She found, as she lay on the cot, captive, handcuffed to it, that the strength of men excited her, that she found it profoundly and unaccountably exciting.
I love it that there are men, she whispered to herself. I love it. I love it!
At ten P.M. the door was again unlocked.
The large black, he who had beaten her, again entered. Lying on the cot, she cringed. But he carried a large piece of bread in one hand and a tin mug of water in the other. Brenda saw, briefly, his companion behind him, before the door closed.
He approached her.
She regarded him with fear.
“Sit up,” he said.
She did so. She winced.
“Open your mouth,” he said.
She did so.
He thrust the bread into her mouth, whole.
He waited until she had, half choking, swallowed it down. Then he held the tin mug for her. She drank.
Before he left, with his foot, he shoved the wastes bucket to the cot.
For four days Hamilton saw no one but the blacks, and her feedings consisted of bread and water, each given to her as they had been the first time.
Sometimes, smiling, she tried to engage them in conversation but they did not speak to her.
Once, angrily, she cried out, “Speak when you’re spoken to, Boy!”
He turned, slowly, toward her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry!”
His hand struck her, knocking her forcibly to her right. She was jerked up short by the handcuff, taut, on her left wrist. He pulled her to her knees at the side of the cot, facing him. “I’m sorry!” she cried. Her lip was cut on her teeth. He pointed to his feet. She kissed them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry!
“Very well,” said he, “-Girl.”
He left.
On the fourth night she said to him, “Please tell them I’ll be good! I’ll be good!”
“All right,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
The next morning Gunther and William arrived at the time of the first feeding.
Gunther carried a short length of chain, and two padlocks, and William a bowl of warm water, with a towel and soap, and a clean, folded garment.
“Lie on your stomach on the cot,” said Gunther.
“Yes, Gunther,” said Brenda Hamilton.
She felt one end of the heavy chain looped about her left ankle, snugly, and fastened with one of the padlocks. The loose end of the short chain was then looped about her right ankle, snugly, and fastened with the second padlock.
Gunther then removed the handcuff from her left wrist, and also from the iron bar at the head of the cot.
“Kneel,” he said.
Free of the cot, she did so. She heard the heavy links of the chain confining her ankles strike the floor.
“You will wear the cuff at night,” said Gunther.
“Yes, Gunther,” she said.
Gunther slipped the handcuffs, together, into a small leather case, worn at his belt. He buttoned shut the case.
“And during the day?” she asked.
“You are shackled,” he said.
“Yes, Gunther,” she said.
“Is that not the answer to your question?” he asked.
“Yes, Gunther,” she said.
“The experiments are progressing,” said Gunther. “You will shortly be needed.”
She looked up at him.
“You will not receive the least opportunity for escape,” said Gunther.
She put down her head.
“Do you understand, Brenda?” he said.
“Yes, Gunther,” she said.
He then turned and left.
William smiled, and put down the bowl of warm water, with the towel, and soap, and laid beside them the small, white, folded garment.
She looked at it.
“It is identical to the one you are wearing,” he said, “only, of course, it is not filthy, not torn, not marked with blood. It was not dragged through the Rhodesian bush in the middle of the night.”
“I did not know there was more than one,” she said, numbly, looking at it.
“You are permitted, of course,” said William, “only one at a time.”
She looked up at him, then understanding better than before the planning that had taken place.
“When was it purchased?” she asked.
“With four others,” smiled William.
“When?” she asked, looking at him.
“When you accepted the retainer,” he said, “to come to Rhodesia.”
“I see,” she said.
“These garments were here,” he said, “folded and waiting, packed, before your arrival.”
“When I walked in the gate,” she said, “they were waiting for me.”
“Yes,” smiled William.
She put her head down.
“Don’t put it on,” warned William, “until you are clean and fresh.”
“Very well, William,” she said.
“When you are finished,” he said, “knock on ‘the door. I will then bring you water and a shampoo, to wash your hair.”
Brenda looked at him, gratefully.
When he left the room she knelt by the bowl and threw off the soiled, tattered garment she had worn. Rejoicing, she cleansed her body of the dirt, the filth, of the bush. She wrapped the towel about her head to keep her hair from her body. She slipped on the new, fresh, pressed, crisp white frock. It was identical to that which she had first worn, thin, very brief, sleeveless. She knocked on the door. “William,” she said.
The door opened and William entered, with two buckets of water, and a shampoo, and a fresh towel.
He sat in one of the cane chairs, straddling it, its back to her, watching her wash her hair.
“The brush and comb,” he said, “when you want them later, are where you left them.”
They lay at the side of the wall.
She knelt before the mirror and ran the comb through her hair, straightening it. She would comb and brush it later, fully, when it was dry. It lay wet and black, matted, straight, beautiful, down her back.
When she looked at him, he said, “Shave your legs, and under your arms.” He handed her a safety razor, containing a blade.
She used the soap and water, and the blade, and shaved herself.
Then she returned the razor, and the blade, to him.
William picked up the materials he had brought, the buckets, the bowl, the two towels, the other things.
She stood and faced him.
“You are very beautiful, Brenda” he said.
She said nothing.
“If you are good,” he said, “you will be fed well.”
She did not respond.
“Well, Brenda,” he said, “it seems that things are much as they were before.”
“Yes, William,” she said.
“Except,” smiled he, “that your ankles are chained.”
She did not answer him.
“You have very pretty ankles, my dear,” he said. “They look well in chains.”
There were only eight inches of chain separating her ankles.
“Keep yourself clean, neat and well groomed,” he said.
She said nothing.
“Kneel,” he said.
She did.
“Do you understand?” he asked.
“Yes, William,” said Brenda Hamilton.
He turned to leave and then again, for a moment, faced her.
“Tonight,” he said, “you are to be interviewed by Herjellsen.”
“What are you?” asked Herjellsen, sharply.
“A woman,” said Brenda Hamilton. “A woman!”
“What is your name?” demanded Herjellsen, sharply.
“Brenda,” she said. “Brenda!”