Authors: Joel Blaine Kirkpatrick
Caraliza (8 page)
She was suffocated by him and lost all her breath, and was twisted painfully with her face under his shoulder. He could not be moved and she felt her heart and her head pleading for air. She tried to move him so she could draw air, but lost the will, and the need, when the blackness spun around her and took all sight from her eyes.
She awoke to blackness, so complete she knew she had died. She had not. He had not. He simply rolled a moment later onto his back, and freed her chest, if not her head and arm. She was still pinned under the unconscious mass of the brute, and he would not be moving again for several hours. She felt wetness on her cheek and her ears were stinging, the boards were raking her skin.
Her lungs were screaming with each breath, she lay in pain at every movement. It took an impossible length of time to free herself and even then, she may have lain there another hour. She could not see, but the lamps seemed lit, they must have been. He had so horribly crushed her in the fall that she could not think clearly, and did not know if it were day or night. It did not matter, the time, she lost her battle to stay awake.
She found herself in the bed when she became aware of life again. He was not there; she would have none of the space she enjoyed, had he been there as well. She tried to open her eyes, but they would not be opened of their own will. She was too dizzy, even lying down, to try and move, but she raised a hand to feel her face. The blood in her ears had not been cleaned; she was bloody mess. The tears that came stung her poor eyes. There were no sounds in the basement; he may have been sitting quietly, watching, to see if she would die, she could not tell.
There was suddenly something wet, warm at her lips. It was salty. It was a broth. The arm that she could move rushed to the cup at her lips and held it, until she drained all it contained. It choked her and she fought to swallow, to keep her breath, a second cup came to her mouth and she forced it to her face, more fiercely than the first. She was gasping for air when it was drained. Her hand struck out, in a great sweep trying to find the cup again, and her arm was held aside as the cup came. This she drank, with sobs that spewed the broth onto her face and into her eyes, and when it was gone, she screamed for another.
For two days she was only fed, cared for in no other way. It was the only kindness, such as it was, he would ever show her. She soiled herself and the bed the few times that the need came to her; she was never cleaned. When she was able at last to open an eye to see in the gloom, it caused a terrible ache to her head. Yousep was not there, and she desired to see him.
Caraliza did not know how long she lay in misery. In the constant gloom she could not tell if it were night or day. She never seemed able to hear the brute leave or return. The pain and thirst was her only clock. She labored to find the strength to rise and clean herself, and drink. Her thirst was forcing her to make some way to the closet. The movement caused such pain she wet herself the entire way across the floor.
Yousep was inconsolable. On the third day with no sign of his Caraliza, he nearly collapsed in the alley outside the shop. He stood for ten minutes at a time, praying for her to appear. The brute had come, and gone, too often for a stolen chance to get down the stair, he was never gone long enough for Yousep to do anything. Papa Reisman was beginning to notice the absences, Yousep could make no more excuses.
And then, God let it rain again on them, for three more days. Caraliza understood the sound, and the smell, and prayed it would be a terrible rain with leaks the hellish place had never seen. It put Yousep into his bed again, sick with a fever and a panic she was lost to him. While he lay recovering, she did the same, moving a little more each time she felt strong enough. The broth that was brought to her had bits of potato, or some vegetable, in it. She tasted more on her deathbed in a week than the previous month of food she was able to steal. She did not know where the brute was sleeping; he did not lie with her at all the entire time.
On the third day of the rain, she was able to wash and the brute left her to walk into the wet, seeking his next place of employment. Caraliza stood on the steps in the rain for half an hour, watching for Yousep. She was shivering from the cold, dizzy from the pain, but she was able to look, and that alone cheered her more than the mean broth had done. When the sun came again the brute left early. He only spoke to say there was broth, and he would not return until very late. She almost followed him out the door and up the stair. When she saw Yousep, she ran to him.
