The Cabin
We separated from the caravan this morning. I made sure everything was replaced
in the pack and then stood outside watching as the men moved swiftly around the
camp, taking down tents and readying the wagons. The sound of their voices and
work noise broke the stillness of the early morning. Then as suddenly as it
began, it was done and they were moving off down the road.
We watched them for a time. I knelt in the grass at his feet, in the same spot
where I listened to Master speak with the Merchant Habib. I did not want to
think too much about the cabin and what lay ahead. There was a moment when all I
could hear was a buzzing in my ears and I watched the grass turn black from the
dots forming dizzily in front of my eyes.
I slid my fingers beneath one of his sandal straps, gripping as if my life
depended on it. Then in a moment of clarity ... what one of my college
professors called an epiphany ... I knew my life did depend on it ... on him ...
and was in the hands of this man ... my Master ... and that whatever fate dealt,
it was not anything that was in my control. It is more than will I be chained or
not ... whipped or not ... used ... indulged ... it is my life. Every aspect of
my life. It is both disquieting and liberating.
We moved through the forest, not talking. I walked behind him, the pack
shouldered. It was humid... close... a hum of insects in the air. It was not
long before we were slick with sweat and mud spotted. Abruptly he turned and
pushed me against a tree, the pack falling to the ground. I cried out, my song
competing with the birds, as he used me there before we continued to the cabin.
He has gone inside. When we arrived, the door was open. He said to wait outside.
I write, my hands shaking ... and I wait.