Tony Preedy - Mustafa's Last Well

“Poor Ali, you never deserved that,” replied Nahla, remembering how Ali had apparently suffered as a young man.

“Oh, I used to get my revenge by hiding his whip,” said Ali, laughing strangely in the way that she found so infectious.

“Do you remember the day before Moosa’s departure for school in Germany, when he was so awful because he did not want to leave but could not disobey our father,” said Nahla, looking sad at the memory. “I have hated him since then.” Nahla had been given a puppy by the wife of Uncle Hammed, who was also to leave, with Cousin Khaled, on the same ship as Moosa. They were to join Uncle Hammed, who had been sent away, banished they said, for the offence against Ali, so she learned later. Moosa decided to work off his frustration on the animal by tying it to a palm and whipping it until it died. She never forgave him. Although Nahla did not know it, he had never previously found satisfaction like that, which then mingled with the pleasure of his adolescent early sexual arousal.

Nahla and Saif never attended the punishment exhibitions, which had no appeal to their sensitive natures. Saif was disgusted with his older brother’s behaviour after he had rescued one of their second cousins, a little girl named Hooda, from Moosa and his whip. Nahla and Saif generally took the opportunity to play together without being annoyed by their brother. That particular afternoon, a Friday, the usual day when punishments would be offered as entertainment after noon prayers, Nahla did not want to play because she was in her room mourning the loss of her pet. Neither were the other women present to watch the spectacle in the courtyard. Layla was busy supervising the packing for her son’s departure and the older sisters were both recently married and had left the fort. Fousia was consoling Shalma who was having one of her depressed days. Neither Nahla nor Ali knew that Moosa sat alone that afternoon, holding the whip in both hands, perspiration rising as he counted the lashes received first by a sailor convicted for drunkenness. The victim was cut down and dragged from the scene as a young woman, named Hafrida, was brought to replace him at the gate. Her husband, an aged relative of Idris al-Jaboo, had taken her to the court, accusing her of complicity, which she had denied, but was unable to produce male witnesses to support her case. A neighbouring man had made advances on her, which she had repelled, but in spite he had caused a rumour of her adultery. Without witnesses to support either side of the case the court had been lenient. Instead of stoning she was to have twelve lashes. Moosa was excited and impressed because she did not cower and appeal to the Negro as most had done before her, but she walked proudly, without any sign of fear. Hafrida was so confident of her innocence that she trusted Allah to protect her from pain. That morning she had insisted on wearing her best silk abaya, as she knew the ladies of the Emir were likely to be watching. The Negro bound her hands and ankles to the gate, pulled off her hijab and thrust a stick between her perfect teeth. Then he paced away to take up his usual stance that Moosa so desired to emulate. Hafrida strained to turn her head, trying in vain to see her tormentor. Moosa became more excited, first by the exposed honey-coloured skin of her face as she turned in his direction. He knew she could not see him sitting excitedly in the dark room behind the pierced screen. He was next entranced by her teeth, gripping the stick, perfect and white, contrasting with the big black eyes that glared defiantly until she received the first stroke. She winced then, but the defiant expression which so impressed the boy returned in anticipation of the second stroke. More strokes followed, causing her to suspect Allah had deserted her. The whip cut through the silk abaya until it fell from her shoulders, exposing to Moosa her perfectly formed breasts. The feelings Moosa had experienced after he had killed the dog now returned with greater force. By the final stroke, of which she had lost count, she was convinced Allah had ignored her. Moosa had dropped the whip and his hands were beneath his dishdash. When Hafrida was dragged away, he left to change into clean clothes before anyone came to join him. The face of the woman would haunt him that night on-board the ship and on many nights in the future when, as a man, he would try in vain to obtain the same degree of sexual excitement that witnessing her suffering had initiated.

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