Nothing could prepare Yousep for the figure of his poor Caraliza trying to embrace him. He gathered her gently, and carried her back down the stair. He had no means to rescue her, and they must endure until that was obtained. He could not have her die because of his haste. The foulness of the place sickened him and he carried her to the rough bed, wishing he could take her anywhere else. He did not know her tormentor would be gone the entire day. Yousep needed time, to think, and to prepare.
She moaned against his neck and seemed too weak to hold herself against him. It was as though the bed were taking her strength, instead of giving her rest. As he lay her down, he sought her wounds in the gloom. She at least was somewhat cleaned, but she was bruised and her hair was still matted on one side.
He was enraged at the sight of her, even so much as he could see in the darkened room. He kissed her gently and said her name several times to her and pleaded she should wait. Yousep decided to ask for help. She would die if he did not.
“
Mr. Reisman, I have broken a commandment. I have lied when I knew better of the truth!”
Mr. Reisman, I have broken a commandment. I have lied when I knew better of the truth!”
His employer stood in shock at the words and dropped the pencil he was biting. Yousep entered the shop and looked as though he should have remained in his sick bed; the fever was surely still making him ill.
“
Yousep, what matters you so; you look near to fall to the floor!” He put his arms around his clerk, and led him to the storage stair and sat him down. “Tell me what still ails you, a doctor should be called?”
Yousep, what matters you so; you look near to fall to the floor!” He put his arms around his clerk, and led him to the storage stair and sat him down. “Tell me what still ails you, a doctor should be called?”
“
I have met the girl at the basement stair. She is being starved. She seems beaten near to death. I fear Caraliza will die if I cannot find help to bring her out!”
I have met the girl at the basement stair. She is being starved. She seems beaten near to death. I fear Caraliza will die if I cannot find help to bring her out!”
Yousep could not speak now, so wracked with sobs of grief. Papa Reisman sat dumbfounded to the floor in front of his clerk.
“
Yousep, dear God, how could anyone be living in this?”
Yousep, dear God, how could anyone be living in this?”
Papa shuddered in the gloom of the basement. He stood near the kitchen and seemed terrified to walk further into the hole. He gasped when Yousep appeared from the bedroom, carrying his beloved Caraliza in his arms. She would not leave until he found her pendant; it hid under the cloth inside her ragged shoe, lest it be discovered elsewhere. They carefully climbed the stair, waited until the street seemed clear, and then hastily carried her across to the shop.
Papa was in a fit of fear, the authorities must be called, but Yousep begged him, please give them time, to help her regain her wits. She could not testify to anyone for her own sake in the condition they found her. She was carried into the studio and laid carefully on the softest divan, with small pillows for her head and her knees. Yousep ran to fetch a cup of cool water and a cloth, which he warmed. She was given a drink and he began gently to clean the dried blood from the side of her face and her ear.
He softly spoke to Papa, of the weeks they tried to meet, and the weeks they hoped to find a way to free her from the prison she was in. The condition she was found was due to his failure to do anything quickly as he wished. And he begged his employer, to keep his secret until she was safe, or they were all in great peril. It terrified Papa to consent, but the pitiful sight on his divan, the poor creature who was kissing Yousep’s hands, as he cleaned her blood from her body, she could not be left to die. God would help somehow; Papa began to pray.
Caraliza was mended as well as a day could be used. She cried each time Yousep left the room, and cried each time he returned, she was brought more food and they were aghast at the rage of her hunger. As the evening approached and it was time for the two men to close the shop, they became aware of the greatest flaw in their hopeful plan. They had no means to take her elsewhere; her state was too grave.
They were offended to think of leaving her alone - no one else could be told; it was decided Yousep should stay with her. Papa would tell his parents the smallest lie he could tell, and still save his own soul. Surely, God would understand the need of such a lie, as would save the young girl’s life. Yousep embraced him and kissed his cheeks. Yes, surely God would forgive their desperate mistakes. But, did God have any blankets? The shop was meant to be closed, not slept in. They would need to keep warm. Papa closed his mind to the thought of how two young lovers would keep warm.
