamir snored. Putting my forearms against his chest, I rolled him from me. Shedding silent tears, I hobbled to a corner, where I sat with my back against the wall. When I saw blood seeping from between my legs and a cut on my nipple, I cried harder. My tears seemed endless as I thought of all that had gone wrong, of the love I was sure to never find.
The night and I aged together.
T he first days with Khondamir were dreadful. In light of my duty, I did my best to forget my wedding night. I moved forward, as Mother had always taught me. The wine must have clouded his senses, I reasoned. Surely he didn’t know he was hurting me.
Such thoughts consumed me as I sought to make Khondamir happy, sought to earn his affection. Alas, I quickly realized that he cared nothing for my feelings. I didn’t seem to exist in his presence and might have been a gnat in the corner for all the attention he gave me. However much I tried to be helpful, he was disinterested, at best, in my efforts. His indifference was upsetting, as I was accustomed to being taken seriously. Even my father, the most important man in the Empire, often paused as I tried to offer advice. Yet Khondamir, a fool if ever one lived, thought he’d married a dull-witted camel.
It became obvious that he’d wed me hoping that I might bear him a son. Despite his reputation as a hornet that sipped nectar from many flowers, he had never sired a child. Why he believed I’d produce one when so many others had failed was unfathomable to me. And frankly, even though I hoped to have children, I couldn’t imagine Khondamir as their father. I wanted no seed of his to take root within me, especially since I experienced too many nights like the first, nights when he stumbled home drunk and used me until he fell unconscious.
One evening he even hit me, a backhand slap that split my lip. Apparently, I had been unresponsive to his groping. While I trembled naked on a tiger’s pelt, Khondamir yelled at a servant to ride to the Red Fort and return with a practiced courtesan. My husband forced me to watch their gyrations, demanding that I surpass the woman’s wanton displays in the future.
He finished with me, and as he did I began to understand the concept of hate. Other emotions I grasped fully. I feared Aurangzeb. I loved Father and worshipped Mother. Beggars I pitied and children I envied. But hatred was a feeling I had never experienced, nor wanted to. Nevertheless, that night, as I bled and wept and hated, I contemplated fleeing this creature or, better still, slipping some poison into his rice. Surely the world would not lament his departure.
I missed my family terribly in those days. My parents sent me letters and gifts but were on a military campaign to the south accompanied by my brothers. Dara wrote of Aurangzeb’s bravery in the field, how he had left the safety of Father’s tent and joined our soldiers at the front line. There he killed his first man.
Though I possessed little interest in war, I’d have enjoyed being with them, exploring new lands and listening to officers argue. Such a fate was infinitely more desirable to wandering about Khondamir’s home, which had precious few books and mostly sullen servants.
As days turned to weeks I feared that my fate would be forever unchanged. Steeling my emotions as steadfastly as I could, I let my misery surface only in the darkness of night. Mother had never let any man rule her feelings, and I knew she expected me to be as strong. And so I resisted my tears. I endured until Allah finally decided to set me loose.
My taste of freedom began with a morning like any other. Khondamir expected me to join him for breakfast, and we rested on his terrace, eating yogurt and peeling pathetic
Soon Khondamir snored. Putting my forearms against his chest, I rolled him from me. Shedding silent tears, I hobbled to a corner, where I sat with my back against the wall. When I saw blood seeping from between my legs and a cut on my nipple, I cried harder. My tears seemed endless as I thought of all that had gone wrong, of the love I was sure to never find.
The night and I aged together.
T he first days with Khondamir were dreadful. In light of my duty, I did my best to forget my wedding night. I moved forward, as Mother had always taught me. The wine must have clouded his senses, I reasoned. Surely he didn’t know he was hurting me.
Such thoughts consumed me as I sought to make Khondamir happy, sought to earn his affection. Alas, I quickly realized that he cared nothing for my feelings. I didn’t seem to exist in his presence and might have been a gnat in the corner for all the attention he gave me. However much I tried to be helpful, he was disinterested, at best, in my efforts. His indifference was upsetting, as I was accustomed to being taken seriously. Even my father, the most important man in the Empire, often paused as I tried to offer advice. Yet Khondamir, a fool if ever one lived, thought he’d married a dull-witted camel.
It became obvious that he’d wed me hoping that I might bear him a son. Despite his reputation as a hornet that sipped nectar from many flowers, he had never sired a child. Why he believed I’d produce one when so many others had failed was unfathomable to me. And frankly, even though I hoped to have children, I couldn’t imagine Khondamir as their father. I wanted no seed of his to take root within me, especially since I experienced too many nights like the first, nights when he stumbled home drunk and used me until he fell unconscious.
One evening he even hit me, a backhand slap that split my lip. Apparently, I had been unresponsive to his groping. While I trembled naked on a tiger’s pelt, Khondamir yelled at a servant to ride to the Red Fort and return with a practiced courtesan. My husband forced me to watch their gyrations, demanding that I surpass the woman’s wanton displays in the future.
He finished with me, and as he did I began to understand the concept of hate. Other emotions I grasped fully. I feared Aurangzeb. I loved Father and worshipped Mother. Beggars I pitied and children I envied. But hatred was a feeling I had never experienced, nor wanted to. Nevertheless, that night, as I bled and wept and hated, I contemplated fleeing this creature or, better still, slipping some poison into his rice. Surely the world would not lament his departure.
I missed my family terribly in those days. My parents sent me letters and gifts but were on a military campaign to the south accompanied by my brothers. Dara wrote of Aurangzeb’s bravery in the field, how he had left the safety of Father’s tent and joined our soldiers at the front line. There he killed his first man.
Though I possessed little interest in war, I’d have enjoyed being with them, exploring new lands and listening to officers argue. Such a fate was infinitely more desirable to wandering about Khondamir’s home, which had precious few books and mostly sullen servants.
As days turned to weeks I feared that my fate would be forever unchanged. Steeling my emotions as steadfastly as I could, I let my misery surface only in the darkness of night. Mother had never let any man rule her feelings, and I knew she expected me to be as strong. And so I resisted my tears. I endured until Allah finally decided to set me loose.
My taste of freedom began with a morning like any other. Khondamir expected me to join him for breakfast, and we rested on his terrace, eating yogurt and peeling pathetic
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