He found the blankets in the old changing room and left before his fatherly nature demanded they be scolded. He quickly left the shop as usual, knowing Yousep missed some days in his own sick bed. If they were being watched too closely, his lone departure might not seem so unusual. There was no one on the street as Papa rushed to see Yousep’s parents, hopefully to have his lie well planned before he arrived.
Yousep did not know to be aroused at the sight of his Caraliza unclothed. He was too busy, with his care of her condition, and the rage it stirred in his breast. He brought a basin of very warm water and the softest cloth he could find. He found no gentler soap than the hand soap they used in the closet, but it was better than leaving the filth uncleaned. He was bent and sore when he was well into the job, but she would kiss his hands, and smile a tired smile as he continued.
He learned all the bruises on her body, all the scrapes. Her feet were rough from lack of proper shoes, but delicate and sweet when they were cleaned. Her knees were bruised, calloused from the hours of kneeling work at the boards in the basement. He cleaned the bruises on her ribs; she had been twisted wickedly in the fall. He angrily guessed it was from a kick; they could not share how she had been hurt. He cleaned her breasts and softly around her neck and shoulders, curious to see her flesh rise in little bumps of chill. To keep her warm he would dry her skin somewhat as he worked, so she would not lay wet and uncovered too long.
The light was leaving, but he dared not light a lamp, as the shop was never used at night, and might draw suspicious eyes. He turned her gently onto her stomach and cleaned her as gently as he had done on the other side. She was bruised equally there, and he was angrier still of her treatment at the monster’s hands. Her bottom was unexpectedly soiled and he was surprised she seemed to have no shame at being cleaned in such an intimate way.
He at last thought, surely, she was to get no better than he had already done, when she rolled carefully over again to her back. She guided his hand to wash the place between her legs where no man had ever been gentle. It was not to be done; he shook his head. He must make her understand this one modesty, but she pleaded with her eyes that it was needed there, most of all.
He was completely confused as what to do, having no education in such things, and he seemed very unlikely to understand even after this opportunity. He only guessed she was much softer there and he should take more care not to hurt her. She sensed either his innocent curiosity, or his utter stupidity, but it made her giggle as he tried to discover how to go about the new task.
The bath was complete, yet her hair could not be better cleaned than to gently comb it. Papa kept a scant supply of toiletries; there was never any need for much, Yousep could not find a fine brush in the dark. He hoped he did not pull her hair, or hurt her head too terribly with the one he found to put in his hands. She sat up carefully, and after a few moments resting against his shoulder as he knelt in front of her, she stole a soft kiss, and nodded he could brush her hair. As he did so, nearly too timidly to make a good job of it, she unbuttoned his shirt and slid her arms around to his back, moaning at the warmth he gave. And, he smelled clean. She sniffed his neck, his mouth, and under his arms, where he was sure she would stifle. But, she tasted his skin and kissed where she could reach, making the brushing of her hair impossible to continue.
She was spent, finished, and wanted to sleep in his arms. He did not move. He was quite surprised she should want his clothes, but she was reaching for them, he was nearly out of them before he felt any shame. Caraliza put her lips against his mouth to silence his complaint and slipped his trousers to his knees, and then she lay back down on the divan and closed her eyes, with her arms held out to him, as he saw them in his dreams.
They must sleep - they needed to keep warm; she wore nothing at all, so they shared the situation as she invited them to share it, he would wear nothing either.
Yousep began to have thoughts that a naked girl might be very arousing to touch in this way. But his Caraliza was already asleep, under the blanket, in soft warmth that she wanted to hold, and utterly safe from harm, for the first time since she lost Amsterdam. Yousep kissed her once more and found she was wonderfully comfortable to embrace; they seemed to fit perfectly together. They did not stir until the first wagon rolled down the street at dawn.
“
Forgive me Yousep; I could not lie to your parents.”
Forgive me Yousep; I could not lie to your parents.”
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